My Grandmother Asked Me To Tell You Shes Sorry (Thorndike Press Large Print Core Series), by Fredrik Backman
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My Grandmother Asked Me To Tell You Shes Sorry (Thorndike Press Large Print Core Series), by Fredrik Backman
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From the author of the internationally bestselling "A Man Called Ove," a charming, warmhearted novel about a young girl whose grandmother dies and leaves behind a series of letters, sending her on a journey that brings to life the world of her grandmother's fairy tales. Elsa is seven years old and different. Her grandmother is seventy-seven years old and crazy, standing-on-the-balcony-firing-paintball-guns-at-men-who-want-to-talk-about-Jesus-crazy. She is also Elsa's best, and only, friend. At night Elsa takes refuge in her grandmother's stories, in the Land of Almost-Awake and the Kingdom of Miamas where everybody is different and nobody needs to be normal. When Elsa's grandmother dies and leaves behind a series of letters apologizing to people she has wronged, Elsa's greatest adventure begins. Her grandmother's letters lead her to an apartment building full of drunks, monsters, attack dogs, and totally ordinary old crones, but also to the truth about fairytales and kingdoms and a grandmother like no other. "My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry "is told with the same comic accuracy and beating heart as Fredrik Backman's internationally bestselling debut novel, "A Man Called Ove." It is a story about life and death and an ode to one of the most important human rights: the right to be different.
My Grandmother Asked Me To Tell You Shes Sorry (Thorndike Press Large Print Core Series), by Fredrik Backman - Amazon Sales Rank: #1472585 in Books
- Published on: 2015-09-02
- Format: Large Print
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 8.60" h x 1.20" w x 5.50" l, .0 pounds
- Binding: Hardcover
- 594 pages
My Grandmother Asked Me To Tell You Shes Sorry (Thorndike Press Large Print Core Series), by Fredrik Backman Review "There are characters who amuse us, and stories that touch us. But this character and his story do even more: A Man Called Ove makes us think about who we are and how we want to live our lives. A Man Called Ove seems deceptively simple at the start, yet Frederik Backman packs a lifetime's worth of hilarity and heartbreak into this novel. Even the most crusty curmudgeon will love Ove!"--Lois Leveen, author of Juliet's Nurse and The Secrets of Mary Bowser
About the Author Fredrik Backman, a blogger and columnist, is the author of "My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She s Sorry "and "A Man Called Ove". Both were number one bestsellers in his native Sweden and are being published around the world in more thantwenty-five languages.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry
1
TOBACCO
Every seven-year-old deserves a superhero. That’s just how it is. Anyone who doesn’t agree needs their head examined. That’s what Elsa’s granny says, at least. Elsa is seven, going on eight. She knows she isn’t especially good at being seven. She knows she’s different. Her headmaster says she needs to “fall into line” in order to achieve “a better fit with her peers.” Other adults describe her as “very grown-up for her age.” Elsa knows this is just another way of saying “massively annoying for her age,” because they only tend to say this when she corrects them for mispronouncing “déjà vu” or not being able to tell the difference between “me” and “I” at the end of a sentence. Smart-asses usually can’t, hence the “grown-up for her age” comment, generally said with a strained smile at her parents. As if she has a mental impairment, as if Elsa has shown them up by not being totally thick just because she’s seven. And that’s why she doesn’t have any friends except Granny. Because all the other seven-year-olds in her school are as idiotic as seven-year-olds tend to be, but Elsa is different. She shouldn’t take any notice of what those muppets think, says Granny. Because all the best people are different—look at superheroes. After all, if superpowers were normal, everyone would have them. Granny is seventy-seven years old, going on seventy-eight. She’s not very good at it either. You can tell she’s old because her face looks like newspaper stuffed into wet shoes, but no one ever accuses Granny of being grown-up for her age. “Perky,” people sometimes say to Elsa’s mum, looking either fairly worried or fairly angry as Mum sighs and asks how much she owes for the damages. Or when Granny’s smoking at the hospital sets the fire alarm off and she starts ranting and raving about how “everything has to be so bloody politically correct these days!” when the security guards make her extinguish her cigarette. Or that time she made a snowman in Britt-Marie and Kent’s garden right under their balcony and dressed it up in grown-up clothes so it looked as if a person had fallen from the roof. Or that time those prim men wearing spectacles started ringing all the doorbells and wanted to talk about God and Jesus and heaven, and Granny stood on her balcony with her dressing gown flapping open, shooting at them with her paintball gun, and Britt-Marie couldn’t quite decide if she was most annoyed about the paintball-gun thing or the not-wearing-anything-under-the-dressing-gown thing, but she reported both to the police just to be on the safe side. Those are the times, Elsa supposes, that people find Granny perky for her age. They also say that Granny is mad, but in actual fact she’s a genius. It’s just that she’s a bit of a crackpot at the same time. She used to be a doctor, and she won prizes and journalists wrote articles about her and she went to all the most terrible places in the world when everyone else was getting out. She saved lives and fought evil everywhere on earth. As superheroes do. But one day someone decided she was too old to save lives, even if Elsa quite strongly suspects what they really meant by “too old” was “too crazy.” Granny refers to this person as “Society” and says it’s only because everything has to be so bloody politically correct nowadays that she’s no longer allowed to make incisions in people. And that it was really mainly about Society getting so bleeding fussy about the smoking ban in the operating theaters, and who could work under those sorts of conditions? So now she’s mainly at home driving Britt-Marie and Mum around the bend. Britt-Marie is Granny’s neighbor, Mum is Elsa’s mum. And really Britt-Marie is also Elsa’s mum’s neighbor because Elsa’s mum lives next door to Elsa’s granny. And Elsa obviously also lives next door to Granny, because Elsa lives with her mum. Except every other weekend, when she lives with Dad and Lisette. And of course George is also Granny’s neighbor, because he lives with Mum. It’s a bit all over the place. But anyway, to get back to the point: lifesaving and driving people nuts are Granny’s superpowers. Which perhaps makes her a bit of a dysfunctional superhero. Elsa knows this because she looked up “dysfunctional” on Wikipedia. People of Granny’s age describe Wikipedia as “an encyclopedia, but on the net!” Encyclopedias are what Elsa describes as “Wikipedia, but analog.” Elsa has checked “dysfunctional” in both places and it means that something is not quite functioning as it’s supposed to. Which is one of Elsa’s favorite things about her granny. But maybe not today. Because it’s half past one in the morning and Elsa is fairly tired and would really like to go back to bed. Except that’s not going to happen, because Granny’s been throwing turds at a policeman. It’s a little complicated. Elsa looks around the little rectangular room and yawns listlessly and so widely that she looks like she’s trying to swallow her own head. “I did tell you not to climb the fence,” she mutters, checking her watch. Granny doesn’t answer. Elsa takes off her Gryffindor scarf and puts it in her lap. She was born on Boxing Day seven years ago (almost eight). The same day some German scientists recorded the strongest-ever emission of gamma radiation from a magnetar over the earth. Admittedly Elsa doesn’t know what a magnetar is, but it’s some kind of neutron star. And it sounds a little like “Megatron,” which is the name of the evil one in Transformers, which is what simpletons who don’t read enough quality literature call “a children’s program.” In actual fact the Transformers are robots, but if you look at it academically they could also be counted as superheroes. Elsa is very keen on both Transformers and neutron stars, and she imagines that an “emission of gamma radiation” would look a bit like that time Granny spilled Fanta on Elsa’s iPhone and tried to dry it out in the toaster. And Granny says it makes Elsa special to have been born on a day like that. And being special is the best way of being different. Granny is busy distributing small heaps of tobacco all over the wooden table in front of her and rolling them into rustling cigarette papers. “I said I told you not to climb the fence!” Granny makes a snorting sound and searches the pockets of her much-too-large overcoat for a lighter. She doesn’t seem to be taking any of this very seriously, mainly because she never seems to take anything seriously. Except when she wants to smoke and can’t find a lighter. “It was a tiny little fence, for God’s sake!” she says breezily. “It’s nothing to get worked up about.” “Don’t you ‘for God’s sake’ me! You’re the one who threw shit at the police.” “Stop fussing. You sound like your mother. Do you have a lighter?” “I’m seven!” “How long are you going to use that as an excuse?” “Until I’m not seven anymore?” Granny mumbles something that sounds like “Not a crime to ask, is it?” and continues rifling through her pockets. “I don’t think you can smoke in here, actually,” Elsa informs her, sounding calmer now and fingering the long rip in the Gryffindor scarf. “Course you can smoke. We’ll just open a window.” Elsa looks skeptically at the windows. “I don’t think they’re the sort of windows that open.” “Why not?” “They’ve got bars on them.” Granny glares with dissatisfaction at the windows. And then at Elsa. “So now you can’t even smoke at the police station. Jesus. It’s like being in 1984.” Elsa yawns again. “Can I borrow your phone?” “What for?” “To check something.” “Where?” “Online.” “You invest too much time on that Internet stuff.” “You mean, ‘spend.’ ” “I beg your pardon?” “What I mean is, you don’t use ‘invest’ in that way. You wouldn’t go round saying, ‘I invested two hours in reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone,’ would you?” Granny just rolls her eyes and hands her the phone. “Did you ever hear about the girl who blew up because she did too much thinking?” The policeman who shuffles into the room looks very, very tired. “I want to call my lawyer,” Granny demands at once. “I want to call my mum!” Elsa demands at once. “In that case I want to call my lawyer first!” Granny insists. The policeman sits down opposite them and fidgets with a little pile of papers. “Your mother is on her way,” he says to Elsa with a sigh. Granny makes the sort of dramatic gasp that only Granny knows how to do. “Why did you call her? Are you mad?” she protests, as if the policeman just told her he was going to leave Elsa in the forest to be raised by a pack of wolves. “She’ll be bloody livid!” “We have to call the child’s legal guardian,” the policeman explains calmly. “I am also the child’s legal guardian! I am the child’s grandmother!” Granny fumes, rising slightly out of her chair and shaking her unlit cigarette menacingly. “It’s half past one in the morning. Someone has to take care of the child.” “Yes, me! I’m taking care of the child!” she splutters. The policeman makes a fairly strained attempt to gesture amicably across the interrogation room. “And how do you feel it’s going so far?” Granny looks slightly offended. “Well . . . everything was going just fine until you started chasing me.” “You broke into a zoo.” “It was a tiny little fence—” “There’s no such thing as a ‘tiny’ burglary.” Granny shrugs and makes a brushing movement over the table, as if she thinks they’ve stretched this out long enough. The policeman notices the cigarette and eyes it dubiously. “Oh, come on! I can smoke in here, can’t I?” He shakes his head sternly. Granny leans forward, looks him deep in the eyes, and smiles. “Can’t you make an exception? Not even for little old me?” Elsa gives Granny a little shove in the side and switches to their secret language. Because Granny and Elsa have a secret language, as all grannies must have with their grandchildren, because by law that’s a requirement, says Granny. Or at least it should be. “Drop it, Granny. It’s, like, illegal to flirt with policemen.” “Says who?” “Well, the police for starters!” Elsa replies. “The police are supposed to be there for the sake of the citizens,” Granny hisses. “I pay my taxes, you know.” The policeman looks at them as you do when a seven-year-old and a seventy-seven-year-old start arguing in a secret language in a police station in the middle of the night. Then Granny’s eyelashes tremble alluringly at him as she once again points pleadingly at her cigarette, but when he shakes his head, Granny leans back in the chair and exclaims in normal language: “I mean, this political correctness! It’s worse than apartheid for smokers in this bloody country nowadays!” “How do you spell that?” asks Elsa. “What?” Granny sighs as you do when precisely the whole world is against you, even though you pay taxes. “That apartight thing,” says Elsa. “A-p-p-a-r-t-e-i-d,” Granny spells. Elsa immediately Googles it on Granny’s phone. It takes her a few attempts—Granny’s always been a terrible speller. Meanwhile the policeman explains that they’ve decided to let them go, but Granny will be called in at a later date to explain the burglary and “other aggravations.” “What aggravations?” “Driving illegally, to begin with.” “What do you mean, illegally? That’s my car! I don’t need permission to drive my own car, do I?” “No,” replies the policeman patiently, “but you need a driver’s license.” Granny throws out her arms in exasperation. She’s just launched into another rant about this being a Big Brother society when Elsa whacks the phone sharply against the table. “It’s got NOTHING to do with that apartheid thing!!! You compared not being able to smoke with apartheid and it’s not the same thing at all. It’s not even CLOSE!” Granny waves her hand resignedly. “I meant it was . . . you know, more or less like that—” “It isn’t at all!” “It was a metaphor, for God’s sake—” “A bloody crap metaphor!” “How would you know?” “WIKIPEDIA!” Granny turns in defeat to the policeman. “Do your children carry on like this?” The policeman looks uncomfortable. “We . . . don’t let the children surf the Net unsupervised. . . .” Granny stretches out her arms towards Elsa, a gesture that seems to say “You see!” Elsa just shakes her head and crosses her arms very hard. “Granny, just say sorry for throwing turds at the police, and we can go home,” she snorts in the secret language, though still very expressly upset about that whole apartheid thing. “Sorry,” says Granny in the secret language. “To the police, not me, you muppet.” “There’ll be no apologizing to fascists here. I pay my taxes. And you’re the muppet.” Granny sulks. “Takes one to know one.” Then they both sit with their arms crossed, demonstratively looking away from each other, until Granny nods at the policeman and says in normal language: “Would you be kind enough to let my spoilt granddaughter know that if she takes this attitude she’s quite welcome to walk home?” “Tell her I’m going home with Mum and she’s the one who can walk!” Elsa replies at once. “Tell HER she can—” The policeman stands up without a word, walks out of the room and closes the door behind him, as if intending to go into another room and bury his head in a large, soft cushion and yell as loud as he can. “Now look what you did,” says Granny. “Look what YOU did!” Eventually a heavyset policewoman with piercing green eyes comes in instead. It doesn’t seem to be the first time she’s run into Granny, because she smiles in that tired way so typical of people who know Granny, and says: “You have to stop doing this, we also have real criminals to worry about.” Granny just mumbles, “Why don’t you stop, yourselves?” And then they’re allowed to go home. Standing on the pavement waiting for her mother, Elsa fingers the rip in her scarf. It goes right through the Gryffindor emblem. She tries as hard as she can not to cry, but doesn’t make much of a success of it. “Ah, come on, your mum can mend that,” says Granny, trying to be cheerful, giving her a little punch on the shoulder. Elsa looks up anxiously. “And, you know . . . we can tell your mum the scarf got torn when you were trying to stop me climbing the fence to get to the monkeys.” Elsa nods and runs her fingers over the scarf again. It didn’t get torn when Granny was climbing the fence. It got torn at school when three older girls who hate Elsa without Elsa really understanding why got hold of her outside the cafeteria and hit her and tore her scarf and threw it down the toilet. Their jeers are still echoing in Elsa’s head. Granny notices the look in her eyes and leans forward before whispering in their secret language: “One day we’ll take those losers at your school to Miamas and throw them to the lions!” Elsa dries her eyes with the back of her hand and smiles faintly. “I’m not stupid, Granny,” she whispers. “I know you did all that stuff tonight to make me forget about what happened at school.” Granny kicks at some gravel and clears her throat. “I didn’t want you to remember this day because of the scarf. So I thought instead you could remember it as the day your Granny broke into a zoo—” “And escaped from a hospital,” Elsa says with a grin. “And escaped from a hospital,” says Granny with a grin. “And threw turds at the police.” “Actually, it was soil! Or mainly soil, anyway.” “Changing memories is a good superpower, I suppose.” Granny shrugs. “If you can’t get rid of the bad, you have to top it up with more goody stuff.” “That’s not a word.” “I know.” “Thanks, Granny,” says Elsa and leans her head against her arm. And then Granny just nods and whispers: “We’re knights of the kingdom of Miamas, we have to do our duty.” Because all seven-year-olds deserve superheroes. And anyone who doesn’t agree needs their head examined.
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Most helpful customer reviews
90 of 93 people found the following review helpful. When fairy tales aren't just an allegory of life but are real life By TooManyHobbies This book was an interesting read with a lot of emotional scenes that tug at your heart strings. Elsa is a seven-year old that is mature beyond her years. Her wacky but devoted grandmother is Elsa's best and only friend. Granny (a former globe-trotting surgeon) fills the lonely girl's world with adventures and stories about the make believe Land-of-Almost-Awake. When Granny suddenly dies Elsa finds that her grandmother has left her a series of letters that must be delivered to the other tenants that live in the same apartment building as Elsa. As written, the letters are apologies from Granny, but they are really a way for Granny to build bonds of friendship between the lonely Elsa and the other tenants in the building. Through the letters Elsa also comes to realize that the make-believe characters in her grandmother’s stories are all based on real people and real events.Overall I found the book a thoroughly enjoyable read. It was both funny and heartbreaking at the same time. But while I loved the middle and the end of the book, I found the beginning a little muddled. In the beginning I found it hard to relate to the wacky almost senile character of Granny, and the convoluted stories about the Land-of-Almost-Awake were confusing and difficult to follow. (I actually found myself skimming the sections about Miamas and the Land-of-Almost-Awake.) But after Granny's death all those random pieces started to come together in a very structured way. (At this point I had to go back and re-read the parts I skimmed). In the end I found that all of Granny's madcap actions had a reason, and all her stories had a point.So a very enjoyable read, just pay attention to all those stories that Granny and Elsa tell in the beginning. They really are important.On a side note there is one thing that still confuses me about the book: What was the deal with the Leaseholds? Why would the conversion from flats to leasehold make some tenants a profit and force other tenants out of the building?
69 of 75 people found the following review helpful. Allegory Wrapped in Enigma By Rita Mayberry What a book! What a crazy, goofy, wonderful book this is! It is a little difficult to read, but, once you get the hang of it, the author has really captured how a scared and angry little girl named Elsa thinks and feels if a child that age had the insight and vocabulary to do so. Of course, Elsa is "different." She is brilliant in ways children seldom are, and she acts out in ways that are clearly understood by the adults in her world. This writer is brilliant in evoking an emotion in a person as the reader responds to the little girl's responses to situations and then figures out what is actually going on through his clever weaving of clues. Elsa's grandmother dies and charges Elsa with delivering a series of letters that explain things about Elsa's neighbors and about life itself through her apologies, and as Elsa begins to understand the world around her, so do you.That is because it is a book that draws you into the heart and soul of the characters, and leaves you scratching your head as to how you actually got there. I love this book, and really admire this writer's talent.I read a lot. Some books are a nice story, some a nice adventure, and some will change your life. And here is a spoiler alert: this is a book that will change your life. Fredrik Backman is brilliant, and he dares to change lives through his writing. He makes it okay to be different, by finding the "different" in us all.
34 of 36 people found the following review helpful. Great writing, incredible storytelling, wonderful plot By She Treads Softly My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry by Fredrik Backman is very highly recommended fairytale. I love this book! Great writing, incredible storytelling, wonderful plot... My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry has it all! Elsa is 7, almost 8, years old and bullied for being different. She loves her grandmother who is 77 and a little bit crazy. Elsa's grandmother is her best friend and her champion. Her grandmother tells her stories from the Land of Almost-Awake and the Kingdom of Miamas "where everybody is different and nobody needs to be normal." Elsa has memorized all the stories her grandmother told her."Granny isn’t particularly good at living in the real world. There are too many rules. She cheats when she plays Monopoly and drives Renault in the bus lane and steals those yellow carrier bags from IKEA and won’t stand behind the line when she’s at the conveyor belt at the airport. And when she goes to the bathroom she leaves the door open. But she does tell the very best fairy tales ever, and for that Elsa can forgive quite a few character defects."When her grandmother dies, she leaves behind a series of letters that Elsa must deliver to people, telling them that her grandmother is sorry. Elsa only has to deliver one letter at a time before the next letter is revealed. While Elsa delivers the letters she is also dealing with her grief and anger. Anger over, in part, her grandmother's death, her mother's busyness, her parents' divorce, her new half-sibling due to arrive soon. What Elsa learns through the letters and her journey to deliver them is that the fairy tales her grandmother told her are real. The magic, heroism, tragedy, and danger in the fairytales are present and reflected in the various people Elsa meets when delivering the letters.I simply loved this book and My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry will certainly be on the best books of the year list. For a story full of grief, it is also full of hope, forgiveness, and acceptance. You have to stick with the story until the fairytales Elsa's grandmother told her are shown to be connected to the real world and provide a poignant insight into the people surrounding Elsa.Disclosure: My Kindle edition was courtesy of Atria Book for review purposes.
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My Grandmother Asked Me To Tell You Shes Sorry (Thorndike Press Large Print Core Series), by Fredrik Backman
