07/09/2026
You can tell I really rated this holiday read by the way I placed it lovingly against my sister-in-law's conservatory cushions and angled it to show it in the very best light.
As per a previous post, one thing that happens when you have a gammy foot is that splendid people gift you splendid books. It's almost Pavlovian and a behaviour we should all be encouraging.
It doesn't even have to be for a bad foot. Could be a wrist, a sprain, a particularly debilitating mouth ulcer - there's no need to be overly prescriptive, because:
a) books can be medicine, can't they, of the very best kind, and
b) we see ourselves reflected in the characters, highlighting our shared humanity even when we feel isolated and alone in our orthopaedic boot.
And b) is really where The Things We Never Say comes into its own. It's a masterclass in writing internal dialogue, allowing us to peer into the inner workings of the characters and how it's often at odds with what they do or say.
I'm a big John Updike fan who was cracking at creating these sorts of inner worlds, and The Things We Never Say immediately reminded me of him. I wasn't surprised to learn subsequently that Strout herself is an Updike cheerleader too, and this clearly influences her writing here, particularly as her main character is male, like Updike's Rabbit.
Elegant, bittersweet, touching and recognisable, this story of a high-school history teacher steering his late middle-age through the choppy waters of unresolved trauma, betrayal, rising political upheaval and an uncertain future for him, his family and his students is, well.
I think this might be my favourite fiction book for a very long while.
