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My Struggle: Book One general information | review summaries | our review | links | about the author
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Our Assessment:
A- : nicely (slowly) paced admirable beginning to large-scale a personal/family epic See our review for fuller assessment.
From the Reviews: - Return to top of the page - The complete review's Review:
The American title -- My Struggle -- comes closer to the original Norwegian, Min kamp, than the title chosen for the British edition, A Death in the Family, and while a death in the family is central to the entire six-volume epic, it only dominates the second part of this first installment in that series; the far more neutral 'A Death in the Family' also undermines a central aspect of the work: how very much it -- the book itself, and the experiences described in it -- is the author's own struggle.
Today is the 27th of February. The time is 11:43 pm. I, Karl Ove Knausgaard, was born in December 1968, and at the time of writing I am 39 years old. I have three children -- Vanja, Heidi, and John -- and am in my second marriage, to Linda Boström Knausgaard.He lives with his family in Sweden as he writes this book, a physical separation from family and past: The sole traces of my previous existence are the books and records I brought with me. Everything else I left behind.Yet with this massive undertaking, the six volumes of My Struggle, he does nothing so much as try to dredge up and relive (or at least re-present) the past; he couldn't really and entirely leave that behind. Even as he starts a new life, or a new stage in his life, and despite the young children around him and the constant change they bring with them ("ask me what I did three days ago and I can't remember"), he is also drawn to immersing himself in his own past. My Struggle is, in a way, entirely self-reflection -- all the other figures, even the father, remain other: with Knausgaard unable (and/or unwilling) to delve or probe into these characters. The account is self-centered, documenting Knausgaard's struggle -- part of which is that failure of understanding of the others, and of being able to connect with them. He acknowledges: "my father had a hold on me that I never succeeded in breaking", but only very slowly can he approach trying to understand the father-figure. Obviously, there was some emotional distance in this family. The younger Knausgaard is often alone, or more or less left to his own devices: there's interaction with mother, father, grandfather, and brother, but often it's very much in passing -- he and his father will drop in on their grandparents, the older brother is briefly back in town. Among the most shocking scenes is when his father greets Knausgaard with a shopping list, and between asking him to "nip down to the shop for me" and remembering that he forgot to put potatoes on the list mentions, by the way: "Mom and I have decided to separate." He adds -- somewhere between wishful thinking and command -- "But it won't affect you. You won't notice any difference." Yes, clearly Knausgaard has some things to work through. Much of the first section of this novel centers on a New Year's eve, with young Knausgaard and a friend trying to get to a party, an opportunity for Knausgaard to describe at length his teenage circumstances and self. Arguably almost entirely uneventful, beyond the trivial -- the difficulties of buying some beer, keeping it hidden, and then retrieving it at the appropriate time (which actually turns out to be terribly complicated) -- it nevertheless allows Knausgaard to riff at length (but also agreeably incidentally) on his life and youth. The second section of the novel centers on his father's death in 1998 and the aftermath; there's some tidying of affairs to deal with, but it's the cleaning of the filthy house that is most prominent. And death, of course, brings up with many unresolved emotions and memories. As he explains to someone (typically: on the telephone, not in person): We're wading through his death. He died in the chair in the room next door, it's still there. And then there's everything that happened here, I mean, a long time ago, when I was growing up, all that's here too, and it's surfacing. Do you understand ? I'm somehow very close to everything. To the person I was when I was younger. To the person Dad was. All the feelings from that time are resurfacing.Nevertheless, it takes him years before he can work through much of this as he eventually does in these pages. And this volume, the first of six, is also clearly only the beginning of the process. Knausgaard has, in fact, revealed relatively little about himself so far, the books zooming in on only a few periods of time -- his middle teenage years, the time of his father's death, the present. There are intriguing mentions of other times, including a year spent as a teacher, and early admission to a creative writing program in what appears to have been an aborted start to his writing career. But beyond the present, there is, for example, little mention of his relationships with the two women he married (and his teenage fumblings are striking in how they don't get very far: despite being in a class where there are more enough girls to choose from, he fails to truly connect with any). My Struggle is also a writer's book. Yes, music was always important, too, and he went through a band-phase, too -- clearly intentionally comically presented in its abysmal failure -- but it's always writing that draws him in. And: "Writing is more about destroying than creating", he believes -- and My Struggle is such an act of creative destruction. Specifically, it an act of overcoming, too: I wanted to open the world by writing, for myself, at the same time this is also what made me fail. The feeling that the future does not exist, that it is only more of the same, means that all utopias are meaningless. Literature has always been related to utopia, so when the utopia loses meaning so does literature. What I was trying to do, and perhaps what all writers try to do -- what on earth do I know ? -- was to combat fiction with fiction. What I ought to do was affirm what existed, affirm the state of things as they are, in other words, revel in the world outside instead of searching for a way out, for in that way I would undoubtedly have a better life, but I couldn't do it, I couldn't, something had congealed inside meWith My Struggle he seems to find the necessary balance: if not full affirmation, he at least allows for 'what exists', and tries to come to terms with it. But it's a long, drawn-out process -- of which, to reiterate, this volume is very much only the beginning. My Struggle is so precise in its dialogue and detail, yet Knausgaard repeatedly mentions how little he remembers, whether in the present ("ask me what I did three days ago and I can't remember") or the past ("I remember hardly anything from my childhood"), undermining the documentary plausibility of the work. How much is projection, how much real ? Presumably, it's best to read it as fiction. Indeed, My Struggle suggests what can (still) be done with 'fiction', in its broadest senses. On its own, this first volume of My Struggle is a very fine work; from the looks of it, it may well be the first part of something truly great. - M.A.Orthofer, 20 March 2012 - Return to top of the page - My Struggle:
- Return to top of the page - Norwegian writer Karl Ove Knausgaard (Karl Ove Knausgård) was born in 1968. - Return to top of the page -
© 2012-2024 the complete review
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