A Deep Dive into "Here Lies Olive" by Kate Anderson: A Love Letter to My Disappointment
There’s something undeniably compelling about the intertwining of life, death, and everything in-between, especially within the young adult genre. When I stumbled upon Here Lies Olive by Kate Anderson, it promised a blend of gripping themes—a near-death experience, a ghost to summon, and a journey into the unknown. I thought, “What a fascinating premise!” Unfortunately, this book turned out to be less of a haunting exploration and more of a frustrating ordeal.
Olive’s story centers around a 16-year-old girl navigating the aftermath of a near-death experience that sparks her obsession with understanding the afterlife. At first glance, this concept holds so much potential. However, Anderson’s execution left me wanting—a floundering plot that dragged on and a protagonist who slashed through the lines of youthful naivety and unnecessary maturity, making her feel entirely one-dimensional. I should have heeded the signs and stopped at around 30%, but the wild descent into a cringe-filled hate-read was one I somehow felt compelled to finish.
The narrative was riddled with over-explanation. Olive seemed to relive her angst in a prolonged monologue that lacked the emotional depth it aimed to convey. Each emotional moment was less impactful than the last, leading to a repetitive cycle of angst that was exhausting rather than engaging. Imagery that should evoke emotions mostly led to head-scratching moments—like, “What does that even mean?” I found myself not only cringing but angrily questioning the time I invested in this book. How could someone with a near-death experience be so profoundly dull in their self-awareness?
One glimmer in this murky sea of confusion was the representation. The book features sapphic relationships, which is always refreshing, but the broader treatment of mental health felt shockingly negligent. Olive’s struggle with PTSD after her traumatic experience was swept under the rug with no constructive resolution. Rather than showcasing real growth, we watched her play out juvenile drama that could have easily fit into a middle-grade narrative. It seemed the author wanted to deliver important messages about mental health but stumbled on the execution, never making it from intention to impact.
While some parts of her story seemed aimed at revealing the nuances of trauma, the interactions with her family—especially her perpetually oblivious parents—were infuriating. There was a dissonance between the gravity of Olive’s experiences and the nonchalant response from those around her, including a complete dismissal of her need for therapy. If seasoned readers can spot this glaring flaw, what do younger audiences walk away with? A story that perpetuates the idea that love alone is enough to conquer deep-seated trauma?
The climax built on tired clichés: love conquers all in the most predictable, eye-roll-inducing way. The plot twists were as transparent as olive oil, and the ghostly elements were lackluster at best. A villain who delivers a cliché monologue felt more like a clumsy nod to traditional tropes than organic storytelling.
In summary, while Here Lies Olive had the potential for a beautifully woven narrative exploring grief, death, and self-acceptance, Anderson fell short with shallow characterizations and a plot that limped along. This might find some appeal among readers looking for easy reads or fans of the sapphic relationship central to the story, but I’m not convinced it serves the deeper needs of its intended audience. As for me, this experience was a reminder that not all journeys lead where we hope, sometimes they just lead to a good existential crisis.
If you’re someone who enjoys YA tales and doesn’t mind a bit of melodrama without depth, maybe give it a shot—otherwise, perhaps searching for that elusive afterlife would be a more fruitful use of your time.