Portland, Maine gave Elizabeth Strout her material and she has been mining it, gently and relentlessly, ever since. Born there in 1956, she published a first novel, Amy and Isabelle, at forty-two after years of rejection, and the invented town of Shirley Falls has recurred through her work like a returning weather system.
Olive Kitteridge won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 2009 and gave American literature one of its great difficult women, prickly, tactless and impossible to dismiss. The Lucy Barton novels that followed, beginning with My Name Is Lucy Barton, do something rarer still: they let characters wander between books, so a passing figure in one becomes the centre of the next.
Her sentences are plain to the point of transparency. What she does with them is anything but. Nobody currently writing is better on the things a family decides, silently and permanently, never to mention.