The Things We Never Say

‘Set in the contemporary United States, Strout’s novel focuses on Artie Dam, a 50-something high-school history teacher in a small coastal town with decent friends and wholesome hobbies. The Things We Never Say quietly unpicks all that, to show that the ordinary is not quite as ordinary as it might seem. Strout’s prose is about as far from a rant as you could imagine, brilliantly understated and all the more powerful for that. It’s a devastating look at the dangerous cracks in family life and in the contemporary world at large.’ 

Elizabeth Lowry, The Telegraph

‘The real moral engine of the novel lies in its reckoning with the characters’ pervasive sense of shame. Artie’s shoplifting is a form of shame; the deceptions practised by almost everyone in the book stem from shame. Strout’s tenderness towards human frailty is immense. Artie concludes that “to say anything real was to say things that nobody wanted to know”. Once he learns what Evie has withheld, he realises not only that he does not know his wife, but that he “had somehow missed this fact about every single person: that they held within themselves a vast, unknowable universe”. Our irreducible loneliness is summed up near the end of this lucidly bleak novel in a single sentence: “It was a private thing, to be alive.” Private and, ultimately, unsayable.’ 

Claire Adam, the Guardian

‘Readers will delight in the discovery of this new fictional world around Artie Dam, and the possibilities that lie ahead. What of Evie, and the “deep and sudden pockets of grief” she has felt since Rob’s accident? What of Rob himself, and the “unbearable shame” he lives with? What of the English teacher, Anne Merrill, who is “a little bit in love” with Artie? There is so much here to explore, so many endless human mysteries. Let’s hope that this fine author continues steadily along her path, delivering unto her loyal readers story upon story, gift upon gift.’ 

Adam Begley, The Atlantic

‘How does she do it? Not just the neat trick of beguiling highbrow critics while at the same time pleasing millions of readers who don’t care about literary bona fides. The real feat is harpooning the reader artlessly (or so it seems), with language as plain as a Congregational church, a paucity of dramatic incident, and a cast of characters no more exotic than your neighbors. They aren’t exotic, her characters, but they’re quirky—some cantankerous, some bafflingly passive, all convincingly real. Thinking about them, I keep coming back to the bedrock of her work, what she has called “the singularity and mystery of each person.” She shows us how strange we are, and how similar (an insight verging on homily but thankfully sugar-free). She’s not a minimalist, but Elizabeth Strout does more with less than any writer I can think of.’

Diane Evans, Financial Times

‘This is a profound, resplendent novel that stares our present moment in the face while throwing a lifeboat to cling to in the storm. And Artie Dam is someone you may never be able to forget, not least for his white socks and how they irritate his wife — these are the things we remember, which Strout, a titan of the most intricate storytelling, understands well.’