Book Talk
My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You Shes Sorry by Fredrik Backman
Translated by Henning Koch
Atria Books, 2015
Reviewed by Ken Wilkins
Don’t just scratch the surface
Fredrik Backman’s novel My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry opens with
Granny and Elsa together in the police station at 1:30 in the morning, having been picked up
for breaking into the zoo. Granny is 77 and Elsa is 7, and they are best friends. Now, Granny
is a little “perky,” which means difficult, and she just might be a bit crazy. The word precocious
doesn’t do Elsa justice. But her brains make her different, and she’s bullied at school. Granny
stakes it her mission to help her handle being different and to learn how to defeat bullies.
Just when the reader is basking in the obvious love these two have for each other.
Granny dies from cancer—way too early in the book. My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell you
^he’s Sorry is a mixture of realism and fantasy, with a little Harry Potter thrown in for good
•treasure. Elsa, you see, is a big Potter fan.
Granny leaves Elsa with a mission: to deliver letters of apology. Although she gives Elsa
foe first letter, the others must be found—it’s a treasure hunt. As the set-up continues, we
•iteet the characters who live in the apartment building that Granny turns out to own. And
foese folks are the message that Backman wants to deliver to us.
Each of them is a bit off somehow. Kent and Britt-Marie are materialistic and
manipulative, and Britt-Marie in particular is a passive-aggressive witch. There is an
alcoholic woman, a “monster” who we would say suffers from PTSD, a very large dog, and
Several others. Elsa finds and delivers all the letters, and through her odyssey we get a more
founded picture of the characters, and eventually meet a real monster.
What we learn is that the real trick of life is to realize that people are human—and imperfect,
they seem at first to be all bad, one must not fail to look beneath the surface to understand
foo entire person. In the novel, Britt-Marie and her first love gave up on each other; Kent
married another woman, was divorced, and returned to marry Britt-Marie. Knowing this and
other bits of her history goes a long way to explaining why she is the way she is, and makes us
•tot hate her. Not to spoil the novel. I’ll leave it to you to learn the others’ stories.
Afy Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry is a book that’s difficult to characterize,
^nd Backman does a good job of creating more than one reality. Some critics have
'bemoaned the fact that our narrator is only 7 (almost 8) and therefore lacking life
^ffperience to go along with brains. I agree that one can only suspend disbelief so much.
Nevertheless, Backman pulls off this parlor trick without a hitch, so the reader doesn’t get
^°gged down by the child.
We’re all “different,” and certainly none of us is perfect. Bachman asks us to look beyond
foe surface to see the complete person. If we do, he suggests, then more often than not we’ll
find a person we can like very much. Here, you’ll find a novel that you can like very much.
(Continued from page 26)
to Know John Brodman
Sylvia, to whom John has been married for 27 years, is also active in the community.
^ is currently serving a second term on the Board of Directors at The Country Club of
fo® Crystal Coast, where she is an avid golfer and tennis player. Sylvia is a past member of
fie board of PIKSCO homeowners association, and a member of CERT and Volunteers
^ Police Service (VIPS). The Brodmans have two sons, Larry Bradshaw, living in McLean,
^'fginia, and Wayland Campbell Brodman, living in Florida with John and Sylvia’s tv,’o
Sfandsons.
When asked what people might be surprised to know about him, John offered the
blowing. Those who know him are well aware of his fondness for sports and for food and
While he tries to include some rigorous exercise in every day, such as biking, walking,
fo^kleball and swimming—mixed in with occasional trips to the gym—he admits that he
rather talk wine. John explains that he got his Th.D.” in wine while living in Paris,
fiere his home had a 3000-bottle cave (winecellar), whose contents he brought home to
^ States with him. They’re all gone now, and he regrets being reduced to having to hunt
the provincial offerings of local supermarket wine aisles like everyone else.
^ ^hile the Brodmans have no specific plans for the future, John thinks he might soon
^ try retirement again and do his best to not flunk it this time or not.
^ fo'i is the second in a series o/Shoreline articles designed to get to know our commissioners
Thanks to them for taking the time to share with us. The Editors
Bogota Revisited
By John Clarke
Our daughter, Jessica, works for the State Department and has been deployed to work
in Bogota for the past two years. She and her family have not been able to join us here for
Thanksgiving or Christmas so we decided to visit them instead. Also, and maybe even
more important, they were expecting their second child in mid-November, making it a
perfect time to visit. Grandson Dylan did not comply with his due date, so we arrived a
couple of days after his birth.
We packed some items in our luggage to help with bringing Thanksgiving to them.
Pumpkin pie ingredients are not available there, nor are pecans. Unfortunately, we didn’t
include Karo Syrup in our supplies and the substitute we tried from the local supermarket
produced a pretty awful-tasting pie.
Anne and John Clarke with their granddaughter and new grandson in Bogota, Colombia.
—Photo courtesy of the Clarkes
The most important part of our job on this trip was to help with all that goes on with
a new baby and enjoy the preparation and cooking that goes along with Thanksgiving.
Sightseeing was not going to be as big a part of this trip, but we would still be able to get
out in the city to shop. Markets are very close by, so one can shop each day for fresh food
to prepare the meals. Bogota is a very large city, similar to New York, so you can imagine
the type of density of living that goes on there.
In Pine Knoll Shores, an evening of horn blowing never prevents one from sleeping,
but even at seven floors off the street, in Bogota one can hear everything. Traffic begins to
slow down after about 1 a.m., and a small window of solitude occurs before the noise and
congestion start again around 5 a.m. Colombians love to blow their car horns at the most
minor inconvenience, so you can imagine the sounds. Fortunately, little babies must be
somewhat immune to all that racket, as Dylan slept quite well except for the need to eat.
Being equatorial, the weather rarely changes and the amount of daylight and darkness
are almost equivalent each day. Positioned 8,500 feet above sea level, Bogota is cool in the
morning, with temperatures in the high 40s to mid-50s. It warms up to around 70 or so
during the day, but as soon as the sun goes down around 6 p.m., the temperature drops
right back down. The town, perched on a large plain surrounded by mountains, offers
great scenery and some “energetic” hills along the walkways. The first few days there one
must try to get acclimated to the elevation, as often it is a struggle to catch one's breath.
The trip from the family’s apartment to the busy street below, Septima (caraterra
7), is a quick elevation change. Thankfully, once on Septima, the walking is easy and
the sights enjoyable . Bogota has as many people as New York City, but few buildings
above 20 stories (as opposed to skyscrapers) so there are a lot more apartment buildings
throughout the town.
(Continued on page 28)
July 2016 i The Shoreline 27