This has been my year for Fredrik Backman. I read his My Grandmother Told Me to Tell You She's Sorry after picking it up because of the title. It had charming moments, enough so that early into my reading, I immediately put A Man Called Ove on reserve at the library. Grandmother was interesting, but Ove claimed my heart. This book falls somewhere between the two. It seems that Britt-Marie might be the same Britt-Marie that appears in Grandmother, except in this book, the reader's sympathy is with her instead of the reader's wrath.
A lovely treatment of the peculiarities of peculiar people and how friendships, communities, and families of sorts are forged between the irascible and obstinate (not to mention the OCD, and even rats. And soccer. Lots about soccer.
Also, this book has one of the loveliest dedications I can remember-- but that may be because I'm a mother who believes in filling the hearts, minds, and bellies of those I love.