“Who—who who who in this whole entire world—does not want to be heard?”

In her introspective new novel “Tell Me Everything,” Elizabeth Strout answers this question.

Set in Crosby, Maine after the COVID pandemic, “Tell Me Everything” is split into four books, following the lives of various aging, empty-nester neighbors as they contend with growing loneliness and shifting relationships. Strout’s writing perches at the nexus of Donna VanLiere’s multi-perspective approach to story-telling and Diana Gabaldon’s stream-of-consciousness writing style. Strout’s raw tone whispers quotes of wisdom in eloquent pondering that might plague any overthinker’s mind.

Nearly-retired defense attorney Robert “Bob” Burgess lives with his wife Margaret, a minister in the town. Bob’s best friend and fiction writer Lucy Barton lives with her ex-husband William. Widowed Olive Kitteridge occasionally visits her best friend Isabelle Goodrow in the nearby retirement community. Although the neighbors are in similar stages of life, the otherwise disjointed cast of characters are connected by the unsolved murder of Gloria Beach, the retired school lunch lady who used to berate students. Many questions surround her death, including why — after all these years — was she killed now?

Readers meet each character through snippets of history and peeks into present-day lives. We connect with the characters through discussions of complex worries that might cross anyone’s mind. These musings are introduced when Olive spontaneously calls Lucy and shares a personal story of her mother’s lost love. The two women eventually meet regularly to discuss tales of eachother’s “unrecorded lives” through the lenses of love, “knowing thyself” and human connection.

Love

“The heart wants what the heart wants….But there is another thing to consider, which is that the heart is only one part of an organism, and the organism’s job is to survive.”

Following one’s heart sounds blissful. But given the various slaps of reality that Strout’s characters have faced, they are too familiar with the fact that, sometimes, the heart’s desires aren’t fulfilled. Olive’s mother Sara fell in love with Stephen Turner when she worked at a resort. Stephen’s mother ultimately broke the couple up, but Sara and Stephen’s hearts remained connected. When they each met their future spouses, Sara and Stephen gave their daughters the names they planned during their relationship.  

Through this minute detail, Strout’s ability to wield the blade of “show don’t tell” sliced across the page and blew my mind. How better to convey the depth of Sara and Stephen’s relationship than to reveal how much they thought about their future together — even naming their hypothetical daughters? How better to illustrate the eternality of their bond than to have them actually name their daughters as they initially planned together? 

Sara and Stephen spend their lives with their partners by law, but also with each other’s ghosts. It seems torturous to live with love for someone you can’t actually be with. Yet, Strout’s resilient characters gracefully navigate these conflicting feelings by finding comfort with the relationships they do have. 

“Knowing thyself”

“Like many of us, he does not know himself as well as he assumes to.”

Rarely seen beyond the pages of “Tell Me Everything,” the notion of “sin-eating” arises during one of Lucy’s many walks with Bob by the river. Being a “sin-eater” means Bob exudes a comforting presence such that others instinctively share their burdens without Bob realizing why. Strout thus explores the idea of “knowing thyself” through Bob: he doesn’t know himself as well as he thinks, demonstrated by him not realizing his sin-eating behavior.

Lucy claims Bob is a “sin-eater,” coming from a position of credibility as his best friend. However, she also elicits skepticism toward her own claim by stating “people just live their lives with no real knowledge of anybody.” She muses that everyone is complicated and may “match up for a moment or a lifetime” after a connection. But ultimately, people are not truly connected, “because nobody can go into the crevices of another’s mind, even the person can’t go into the crevices of their own mind, and we live — all of us — as though we can.”

The feeling of comfort that washed over me was indescribable when I read these thoughts that came from a source that wasn’t my own mind. Once again, Strout isn’t afraid to convey contradictory yet relatable ideas through her characters’ thoughts.   

Human connection

“How often has that happened to you? That you sit by a stranger—without even really talking—for a few hours, and you realize that you love him?”

Each of the book’s characters establish connections that strike each person to his or her core. The novel speculates how significantly one is impacted by the presence — and absence — of another individual. As Lucy and Olive continue their spontaneous story-sharing meet-ups, they consider what causes people to drastically change after losing someone.

The duo concludes that holding such a valuable position in someone else’s life is so honorable, yet so terrifying. This duality is perfectly illustrated by the emotionally-stirring and frustrating stories of Muddy, Olive’s former coworker, and his inconsistent relationships after losing his first wife Sally, whom he called his “linchpin.” Lucy and Olive explain the impact of this loss with the frustrating concept of “running out of reserves:” “Most of us have a few more reserves, though in truth probably not that many, but enough to get us through things. But Muddy … just didn’t.” 

The duo’s consideration of “reserves” annoyed me as much as the thought that different experiences influence resilience. It felt unfair that people like Muddy were thrown into situations that reduced their “reserves” to soldier through hardships. Strout forced me to confront this harsh reality even while transported to a fictional world, commanding my respect in her ability to do so.

In her exploration of love, “knowing thyself” and human connection, Strout delivers an introspective and relatable novel-reading experience. The triumphs and tribulations of the characters easily resonate with both the over- and under-thinkers. However, the prevalence of mentally unstable characters feels excessive. It seemed like every tragic story originated from psychological conditions or trauma — a feature that felt farther removed from reality than other details in the novel. 

The stories are scattered. The scenes are fleeting. The lives are “unrecorded.”

But they strike deep, and that makes them stick. Bob “would never believe he had anything worthy in his life to document. But he does; we all do.” We just need someone to offer a listening ear and say, “Tell Me Everything.”

Editor’s Note: This article is a review and includes subjective thoughts, opinions and critiques.