Sloane is a librarian in her late twenties, idly drifting into a contented if wholly nondescript and unsatisfying life. One of the few things she genuinely looks forward to are visits by an old crank, Arthur, a verbose curmudgeon whose erudite insults and cantankerous attitude frighten most of the library staff. Sloane gives back as good as she gets, and the sparring brings a little excitement into her day: he’s also one of the few people who genuinely says what’s on his mind, and as someone who lives within a shell of politeness, surrounded by people who are similarly polite and artificial, it’s a breath of fresh air, however artic. Then, Arthur begins failing to show up, and a concerned Sloane investigates. She will find him bedridden and attended to by nurses, having endured a recent fall, and invite herself further into his life. Despite his protests, the old man not only tolerates but enjoys her company, and around these two will grow a little collection of drifting souls who bond over their arguments with books and searches for something else in their lives — including Arthur’s estranged grandson, his neighbor who is struggling with her own daughter, and one of Sloane’s coworkers.  The result is an utterly sweet story of friendships blooming, lives changed, and love manifesting itself beyond romance.

I instantly love curmudgeons, the more cantankerous the better: I want to be one when I grow up, and am constantly practicing my harrumphing and scowling at everything from cellphones to what passes for slang among the Z-types. Naturally, then, I took to Arthur and Sloane’s curious friendship from the start, and it only got better once Arthur’s curious neighbor entered the picture. Each of the book club’s members are struggling with different life issues: Mateo, for instance, is stuck living in the shadow of his mother; Arthur’s neighbor has a daughter who regards her contemptuously and is planning on moving across the country with her father; and of course Sloane is trying to ignore the fact that as comfortable as her life could be with her fiance, it would also be empty. She is drawn to Arthur for the same reason that some people find clay inexplicably tasty: he provides something she is missing. His shocking perspective, wakes her up to her own life,  dispelling the cozy cloud of empty comfort that had steadily grown around her. Each of the characters plays a part in the growth of the other. What I liked most about the book, beyond its crank and the people who turned his home into a book club, was how Gilbert explores different aspects of love beyond romance and eros: indeed, all the different aspects of love that the Greeks had words for (agape, eros, storge, filia, and even xenia) are present here as Gilbert explores bonds of all kinds, and even mocks the way romance is overemphasized — through Arthur, of course. This is especially interesting and amusing given that Gilmore appears to be an author of ‘contemporary romance’.

I wasn’t looking for a “Valentine’s Day” book, but this one found me and I loved it. I must say, nonfiction is going to have to get its pants on and get moving this year if it wants to maintain its usual dominance..