As far as I know this is just an autobiography of a guy. I think he published a novel in Norwegian before this but this is just a book about an unremarkable life.

I really loved the sense of interiority of this book. The events described are often utterly banal, and often I sat back thinking ‘errrr this is just a guy blog posting,’ but the way it’s written, in an almost stream of consciousness style, just following the thoughts of a man, following no particular narrative, gives a real furnished feeling of an inside world. The way I’m interested in my own dull life, I was interested in this book.

It is claustrophobic, busy, boring, slow and as violent as my own head.

Sometimes it does legitimately get boring. I also rolled my eyes a couple times at the pithy observations on life made but I can forgive that since who doesn’t have eye rolling thoughts from time to time. I think it makes it more sincere in a way.

The book isn’t overly honest as well. Knausgard doesn’t tell you his toileting habits thankfully. I thought it was odd how he hardly mentions his two marriages despite being ostensibly in love with his current wife. He gives a great deal of attention to his first love which was very emotional and sweet but it moves ok quickly onto something else.

No explanation is given as to why he writes about this past love but not the current one. The narrative just moves on in the flow of conversation with that one topic just not coming up. It doesn’t feel like he’s omitting this on purpose. It feels like a genuine track of what is making him emotional in a given moment.

I found this book on a whim browsing my local bookshop and gave it a go because why not. I enjoyed it but not sure I’d pick up the sequels.