I've been aware of Kent Haruf for a while now, but never read him until now. Sadly, he died last year, before this book was published.
What a lovely book! It's very slight - only 180 pages - but there is more in it than in many a longer novel. The prose is so pared back there are almost no adjectives, but through describing the actions of the characters Haruf can say a lot - it's a similar style to Ian McEwan, or Hemingway, where the power comes from an accumulated series of actions, rather than internal voices or emotion. The dialogue is similarly sparse, but utterly convincing.
The novel tells of two elderly people in a small town in America, one has lost her husband, the other his wife. They start spending their lonely nights together, for company and conversation. The story is about the reaction from neighbours and family, and their difficulties and pleasures, it's about growing old with grace. It's unusual to find a book like this written by a man, it's unusual to find a book this good. I already have a copy of his earlier Plainsong. He only wrote six novels in his lifetime.