By Fredrik Backman
Britt-Marie var här är en roman om att förlora sig, förälska sig och att sparka på det som rullar.
Borg är ett samhälle om vilket det snällaste guy kan säga är att det ligger vid en väg. Britt-Marie är en 63-årig kvinna som fått höra att hon är en passivt aggressiv ältande gnällkärring. Hon har lämnat storstan och sin otrogna guy efter forty års äktenskap, Borg har gått igenom en finanskris som inte lämnat något annat efter sig än "till salu"-skyltar och en ölstinkande pizzeria. Britt-Marie hatar fotboll, Borg har inget annat än fotbollen kvar. Det är inte början på en underbar vänskap, det är det sannerligen inte.
Men när ungdomslaget i byn behöver en tränare så desperat att de until eventually slut är redo att ge jobbet until eventually vem som helst, då bryr de sig inte om petitesser som att hon absolut inte vill ha det. För när det kommer until eventually kritan finns bara en universell sanning om samhällen vid vägar: Pizzerior och fotboll är det sista som överger människorna.
Britt-Marie var här är en roman om fördomar (inte för att Britt-Marie har fördomar, givetvis inte), korrekt organiserade bestickslådor (gafflar-knivar-skedar, i den ordningen, males inte för att Britt-Marie ältar!) och en landsbygd vid en transportsträcka. Det är en berättelse om andra chanser, första sparkar och hur nästan allt går att rengöra med bikarbonat.
Författaren until eventually En guy som heter Ove och Min mormor hälsar och säger förlåt har skrivit en kärlekshistoria och en kärleksförklaring, om spelet fotboll och platserna där guy spelar det, males mest av allt om en kvinna som väntat ett helt liv på att hennes ska börja.
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Additional info for Britt-Marie var här
They were guarded by dimarchi, hard-bitten troopers in armor that looked as if it had been made for use and used. Each client carried a copper cylinder supposedly containing his or her papers and thus his or her fate. All of them had broken the seals and read those papers, of course; and some had destroyed them or exchanged them for another's. Those who arrived without papers would be held until some further word concerning their disposition was received—probably for the remainder of their lives.
He smiled on my ignorance. "Far past it. Weeks, if you walked. Naturally the Autarch could get here by flier in an instant if he wanted to. " But our new clients did not come in fliers. The less important arrived in coffles of ten to twenty men and women, chained one behind the other by the neck. They were guarded by dimarchi, hard-bitten troopers in armor that looked as if it had been made for use and used. Each client carried a copper cylinder supposedly containing his or her papers and thus his or her fate.
The flanking volunteers ran toward him, but he had held onto his weapon. I saw the bright blade flash up, though its owner was still on the ground. I remember thinking what a fine thing it would have been to have had such a sword on the day Drotte became captain of apprentices, and then likening Vodalus to myself. The axman, toward whom he had thrust, drew back; the other drove forward with his long knife. I was on my feet by then, watching the fight over the shoulder of a chalcedony angel, and I saw the knife come down, missing Vodalus by a thumb's width as he writhed away and burying itself to the hilt in the ground.