Elizabeth Strout has spent most of her career working the same geographical and emotional territory — the coast of Maine, the quiet devastations of marriage and childhood, the specific heaviness of the things people do not say. Olive Kitteridge, My Name Is Lucy Barton, Oh William — each book deepened and extended an artistic project that has become one of the most sustained and coherent in contemporary American fiction. The Things We Never Say, publishing May 5, departs from the Maineverse she has inhabited for decades.