Well, what can you say about this novella of our latest Nobel Prize Winner? A short read that is both very strange and extremely hilarious. There is hWell, what can you say about this novella of our latest Nobel Prize Winner? A short read that is both very strange and extremely hilarious. There is hardly a story: an old man gets bored, drives around in his car, gets stuck, walks in a forest and then starts to see all kinds of apparitions, such as a brilliant white figure, and to hear voices. All the while he is thinking about what to do and what those strange appearances are. He conducts a dialogue with himself, in fits and starts, both amusing and pathetic. “What is real?”, he eventually asks himself, arriving at an epiphany: “yes, it is as if everything is without meaning, and meaning, yes, the meaning no longer seems to exist, because everything is, as it were, just there, everything is meaning.” It are clichés when it comes to Fosse, I know, but Beckett and Eckhart (and a bit of Dante) are clearly present again in this little novella. I previously ventured into the first books of Fosse's Septology cycle, and initially this novella certainly differs stylistically due to the very short sentences. But that continuous, hesitant introspection of the narrator, the mystical keynote, and especially that final message about the wonder of being, were absolutely recognizable. So, after all, vintage Fosse, then?...more
The strength of this novel lies in its composition: Schulman has cleverly cut up his storyline in such a way that the build-up of suspense really workThe strength of this novel lies in its composition: Schulman has cleverly cut up his storyline in such a way that the build-up of suspense really works. It alternates between scenes during the childhood of 3 brothers, who spend their summer holidays with their parents in a remote cottage on a lake in Sweden, and on the other side scenes from some 15-20 years later, when they come to scatter the ashes of their recently deceased mother in that lake. What is special is that the second series of scenes are told more or less in reverse order, a very unusual procedure, but which – as mentioned – does work.
It is clear from the start that there has been a dramatic incident during that summer holiday, and that this still traumatizes the brothers so many years after. To the reader that doesn't come as a surprise; after all, a title like 'The survivors' already was an indication of drama-to-come. With great skill Schulman haphazardly gives away information about what might have happened back then. I also think it's clever that he adopts the perspective of the middle brother, Benjamin, who apparently has an extra sense for things that are behind visible reality. Through him we gradually get a picture of the love-hate relationship between the brothers, of the accumulation of frustrations and lack of attention they (don't) get, and of the dysfunctional behavior of the parents.
So far only praise. But unfortunately, Schulman doesn't round off his great performance very well. The twist at the end of the story is so surprising that everything that precedes it suddenly becomes almost unbelievable. And the corny farewell letter from the mother, at the very end, was rather over the top to me. Schulman certainly succeeded in making a personal drama tangible, but as far as I'm concerned, he messed it up in the denouement. So rather mixed feelings on this one. (2.5 stars)...more
Beckett meets Knausgard, meets Master Eckhart As you can notice, this literally was a mixed bag for me. Disorientation is the first impression you get Beckett meets Knausgard, meets Master Eckhart As you can notice, this literally was a mixed bag for me. Disorientation is the first impression you get when you start this book, especially if you have not read any other work by the Norwegian writer Fosse before. The author offers an elongated stream of consciousness, with many repetitive elements and sentences without a period, 350 pages long. It is not clear who is speaking: the artist Asle or his friend/neighbor Asleik? Or are they one and the same person, or are there other characters with - coincidentally - the same name? I am by no means the first to suggest that Fosse seems very strongly inspired by Samuel Beckett, his influence is quite obvious.
What we can more or less distinguish is that the narrator drives a few times up and down between his house and the city, helps a friend with a serious alcohol problem (or maybe rather a depression?) and constantly muses about his last work of art, a painting with a horizontal and a vertical stripe, which he associates with intense religious experiences. The story is interrupted by long, banal conversations and trivial acts, and the description of a few touching scenes between a boy and girl, which may just be a flashback of the narrator to his first acquaintance with his recently deceased wife.
Fosse deliberately leaves a lot unclear, but the recurring musings of the main character about his paintings, stressing the light in dark scenes, to me seemed very reminiscent of Karl Ove Knausgard: they share the same obsession with the banal and the sublime in reality, with the light and dark in life. Perhaps this is something typical Scandinavian? ( in the meantime my Goodreads friend Katia kindly informed me Knausgard was - literally - a pupil of Fosse) ). At least with Fosse, there's also a very clear connection with religion: at times the musings of the protagonist in this novel had a clear aesthetic-mystical slant, hence my reference to Master Eckhart. This makes for an enticing read, and at times even resulting in great scenes, but on whole also rather opaque and thus frustrating.
I can understand that some people are absolutely crazy about this, but for me this was just a bit too cerebral, just a bit too much of a jumble of words leading nowhere, to really appeal. I'm not sure at this point whether I'll venture into the next installments of this trilogy. But I’m open to comments to make me change my mind!...more
To me Karl-Ove Knausgard's greatness lies in his masterful introspection into the everyday, in his perception of the miracle breaking out of the ordinTo me Karl-Ove Knausgard's greatness lies in his masterful introspection into the everyday, in his perception of the miracle breaking out of the ordinary. This was perfectly reflected in his extensive My Struggle and in the short vignettes of his seasonal cycle, both in the autobiographical genre. But with this book, Knausgard ventures into something completely different. This is a dystopian tale that spirals further and further into haunting magical realism and ends in a philosophical essay on the meaning of death. And also new for him: he follows a dozen of characters in and around Bergen, Norway, in episodes that each end on a cliffhanger, giving the novel a thriller-like character.
The build-up is quite slow, but gradually the strange occurrences that the characters experience pile up, the most striking being the unusually bright star in the sky at night and gradually also during the day, the extreme heat wave and the strange behavior of animals and humans. The curious thing is that Knausgard presents slightly twisted, even unsympathetic characters as protagonists, and leaves certain storylines to a dead end halfway through, as if it doesn't matter what exactly happens. Does he want us to consciously participate in the dark aspects of everyday reality? The words demons and devils are regularly mentioned, and the fallen angel Lucifer also passes by, in what is clearly an attempt to highlight the disruptive nature of our times. "“As the road swung north , the star was above us in the sky . It was beautiful . As beautiful as death was beautiful."
Intriguing matter, indeed, but I especially missed the contemplative and introspective that was so present in My Struggle and the Seasonal Cycle. Only with the character Egil Stray there’s something of the old Knausgard popping up again, he’s the presumed author of the concluding essay on the sense and nonsense of death and life. It suggests we have an obstinate inclination to give remarkable and really unruly phenomena (like the Morning Star and ultimately also evil and death) a place into ordinary life.
With all that, I must concede this book left me with a rather unsatisfactory feeling, as if it was unfinished, but I think that was on purpose (in the meanwhile my GR-friend Chris pointed me to the fact that this is only the first installment of a series). It comes near to books like those of Stephen King, but deviates from them in a very poignant and gloomy way. That enigmatic character has its charm, but in the end I found this novel much less captivating than Knausgard's other books. (2.5 stars)...more
Tomas Tranströmer (1931-2015) is considered one of the best poets of the late 20th century, officially confirmed by his Nobel Prize in 2011. Reading tTomas Tranströmer (1931-2015) is considered one of the best poets of the late 20th century, officially confirmed by his Nobel Prize in 2011. Reading this collected work immediately reveals his technical mastery. Sometimes Tranströmer is wrongly ranked among the surrealists. But that's only because his technique consists in associating the most improbable images with each other, which sometimes comes across as slightly surreal. But it is precisely this association that creates a field of tension and thus opens up unsuspected perspectives. Take this sober Postludium:
I drag like a grapnel over the world's floor— everything catches that I don't need. Tired indignation. Glowing Resignation. The executioners fetch stone. God writes in the sand.
Silent rooms. The furniture stands in the moonlight, ready to fly. I walk slowly into myself through a forest of empty suits of armor.
Yet I have to say that I am not completely captivated by his poetry. It strikes me that Tranströmer mainly focuses on the external world, especially nature, and completely ignores both the inner-personal and the relating to other people. You will hardly find a reference to these existential aspects - and of 'emotions' in general - in his poems. And that gives his poetry something distant and aloof, which is reinforced by precisely that connection of separate, external things. That makes Tranströmer a little less appealing to me. But as mentioned, his technical superiority, which is expressed, for example, in deceptively simple verses (as in his haiku), cannot be doubted....more
“Could it be that nature doesn’t care whether we live or die?” This book offers classic sailor stories, adding a slightly moralistic and naturalistic t“Could it be that nature doesn’t care whether we live or die?” This book offers classic sailor stories, adding a slightly moralistic and naturalistic touch. Jensen follows various characters from the Danish village of Marstal through the 19th and 20th centuries, each from a different narrative perspective. The sea is what binds the characters, and Jensen uses all the literary genres associated with it, starting with a slightly hilarious description of a naval battle. Personally, I found Albert Madsen's search for his eccentric father the most compelling. You will also notice that Jensen is a bit showy with references to classic 19th and 20th century writers like Stevenson and Conrad. And that more weighty themes are regularly touched upon, such as what is the meaning of life, whether good and evil really exist, what exactly man is, and so on, without this being really explored. This book has more to offer than ordinary holiday reading, but not so much more than that....more
"Furthermore, my childhood is nothing more than a defect and an obstacle that I want to get rid of as soon as possible" Second part of Ditlevsen's "Furthermore, my childhood is nothing more than a defect and an obstacle that I want to get rid of as soon as possible" Second part of Ditlevsen's autobiographical Copenhagen trilogy, a chronicle that spans the period from her 14th birthday, when she was forced to go to work, to the age of 18, when she left home and experienced her first literary successes. Again - how could it be otherwise - 'coming-of-age' is central: she gazes into the big world with the same open-mindedness and curiosity, the desire to be recognized and to receive attention, as in her childhood. This part focuses on the emancipation from her proletarian roots and her introduction into the "beau monde" of Danish literature. Very recognizable (perhaps deliberately) is the Woolfian reference: “I would love to have a place where I can practice writing real poems. I would love a room with four walls and a closed door”. And in that, she more or less succeeds. Even more than Childhood, this book is a chronicle, in which Ditlevsen records what happens to her, in the same undercooled style. For me it had a little less appeal than the first book because it's more of a chronicle, with less musings on herself and the world. It also gradually is becoming clear that this is a constructed story, an attempt by Ditlevsen at a much older age (she wrote this when she was almost 50) to map and re-interpret her own life path. (rating 2.5 stars)...more
The Danish writer Tove Ditlevsen (1917-1976) started her autobiographical ‘Copenhague trilogy’ in the mid-1960s. She was almost 50 at the time, for maThe Danish writer Tove Ditlevsen (1917-1976) started her autobiographical ‘Copenhague trilogy’ in the mid-1960s. She was almost 50 at the time, for many people an age to take stock of their lives. In most cases, childhood is presented as the happiest period, a time of security and innocence. Not so with Ditlevsen. This short book is full of very bitter characterizations of her childhood, such as, “Whichever way you turn, you bump into your childhood because it is angular and hard, and it doesn't stop until it completely has torn you.”. Ditlevsen grew up in a proletarian environment and if we are to believe these memoirs, it is the lack of attention and tenderness from her choleric mother that has marked her for life. In general this coming-of-age story has all the typical characteristics: the struggle with the secrets of the adult world, the urge to be 'normal' or to be recognized as such, the discovery of her own individuality (she started writing poems early on), and the struggle with the social convention that girls and women must 'conform'. This is a very conventionally structured and therefore easy to read book; it simply follows the chronology of childhood over twenty episodes. The sharp observations and the slightly naturalistic touch give it its own oppressive undertone. Especially the 6th chapter, with a general and very negative characterization of childhood, leaves an depressing mark. I look forward to reading the next parts....more
“Dependency”, the title of this third part of Ditlevsen's autobiographical Copenhagen trilogy, already sounds ominous, and the book surely delivers th“Dependency”, the title of this third part of Ditlevsen's autobiographical Copenhagen trilogy, already sounds ominous, and the book surely delivers that gloomy prospect. The writer chronicles her young adult life, fluttering from one relationship to another, almost always with bad guys, regularly pregnant, resulting in 2 abortions and 2 births, and last but not least, heavily addicted to drugs and painkillers. The picture that Ditlevsen paints of herself is not very flattering: a woman with a strong egocentric disposition, often manic-depressive behavior, unable to resist temptations, and only happy when she can write. Especially in the latter you notice that this autobiography is a very constructed story, because it is a typically romantic element: the artist that cannot settle in real life. Of course, every autobiography is a construct to some degree, but here the clues are quite striking, and - in my view - usually rather incredible. Ditlevsen certainly does not avoid her own responsibility, but she also stresses the shortcomings of her successive men.
I can see that I am in the minority here, but I was actually very disappointed with this third part. Not so much because of the content, because that is quite intense, but mainly because of the form. Ditlevsen limits herself to a chronicle, a rather dry description of successive events. That means that there are almost no literary frills in this part, especially compared to Childhood. There are also striking inaccuracies, such as the sudden remark that her second husband has died, while he reappears later in the story; and there is a constant change of present and past tense, which is very disturbing and perhaps reflects the unstable state in which Ditlevsen wrote this. Of course, you can only show respect for what this woman has been through, and how she tried to give it a place. But I'm afraid that after the promising first part, this trilogy has not lived up to my expectations....more
"That is one of the tasks of literature, to remind us of our insignificance and make us understand that our own way of producing meaning is merely one"That is one of the tasks of literature, to remind us of our insignificance and make us understand that our own way of producing meaning is merely one of the many possible in the world, along with that of the forest, the plains, the mountains, the sky. The world is untranslatable, but not incomprehensible, as long as you know the simple rule that none of what it expresses is followed by question marks, but, through its myriads of life and creatures, only by exclamation marks.”
In 'Summer', Knausgard falls back on the earlier format in his seasonal series: pieces of reflections on both banal and more profound themes, observations and musings. But once in a while he deviates from that path: the book contains a small story cycle about a Norwegian woman who abandons her husband and children during the war to elope with a German soldier, and it also contains diary entries from Knausgard himself who, in terms of ruthless introspection again is reminiscent of his My Struggle cycle. I think that this formal variation is not entirely successful.
There is another striking difference, certainly in comparison with the previous Spring, and that is that his wife Linda almost completely disappears in the story, she is hardly mentioned and even then only as "mother". Perhaps it is the reflection of the separation between Knausgard and his wife who, at the time of writing this part, may already have been a fact, or was on the way. This enormous turn in the life of Knausgard may also be reflected in the themes he addresses in this Summer-part, which constantly zoom in on repetition, habituation and stagnation in contrast to freedom and unboundness. It may be speculative, but it would certainly be vintage Knausgard.
Anyway, once again it is a joy to read those very sensitive, in-depth observations with which Knausgard digs back into his own, very fragile soul and that of the world. I know he is as much loathed as he is loved for this approach, but he certainly doesn't leave you indifferent....more
This is a little gem that, apparently, is not widely read yet. Danish author Ida Jessen (°1964) has only written a limited oeuvre, but judging by thisThis is a little gem that, apparently, is not widely read yet. Danish author Ida Jessen (°1964) has only written a limited oeuvre, but judging by this book, she is certainly worth keeping an eye on. In itself, this are no more than diary entries by Fru Bagge, Mrs Bagge, maiden name Lilly, from approximately 1927 to 1934. The start seems dramatic: her husband Vigand, a widely respected doctor, dies and Lilly – who had devoted her entire life to him – does not seem to know what to do. But from the very beginning it is clear that there was quite a distance between the two and that Vigand in particular was a cold, distant man, almost gruesomely so. The diary entries are a mixture of flashbacks to their special marriage (she was 20 years younger than him), sometimes bitter musings about what she really wanted in life and did not get, and considerations on building a new life as a widow. In other words: this is highly introspective. Lilly is a very observant, thoughtful woman who accepts her fate, but ultimately – after deep thought – retains enough strength to get back on her feet. Just look at this truly fabulous quote, which should be close to many of us: “Bitterness is a very soft and comfortable armchair from which it is difficult indeed to extract oneself once one has decided to settle in it.” Indirectly, this book gives us an idea of the sober life in the Danish countryside at the beginning of the 20th century (including the introduction of elements of modernity). But it is mainly the struggle of women with social conventions, their attempts to give their lives fulfillment, that are central. Jessen writes soberly and minimalistic, perhaps deliberately so, because that modesty makes this book extra powerful. Only the sudden twist in the final chapter, a kind of deus ex machina, disappointed me slightly. But this book and this writer are definitely a discovery....more
This third part of the Seasons series is very different from the two previous ones; in fact, it fits perfectly with the very long My Struggle I-VI serThis third part of the Seasons series is very different from the two previous ones; in fact, it fits perfectly with the very long My Struggle I-VI series with which Knausgaard broke through. In this small book too we find that same alternation of self-denigrating introspection, of extremely detailed scenes on daily life and of very profound considerations on the wonder of existence.
In other words, Knausgard makes another attempt to put his individual reality on paper, with its big and its small sides, and to mirror it to what could be 'the' reality. And again it is a very shocking experiment, perhaps even more than in "My Struggle". Because Knausgard writes about the period that his wife was pregnant with their fourth child (this book is actually a long letter to that child), and again fell into the manic depression that had previously plagued her. At the beginning of this book her absence (she is admitted to the hospital) hangs like a heavy shadow over the family life that Knausgard is trying to keep running as well and as badly as it goes. Things get really bitter when he describes how his wife gradually becomes more and more locked into herself, and at a certain moment does a suicide attempt. From time to time you have the impression that the aim of this book is apologetic, Knausgard justifying his sometimes harsh attitude towards her, but a few pages later he describes his own stupidities with the same aplomb.
So this is a dark, wry and shocking book that only bears the title "Spring" because apparently after the birth of the child, light appears again in the family, coinciding with the spring festival in the Swedish village in which they live. I notice that Knausgard's books continue to attract and repel me at the same time, because he knows how to express the ugly and the painful as well as the sublime side of life like no other. Thus a (cowardly) mixed rating of 2.5 stars....more
In 'Winter', Knausgard continues the process he started in Autumn: in short notes, he initiates his at first unborn daughter into the facts of life. AIn 'Winter', Knausgard continues the process he started in Autumn: in short notes, he initiates his at first unborn daughter into the facts of life. Again, the short chapters apparently are randomly chosen and often start from the description of trivial objects and conditions to push through to a deeper dimension of being human.
But it is striking that Knausgard now describes a little more the people he knows and of which he highlights their petty-human side, and he also recalls more nostalgic childhood memories. Still, the wonder for what exists, for life itself, remains central. But I have to admit that I was less charmed by the vignettes. There are still gems in between (such as the really beautiful "cold"), but slightly less than in the first book. Or is that perhaps just due to the "wintry" timbre? Rating 2.5 stars.
My review of Autumn: here My review of Spring: here My review of Summer: here...more
This is something quite different than My Struggle I-VI, the 6-part autobiography with which Knausgard broke through, and yet it is not all that diffeThis is something quite different than My Struggle I-VI, the 6-part autobiography with which Knausgard broke through, and yet it is not all that different. Reading "My struggle" was really a battle (pun intended), thousands of pages long. At times it annoyed by the endless description of banalities, by the degrading ego-focus and the dramatic self-chastisement. But at the same time it was a tremendous read by enjoying the wonder of life in its smallest things, being intrigued by the complexity of human persons and their relationships, etc. In short, "My Struggle" was a wonderful drawing of the 'universe' that is the person Karl Ove Knausgard.
This booklet, the first of 4, consists of ultra short musings, almost thumbnails and miniatures of a few pages in length. And yet it is vintage Knausgard: the wondering about the small things in life (teeth, knots, flies,…), feeling guilty about your own deficits (his mania to chew gum), the reality of dirty things like vomit, the wonders of nature (dawn, bird migration, lightning) and so on. And most of all, again, the enormous enjoyment of the 'now', of living in the moment, the grace of being allowed to be in this life.
Knausgard wrote this for his still unborn daughter Anne: “I want to show you the world as it is, around us, all the time. Only by doing that I get an eye for it myself.” Not all the pieces are evenly inspired, and I missed the raw side that was so prominent in “My struggle”, although I notice that his father pops up again a number of times. But most of the pieces are gems in which Knausgard exposes the wonder of existence. I am curious what he has in store in the following parts....more
This reminded me a lot of Gogol and Dostoyevsky's early novels: a main character endlessly wandering through the city, expressing feverish monologues,This reminded me a lot of Gogol and Dostoyevsky's early novels: a main character endlessly wandering through the city, expressing feverish monologues, and getting lost in all kinds of delusions. In this case, Hamsun has chosen to focus on the permanent hunger of his "man-with-no-name," a penniless writer who tries to survive from day to day and is extremely inventive about finding money and food. I wouldn't call this really naturalistic (the ending leaves open the possibility of salvation), but you don't get cheerful by the gnawing hunger of the main character. I have the impression that Hamsun has also factored in a symbolic reading: man's thirst (pun intended) for recognition and more. And that, of course, brings him even closer to Dostoevsky. Still, in my opinion, the Russian definitely played in a higher league....more
There are novels that from page one make clear that the writer has fully understood the layeredness, the complexity and the elusiveness of life; and tThere are novels that from page one make clear that the writer has fully understood the layeredness, the complexity and the elusiveness of life; and that he does not need to prove that with solemn proclamations, but in simple words, almost carelessly. This novel is one of them: barely 140 pages, but what a depth it contains. I'm surprised that I hadn't heard of Jens Christian Grondahl (°1959) before.
Formally he offers a quite simple story: it is a long monologue, a kind of letter, from a certain 70 year old Ellinor to her close friend Anna, who died in an avalanche 40 years before; Ellinor then married Anna's husband Georg and raised the two sons of Anna and George with him. Georg recently died ("Now your husband is dead too, Anna. Your husband. Our husband.", is the intriguing first line of this book), and that is apparently the moment that two pretty dramatic elements of her life, fully come into her consciousness, and encourage her to face them and act decisively.
That sounds pretty vague, but I really can't release more, without spoiling the reading pleasure (the term is not entirely appropriate here). But hey, this novel is not really about that plot: it is about the process of grief of Ellinor and about the growing awareness of Ellinor about herself, a re)discovery of her own identity, now that she has come to stand alone. The nice thing is that this woman looks reality into the eye and acts accordingly.
Grondahl does not use great metaphors, his style is almost as if spoken (after all, this is a monologue) and quite unadorned. But that is the great strength: he lets Ellinor speak straightforward about things that have remained largely covered throughout her life. And that is accompanied by a variety of hesitations and doubts, resolute intentions and harsh criticisms, but always with respect for the fragility of life and for the complexity of relations between people.
My only disappointment is that this monologue is a bit short: I think that Grondahl could easily have explored a few storylines a bit further. Because now only one of the sons, top banker Stefan and his haughty and bossy wife Mia ("they filled their gigantic house with themselves") are dealt with quite extensively (a bit as caricatures), but the other - probably more interesting - son Morten, stays virtually out of the picture. George also is painted as no more than a goodish man. There could have been more to it. But no complaints: this is high-quality literature! (3.5 stars)...more
Re-edit of my review of 5 years ago An introverted man who writes 3.600 pages about himself, what should we think about that kind of a contradiction? ARe-edit of my review of 5 years ago An introverted man who writes 3.600 pages about himself, what should we think about that kind of a contradiction? And Karl Ove Knausgard seems to me a hyper-introvert case, at least that is the image that we get presented in this 6-part cycle. He almost constantly points to his inferiority, not fitting in socially, always falling short as an adolescent, as a teacher, as a writer, as a husband and as a father. Time and again he illustrates that with concrete examples, 6 books long, in the meanwhile sketching his personal biography. As said, what is especially striking is that he does not spare himself: all his stupid actions and statements, his darkest thoughts and even his absolutely bad thoughts about other people..., he throws it all on the table. In interviews he claims that he has been absolutely honest, has not withheld anything, has not proposed anything other than how he thinks it really was (although from the last part we learn that there was quite some editing, to prevent juridical actions from people whose feelings risked to be hurt). As an historian, I obviously know that such honesty is relative: every review of one's own past is a construction, with at least unconscious distortions, and that can be no different for Knausgard; but I believe that he at least has attempted to be as honest as possible.
Then are we dealing with a masochistic personality here? Maybe, because it is not natural to put the vilest aspects of your own personality in the spot. But why did he do that anyway? Knausgard's own answer, - and again I believe him-, is that he wanted to show reality as it is, with its good sides (because there are quite some wonderful moments in the cycle) as well as its bad ones. A form of hyperrealism – post Flaubert - but from a very individual perspective.
This often results in page-long descriptions of banal and trivial situations: putting the children in bath, scruting the store shelves when shopping, the glances over and over again with other people, long car trips, ordinary conversations, and so on. Those very detailed passages can sometimes evoke annoying feelings, but for Knausgard they are clearly a statement: even in the 'small things' there is real life, not only in the grand or passionate deeds and situations. Occasionally these long, banal pieces are tedious, but I have to admit that after a few parts you become familiar with the process.
Moreover, that description of 'small' life also concurs with another statement of this series: real life is in the 'now', not in the past or the future, but in reality as it now presents itself to us and in the way we deal with it now. We regularly see Knausgard burst into tears for the miracle of that 'now', the miracle of life itself, which even in its smallness and its ugliness has a huge grandeur. That yields beautiful, poetic passages, even though that greatness sometimes also crushes the individual Knausgard. Because that too is a recurring theme: the inner struggle between the desire for boundlessness, for freedom and liberty, for adventure and great things (traveling, writing the best novel of all time, etc.) and then the sobering confrontation with the limits of reality: the pressure of social conventions, the deadlines for novels, the crushing aspects of relationships, the hectic of a family life with children, and so on.
Knausgard may well highlight the small (and the big) in life, he focuses mostly and with much stress on his own interior self: we constantly learn what all kinds of events, statements or things in his environment do to him, how he looks at things and reacts (or doesn't react at all). And that introspection is almost always the reason for longwinding musings about these feelings (usually those of inferiority) and philosophical considerations on life or analises about how some of those aspects are presented by other great writers (Homer, Shakespeare, Joyce, Proust ...). The voluminous essayist piece (400 pages!) in the last book is an extreme enlargement of this, so much so that it seems to collide with the autobiographical character of the rest of the series, but in an ingenious way it really fits in.
Then the question remains whether this cycle as a whole can actually be called a successful experiment. Is it great literature? If I have to be honest: yes and no. Yes, because Knausgard is talking about essential things, he has uniquely exposed himself completely and zoomed in on his 'I' and the 'now' as no one has ever done before, and in some passages he knows to make the miracle of the world and life almost tangible. But on the other hand also no: that focus on himself also has its weak moments, it takes a long time before you realize what it is about, the long passages about trivial things are sometimes outright tough to digest, and the nagging about all kinds of situations sometimes just gets boring. Personally, I think that with parts 1, 2 and the beginning of part 6 you certainly have the essence of this cycle.
Finally, I return to my initial question: what to think about a hyper-introvert man who writes 3.600 pages about himself? My answer: that he is Karl Ove Knausgard, and that he is a real person and a real writer. Nothing more, nothing less. My guess is that he would be very satisfied with that answer! (overall rating 3.5 stars)...more
Re-edit of my review of 5 years ago Again a very peculiar reading experience, this sixth and last installment of the “My Struggle”-series. In the firstRe-edit of my review of 5 years ago Again a very peculiar reading experience, this sixth and last installment of the “My Struggle”-series. In the first 400 pages of this book (a monster of 1081 pages), Knausgard really captivated me: only now did I see (or I think so) the meaning of his entire cycle. This part is about the period just before the publication of the first part of the series and the fear of the author for all kinds of juridical actions by the people that occur in the series (especially his uncle). That made me realise what Knausgard was aiming at all that time: to find and test what kind of a person he was, a result of that inner contradiction between an enormous inferiority complex and the ambition to become a great writer. The original thing is that Knausgard puts everything on the table, also the banal and trivial such as shopping or smoking a cigarette or playing with the children, in short, the "real" life. Unlike other great writers, with him that real life does not limit itself to profound introspections, musings or endless literary sophisticated descriptions: even the smallness of things had to be in it, and it is also there. In short: the 'whole man Karl Ove Knausgard' and his world.
But then suddenly, after 400 pages, the book turns into a series of essays: a particularly thorough analysis of a very hermetic poem by Paul Celan about the Holocaust, a personal assessment of how shocking that Holocaust was, a very long analysis of "Mein Kampf" by Adolf Hitler and an analysis of the evil in the person of Anders Breivik, the extreme right-wing young man who in 2011 killed 77 people in Norway. As you read this, you are constantly wondering what these essays are doing in the otherwise very personal account of the almost banal life of an upcoming Norwegian writer. Automatically you start making connections (the authoritarian father of Hitler and of Knausgard for example), etc. Repeatedly, Knausgard himself gives the message that you should not confuse the young Hitler, no matter how eccentric, with the later Hitler, and that evil isn’t necessary there from a young age, not in Hitler, not in Breivik, and thus, and there we are – also not in the young Knausgard, an issue that has been discussed several times during the course of the cycle. Is that the key to read the whole work? Possibly.
Yet a warning: this essay part may formally stand like a pincer on a pig in this cycle, it really forms a coherent whole. Meandering from one angle to another it is clearly a reflection on two specific issues: first, about what the “I”, the “you”, the “we” and the "them” is, in particular in the ideology (Nazism) that has gone the furthest in the demarcation of those concepts, both in language and in practice; and secondly about the separate reality that it is the “now”, as the only real life. And thus Knausgard makes connections with his own writing project: that attempt to gauge what his own self is, whether there is real evil in him, how small or big, good or bad he really is. So in that sense there is absolutely a link with the rest of his cycle. And besides: these essays are not superficial musings, but profound philosophical, psychological, literary and historical reflections that are absolutely in-depth; they testify of an enormous erudition and a power to think things through into their concreteness, their authenticity, their uniqueness (just to follow Knausgards own jargon). Definitely a great, albeit sometimes very difficult read, though I suspect that Knausgard also included this essayistic part to show that he is not just the writer of the banal and the trivial, which he is sometimes is regarded as.
And then there is the last, relatively short part (250 pages) that initially returns to the banality of daily life, but in which ultimately the struggle of Knausgard's wife with her manic depression is discussed. The latter is quite hard and shows once again how difficult it is for someone with a very strongly developed inner self to confront the reality of the “now”. In Knausgard's terms it is the eternal struggle of the individual between the boundless and the bounded. I will come back to this in my global review of the My Struggle cycle (see https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...). Rating for this part: 3.5 stars...more
Reading this series still remains quite a struggle (pun intended), this very detailed autobiographical portrait Re-editing of my review of 5 years ago
Reading this series still remains quite a struggle (pun intended), this very detailed autobiographical portrait that the Norwegian writer Knausgard presents of himself. In this fifth part he focuses on his long stay in the Norwegian city of Bergen, between his 19th and 27th birthday. Once again, he presents a succession of ordinary daily actions, worries about his image with other people, dark introspections, night-long drunken scenes, pitiful gagging with women, and constantly interrupted attempts to break through as a writer. The latter is the most interesting, because it sometimes yields very interesting reflections on world literature, and even some of his short stories are included that already indicate where Knausgard's strength lies: translating real life, the external ànd the internal, in words. That makes this fifth part really "a portrait of the artist as a young man" (referring to Joyce, of course). Once again the young Knausgard turns out to be a really very sentimental young man, who can be euphorically about the little beauties of life, but at the same time struggles intensely with a very negative self-image. Up to the last tome, another 1060 pages!
(In the meanwhile I read the whole series, and eventually it became clear what a formidable self-reflexive exploit this whole cycle is. Not every part is toplevel, but Knausgards excruciating way of looking at reality - especially his own behavior - truly is mesmerizing. See my other reviews, or my global review: My Struggle I-VI)...more
Re-editing of my review of 5 years ago) I wrestled through the first three parts of the ‘My Struggle’ series by Knausgard with a lot of difficulty, askRe-editing of my review of 5 years ago) I wrestled through the first three parts of the ‘My Struggle’ series by Knausgard with a lot of difficulty, asking myself every time where he was heading for. Especially the first and the second installment were such a mixture of introspection and description, constantly jumping through time and space, and associating trivial scenes with almost brilliant reflections, that I did not know what to think of this writer. The third part was a chronologically told story from his childhood to his teenage years. The common theme obviously is the autobiographical focus: it seemed as if the mature Knausgard through his writing was searching for his soul and, in particular, analyzing how that soul had become what it is today.
And that is what also stands out in this fourth part. Knausgard focuses on the one year when he was 18 years old (1987-1988), working as a teacher in a small secondary school in northern Norway (apparently, due to the shortage of teachers that is possible at this early age). In the Dutch edition that I read, this part was given the title 'Night', and that certainly refers to the fact that almost all year round that northern region is shrouded in darkness. But the metaphor of course also refers to the young man who is searching his way in the dark forest of life: groping, falling and standing up again. In this book 'Night' sometimes is to be taken literally: Knausgard regularly has blackouts as a result of excessive drinking (a legacy from his father); but it also refers to his dealings with other people, and especially with women or let's say girls (because in the small village and in the school almost all women are younger than him). Knausgard describes painstakingly his obsession with losing his virginity and how difficult that is.
Again very trivial, banal scenes alternate with sometimes beautiful observations of the environment, and continuous introspection and self-reflection. But somehow digesting this was less of a struggle: this book was remarkably easy to read (there’s only one longer passage from an earlier time period) and the ingredients even begin to become familiar. In between, we also get a look at Knausgard's first writing attempts and his relative success with it. That does not mean that this now is a top book, but it remains intriguing and certainly invites you to take on the next part, with – in Dutch – the promising title ‘Writer’. (rating 2.5 stars)
(In the meanwhile I read the whole series, and eventually it became clear what a formidable self-reflexive exploit this whole cycle is. Not every part is toplevel, but Knausgards excruciating way of looking at reality - especially his own behavior - truly is mesmerizing. See my other reviews, or my global review: My Struggle I-VI)...more
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