Olive Butler is the worn heart of the Butler household — a dowdy, weary woman whose life has been steeped in the dull browns and beiges of postwar domesticity. Short and slightly overweight from a diet of boiled vegetables, biscuits, and tea, she carries herself with the tired patience of someone who keeps a home running without thanks. Her face, plain and careworn, with yellowed teeth and perpetually anxious eyes behind thick glasses, is not conventionally attractive, yet deeply human.