Read Min kamp 4 by Karl Ove Knausgård Online


Karl Ove Knausgårds tredje roman innebærer en enorm litterær satsning, og er en stor bok i mer enn én forstand: Min kamp blir utgitt som seks romaner. Første, andre og tredje bok utkom høsten 2009. Fjerde, femte og sjette bok utkommer våren 2010. Etter tre år på gymnaset i Kristiansand reiser Karl Ove til Nord-Norge som lærervikar. Han møter en ny verden, og bærer med segKarl Ove Knausgårds tredje roman innebærer en enorm litterær satsning, og er en stor bok i mer enn én forstand: Min kamp blir utgitt som seks romaner. Første, andre og tredje bok utkom høsten 2009. Fjerde, femte og sjette bok utkommer våren 2010. Etter tre år på gymnaset i Kristiansand reiser Karl Ove til Nord-Norge som lærervikar. Han møter en ny verden, og bærer med seg erfaringer han ikke selv forstår. Romanen skriver frem en ung manns ufordervete grandiositet og selvpåførte ydmykelser, oppriktigheten og umodenheten og hungeren etter eksistensiell og seksuell forløsning....

Title : Min kamp 4
Author :
Rating :
ISBN : 9788249507146
Format Type : Hardcover
Number of Pages : 472 Pages
Status : Available For Download
Last checked : 21 Minutes ago!

Min kamp 4 Reviews

  • Kevin Kelsey
    2019-03-20 01:31

    Posted at Heradas Review“...he would have to work out the social game for himself. He would have to learn he would get nowhere by whining or telling tales.”Karl Ove isn’t talking about himself in this quote, but he might as well be. Eighteen year old Karl Ove spends most of the book whining about his inability to lose his virginity, and attempting to write short fiction (telling tales). You might think I’m joking, but I think the moral of this story is that people should masturbate more often, and especially in their early teenage years. Let me backtrack a bit… Like book 3, book 4 doesn’t jump around as much as 1 and 2. It stays mostly focused on his life from age sixteen to eighteen, with an occasional leap forward to 2009; Karl Ove in his early forties writing the book you’re reading; his wife and children asleep in the next room. I have to mention that I’m a sucker for these sections where he reminds the reader of his present tense writing of the novel. I don’t know why, but I love it. Karl Ove as a literary character, is a one of the most unusual protagonists I’ve come across, because he isn’t a protagonist at all. This is unheard of in memoirs. Usually when we tell stories about ourselves, we’re the hero, or at the very least we present ourselves and the situations we get into in the best possible light; painting others as the bully, or the one who deserved what they got, etc. Karl Ove is not like this whatsoever. He lays out every dirty detail, and is extremely hard on himself. He writes himself as the antagonist in his own life story. He also writes about his boner a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I started counting when I noticed the pattern, and eventually lost track at fifteen or so times around the middle of the book.The main story in this volume involves Karl Ove as a young man who is lost, and his struggle to find the kind of world he fits into. His emotionally, verbally, and physically abusive father has left his mother, started drinking, and seems to be a completely different person than he was when Karl Ove was a boy. He’s starting to see that his father was never happy, and needed something different from life than what he was getting. Also, it’s appearing that he was always a very emotional person, like Karl Ove has always been, crying often, and begging forgiveness of his sons now that they’re grown. Karl Ove is still terrified of him, and doesn’t understand how to reconcile this new person that has replaced his father, with the father that raised him.At eighteen Karl Ove leaves home for the first time and takes a job as a school teacher in a small fishing community in northern Norway; rural in a different way than he’s familiar with. He’s grossly under qualified for the position, knows it, but wants to be alienated from the familiar. He wants to step a toe outside of his comfort zone. He’s using this experience to save money, and isolate himself so that he can focus on writing more exclusively.He is absolutely obsessed with losing his virginity, and extremely insecure about his pattern of ejaculating before the act has even begun. In an effort to ease his nerves socially, he begins to drink heavily, which helps him to remain calm while courting the women in this new town he finds himself dislocated in. Drinking also gets him into several situations where he makes a total fool of himself. Even while intoxicated, every time he finds a woman willing to sleep with him, he gets stuck in his own head, and it happens again. This is a great source of embarrassment for him, and he takes it very hard.We already know from the previous installments of his story, that he sees himself as being too feminine or “feminized” as he calls it. At eighteen, he’s scrawny and lanky, and in this fishing community he’s surrounded by what he considers men’s men: manual laborers, fishermen, tough skinned, strong and silent. He constantly compares himself to those around him, and finds himself lacking in almost every way. To make matters worse, his upstairs neighbors are constantly going at it. All of this and more adds to the feedback loop and reinforces his feelings of inadequacy and shame, which in turn reinforces his inability to do the deed.In addition to all of this, he’s teaching kids barely younger than himself, and having some trouble not being attracted to the girls in his class, especially the ones who have developed crushes on him. Some of them as young as 13. Oh, Karl Ove. Buddy. Come on, man. You can’t do that! About halfway through the book he has a realization that maybe the reason he Is having so much trouble maintaining control of his ejaculations, and controlling is attraction to his students, and his horniness level in general, is that he has never masturbated. Ever. He sees it as something childish that he should’ve done when he was younger, but now feels it’s too late to begin. He knows that if he were to *ahem* practice on himself a little bit, that he would develop the ability to control himself a little better when he’s with a woman, but he still won’t do it! Good lord eighteen year old Karl Ove! Jerk it already!So, that brings us full circle to my point from the beginning: masturbation, it’s something everyone should do, especially when you’re young and just starting to develop into the adult you’ll become. Most of Karl Ove’s troubles in this edition would’ve been completely avoided if he had just jerked it a little. So, like I said earlier, if there is a moral here, I think it’s a simple one: masturbate.

  • Harriet Provine
    2019-03-22 00:32

    Should be called "My Struggle with boners"

  • Manny
    2019-03-10 07:57

    [from Min kamp 3]Knausgård is such a crafty bastard. I can't find the heart to parody him again after the episode where his colleague adds an extra paragraph to the story his eighteen year old self is in the middle of writing:I det samme jeg la øyene på papiret som stod i skrivmaskinen, så jeg at noen hade skrevet på det. Jeg blev helt kald. Den første halve siden var min, og så kom det fem linjer som ikke var mine. Jeg leste dem."Gabriel stakk fingrerne langt inne i den våte fitte. Å herregud, stønna Lisa. Gabriel dro fingrene ut og lukta på dem. Fitte, tenkte han. Lisa sprella under han. Gabriel drakk en drøy slurk av vodkaen. Så gliste han og dro ned glidelåsen og stakk den harde kuken in i den rynkete fitta hennes. Hun skrek av fryd. Gabriel, du er gutten sin!"Rystet i mitt innerste, ja, nesten på gråten, satt jeg og stirret på de fem linjerne. Det var en treffende parodi på måten jeg skrev på.I'm guessing that this is going to cause Don Bartlett some headaches when he translates it, since part of the humor resides in the contrast between the different Norwegian dialects used, but here's the best I can do right now:The moment I saw the paper that was sitting in the typewriter, I knew someone had written on it. I felt cold with horror. The first half was mine, then there were five lines that were not mine. I read them."Gabriel slid his fingers all the way into her wet cunt. Oh god, moaned Lisa. Gabriel pulled his fingers out and sniffed them. Cunt, he thought. Lisa wriggled under him. Gabriel knocked back a good mouthful of the vodka. Then he smiled and pulled down his zip and shoved his hard cock into her wrinkled cunt. She screamed with pleasure. Gabriel, you're my man!"Shaken to the core, almost in tears, I sat and stared at the five lines. It was a horribly accurate parody of my writing style.A little later, after drinking a bottle of red wine, he vomits all over his notes; although this is in a way the book in miniature (bad sex, alcohol, bodily fluids, literary ambitions and humiliation), he's successfully dissuaded me from assisting his heartless friend Tor Einar any further. The two parodies I've already written will have to be enough.But writing a serious review is almost as unattractive, since he's ready to meet me there too. Uncle Kjartan's interminable monologues on Heidegger seem embarrassingly close to the things I've been saying this week about Min kamp 4; Kjartan's relatives try their best to create a Heidegger-free zone, and Not has been making similar suggestions about a moratorium on Knausgård criticism. I just have to admit I've been boxed in. Evidently, Knausgård feels he can take himself to pieces more brutally than any of us onlookers, and will in due course spend a thousand pages doing exactly that in the last volume. I can see he's getting nicely warmed up.Okay, Karl Ove, you win. Carry on telling me about what an appalling person you are while taking my time and money, and don't even let me get a word in edgeways. You really are a slick con artist.[to Min kamp 5]

  • Lee
    2019-03-21 01:52

    One day in the distant future, whenever we think about Karl Ove Knausgaard’s six-volume My Struggle series, memories of an era between 2012 through 2017 will come rushing back.My Struggle: Book One (2012) involved a teenage search for alcohol on New Year’s Eve followed by the alcoholic death of the author’s father some ten years later. My Struggle: Book Two: A Man in Love (2013)—the best one by far for me; the volume responsible for the author’s reputation—covered falling in love, fatherhood, the conflict of having a family and trying to write. My Struggle: Book Three (2014), set entirely during his childhood under the shadow of an unpredictable, menacing father, presented regularly occurring instances of tears. Book Four, published in the U.S. in April 2015, replaces tears with nocturnal emission and premature ejaculation.A six-volume memoir of a chronic masturbator would be problematic. Fortunately, KOK avoids critiques regarding autobiographical autoeroticism:The fact was I had never masturbated. Had never beat off. Had never played with myself. I was eighteen years old now and it had never happened. Not once. I hadn’t even tried. My lack of experience of this meant that I both knew and didn’t know how to do it. And once I hadn’t done it as a twelve- or thirteen-year-old, time passed and it slowly became unthinkable, not in the sense of unheard of, more in the sense of beyond my horizons. The direct result of this was that I had heavy nocturnal emissions. I dreamed about women, and in my sleep not even touching was required, it was enough just to lay my eye on them, standing there, with their beautiful bodies, and I came. If I was close to them in my dreams, again I came. My whole body jerked and convulsed through the night, and my underpants were soaked with semen in the morning. (350)If all goes well for the remainder of the year, 2015 will be forever linked in our minds with an 18-year-old’s underpants filling up with semen. This one’s narrative arc tracks an academic year as he teaches in a small fishing village in northern Norway, an isolated spot lorded over by fjords and permanent winter darkness. But progression can also be charted in terms of sticky underpants at first, followed by premature ejaculation during failed attempts at coitus, ending with a triumphant scene that made this reader literally LOL as he closed the book.KOK at this age is sex obsessed, especially since he’s still a virgin. In a civilization lacking significant rights of passage, intercourse is the new bar/bat mitzvah, even in northern Norway in 1987. But there’s more to it than the will to copulate. It’s about exchanging the chrysalis of innocence for the wings of experience, attaining knowledge reserved for adults.I looked upon [girls] as completely unapproachable creatures, indeed, as angels of a sort, I loved everything about them, from the veins in the skin over their wrists to the curves of their ears, and if I saw a breast under a T-shirt or a naked thigh under a summer dress, it was as though everything in my insides was let loose, as though everything began to swirl around and the immense desire that then arose was as light as light itself, as light as air, and in it there was a notion that everything was possible, not only here but everywhere and not only now but forever. At the same time as all this arose inside me, a consciousness shot up from below, like a waterspout, it was heavy and dark, there was abandon, resignation, impotence, the world closing in on me. There was the awkwardness, the silence, the scared eyes. There were the flushed cheeks and the great unease.But there were other reasons too. There was something I couldn’t do and something I didn’t understand. There were secrets and there was darkness, there were shady dealings and there was laughter that jeered at everything. Oh, I sensed it, but I knew nothing about it. Nothing. (82)It’s about love, too: erotic, spiritual, artistic. Young KOK loves women, books, music. But he doesn’t quite love himself. He believes girls detect his lack of confidence the way dogs smell fear. Nearly all members of the opposite sex are attracted to him, nevertheless, including many of his thirteen-year-old students.My heart beat faster as I stopped beside her. Oh, it was ridiculous, but the awareness that she might be in love with me made it suddenly impossible to behave normally.I leaned over and she seemed to shrink back. Her breathing changed. Her eyes were locked on to the book. I could smell the fragrance of her shampoo, I studiously avoided any form of contact, placed my finger on the first number she had written. She stroked her hair to the side, rested one elbow on the table. It was as if everything we did had become conscious: every detail became visible, it was no longer unthinking and natural but considered and artificial. (397)Interactions with students awkwardly and tenderly approach transgression. He admires the form of a student and feels an abyss open inside him. He may be a little in love with Andrea, a thirteen year old, but he knows no one knows. At an all-ages alcohol-soaked party in another town, he kisses a thirteen-year-old girl, regrets it in the morning, and fears repercussions that never come.But Book Four seems mostly about emerging from childhood into the freedom (and, to a degree, responsibility) of adulthood. It’s about an 18-year-old boy with artistic tendencies as undefined as they are ambitious, in a black beret, white shirt, and black pants held up by a studded belt, emerging from the shadow of youth. The first 100+ pages relay KOK’s arrival in the north to teach, the start of classes, his acclimation to the isolation in which he writes his first stories. One early weekend night, he goes out with new friends and blacks out after drinking too much. An audaciously long stretch of backstory follows (200+ pages), set during the preceding year. KOK’s childhood was lorded over by his increasingly alcoholic father, but he lives with his mother in southern Norway as he finishes high school. He hosts a graduation-type party (cases of beer stacked in the kitchen) that wrecks his mother’s house. That summer he sells cassettes to tourists, drinks, and tries as hard as he can to have sex. He causally mentions being drunk in a car that goes off the road and flips over at 100 kph (62 mph). By the time we return to the bathroom in which the young teacher has just vomited bile, we feel that in no way should he be educating children. He’s an overgrown child himself, fresh off a summer of indulgence in drunkenness and the quest to shed his virginity.I wanted to steal, drink, smoke hash, and experiment with other drugs – cocaine, amphetamines, mescaline – to get high and live the great rock-and-roll lifestyle, to feel to the last drop of my blood that I couldn’t give a flying fuck about anything. Oh, what appeal there was in that! But then there was all the rest of me inside that wanted to be a serious student, a decent son, a good person. If only I could blow that to smithereens! (320)Imagine Kurt Cobain in the classroom in 1987. (KOK was born in December 1968; Cobain in February 1967).KOK knows the order of the planets and has written reviews about bands like Tuxedomoon for hometown newspapers, but there’s not that much difference between students and teacher, we realize, and there’s an expectation therefore that something indecent will happen while the teacher is blacked out one night.Young Karl Ove is a fan of author Jens Bjørneboe and his History of Bestiality trilogy, the first volume of which describes an alpine wind that drives residents mad, sometimes causing murders, and difficulties with hard cider that often result in fathers killing their entire families. All three volumes consistently emphasize that we live on a thin crust of land between raging magma below and idiotically ordered outerspace above, that it’s no wonder we behave like homicidal lunatics, but there’s also great natural beauty and pleasures galore on Earth. Somewhat like KOK’s father, Bjørneboe was an alcoholic who ultimately hanged himself instead of drinking himself to death. The father’s shadow gives all these volumes their heft, so when young Karl Ove enthuses about his early experience with drink, end-stage alcoholism always lurks off-stage.Why didn’t they drink? Why didn’t everyone drink? Alcohol makes everything big, it is a wind blowing through your consciousness, it is crashing waves and swaying forests, and the light it transmits gilds everything you see, even the ugliest and most revolting person become attractive in some way, it is as if all objections and all judgments are cast aside in a wide sweep of the hand, in an act of supreme generosity, here everything, and I do mean everything, is beautiful. (426)As with the first section of Book One (the teenage quest for alcohol on New Year’s Eve), Book Three (entirely embedded in early childhood), Book Four complicates for me the concept of relatability. Finding a novel “relatable” often seems like a weak critique but part of KOK’s allure is exactly this connection with readers. It’s not so simplistic as “I get what he’s saying, I once constantly thought about losing my virginity, too.” At its best, it’s more about evoking memories in a reader.Proust is the patron saint of associative memory, the famous phenomenon in which a cookie dipped in tea revives a forgotten world. KOK and his My Struggle series will become associated with something similar: instead of some innocent trigger evoking memories, Knausgaard’s dramatization of his past evokes memories for readers. My Struggle is the madeleine.His detailed quest for sex opens a world of memory, particularly embarrassing bits not so often aired these days. It takes considerable restraint not to list instances from my life that more or less match those in the novel. And I’m sure many women share memories of these mostly forgotten, awkwardly executed initial attempts at getting it on.But there’s more to this than that: there’s the image of KOK listening to Led Zep, pacing his apartment with clenched fists, psyching himself up to write. There’s the excitement of his initial immersion in the act of writing. There’s the clueless/confident sense of the importance of what’s been written, a surge at first that hooks the nascent writer for life. And there’s the first experience with criticism, especially the negative sort from his older brother, which fuels his ambition to one day write something like My Struggle:You don’t think anyone’s going to publish it do you? In all seriousness?I’ll damn well show him. I’ll damn well show the whole fucking world who I am and what I am made of. I’ll crush every single one of them. I’ll render every single one of them speechless. I will. I will. I damn well will. I’ll be so big no one is even close. No one. No. One. Never. Not a chance. I will be the greatest ever. The fucking idiots. I’ll damn well crush every single one of them. I had to be big. I had to be.If not, I might as well end it all. (413)As KOK once again receives big attention we can expect to see increasingly intense dissent online. This installment supplies more than enough fodder for those who prefer hot-take ridicule and rage over the time-consuming busy work of reading. I generally look forward to superficial, dismissive, reductive critiques based on the author’s gender and race, tweets along the lines of “do we really need more narratives like this?” (White male tales of heterosexual adventures.)Scott Esposito (editor of the Quarterly Conversation and point person for lit in translation) off-handedly tweeted a few weeks before I started reading that “Book Four is pretty much all about Karl Ove’s penis.” This was followed by the online equivalent of eye rolls and sighs: “please tell me you are joking.” Esposito responded that it’s all about “semen and alcohol,” and the response was “no please make it stop.” Esposito then said it makes sense since KOK is like 18 years old in Book Four, to which the response was “I don’t care just make it stop.”As attention ramps up with this volume’s release followed by events in NYC and San Francisco in May, we can expect to see more of this sort of thing. Or maybe since KOK’s attempts are so consistently thwarted most will find him (sym)pathetic.Fortunately for My Struggle fans, new volumes won’t stop coming until 2017.(If interested, here are my reviews of Books One, Two, Three, and Five.)

  • Geoff
    2019-03-15 05:50

    Book Four of My Struggle presents to us an eighteen-year-old Karl Ove Knausgaard, a Hamsun-esque anti-hero, a version perhaps (o dear reader, permit me my lazy analogies! I have so little in this life!) of the unnamed vagrant that staggers the streets of Kristiania in Hunger, with a similarly loosely-woven and easily-breached code of chivalry, regiment of a derangement of the senses, of shame, self-abnegation, self-flagellation, loosely (again) bound up with self-aggrandizement, self-confidence always on the brink of slipping into self-abuse and shadowy self-effacement, with a nice admixture of the violent despising and denial of hypocritical bourgeois ethics and decent musical taste ... ! … He moves to a tiny isolated fishing village in Northern Norway to work as a teacher for a year as an excuse to excuse himself from society and have space and silence to write, he mixes with the locals to varying degrees of success and humiliation, he drinks himself to blackness, he vomits copiously, he pursues the phantom Getting Laid to no end, he soils uncountable pairs of underwear with premature ejaculations, he feels his special brand of Nordic Promethean shame at this, he succeeds at writing he fails at writing, he observes the fjord and the surrounding mountains and the changing seasons with an intense sensitivity to the deeply felt yet vague affinity our inner natures find in the sublime, he is lonely, he is Other, he frets with fraternity among the people he encounters in this strange landscape, and when the polar night begins he becomes evermore apparition-like, the scarcity of light taking on all manner of inward refraction and correspondence in our young man... The structure of this book mirrors Book Two, where the greater part of the middle section is a remembrance, a lengthy digressionary intrusion into the narrative that is a leading-up to the resumption of the present tense hundreds of pages later, and there are also brief windows into later years, KOK composing the book we are reading, which casts a pleasant metafictive Brocken spectre over the whole endeavor, and there is a pathos, or maybe simply a readerly self-identification with the young Karl Ove of this book that allows a tenderness or empathetic sweetness to arise out of his travails, his insecurities, his little victories, his endurance, his growing up. Perhaps the strangest of the four books thus far (and this is a compliment) I truly enjoyed reading every page of it. We English Readers of Karl Ove Knausgaard now must wait until April of 2016 to resume our weird walk in his shoes… so be it! Time slips by in the most peculiar and unpredictable ways...

  • Darwin8u
    2019-03-24 02:49

    My Struggle, Book 4, AKA:Dancing in the DarkorDrunk with Ideas of a Young GirlorPremature Explicationor Drunk, Cold and Unsatisfied in the North "But there was something about the darkness. There was something about this small, enclosed place. There was something about seeing the same faces every day. My class. My colleagues. The assistant at the shop. The occasional mother, the occasional father. Now and then the young fishermen. But always the same people, always the same atmosphere. The snow, the darkness, the harsh light inside the school."Book four of Knausgård's literary six-pack centers on Karl Ove teaching at a small, remote school in Håfjord Norway. This isn't a simple narrative, so it jumps back to periods with both his mother, his brother, and his family. It also allows Karl Ove time to wallow in the premature ejaculations of his youth. At once, this is a novel about a young man working out who he is as an artist, a man, and a member of his family. He has gained some independence, but doesn't always use this independence wisely. He has started to publish musical reviews his last year in gymnasium and takes a job in Håfjord to save up money so he can later tour Europe. He struggles with girls. Like most men of 18, Karl Ove is super-focused on getting in the pants of the opposite sex, but circumstance, his own lack of control, and sometimes his own unwillingness to compromise makes this journey a long one for him.Not my favorite book of the series, so far, but still an interesting one. This novel is both a Bildungsroman and a Künstlerroman of sorts. I would probably point to this novel as being primarily a coming of age novel (so Bildungsroman) and it sounds like the next book will focus more on his attempts at publishing his first novel (so Künstlerroman?), but since Knausgård jumps around and the boundaries between the books in this work are often arbitrary, I'm not too concerned with labeling. I enjoy how Karl Ove focuses on the darkness and claustrophobia of the place: "I had always liked darkness. When I was small I was afraid of it if I was alone, but when I was with other I loved it and the change to the world it brought. Running around in the forest or between houses was different in the darkness, the world was enchanted, and we, we were breathless adventurers with blinking eyes and pounding hearts. When I was older there was little I liked better than to stay up at night, the silence and the darkness had an allure, they carreid the promise of something immense. And autumn was my favorite season, wandering along the road by the river in the dark and the rain, not much could beat that.But this darkness was different. This darkness rendered everything lifeless. It was static, it was the same whether you were awake or asleep, and it became harder and harder to motivate yourself to get up in the morning."So, I'm now 4/6 done and all I can do now is wait until they publish the next two English translations.

  • Matt
    2019-02-27 05:57

    [continued from here]At 12%. I started this, the fourth part of Karl Ove Knausgård’s struggle, three days late. The only strict reading plan I had and it whooshed right past me. So far for making plans. Karl Ove has finished school. It’s the summer after he turned eighteen–1987–, and his plan is to go up North to a small town and become a substitute teacher for a year. This reminds me of another book I read last year by another Norwegian author, Agnar Mykle, whose book Lasso rundt fru Luna deals with a young man whose plan is was to go up North to a small town and become a substitute teacher. And, sure enough, Karl Ove–keeping up the image of a sly dog in my eyes–mentions Agnar’s Lasso right at the start of his book.                                         ·•●•·After 18% I realize I don’t like this fourth installment as much as the previous three. I should like it though! Why don’t I like it?! Is it me; not sleeping so well the last couple nights; being pissed off by the weather and work stuff, and generally feeling sort of miserable? Is it Karl Ove; loosing his talent to write a captivating story about nothing? Is it the language; the translation? — This book has new translator. I emailed the previous one (who will return with Vol.5), asked him why he skipped Vol.4 and he wrote back (after five minutes!); speaking of time constrains – his involment in other projects – deadlines and so on; all the usual stuff. Nice guy – it seems – I want him back! I want my old KOK back...                                        ·•●•·At 35% now and the narrative still doesn’t grab me like the previous books did. Not thinking it’s a translation issue. The words are alright. Some phrases have “ATTENTION! NORWEGIAN WORDPLAY” written all over them, and I have to look them up; try to make sense of them – or ask Manny. The Knausgårdian pull is definitely there, but it’s not as strong this time. For instance Karl Ove and his mother have a conversation about his new job as a newspaper critic over dinner. A lot of things get mentioned; the tomato sauce, the potato that almost rolled of the plate, the pots and pans. But where is the detail? What color did the pot have – which pattern did the table cloth have – what song was played on the radio? Those kind of things. @KOK – You’re not faltering, are you? There are also way too few other books mentioned so far. I hope this’ll change.                                        ·•●•·At 50% the book has gained some momentum, not least because of Bjørneboe and also Heidegger who were explicetely mentioned several times and at other times lurk in the back somehow. What is annoying, though, is the way some words gets emphasized: Someone, probably from the German publisher, decided it was good idea to write those words not in the usual way, italic, but italic and bold. Very distracting.[NB: If you see a space between the word “bold” and the full stop above – that wasn’t me! It’s yet another glitch in the GR software]                                        ·•●•·At 75%. Nearing the end of this novel. Is this really a novel, or is it a memoir after all? I looked up the small town in Northern Norway on Google Maps, where most of the story is set, and couldn’t find it. There is not village called Håfjord in all of Norway. I finally found an article from Dagbladet in which Knausgård admits he gave the place and the people in different names to protect them. But of course the newspaper found out about the real name: ████████; and it looks like this:Can’t say I love this book. Can’t say I hate it either. Of the four books I read this is the weakest though, and I doubt this impression will change within the last quarter of the book.                                        ·•●•·At 100%. Four down, two to go. At age 18/19 Karl Ove seemed to have been some nasty piece of work with all his drinking and selfishness. Not so much of a whiny boy any more though (cf. Book #3). I believe if you don’t like Holden Caulfield from Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye you certainly won’t like the Karl Ove Knausgård in this book. On the other hand, if you do like Holden (like I do) you don’t necessarily also like Karl Ove. Hm. But this is not the reason why I down-starred this volume in relation to the other ones. Volume four seems kind of rushed to me. I’m missing the threads that hold the text together and I also don’t quite get the point of this book within the whole six-volume-novel. Somewhere near the end his first novel, Ute av verden, gets mentioned. I would really like to read this one some time. Perhaps it’ll shed some light on the story here. Unfortunately there’s neither a German nor an English version of Ute av verden available.So, bye-bye, Karl Ove Knausgård – for now; see you again in Book #5 which I’m going to start reading at the end of May – at least that’s my plan.[to be continued here]This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

  • Melanie
    2019-03-25 00:32

    "Book 4 is also the airiest book in the ­series. The pages are rarely dense with text. The essayistic passages that elevate the earlier volumes, bold in their old-­fashioned European profundity and full of keen, original, brilliantly associative thinking, are nowhere to be found. Everything here is dramatized, scene after scene, compellingly so but without the gravitas of the earlier books and suggestive of a lighter, more carefree period in Knausgaard’s life.The reason these books feel so much like life is that there’s only one main character. For all of his gifts, Knausgaard ­never leaves an indelible impression of other people. I have only a limited sense of his ­father and mother despite having read hundreds of pages about them, and the figures Knausgaard meets in Hafjord, his teaching colleagues, the girls he falls for and his students, tend to merge. You never get inside these people. It’s impossible to be inside them without altering the focus of Knausgaard’s solipsism. This wouldn’t work with most writers. They wouldn’t be interesting enough, tormented enough, smart, ­noble, pitiless or self-critical enough. With Knausgaard the trade-off is more than worth it. His is such an interesting brain to inhabit that you never wish to relinquish the perspective any more than, in your own life, you wish to stop being yourself. One of the paradoxes of Knausgaard’s work is that in dwelling so intensely on his own memories he restores — and I would almost say blesses — the reader’s own."Jeffrey Eugenides, The New York TimesEugenides hits the nail right on the head here. As much as I will give 10 stars to the entire My Struggle series (and I have yet to read installments 5 and 6), this one felt much, much lighter than the previous three. There were a lot less flights of the mind between the past relived and the present moment of writing the book. There were a lot less of the existential digressions and philosophical asides that I loved so much in the first two books. There was a lot less free play and improvisation in the writing.There was a lot of sexual yearning. A lot of booze. A lot of (very) young girls with perfect bums and breasts outlined underneath their shirts. A lot of self-awareness. A lot of hunger for life, for transcendence, for excitement, for heat in all its manifestations, for independence. The adolescent male in its primeval glory.And yet. There is absolutely nothing like living inside Karl Ove Knausgaard's mind. If this volume is more airy than the previous ones, it is precisely because it portrays a shifty, self-conscious, arrogant and confused period of life. There is no room for much complexity here because the entire self is pointed and taut like an arrow, aimed at one thing and one thing only: sex. So it must be.And this is where Knausgaard's genius lies. If you trust him, if you are willing to tread through the mundane as well as the sublime, you will be rewarded in ways that you will never suspect. You will experience what it's like to be in someone else's head, literally. Lives are messy, boring, mucky and repetitive. Lives are also unique, unpredictable, elegant and heartbreaking. As Oscar Wilde said, we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.

  • Perry
    2019-03-13 01:45

    Press Release for Immediate Publication, May 29, 2017From: Committee for Understanding Priapism In Development (CUPID) Subject: Award of 2017 Prize to Norwegian writer Karl Ove KnausgaardThe Committee for Understanding Priapism In Development ("CUPID") takes much pleasure in announcing that our 2017 Award will be presented to Karl Ove Knausgaard for his contributions to a better public understanding of the Chronic Hell of Uncontrollable Bulges that all men suffer in their formative years (CUPID's CHUB Award).We selected Karl Ove for the first five volumes of his most upstanding My Struggle, recently published in the United States, primarily for his semi-autobiographical novel, My Struggle, Book 4: Dancing in the Dark, in which he accurately and brilliantly portrays the tormented mind of the male in his late teen years. In the novel, Mr. Knausgaard describes his year as a nineteen-year-old teacher on the northern coast of Norway during which his mind was chronically cluttered with carnal cacoethes, so much so that he developed a crush on one of his female students and allowed his virginity to be taken by a wanton woman a year his senior. The Committee believes such truthful depictions of the male developing into manhood are much needed for females of the western world to gain a more complete understanding of the male's brain it matures under an ominous terror brought upon him by the constant conflict between his moral compass and chivalric aspirations on the one hand and, on the other, the involuntary demonic thoughts arising within him and the uncontrollable reaction of his body. As Sir William Osler, father of modern medicine, so veriloquently stated, "The natural man has only two primal passions -- to get and beget."Portions of Interviews with CUPID President Johnson N. Palmer, Fusée de Poche, Louisiana, May 25, 2017:I too grew up as a young male. It was hard. Mr. Knut gave such fitting descriptions of the pain endured by the young man in lewd visions popping into his head randomly and unloosing a problematic granitic growth. You might not think it, but my mind was not at all complicated back then. It was all quite simple. My mind was not, as some of you gals might believe, a pornographic potpourri. Heck, the most provocative photos in my room were a poster of Farrah Fawcett, in an unbelievably hot pose in a burnt-orange bikini burnt into my mind, and of the model Cheryl Tiegs in a see through fishnet bathing suit. Boy howdy, that brings back some moving memories. The forming male mind is more idolatrous of the female figure, a worship in which they are congenitally corneous and carnally-afflicted supplicants. One of our doctors on the CUPID premises says a young men we are overloaded with what they call androgen. I says, hey now boy, I ain't no androgynous, and he explained that weren't what he was talking about. From what I've been able to gather in my power position, the thrust of it is that this chemical plagues us as boys with bouts of what you might call a sort of depression of the mind and inflational, compromising poses. We become depressed because we are cheapened by our persistent, involuntary preoccupations with female machinations, each of us a walking contradiction with an itchy false sensor always going off with what it believes is female pheromones. You could say we was in a testosterone zone. Oh sure. I think the teen male mind is completely misunderstood by womenfolk. Most of us is tongue-tied, terrified and timid in the presence of the female subspecies, when we are usually nothing but peach-fuzzed, pimple-faced punks repeatedly suffering persecution from our peers. I was often flummoxed by my buddies bragging with all-fired bravado after a girl walked by, and then I'd become a bashful boy with an inner barbarian when approached by a pretty girl.We need more books like this here one written by Mr. Knuttsen [pointing] to help us here at CUPID counter the negative feministic reactions to young men in general at a time when these boys have increasing pressure to handle themselves amidst the plethora of porn available on the internets. Today's young man is dazed and dogged by thoughts he does and should deem demonic, he's likely just a gawky geek losing grip on reality by his salacious yearnings. We need more contributions to help young men as they face the insidious internets full of pornographic photos and what they call naked selfins bombarding their cellular phones. Yes, sure. I'd tell the fellows and upstanding ladies out there to send in whatever you can afford because young men are out there in need of your aid and succor as they face the devilry in these porn purveyors and selfin-sending harlots. Our address is CUPID, Box 96, Fusée de Poche, Louisiana. Shouting out a big Thank you. NOTE: This is a humble attempt at satire of a macho male organization in the bawdy times of bully political leaders, at bringing comic light to a novel for which I would have had a difficult time writing a thorough review due to its adult subject matter.

  • Mike W
    2019-03-03 04:29

    My initial reaction is to rate it 3 stars but I'm having a hard time actually rationalizing that score. The series as a whole is actually quite difficult to explain to the uninitiated, it usually elicits an increasingly blank stare as I drone on about its merits. But those I've convinced to begin it have all been caught up in its energy. I would guess that for many, especially women, this fourth book is the least favorite in the series. It mainly consists of the sexual angsts and alcoholic binges of a 17-19 year old Karl Ove. Yet, I read on with much of the same zest I did for the others even if it lacked the same hypnotic magic of 1-3. I'm still trying to figure out why. My working theory is that KO and I are nearly the same age and so his descriptions and cultural references bring me back to that same time period and perhaps I can relate more than I otherwise would? And while I hope that I wasn't the walking hormone he seems to have been, I (and probably most boys/men of that age) likely was. I suppose book 4 had two interesting effects on me. First to make me intermittently nostalgic for those days when I'd first left home and the world was mine to conquer and second to give me an immense appreciation for being now well beyond that stage of life. True to form, KO was so blunt about his fears and shortcomings (no pun intended but I guess that's a spoiler), that I had to read on just to see how things turned out with each new romantic pursuit, and the dramatic irony (he builds a strong case for failures) produced as a result created a schadenfreude that was difficult to resist.

  • ajcila
    2019-02-24 08:34

    this is my least favorite book from this 'series' but it's well written of course and has specific and great armosphere but tbh it's not my type of topic i want to read can't wait to read the fifth book! and after that only one left!!!!

  • Justin Evans
    2019-03-07 00:31

    I kept a very close eye on myself as I read this, and worked out why I keep reading: it's just readable. KOK writes ideal airplane literature for those of us who think we're too good for airplane literature. You don't have to keep track of anything, the pages turn, not because you have to keep going, but because it's all so digestible that there's no reason to stop turning them. He captures exactly what it's like to be an 18 year old boy (unpleasant), and throws in a few slightly intellectual paragraphs to salve your conscience while you're otherwise reading about booze and fucking. I recently read somewhere this definition of literature as opposed to non-literary language: in literature, sentences always mean at least two things (it's a common one, I know; I think I read it in Sartre). That is not true of My Struggle, in which the words very much mean only and always what they appear to mean--again, this makes it an easy read, your brain will not be taxed at all. It's also interesting to think of KOK trying to make literature out of the non-literary, an old avant-garde approach to writing (though the old avant-gardists would, ahem, not appreciate KOK's spin on it). Is that what's going on here? Is this in any way incompatible with my "it's just airplane literature" enjoyment? I don't think so. In any case, KOK knows this. Karl Ove discusses with his mother her brother's poetry. "Why," asks Karl Ove, "can't he just write it as it is, straight?""Some do," she said. "But there are things you can't say straight." "Such as?" Her answer is, roughly, Heidegger's concept of Sorge, which isn't entirely convincing as an answer, but does make me really like his mother. Later, he describes his teenage nostalgia for childhood, "when the trees were trees, not 'trees', cars not 'cars', when Dad was Dad, not 'Dad.'" So, despite myself, I managed to intellectualize this non-intellectual book. It reflects on its own non-intellectuality, it's own lack of irony, in such a way that the reader can indulge in the boy as unliterary, unintelligent, unironical--while also being aware that this is just nostalgia. The impressive thing about book four is how it is successful as nostalgic pablum, while inserting *just* enough of the ironic acid to keep my brain engaged. If only there'd been less stuff about the Tyrannical Family. I just do not care to hear about people's struggles with their family members. We all have them. They are not interesting. KOK as a teenager refusing to beat off might not be interesting to others, I admit.

  • Trish
    2019-03-12 07:33

    In this installment of his six-volume fiction, Knausgaard is eighteen years old. He relates his first year teaching lower secondary school in Håfjord, a small town by the sea in far north Norway. This is his first full-time paid employment outside of a month’s summertime stint at a nursing home. The excitement of being on his own to earn money, to write, to be all he can be is palpable in the beginning. Only a few short months into the teaching gig he calls his mother: he wants to quit. Ah, callow youth!It turns out what he really wants to do, what absorbs his attention, is shag girls. "I would have given anything to sleep with a girl. Any girl actually…But it wasn’t something you were given, it was something you took. Exactly how, I didn’t know…" A great deal of the time and energy of his sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth years revolved around this quest. The wider world was there: the colleague he lived with continually asked him to go on tramps in the countryside but he refused: "not my thing." When at Christmas that year he returns to Lavik in southern Norway he notices trees: "I’d had no idea that I had missed trees until I was sitting there and saw them."Outside of shagging girls what Karl Ove wanted to do is write. And not just write: “I will be the bloody greatest ever…I had to be big. I had to.” Actually, it is this certainty in his own talents that makes Karl Ove interesting to listen to for five hundred-odd pages in this installment. It has been said that a novel is just words on paper until it is read; that is, the reader brings imagination, understanding, and empathy to a novel to make it cohere or not. This installment of Knausgaard’s six-part novel, subtitled Dancing in the Dark, is a particularly good example of the need for reader insight. Karl Ove is a special kind of boy, but he can fail. That we don’t want him to fail is only partly his doing. This section of the linked novels is also more claustrophobic than earlier installments of Knausgaard’s story. We have less of the older authorial voice, and any distance history might provide. All thought and action takes place entirely within Karl Ove’s own head, and outside of a section in which he moves back to his final year in high school and occasional comments by the then 40-year-old author, we have only the binocular vision of his two eyes and his underdeveloped prefrontal cortex to guide us through six months living in the perpetual dark of the an Arctic winter.The dark plays a large role in developing this teenager into a man. He has to fight against the dark within and without, and doesn’t always manage it. We readers give him ample room for mistakes in this environment, seeing as how we can hardly imagine ourselves pulling it off. The endless cycles of weekend drinking are both horrible and understandable; we just wish our bright young narrator were not so susceptible to alcohol’s siren song.Knausgaard finishes Min Kamp Volume #4 on a high note and with a flourish worthy of his hormonal anguish. He has us laughing that he finally scaled the hills and valleys of his testosterone-soaked internal landscape. While the story of his eighteenth year has insufficient perspective in itself to have much meaning, the rest of the volumes and readers themselves provide context and meaning. We learn fractionally more about the elusive Yngve, who has small speaking parts in this novel, and marginally more about his father’s decline. We feel Karl Ove’s desperation and confusion when he realizes the place his mother rented is only home when his mother and brother are there: "...home is no longer a place. It was mum and Yngve. They were my home."This novel is the written equivalent of Karl Ove staring into the bathroom mirror while washing his hands, looking and being looked at, inside and outside at the same time, purely and unambiguously expressing his inner state. It is forgotten the instant the pen is put down or the book closed until someone else opens the book, picks up the soap, stares at their reflection, and examines their soul.

  • Ellie
    2019-03-11 02:48

    This is volume 4 of Karl Ove Knauusgaard’s monumental work, My Struggle. I have loved all the books and read them almost as obsessively as they seem to have been written and this one is my favorite so far (although I was especially impressed by the first volume as well).The long seemingly minute by minute accountings of Karl Ove’s life as an 18 year who has taken a job as a teacher in northern Norway. The book is the most comic of the books so far, punctuated by beautiful lyrical passages. The atmosphere of the very cold northern town is powerfully evoked-the long darkness of winter and the brightening of spring, the power of the appearance of the sun after a seemingly endless dark winter, how like a triumph over death it may be to survive winter and see the spring.As with Knauusgard’s previous volumes, the book is filled with the minutiae of daily life which somehow add up to more than can be explained by looking at any particular scene or description. The book is funnier than the others, the story of an 18 year old boy obsessed with sex and his virginity. He is always falling in love, and always unable to consummate it, even when given the opportunity. There is a tender pretentiousness in his decision to be a writer-a choice partly driven by a genuine impulse and partly by an adolescent need to be extraordinary, to be special, to rebel against the perceived expectations of family and community and live on the dark side. Karl Ove is swept up in the romanticism of a dissolute life and when he’s not teaching or writing, he’s usually getting drunk. The author portrays this struggle as both funny and touching.I love this work, often without understanding why. In this volume, for me, it was clearer how the ordinary sets off the extraordinary, how the mundane can be both comic and sweet.

  • Mayk Şişman
    2019-03-05 04:32

    Bitirmemek için özel çaba harcadım ama artık yeter... :) Çok sevdim!

  • Caterina
    2019-03-12 01:44

    “Portrait of the Artist as a Young Jerk” --4.5/5In Book Four, Karl Ove Knausgaard offers up his fictionalized late-teen self stumbling into semi-adulthood. This is by far the funniest installment in the My Struggle series so far; though not as good as Book Two, the writing is more fluent and gentler, with more dramatic irony. Young KOK is ambitious — about writing, and about living and thinking in ways that question and push beyond the norms — including extreme drinking, and the mysteries of love and sex. Sometimes his behavior is outright alarming. But four novels in, he’s under my skin. I cared about him. I worried and groaned, chuckled and sympathized. I wanted him to shape up — but also wanted things to work out well, wanted him not to give up his dreams. This is part of the inexplicable magic of the series. As in the previous volumes, attention to seemingly insignificant and embarrassing details open a kind of acceptance to all our mundane human lives and to life itself —yet in a low key, complicated way. For the reader these novels themselves become the Proustian cookie that we dip into the tea to conjure up our own memories, as Lee Klein pointed out in his excellent review*Proust is the patron saint of associative memory, the famous phenomenon in which a cookie dipped in tea revives a forgotten world. KOK and his My Struggle series will become associated with something similar: instead of some innocent trigger evoking memories, Knausgaard’s dramatization of his past evokes memories for readers. My Struggle is the madeleine. (Lee Klein)Book Four begins as eighteen-year-old Karl Ove Knausgaard takes a one year job as a teacher in a remote fishing village in northern Norway, in order to pursue his ambition to write. Midway, there’s a 200-page flashback to age sixteen and family life. Young KOK is intelligent and focused, concerned with defining an identity, styling himself, setting out an ambitious life-path. It’s the late 1980s; he dresses in black with a studded belt and a cross earring; he listens to new music and writes about it well enough to get a job as a music critic for two newspapers. He eschews nature as banal, refusing every invitation to hike with his outdoorsy colleague though they are surrounded by spectacular mountains(!) He is inspired by books about disaffected, anti-authoritarian young men with whom he longs to identify — sort of. I wanted to steal, drink, smoke hash, and experiment with other drugs — cocaine, amphetamines, mescaline — to get high and live the great rock-and-roll lifestyle, to feel to the last drop of blood that I couldn’t give a flying fuck about anything. Oh, what appeal there was in that! But then there was all the rest inside of me that wanted to be a serious student, a decent son, a good person. If only I could blow that to smithereens! (320)On some level I saw this inner conflict as earnest. He longs to escape from the oppression of his humiliating and limited self — an authentic longing that we humans have most likely always sought one way or another. He’s also seeking some kind of direct, raw, experience of reality, beyond the limited world he knows, and the ability to express it artistically.On another level, this passage was a bit comical as the narrative went on to show his young self to be the slightly spoiled suburban version of the rebel he wanted to be. His rants against authority are followed by rants against his mother on whose drudgery (ironically as a nurse in a psychiatric hospital, and in the home) he depends for food, shelter, clothing, and more spending money than she can really afford after his parents’ divorce. And why hasn’t she yet washed the icky underwear that he left for her to wash?!! How thoughtless of her! On a more serious level, his escalating binge drinking and irresponsibility have already caused some trouble. He seems not so much uncaring as oblivious to its harmful consequences. His mother comes across as extraordinarily calm and fair — but she’s clearly unhappy. It’s even implied that her son’s costly behavior indirectly contributed to her losing her house and her beloved cat Mephisto when she downsizes to a rental apartment. Meanwhile, young Karl Ove is obsessed with girls and (his imagination of) sex. Good thing he can now deploy his sense of humor against even this humiliation. Here is the sixteen-year-old:[T]here were only three things I wanted. The first was a girlfriend. The second was to sleep with a girl. The third was to get drunk. Or, if I am being totally honest, there were only two things: sleeping with a girl and getting drunk. I had lots of other interests, I was full of ambition in all sorts of areas … but when it came to the crunch there were only two things I really wanted. No, when I actually came down to it, there was only one. I wanted to sleep with a girl. That was the only thing I wanted. A fire burned inside me, one that never went out. Even when I was asleep, it flared up, a glimpse of a breast in a dream was all I needed, and I came. Oh no, not again, I thought every time I woke up… (122)Unfortunately, the sight or thought of contact with a beautiful girl often has the same result while he’s awake, and Karl Ove is afraid that his lack of control will condemn him to loneliness forever. Yet it’s not really all about the sex. There’s a great deal of tender and sensitive writing about the mysteries (and imbalances) of love and attraction in his many and varied friendships and relationships with girls and women. He seems to be attractive and well-liked as a friend and as a romantic interest, so I suspect that with his self-critical slant he paints himself worse than he really was.Poignantly, as a nineteen-year-old teacher he is at pains to understand or conceal his attraction to one of his thirteen-year-old students — who also seems to be concealing an attraction to him. In northern Norway, people take on adult roles at an earlier age, but Karl Ove wisely considers anyone under sixteen, and certainly his own student, as off limits. He thinks he’s handling it well, but one day one of his male students, perhaps innocently, calls him out.My insides trembled.Was I in love with Andrea?Was I in love?No, no, no.But I was drawn to her in my thoughts. I was.When I was at the school during the night, when I stood by the dark, motionless water in the swimming pool, I imagined she was in the changing room, alone, and that soon I would go in. She covered herself, looked up, I knelt down in front of her, she looked at me, at first with apprehension, then tenderness and openness. I imagined this and at the same time thought the opposite, that she wasn’t in the changing room, how could I think like that, no one must find out how my mind worked.My insides trembled, but no one knew because my movements were controlled…nothing of what others saw could betray my inner thoughts.I hardly knew I had these thoughts, they lived in a kind of no-man’s land, and when they came, in an explosion, I didn’t hold onto them, I let them fall back to where they came from, and so it was as though they didn’t exist.But what Jørn had said, that changed everything, because that came from the outside.Everything from the outside was dangerous.(424)Everyone knows everything about everyone in this village of 300-some families. Yet it’s also an inclusive, accepting community in a way Karl Ove has never experienced. Everyone is welcome at all social gatherings. Students, teaching colleagues, and fishermen drop in unannounced at his apartment to socialize. (I wonder whether this culture has survived the internet.) And, also unlike the part of Norway where Karl Ove grew up, many people in the north get together at night to drink heavily — and Karl Ove loves, loves to drink. Why didn’t everyone drink? Alcohol makes everything big, it is a wind blowing through your consciousness, it is crashing waves and swaying forests, and the light it transmits gilds everything you see, even the ugliest and most revolting person becomes attractive in some way, it is as if all objections and all judgments are cast aside in a wide sweep of the hand, in an act of supreme generosity, here everything, and I do mean everything, is beautiful.(426)Even though drinking his way to transcendence is followed by frightening black-outs and vague memories of alarming or humiliating things he may or may not have done, he doesn’t seem to think it’s much of a problem. His descent into extreme drinking parallels the simultaneous descent into alcoholism by his father after he divorces Karl Ove’s mother. You might expect that between teaching, drunken revelry, and the pursuit of his desire to bestow his carnal gift, Karl Ove would have found no time to write — but you would be wrong. On that count he’s a disciplined fellow, crafting numerous short stories and sending them to anyone he regards as discerning enough to critique them, in hopes of further refining them for publication. There’s a great, terrible, comically melodramatic scene when he finds someone has left in his typewriter a parody of one of his stories — a good parody, he realizes — but he is hurt, and can’t forgive. He’ll show them! He’ll CRUSH them with his amazing writing!!!Appropriately, the novel ends with comic triumph -- somewhat undermined by an element of ickiness and degradation. But I’m still on board for the rest of the series, and whatever else Mr. Knausgaard may have translated into English.*For another view, see Lee Klein’s excellent review:

  • Bruno
    2019-03-12 06:42

    Dancing with a bonerDopo aver lasciato, alla fine del terzo volume, un Karl Ove tredicenne che dall'isola di Tromøy si trasferiva con la famiglia a Kristiansand, lo ritroviamo qui alle soglie dell'età adulta. Diciotto anni e con il gymnas, il liceo, ormai alle spalle, Karl Ove brama la vera vita che gli si spalanca davanti in un caleidoscopio di seducenti possibilità. Senza la benché minima voglia di continuare gli studi, Karl Ove fa domanda per ricoprire un ruolo annuale di insegnante in un paesino sperduto nella Norvegia settentrionale, il cui nome fittizio è Håfjord, assimilabile con ogni probabilità ad un borgo di pescatori della Sardegna, se questa si trovasse al nord del circolo polare. L'ambientazione e gli eventi qui narrati andranno poi a costituire la principale fonte di ispirazione per il primo romanzo di Knausgård, Ute av verden, con il quale vinse nel 1998 il prestigioso premio della critica norvegese. Non riesco ancora a capire come sia possibile che ad un diciottenne, fresco di liceo e senza alcuna formazione o esperienza nel campo, venga permesso di insegnare a degli studenti che in alcuni casi sono quasi dei coetanei, ma va be', quelli so' scandinavi, sono di vedute aperte o forse capita solo nei paeselli in Culonia dove nessuno vuole andare e il tasso di suicidi supera di gran lunga quello delle nascite. Poi c'è questa abitudine, tipicamente scandinava a quanto pare*, per cui gli studenti vanno a trovare i propri insegnanti a casa, semplicemente perché si annoiano o perché vogliono curiosare. Se ai tempi della scuola i miei compagni mi avessero proposto di andare a trovare, che so, la professoressa di matematica, forse sarei scoppiato a piangere e mi sarei provocato volontariamente un salasso mortale con la punta del compasso.In realtà questa fantomatica Håfjord sembra un piccolo paradiso: il mare, i fiordi, l'aurora boreale, le atmosfere ovattate, la neve! Il motivo principale, infatti, per cui Karl Ove si propone per questo incarico è proprio l'isolamento, che si è imposto forzatamente allo scopo di trovare il tempo per scrivere. Il suo obiettivo è quello di ritornare al sud, alla fine di quell'anno, con un romanzo o dei racconti in valigia. Le parti più interessanti del romanzo sono state per me esattamente quelle in cui descrive l'impegno creativo e gli sforzi con cui esplora e sperimenta alla ricerca di una propria voce. Oh shit, this was no good either!All the fires in the darkness, the tall mountain and the immense plain, it had been so fantastic!On paper it was nothing. I moved to the sofa and started writing my diary instead. 'Have to work on transferring the moods from inside to outside,' I wrote 'But how? Easier to describe people's actions, but that's not enough, I don't think. On the other hand, Hemingway did it.'Dopo aver descritto la prima settimana di lavoro, l'impatto con gli studenti, i colleghi e la gente del posto, la gran parte del libro si concentra sugli anni del gymnas, il cui leitmotiv è l'alcol, fiumi e fiumi di alcol, un consumo sporadico di droghe e l'ossessione per le ragazze**. Il Karl Ove adolescente scopre ben presto che l'alcol è il modo perfetto per confrontarsi con la vita sociale, per rilassarsi e sentirsi abbastanza coraggiosi da provarci con qualche ragazza, ma non si accontenta dell'occasionale cocktail che ti rende un po' brillo ed, qui si parla di almeno tre bottiglie di vino a sera, o una bottiglia intera di vodka. Ma che fegato avranno mai 'sti scandinavi? Da far concorrenza ai russi e agli scozzesi messi insieme. Una roba che se avessi seguito i ritmi di Knausgård, mi sarei presentato all'esame di maturità con il volto itterico e la cirrosi epatica...a me che brucia lo stomaco con un po' di peperonata! Non fu mai tanto vero che talis pater, talis filius, e infatti questi sono gli anni in cui ha inizio il lento e inesorabile processo di decadimento dello stesso padre di Karl Ove che, dopo essersi risposato e trasferito al nord, scivola sempre di più nella spirale dell'alcolismo. Parte degli eventi che riguardano il padre sono ricostruiti tramite i diari che quest'ultimo aveva preso l'abitudine di compilare, osservazioni lapidarie e appunti apparentemente banali, dai quali Knausgård ricava un'immagine nuova del proprio padre, ormai quasi totalmente spogliato di quell'aria di rigidità e autorevolezza che aveva permeato tutta la sua infanzia. Ormai dovrei essermi abituato alla schiettezza di Knausgård, ma a volte continua a lasciarmi davvero sorpreso. Il libro descrive minuziosamente i tentativi (mancati) di arrivare, come direbbero in un film americano, in quarta base - di fare sesso, insomma. La perdita della verginità, la El Dorado di ogni adolescente.Sicuramente esisterà qualche statistica più precisa, ma oserei ipotizzare che la quasi totalità degli adolescenti mente spudoratamente in fatto di sesso. E' una legge di sopravvivenza. In Dancing in the dark, invece, Karl Ove si mette completamente a nudo - che giochi di parole, eh! - rivelando, tra un'erezione al momento meno opportuno e un'eiaculazione precoce, tutte le imbarazzanti cilecche della sua adolescenza. Chapeau! Ci vuol un bel coraggio. Ottimo volume, forse il più ironico e divertente finora.______* Anche ne L'isola dell'infanzia Karl Ove va a trovare la propria insegnante insieme all'amico Geir, se non ricordo male.**Ho scoperto che Knausgård è vittima della mia stessa malattia - l'innamoramento facile. E' un problema molto sottovalutato! Non è per niente semplice innamorarsi e avere il cuore spezzato tre e quattro volte al giorno.______Nel caso ve lo foste persi, vi consiglio l'articolo di Knausgård uscito proprio qualche giorno fa sull'Internazionale - si chiama Viaggio al centro del cervello ed è il resoconto dell'esperienza fatta dallo scrittore in Albania, dove ha assistito ad alcune operazioni al cervello effettuate dal chirurgo Herny Marsh su pazienti coscienti. Da brividi! L'articolo era già uscito sul New York Times lo scorso dicembre. E' un bel po' lunghetto, ma ne vale veramente la pena.

  • Helle
    2019-03-14 00:30

    In this fourth instalment of his literary struggle, Karl Ove Knausgård continues his backward quest to describe and come to terms with his growing up. The book begins and ends with his going to northern Norway for a year as a substitute teacher, though he is only 18 and fresh out of high school. He paints a vivid portrait of life in small-town Norway in a village of only some 250 houses and so far north that the school he teaches at changes teachers almost every year because no new people move to the place. There is darkness for weeks on end during the winter and endless light during the summer. There is also quite a lot of drinking for what else is there to do up there?The tone of his existential musings from the previous three instalments carry over in this one, too, but too many pages are dedicated to his lusting after girls and wondering when on earth someone will help him put an end to his painful state as a virgin. I realize this is what a lot of teenage boys feel, but that doesn’t necessarily make it interesting as literary material – certainly not when, as I often felt, it was described in real-time. In the first three instalments I was often full of sympathy for the young Karl Ove, especially in volume three when he allows us to revisit his childhood and his tyrant of a father. His father looms large in this volume also and is well on his way to becoming the alcoholic we met in volume one. In this volume, however, Karl Ove was often extremely unlikeable and selfish, not just flawed as in the other volumes. I felt sorry for his mother sometimes, but I suppose I would feel sorry for my own mother, too, if I had the empathic hindsight to remember some of the things I put her through back then. Knausgård’s story-telling abilities are still powerful, and we begin to see the single-minded writer he would become. He glosses over nothing but lays bare his immaturity and humiliations, his delusions of grandeur, his desire for sexual release and existential freedom. Karl Ove Knausgård is the Nordic anti-hero of his own time.

  • Hakan T
    2019-03-25 04:43

    Kronolojik bir şekilde ilerlemeyen Kavgam serisi giderek daha da etkileyici oluyor. Ben bu cilde bayıldım. Bu defa Karl Ove'nin lisedeki son yılları ve hemen sonrasında hem para kazanmak, hem tanıdığı çevreden bir süreliğine uzaklaşmak ve hem de - belki de daha önemlisi - yazarlık serüvenine başlamak için Kuzey Norveç'in ücra bir köşesinde küçük bir köyde bir yıllığına öğretmenlik yaptığı dönemi anlatıyor. 18 yaşında gençlerin öğretmenlik yapabildiği bir ülkeymiş Norveç bu arada... Gençlik başarısızlıkları, özellikle ilk cinsel deneyim yaşama stresi/arayışı müthiş bir açık kalplilikle işleniyor. Özellikle erkek okurlar için bu bölümler çok tanıdık gelebilir. Tabii fonda fyordlar diyarı Norveç'in doğası da ihmal edilmiyor. Ayrıca Karl Ove'nin edebiyat, müzik zevkinin gelişimi... Korkunç derecede içki tükettiği bir dönemi bu. Kitabın öyle hoş bir finali var ki, unutmak mümkün değil, yüzünüzde epeyce asılı kalacak bir gülümseme bırakacaktır muhtemelen. Bende öyle oldu ve hatırladıkça hala gülüyorum. Knausgaard'ı eleştiren çok ama bence hayatı anlamamız böyle kitaplarla daha kolay. Kim bu kadar samimi ve de sıkı bir üslupla ve de herkesin kendisinde bir şeyler, hatta çok şeyler bulabileceği şekilde içini böyle dökebilir ki...

  • Ioulia Ilvanidou
    2019-03-12 04:48


  • Marcello S
    2019-02-22 04:57

    Spettacolo. Confermo il mio amore per quest'uomo.Dopo un terzo capitolo che non mi aveva del tutto fatto impazzire qui si torna a livelli altissimi. Meglio del secondo, per me, e quasi alla pari del primo.Il libro inizia con un Karl Ove diciottenne alle prese con il suo primo lavoro: fare l'insegnante a Håfjord, un villaggio di pescatori sperduto e piccolissimo dalle parti di Tromsø, al Circolo Polare.Nel resoconto di questo anno scolastico si inserisce, al centro, un flashback bello corposo che racconta gli ultimi anni del liceo. In generale più azione e meno riflessioni rispetto ai volumi precedenti. Meno disamine filosofiche, sociologiche, psicologiche. Leitmotiv:1. cercare a tutti i costi una ragazza da portarsi a letto;2. ubriacarsi, di continuo, fino a dimenticare tutto;3. la musica;4. il tempo da dedicare alla scrittura;5. il rapporto sempre al limite con il padre;6. il paesaggio nordico, il buio, la luce, le stagioni.Ci si vede in autunno, spero, per il quinto. [78/100]“Quando ero arrivato, il cielo era alto e pieno di luce, il mare possente e il paesaggio aperto in modo che il paesino, così dove si trovava con le sue case che sembravano buttate lì alla rinfusa, pareva non essere più in grado di trattenere qualcosa in sé, pareva aver perso ogni suo diritto di esistere. La sensazione era che tutto fluisse, niente si fermasse. Poi giunsero la neve e il buio. Il cielo si abbassò, simile a una specie di coperchio che premeva sopra i tetti delle abitazioni. Il mare scomparve, il suo nero si fuse con quello del cielo, non era più visibile nessun orizzonte. Sparirono persino le montagne e con ciò la sensazione di trovarsi al centro di un paesaggio grande e aperto. Rimasero soltanto le case, che erano illuminate notte e giorno, costantemente circondate dalle tenebre, e adesso il fulcro era rappresentato da esse e dalle luci intorno a cui gravitava ogni cosa.”

  • Ken
    2019-03-12 00:55

    If I could 3.5 this one, I would. It's really more of the same so it went down easily, but #4 seemed to contain fewer beautiful asides. They're there, just with less frequency than some of the earlier versions. In truth, I thought this would be a favorite, as it covers Karl Ove at age 18 when he decided to teach for one year in a provincial town of Northern Norway. As a rule, I like coming of age themes, but in this case it's overkill. Karl Ove spends the vast majority of this book trying to lose his virginity and conquer his premature finishes when he's making his move. And make his move he does -- early and often. In addition to all of the frustrated sex, the book features not-frustrated-enough drinking. It's the blood sport of northern Norway, apparently. Karl Ove is drunk for 50% of this book. And we all know what it's like when you're around drunks too long. A bit tiresome.Emphasis as usual on 80s rock bands, but at least he works a little literature in (some Hamsun!) and shows us how he's trying to become a writer of short stories. Dad makes cameos here and there (Karl Ove jumps back and forth in time freely) and when he (Daddy Dearest) does, he steals the show as usual. The sheer force of his personality is why #1 stood out so much and remains, to date, the strongest of a pretty strong series.

  • dp
    2019-03-03 05:39

    até agora: 2 > 4 > 3 > 1

  • Dajana
    2019-03-24 03:48

    Petsto strana čekanja da spava s nekom nasumičnom devojkomUkratkoAli zabavno, kao i uvek

  • Constantin Piştea
    2019-03-25 05:49

    Cartea a patra a seriei „Lupta mea” îl prezintă pe Karl Ove Knausgård la 18 şi 16 ani, un tânăr neîmplinit pe mai multe planuri, frustrat sexual (la 18 ani e încă virgin), cu părinţii proaspăt divorţaţi şi cu o profundă inadecvare socială, de care este tot mai conştient.După ce termină liceul, Karl Ove merge ca profesor de toate şi nimic la o şcoală din nordul Norvegiei. Folosind metode uşor neconvenţionale (odată, când ajunge la lecţia despre sistemul solar, înşiră în curtea liceului câteva legume, de mărimi diferite, pentru a compara planetele şi pentru a le explica elevilor raportul de distanţă dintre ele), Karl Ove, care nu are decât doi sau trei ani mai mulţi decât cei cărora le predă, încearcă să-şi facă o viaţă liniştită de profesor, pentru a-şi vedea de ceea ce-şi doreşte cu adevărat: să scrie.Continuarea:

  • Flaneurette
    2019-03-20 03:30

    I had promised myself to stay on a Knausgård diet and only read one book a year. Book 3 however wrenched my gut and heart to the extent where I felt I had to know how the author would fare in the adult world. This 4th volume is a coming-of-age novel in its own right, with limited retrospection and a lot of new adventures; a new and magnificent landscape, girls of a greater variety of shapes and ages, a new job as a teacher without qualifications, an outspoken determination to become a writer, responsibilities and endless opportunities to get intoxicated - a new life, his own life. All the novelty results in florid reporting rather than the exuberantly painted atmosphere and clever diversions we have seen in previous volumes. Volume 4, dubbed ‘Life’ (‘Leben’) in German, rests on thinner pillars.This volume was perhaps the most awaited one in Norway as it refers to Knausgård’s first novel about a young teacher and his relationship with a 13-year old student. For that reason I was mildly disappointed by the lack of indecencies in this volume – the only one Knausgård admits to largely have made up. One can only speculate why and to what extent this is, after all, fiction. It has become increasingly evident why the chosen original title 'Min Kamp' (cf Hitler’s ‘Mein Kampf’) was an inevitable one, and all the more disappointing it is to see that various other titles are used for the translated books. Even changing the title into plural form would have done the content more justice, despite there being just one ultimate struggle; the struggle with a life that comes in the way of writing, which in this book means partying, unpaid bills, the brother’s modest approval of the burgeoning author’s short stories. The young Knausgård now carries the consequences of his actions, although it does not seem to burden him. His only burden remains the strive for fame and immortal literary production. Yet time and again the psychological backdrop presented in previous volumes provides insight into the topics he chooses to write about; above all resonating his father’s unfounded punishments and arbitrary rewards. Some episodes from volume 3 are even attempted replicated by the aspiring writer, but this time in third person. With writing being his main mission in life, the struggle for uninterrupted copulation seems to take up just as much of his energy. Again, the title in Norwegian carries a further depth to the idea of a struggle. It also refers to the noun ‘fight’ and thus to a much more painful and arduous undertaking. Where the overall idea behind the project is to explore how deeply the banalities of everyday life can be penetrated, penetration, or rather the absence of such due to ejaculatio praecox, permeates the volume. Destined to ensure a further reach of his spunk than the few centimetres and few seconds triumphantly achieved in the end - 20 to be accurate, in the true spirit of the meticulous cartographer of all bodily functions often unheard of – his prose falls a bit flat. Previous instalments have proved that there is a lot of mileage in the most granular aspects of Knausgård’s life, but in this volume a rather naive language is kept. Therefore the story suffers from a certain lack of depth. The author seems to have reverted to applying the language of his 18 year old self and does not draw on his more adult knowledge and deeper insight, which I think is what makes this project so compelling. In other words, there is a downward quality curve stretching from the first volume to the fourth. Where the first volume took my breath away, the second instilled a greater sensitivity towards life in me and the third shook my gut, this volume is remarkably lighter and less skilfully composed. Yet Knausgård still leads me safely into the temptation of spending hours and days delving into his memories plentiful, problems abundant and victories scarce. While being less impressed this time round, my hopes for volume five remain unaltered. His tales of where he goes from living a life still unfulfilled to a struggle to become a writer and fights with his own word bode well for a read richer and more precious than this.

  • Jeff Bursey
    2019-03-22 04:56

    A review to come. For now, I'll say this is another self-lacerating portrait of the (mostly) 18-year-old Knausgaard as he teaches in a school set in a village in northern Norway. Father and Mother are alive; there are underage attractive girls around; and lots of liquor that brings on blackouts. Some fine set pieces of nature, and of introspection.Longer review now up here:

  • Bob Peru
    2019-03-18 04:33

    i love these books. and i can't really articulate why. the author is a guy who cries and drinks and smokes and (in this volume) lusts after high school girls.i read his books in big chunks. a hundred or so pages at a time.i predict knausgaard wins the nobel prize some day.

  • Audrey Martel
    2019-03-16 00:54

    650 pages de Karl Ove saoul qui gère une vie sexuelle désespérante. Et c'est formidable. Allez comprendre.

  • Agnieszka Kalus
    2019-03-21 01:53

    Zaczęłam od przeczytania ostatniej strony, i to był błąd. Książka jest o czymś innym. Karl Ove zaczyna powoli, bardzo powoli dorastać. To dobrze, bo wolę te części, które są o jego dorosłym życiu.