What
possessed me? Why did I want to read volume one of a six volume
autobigraphical novel, translated from Norwegian, short on plot,
frequently described in reviews as boring and banal? But My
Struggle by Karl Ove Knausgaard has also generated a firestorm of
interest, both in Europe and the US, generating lavish praise from
literary figures and bitter criticism from a few unimpressed critics,
as well as from family members who objected to Knausgaard's frank
depictions.
So,
what's it like? It's like being inside someone's head. You're a
witness to everything Karl Ove is thinking, from his deeply felt
views on art, death, parenthood to his adolescent plotting to obtain
beer for a New Year's Eve party. His style is straightforward and
reportorial, but not without lyricism. Most of the second half of
the book revolves around Knausgaard and his older brother dealing
with the aftermath of their father's death. Karl Ove's relationship
with his father was difficult, so as he cleans up the mess
(literally) that his father has left behind he speaks frankly of his
self-doubt and his attempts to come to terms with the loss of this
cold, judgmental man.
What
makes this book so unusual is Knausgaard's willingness to risk being
boring by talking about ordinary, everyday events – a haircut, a
cleaning chore, a train ride – without losing the reader's
interest, and to examine his life with unsparing honesty. Somehow, it
worked for me.
