A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman

That “grumpy old sod” on the cover is a Man Called Ove. He’s mourning the death of his wife, hates all his neighbors (especially those who don’t drive Saabs), and is constantly bemoaning the state of contemporary society. Ove tries killing himself when fate repeatedly intervenes -- especially in the form of a young multiracial family across the street. The plot is repetitive and lurches for a good half of the book, and the characters are somewhat one-dimensional. Yet this book reminds me of the new hit song, "Happy." It’s cloying, it’s syrupy but one can’t help enjoying the ride anyway.