If A Little Life and Bridget Jones’ Diary had a lovechild, with Bridget having the dominant genes, Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine would be that child. Eleanor is a warm character, whose tragic past can’t help but illicit sympathy. The book is a Richard Curtis film-in-waiting. And like a Richard Curtis film, the book will most appeal to the easiest pleased. It has a bit of struggle, a nice ending, some idiosyncratic Britishness but bears no scrutiny. Eleanor’s a good character, but she’s doesn’t exist outside page being read. One minute she has mental illness, then it’s PTSD, the next she’s just kooky, then risky bonkers. One minute she’s never been inside a shop or had a friend, the next she’s loved by all who meet her. It makes no sense; as a reader you just have to park your intelligence and be willing to accept it (I was reminded more than once of the notecard-at-the-door scene in Love Actually).