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When Ellinor addresses her best friend Anna, she does not expect a reply. Anna has been dead for forty years, killed in the same skiing accident that claimed Henning: Ellinor’s first husband and Anna’s lover.
Ellinor instead tells her that Georg has died – Georg who was once Anna’s, but whom Ellinor came to love in her place, and whom she came to care for, along with Anna’s two infant sons. Yet with Georg’s death Ellinor finds herself able to cut the ties of her assumed life with surprising ease.
Returning to the area of Copenhagen where she grew up, away from the adopted comfort of the home she shared with Georg, Ellinor finds herself addressing her own history: her marriage to Henning, their seemingly charmed friendship with the newly-wed Anna and Georg, right back to her own mother's story – a story of heartbreaking pride.
Because there are some secrets – both our own and of others – that we can only share with the dead. Secrets that nonetheless shape who we are and who we love.
176 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 20, 2016

Apparently nothing is more purifying for people’s self-esteem than to place themselves at the very edge of someone else’s grief and show that they are not at all dizzy. Nobody tells me that life must go on. There is room for wailing, all I have to do is let go. I felt it at the funeral, the too-long-and-significant looks or, to the contrary, a feigned normalcy as if to show me they know very well that no words are adequate anyway. I’m not being fair of course, what are people supposed to do with a bereaved person? They do their best but the trouble is that when it comes to professions of empathy, I’d rather not, whereas I can be sure to be all by myself in the dead of the night, whenever I could use a hug.
I thought about our bed at home, how unaccustomed I still was, at night, to the undivided stillness. The linen, the pillowcases, the finely woven cotton. It was time to change. For a few endless, lonely seconds it felt again as if I were swelling inside, to the point of bursting, compact and breathless, and I had to clutch the armrest. It comes when I least expect it. It would be glossing over to say that I am mourning when it is mourning that fills me up, that shapeless lump, growing unrestrainedly. It drives me out of myself, making me gasp, and nobody will ever understand before they themselves lose someone dear to them and feel the pressure. The shapeless, rising mass of grief. No, it is true that one is no longer oneself.

Often I am happy and yet I want to cry
For no heart fully shares my joy.
Often I am sorrowful yet have to laugh
That no one shall my fearful tear behold.




Who is this author Jens Christian Grondahl? I like him....I like his writing and I like Ellinor!
70 years young, Ellinor is a good person, an extremely forgiving and tough soul who lets loose of all her secrets writing to her exceptionally beautiful, but long-dead friend Anna....who just happens to be the first wife of her beloved and recently departed Georg.
In OFTEN I AM HAPPY, memories of a disastrous ski trip....with her first husband Henning, Anna and Georg draw the reader in coveting those details of what really happened that awful day, but it's the big secret Ellinor has long kept hidden inside that (for me) was the heart of the story showing the source of her pride and strength.
Less than 200 pages, but engrossing and heartfelt giving the reader a lot of bang for the buck!
Many thanks to NetGalley and Twelve Books for the ARC in exchange for an honest review!