Ellevte roman, bok atten

Bjørn Hansen #1

by Dag Solstad

Bjørn Hansen, a respectable town treasurer, has just turned fifty and is horrified by the thought that chance has ruled his life. Eighteen years ago he left his wife and their two-year-old son for his mistress, who persuaded him to start afresh in a small, provincial town and to dabble in amateur dramatics. In time that relationship also faded, and after four years of living alone Bjørn contemplates an extraordinary course of action that will change his life for ever.

He finds a fellow conspirator in Dr Schiøtz, who has a secret of his own and offers to help Bjørn carry his preposterous and dangerous plan through to its logical conclusion. However, the sudden reappearance of his son both fills Bjørn with new hope and complicates matters. The desire to gamble with his comfortable existence proves irresistible, however, taking him to Vilnius in Lithuania, where very soon he cannot tell whether he's tangled up in a game or reality.

Novel 11, Book 18, for which Dag Solstad received the Norwegian Critics' Prize for Literature, is an uncompromising and concentrated existential novel that accommodates all of the author's fundamental themes.

Genres: Fiction, Scandinavian Literature, Literature, Novels, Literary Fiction, Roman, Contemporary

144 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1992

About the author

Dag Solstad was a Norwegian novelist, short-story writer and dramatist whose work has been translated into 20 languages. He wrote nearly 30 books and is the only author to have received the Norwegian Literary Critics' Award three times.
His awards include the Mads Wiel Nygaards Endowment in 1969, the Nordic Council's Literature Prize in 1989, for Roman 1987 and the Brage Prize in 2006 for Armand V. Solstad is among Norway's top-ranked authors of his generation. His early books were considered somewhat controversial, due to their political emphasis (leaning towards the Marxist–Leninist side of the political spectrum).

Reviews

[Lee Klein · Rating 4 out of 5]

Rest in peace, Dag Solstad (July 16, 1941 - March 14, 2025)

"Dag" is something I sometimes said when I was a kid to mean "damn" or "wow" and it holds up to describe my first Dag Solstad experience. A few pages into this, once the peculiar protagonist who likes to read good lit sets off into the interior of Norway, a string of sentence fragments activated my magic-eye co-creating imagination capacities. Midway through the first of the novel's three sections, as Bjorn Hanson dances in sync with others in a musical, the thump of their feet on the boards of the stage, in particular, I experienced the same sort of teleportation. It feels like it was an improvised first-person narration and then at one point the author hit ctrl + F and replaced "I" with "Bjorn Hanson" and then attended to the tenses. Seemed to lose a little steam midway through the section with his son, but recovered in the last section thanks in part to withholding the details of his deal with the drug-addict doctor. The ending seems like self-inflicted symbolic-parallel justice for his immature flightiness with his two marriages, although his ambiguous disability perfectly jibes with his second wife's ambiguous fidelity (physically yet not emotionally loyal) and his ambiguous relation with his abandoned son. Generally I just enjoyed the vibe -- flowing clear prose and approach, plus the Norwegian setting and overall peculiarity. Ordered all other Dag Solstad novels available in English translation about midway through the first section -- can't think of a better recommendation than the fact this one activated the completist instinct. (Dag is good name for a dog BTW.)

[Nood-Lesse · Rating 3 out of 5]

«Il tempo scorre, la noia perdura»

Sarei curioso di sapere che impatto avrebbe questo romanzo sui detrattori di William Stoner, magari apprezzerebbero Bjørn Hansen, non lo considererebbero un personaggio che ha subito la vita. In realtà questo non è romanzo, è una supercazzola, già dal titolo: Romanzo 11, libro 18 [il nome del file word..? Era il 1992 però, credo vi fosse ancora la limitazione al numero di caratteri utilizzabili per il nome del file (8) e per l'estensione (3)].
Scrivi tre tronconi di storia (nel tuo undicesimo romanzo) e poi cerchi di collegarli fra loro, il bello è che chi ti legge è pure costretto a seguirti.. hai il merito di porre degli interrogativi, il tuo romanzo è esistenzialista, ma con Camus, ad esser franchi, hai poco a che vedere. Eppure ho letto di peggio, eppure devo esser arrivato a te grazie al marketing norvegese che pare stia funzionando benissimo anche negli USA. Secondo il postfattore Massimo Ciaravolo, il gancio da traino della letteratura norvegese è Karl Ove Knausgård (classe 1970) che di Dag Solstad (classe 1941) potrebbe essere comodamente il figlio. Il romanzo di Dag è fastidioso, nessuna pagina provoca piacere di leggere, le pagine provocano e basta, lo scopo dell’autore forse era questo. Prendi un vichingo figlio di agricoltori, fallo studiare, fagli allestire una famiglia, fagli trovare un lavoro ministeriale e poi fagli mollare tutto per una donna che non vuole che molli niente.. questo è il primo troncone, come innesti gli altri due scopritelo da soli perché il torto peggiore che si può fare a questo libro è parlare della sua trama, sulla quale anche Dag Solstad deve aver nutrito dei dubbi. Che faccio? Salvo la solita lista di scrittori?

…si era portato via solo qualche effetto personale, come vestiti, scarpe e casse su casse di libri. Era quello il suo bagaglio. Dostoevskij. Puškin. Thomas Mann. Céline. Borges. Tom Kristensen. García Márquez. Proust. Singer. Heinrich Heine. Malraux, Kafka, Kundera, Freud, Kierkegaard, Sartre, Camus, Butor.

Oppure mi improvviso turista come Bjørn Hansen?

…guardava la città ai suoi piedi, sull’altra riva del fiume Neris. Una città antica e nobile. In Europa. Un castello si ergeva in cima a un rilievo, insieme alla Torre di Gediminas, e sotto si stendeva la città con le sue chiese, i suoi edifici, le torri e le mura. Bjørn Hansen si sentì commosso dal panorama e decise immediatamente di uscire.



Vi avviso, è marcatamente norvegese, nonostante la città nella foto (terzo troncone) sia Vilnius, Lithuania

[Cosimo · Rating 3 out of 5]

Preferirei restare solo

Dag Solstad, in questo romanzo del 1992, racconta la storia di un uomo solitario e inquieto e ne narra le vicende esistenziali composte di prospettive atipiche e nichilisti rituali. Bjørn Hansen è un funzionario pubblico e ha una moglie e un figlio di due anni; li abbandona per amore della compagna nascosta Turid Lammers, con la quale condivide una relazione intima e la passione per il teatro dilettantesco, le operette. Si trasferisce da Oslo al nord della Norvegia (Konsberg) dove trova impiego come esattore fiscale e si dedica con la compagna alla recitazione e alle serate mondane. Presto la vita scivola nel fallimento; smette di amare la compagna Turid, non si sente più attratto da lei, che a sua volta rivolge altrove le proprie tensioni, cerca di fare un salto di qualità con una rappresentazione di Ibsen, ma tutto si rivela mediocre, si annulla e si spegne. Bjørn muove verso il centro città e fa vita solitaria, con buoni amici e abitudini borghesi. Ad un tratto irrompe il figlio abbandonato, reclamando per un breve periodo una convivenza a fini di studio universitario. Anche il rapporto padre-figlio si svolge nell'assurdo e nella disperazione, e presto i due si allontanano. Bjørn non vuole sottostare all'idea che sia tutto lì, che la vita non abbia altro da offrire, vive nel terrore del tempo che scorre e dei capricci che sono sostanza della fortuna. Sente un fondo ambiguo nelle cose e cerca di sondare se stesso per inventare un piano di fuga e di rifiuto, che sia promessa di bellezza e libertà. L'idea di una soluzione romantica, che forse discende dalla passione cronografica di Solstad per il romanticismo cupo di Knut Hamsun e si lega alla metafisica ibseniana, impegna il lettore in una speculazione insistente e ripetuta di antinomie e rimandi tra realtà e finzione, validità e menzogna, perdono e protesta. Non c'è quasi nulla di eclatante in questo testo, tutto sembra silenzioso e riconoscibile; eppure, nell'evoluzione della storia, Solstad sembra dissociare il suo Bjørn dal modello di realizzazione e felicità nel quale è da sempre inserito, verso un luogo ignoto e pienamente soggettivo, selvaggiamente critico e antagonista, ma sommamente versato al comico, ospite di uno scherzo ridicolo, dove i legami stretti tra persone, cose e parole sono implausibili e insubordinati. Così il discorso si diffonde: non si riesce a comunicare, siamo irretiti nei rapporti umani, la paralisi frustrata porta a un esito inconcluso fondato sulla suspence e sempre, fino in fondo, improbabile e negativo. Narra la perdita dentro a un turbamento, Solstad, e consapevole che la scrittura spesso non abbia alcun valore, non rinuncia alla disillusione del silenzio.

[Hakan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Dag Solstad’ın alıştığımız yazarlardan olmadığını ne kadar bilsek de bu romanı insanı hayretten hayrete sürüklemeyi başarıyor. Bunun kendi başına iyi bir şey olup olmadığı tartışılır tabii. Ruhsuz ruhlar yaratma konusunda yapacağını yapmış üstat 11. romanı, 18. kitabıyla (romanın bu başlığı da gerçek bilgiymiş bu arada). Kuru, mesafeli gibi görünen ve tekrarlara başvuran üslubuyla (Thomas Bernhard hatırlanmaz mı?) varoluş meselesini şaşırtıcı ama aynı zamanda eğlenceli denilebilecek şekilde işlemiş. Şaşırtıcı derken, romanda ani dönüşler az değil. Sempati beslemeniz pek mümkün olmayan baş karakter Bjørn Hansen’in tuhaflıklarını hoşgörmek de hiç kolay değil. Final bölümdeki üçkağıdı ise hafızalarda yer edecek nitelikte. Çevirinin Norveçce’den dilimize birçok metni ustaca kazandıran Banu Gürsaler Syvertsen tarafından yapılmış olması da bizler için büyük bir şans, kazanç.

[DilekO · Rating 4 out of 5]

Dag Solstad artık kitabını görür görmez aldığım yazarlardan biri; bende heyecan uyandıran bu romanı aldığım gün okuyup bitirdim . Alıştığım , sevdiğim tarzda başlayıp bambaşka bir şeye evrildi, ilk kez bir Solstad karakterini tam anlayamadım . Bu bir üçlemenin ilk kitabıymış , dilerim diğer kitaplar da dilimize kısa zamanda çevrilir de Bjorn Hansen’i daha iyi tanır ve anlarım.

[Jim Elkins]

Problems in Writing Characters without Motivation
-

As in Solstad's T. Singer, this novel is an interesting opportunity to think about writing fiction about main characters who are absent or unaccountable. Here the issue is a character we think we know, who nevertheless behaves in ways that are difficult to understand. It's a more subtle problem than the one posed in T. Singer, where the notion is that the main character is simply undescribed.

In this case we seem to have full access to the character's thoughts, and yet the character does things that he himself either does not understand or does not explain. I'm interested in both possibilities as a way to make the usual access to inner states more difficult, and demonstrate divided consciousness. (I am trying, in my own work, to construct a novel around a character who does not seem to understand his own actions, and whose inner life is partly inccessible. The idea is to resist the common idea that writers can access inner states as easily as "dipping into mustard jars," to use the excellent expression coined by Steve Mitchelmore.)

Novel 11, Book 18 is a clever title. It isn't explained in the book, but in retrospect it means that the main character, called "Bjørn Hansen" in full throughout the novel, is not as unusual as he thinks. There are at least four competing influences here: Kierkegaard, whom Bjørn Hansen reads; Bernhard, whose satires and rants bubble up intermittently; Gombrowicz, very much liked by Solstad; and Ibsen, whose play "The Wild Duck" is produced in the novel, with Bjørn Hansen as an actor. These compete in the sense that they have different kinds of influence on the book. The one that's decisive for my theme is Ibsen, and I think it's an unfortunate influence, because if I read Novel 11, Book 18 as if it were by Ibsen, I'm likely to explain away Bjørn Hansen's behavior as the product of his ordinary, repressed life. As in T. Singer, this novel's formal experimentation threatens to give way to a portraiture of middle class muddling.

At first the novel's central conceit seems to block this sort of reading. Bjørn Hansen concocts a plot to put himself in a wheelchair for life, even though he's healthy. It gives him a "moist, dark peace," he says, to see the world from his wheelchair. The obituary in The New York Times (March 25, 2025) suggests that the idea to live in a wheelchair lets the character "escape the monotony of his existence." Mitchelmore reads the wheelchair as being "about the gap between our hopes and ideas and the experience of life," which is also true, but it's important to note that Bjørn Hansen is puzzled by his own motives. If this were Ibsen, the wheelchair would align with the many other things Bjørn Hansen does, as symptoms of the same purposeless, largely loveless life.

I would prefer to read this book without Ibsen, as it were, because then the way Solstad depicts Bjørn Hansen becomes a really interesting conundrum. I think only about one-fifth of the book is about the wheelchair plot, although it is the book's, and the character's, end point. He is twice married, he's left both his wives, he has a partial rapprochement with his son, he has made a good career for himself as the treasurer of a small town in Norway, he gets involved in the theater: if all of that is something other than material to help explain his decision to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair, then what is it? I recognize this is reading against the grain, but not, I hope, too much, because Bernhard, Gombrowicz, and Kierkegaard all point to more structural questions: lives divided against themselves, lives only partially legible to the people living them.

The problem that interests me here is how to write about a fictional character whose inner life is only partly accessible to readers, or to the character. Is it possible to depict a character who has some thoughts that are accessible to the narration, but whose intentions are not available? Bjørn Hansen is divided in such a way that part of him remains opaque to himself, and that division is never explained. For me, Novel 11, Book 18 doesn't manage this in a consistent or persuasive way, and I recognize that's partly because Solstad's intention is what I'm identifying with Ibsen: he wants to paint the portrait of an ordinary unfulfilled life. But there's also a structural possibility here, more like Beckett's "Ill Seen Ill Said": a narrative about a person we think we know, whose actions are sometimes incomprehensible even to himself.

Problems in representing lacunae in a narrator's mind
One difficulty here, from a writer's point of view, is how to read the many pages in which Bjørn Hansen analyzes people. A number of pages are spent analyzing the motives of his friends and the life and tastes of his son. Those passages are presented as insightful. I can imagine a different version of this book which takes Bjørn Hansen's defective awareness of himself as an opportunity to present those analyses as strangely incomplete or oddly reasoned. Then the lacuna in his capacity for self-reflection, which ends up swallowing him and the book, would be evenly distributed.

The same observation applies, in reverse, to moments in his life that are not explained at all, especially his reasons for leaving both his wives. His first wife is entirely absent from the book even though he takes in his son by that marriage, and his second wife disappears from the story after their separation, despite the fact that he lives in the same town of 25,000 people.

There's a passage near the end when he meditates on his motives for living in a wheelchair. He makes a long list of possible reasons, rejecting each one in turn:

"He could no longer remember why he had been so obsessed with this idea. He knew he had been obsessed, but could no longer explain why. He sat there trying to think back, to find the thread that made him actually go through with it. It certainly wasn't the life of a wheelchair user that fascinated him. Nor was it the thought of sitting in a wheelchair pretending to be paralyzed when he wasn't thereby fooling everyone. It was not the irresistible fascination of making a fool of society—his friends, acquaintances, even his own son—that had driven him to this. What was it, then? He did not know... he could accept that, deep inside, he felt a profound satisfaction at having carried out this act..."

In fact he doesn't try very hard to understand himself, and that itself isn't adequately explained. When we're first told about his plan, we aren't told what it is, which keeps part of his thoughts away from us. (That's a flaw, I think, because there is no other moment in the novel when we don't have full access to his thoughts.) Then he apparently forgets about his plot for fifty pages or so, while other events take place, and "remembers" it when it comes time to put the plan into action. That gap is not explained (how could he not have been thinking about his plan all along?), and his minimal, lackadaisical, almost insouciant attitude to his life in the wheelchair isn't plausible even in the context of Norwegian and other Scandinavian fiction about minimally communicative people. An intense, ongoing introspection wouldn't be right for this character—he's not a creation of Dostoevsky's—but puzzlement over his lack of interest in introspection should have been part of his inner life.

A question
How, then, to write a fictional character, with access to some of their thoughts, but in such a way as to make room for a part of their mind—especially their motivations, and their awareness of those motivations—that is inaccessible to them? And how to describe the moments when those voids of awareness become visible to the character?

I anyone knows of fiction that deals with these questions in an interesting way, let me know.

2025

[Blackjessamine · Rating 4 out of 5]

Buttandomi su questo romanzo, ho fatto una cosa che non facevo più da anni: sono entrata in biblioteca, ho visto una copertina che ha attirato la mia attenzione, ho letto un titolo interessante e mi sono portata a casa il libro. Non ho nemmeno letto la quarta di copertina, né prima di prenderlo in prestito, né una volta arrivata a casa, prima di cominciare a leggere.
E' stato un po' un azzardo, ma, dopo tanti anni di wishlist, TBR, libri scelti con cura passando al vaglio delle recensioni di persone di cui mi fido, mi ci voleva un po' quel pizzico di follia per ricordarmi che la lettura è anche (e soprattutto) un modo di intratternermi divertendomi . E poi, dai, va bene il salto del buio, ma con Iperborea si atterra quasi sempre sul sicuro.
Non so bene cosa pensare di questo romanzo, se non che l'ho letto praticamente tutto in un'unica seduta, una domenica pomeriggio. E, per quanto non sia certo un romanzo lunghissimo, per me che al momento ho la stessa soglia di attenzione di un comodino è decisamente significativo.
Avrei voluto scrivere una recensione molto precisa e ragionata su questo romanzo, ma poi ho cominciato a rimandare e rimandare, ed ora mi ritrovo a distanza di qualche settimana a cercare di richiamare alla mente i punti principali di cui avrei voluto parlare, invano (cos'è che dicevo sulla mia capacità di concentrarmi, giusto due righe fa?).
E' difficile raccontare la trama di questo romanzo, perché, in effetti, non succede quasi niente . E quel poco che succede è solo il ricordo un po' asettico di una vita che sembra trascorrere senza lasciare traccia. E quell'altro poco che succede dovrebbe avere una portata sconvolgente, sovversiva, dovrebbe smuovere il lettore e il protagonista, e invece cade un po' in un vuoto indifferente. Eppure, questa che sembrerebbe essere una critica, o una nota negativa, è in realtà quello che mi ha in qualche maniera perversa affascinata. Perché, sì, la scrittura di Solstad, per quanto fredda, lineare e apatica, è estremamente affascinante. E perturbante .
Quasi la metà del romanzo consiste in una lunga digressione sul passato del protagonista, su come abbia abbandonato la moglie e il figlio piccolo per seguire la sua amante in una piccola cittadina, e di come anche questa relazione ad un certo punto, fra la farsa e la tragedia, si sia sbriciolata. Un'altra, consistente parte del romanzo racconta il rapporto (se così lo si può definire) che viene a crearsi tra il protagonista e il figlio ormai ventenne, che si trasferisce dal padre per non doversi cercare una stanza in affitto all'università. Infine, una piccola parte, che quasi passa in sordina, leggera, relegata in un angolo, costituisce il nucleo vero e proprio del romanzo, l'evento portante che dovrebbe portare uno sconvolgimento sia nella vita del protagonista che nella mente del lettore. Eppure, tutto questo non succede, e va bene così. Va bene così perché questo romanzo parla di ottundimento e mancanza di comunicazione, parla dei silenzi della routine, della crisi dell'uomo che, abituato a riempirsi la bocca di individualismo, si ritrova ad essere solo una gocciolina in un immenso oceano.
Non sono certa di aver colto tutti i significati sottesi alla prosa di Solstad, e non sono nemmeno certa che la sua scrittura asettica mi sia piaciuta del tutto, ma ho pianto lacrime amarissime durante la lucidissima disamina del carattere del figlio del protagonista. La sua lenta presa di coscienza, la consapevolezza e l'apatia con cui il protagonista accetta ogni realizzazione sono di una puntualità e di una spietatezza letali, ma mi hanno costretta ad un giro di pensieri che proprio non mi aspettavo. E, credo, ogni cosa che costringa a fare i conti con certi angoli nascosti dell'animo umano è qualcosa per cui vale la pena sacrificare il proprio tempo.
“Romanzo 11, libro 18” è un romanzo particolarissimo, una delle letture più surreali e al tempo stesso estremamente umane che io abbia mai affrontato, e anche se non sono sicura di poterne parlare in termini di “apprezzamento” o “non apprezzamento”, credo di poter affermare con discreta sicurezza di essere felice di aver fatto questo salto nel buio.

[Jim Coughenour · Rating 3 out of 5]

I'm ambivalent about this book. On one level it seems deliberately dull, its narration repetitive, pedestrian and completely lacking in humor. It seems to be written by and for someone mildly retarded.

This was the way they handled the food. Nothing special or sensational about it, in a situation where a father has a son who is a student living with him. It was natural to do it that way, natural that Bjørn Hansen bought cooked meats, milk, etc., and that he prepared double portions when he made dinner, in case his son had not had dinner when he came home after a long day of lectures or study.

Etc. indeed. Every scene in the novel is conveyed in this benumbed, almost stupefying style – which makes the preposterous plot at its soulless heart even more preposterous.

But it's exactly this eccentric irritating aspect that makes Novel 11, Book 18 finally mysterious and disturbing. Narrator Bjørn Hansen, a fifty-something small town bureaucrat, plodding through his uneventful life, is driven to literalize his emotional handicap. There are echoes of Camus's L'Etranger, obviously – several reviews refer to its "existentialist" tone. Maybe. I found the book incredible, in every sense.

[Argos · Rating 3 out of 5]

Dag Solstat’dan okuduğum ikinci kitap. İlk kitabında olduğu gibi tekrarlarla ve kendine sorular sorup cevaplamakla geçen bir roman. Sevgilisiyle, oğluyla, yakın dostlarıyla yaşanan farklı hikayeleri birleştiren yazar İbsen’in “Yaban Ördeği”ni tekrar okurla buluşturuyor ancak “Mahcubiyet ve Haysiyet”te olduğu gibi insanın içini bayıltan ayrıntılara girmeden. Özetle bizde de çok okunan ve beğenilen Norveçli yazar benim önceliklerim arasında olmayacağa benzer.

[Mayk Can Şişman · Rating 4 out of 5]

Akış ve tesadüflerin aksi şeklinde karar alabilmek ne kadar mümkün? Ya da daha doğrusu mümkün mü? Yeni Solstad romanı bu sorudan yola çıkıyor ve yazarın her kitabı gibi okuyucuyu tatmin etmeyi başarıyor. Dag Solstad benim ‘ne yazsa okurum’ dediğim yazarlardan biri artık. Yazarın Banu Gürsaler Syvertsen tarafından Türkçeye çevrilen yeni kitabı ‘On Birinci Roman, On Sekizinci Kitap’ ise bir üçlemenin ilk halkası. Kitapta elli yaşındaki Bjørn Hansen’in hayata karşı “Bir dakika!” diyerek imza attığı çılgınlığı okuyoruz. Aşık olduğu kadın ve oğluyla arasındaki iletişimlerde özellikle son kısımları daha çok sevdim. Kitap, karakterin ‘çılgın eylem’iyle sona eriyor, elbette birçok şey havada kalıyor. Ama bir serinin ilk halkası olarak düşündüğümüzde beni pekâlâ doyurduğunu söyleyebilirim. Ben tabii kitabın ‘Mahcubiyet ve Haysiyet’ ya da ‘Profesör Andersen’in Gecesi’ gibi daha ‘sek’ bir roman olmasını dilerdim ama yine de üçlemenin gidişatından umutluyum. Solstad için başlangıç kitabı mı? Bence değil. Ama yazarı seviyorsanız mutlaka bu kitaba da şans vermelisiniz.

[Stacia · Rating 1 out of 5]

W.T.F. was that? Apparently this was written about 30 years ago &, wow, times have changed. What a completely offensive "reveal". Pretending to be disabled for what reason? Insurance money is mentioned but that doesn't seem to be the protagonist's motivation. Whatever his motivation, it remained unclear to me. What a loathsome character, all throughout really. Horrible to people in his life, self-centered to the point that when in his 50s, he thinks it will be ____ (fun? interesting? a joke? ???) to convincingly pretend to be paraplegic for the remainder of his life. Whatever the point of this book is was beyond me. Gross all the way around. Disliked it, then hated it. Avoid this one for sure. Run away.

[Brendan Monroe · Rating 3 out of 5]

Is the title of this book a title, or — as presumably the 11th novel and 18th book written by Norwegian writer Dag Solstad — is this book actually untitled? That's the first but by no means the last question that "Novel 11, Book 18" raises.

This is the first novel of Solstad's I've read, but a cursory review of his others would suggest that they all deal with men in various states of disarray.

Solstad's protagonists all seem to be going through the familiar motions of a midlife crisis, though in unfamiliar ways. Bjørn Hansen, the protagonist of "Novel 11, Book 18," is so disheartened at what he feels is the pointlessness of life and his inability to change it that he makes a bizarre decision in an attempt to exert some degree of will over it.

Hansen decides to commit an "irrevocable" act, and indeed everything the character does seems to be irrevocable, unable to be altered in any way. Hansen is merely an actor playing his part. But his performance is rudimentary, containing no passion or feeling, as he's seemingly content to simply go through the motions.

The book, too, is written with little to no passion or feeling and is as dry and brittle as a wafer-thin biscuit left to char under the desert sun. But there is something unspeakably seductive about the way all of this is written about.

In reading "Novel 11, Book 18" I was reminded of the countless times my mother would drag me as a child to clothing stores. I would sit and read, if I was fortunate enough to find a chair in the vicinity, while she shopped for endless hours for a blouse or top that she would, the following week, bring back to the store to return — dragging me back in the process. And thus the cycle would repeat itself. I am confident that, in some alternate reality, I'm still there, at Ross or TJ Maxx, JC Penny or Marshalls, my butt aching from the hours spent sitting on that hard plastic.

For those interminable hours spent inside a nondescript clothing store in a heartbreakingly depressing strip mall at the edge of civilization, I was helpless, my mother having disappeared in the bowels of the dreadful place hours ago. I read those days out of necessity, because anything, anything, was better than staring into the glaring abyss of fabric and frumpy styles that existed outside of the page. Reading truly was an escape, and I came to love it, though my ass still chaps at the memory of those chairs.

And while "Novel 11, Book 18" isn't as nightmarish as that childhood purgatory, it reflects a similar hopelessness at the state of the world and our perceived inability to alter it, to play a role outside that which has been assigned to us.

This is an existentialist novel, a novel in which characters struggle to break out of their seeming mundane, purposeless existence in an effort to try and feel something ... anything. Bjørn Hansen, who reads Kierkegaard as all good protagonists in existentialist novels ought to, takes this to a conclusion that both startles and leaves you scratching your head.

But in the end, suicide, self-harm, and grand deceptions are all tools employed by those who, brought low by their belief that life lacks meaning, seek to feel something. Because, to those who feel imprisoned in a world that lacks meaning, death is still infinitely preferable to the glaring abyss of fabric and frumpy styles.

[Blazes Boylan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Certainly one of the strangest books I've come across in a while. There is little novelistic affect; Solstad reads as a version of Camus or Kafka taken to the point of absolute banality and set in Norway. Given the protagonist's struggles and disjointed life/story, the denouement becomes truly beautiful. Not a conventionally rewarding read, but certainly not a forgettable one at all.

[Leyland · Rating 5 out of 5]

this book whipped so much ass that i made a goodreads account just to talk about it. brilliant and beautiful. bjørn’s relationship with his son sometimes made my teeth hurt it was so well rendered. by wide margin the best solstad i’ve read

i’m going to start making credible threats if they don’t translate “roman 1987”, “17. roman” and “gymnaslærer pederson” with quickness

[Ringa Sruogienė · Rating 5 out of 5]

Keisto siužeto knyga. Jei norite ko nors neįprasto, rekomenduoju. Dar šiek tiek Vilniaus knygoje yra. Manęs nesužavėjo, bet neradau priežasčių, kodėl negalėtų būti 5*.

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 3 out of 5]

The original Norwegian version of this novel, Ellevte roman, bok atten, was the first of a series of 4 novels, all now translated into English, written by Dag Solstad which share a common style:

1992 Ellevte roman, bok atten (2008 Novel 11, Book 18 IFFP longlisted)

1994 Genanse og verdighet (2007 Shyness and Dignity IFFP shortlisted)
My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

1996 Professor Andersens natt (2012 Professor Andersen's Night IFFP longlisted) - (1996)
My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

1999 T Singer (2018 T Singer)
My review https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

When he finished this series of novels he declared, that he was finished as a writer, having perfected, in T Singer, the form as far as he was able. E.g. he told Publishers Weekly this year: As a working hypothesis, I consider T. Singer to be the conclusion of my authorship. After I finished writing T. Singer, I didn't know what to do from that point on. I believed, and maybe I still believe, that I was incapable of writing a better novel than that, and here I was only 57 years old and not wanting to repeat myself for the next 20 years, perhaps getting worse and worse with each book.

In practice he was to go on to write different types of novels, such as the 2006 novel Armand V. Fotnoter til en uutgravd roman, (2018 Armand V, Footnotes to an Unexcavated Novel) - my review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

Novel 11, Book 18 has been translated into English by Sverre Lyngstad.

It was all about his inability to reconcile himself to the fact that this was it. He felt outraged. He refused to put up with it. Somehow or other he had to show it, that he refused to put up with it. And so he hatched a plan.

The original Norwegian version of this novel, Ellevte roman, bok atten, was the first of a series of 4 novels, all now translated into English, written by Dag Solstad which share a common style:

1992 Ellevte roman, bok atten (2008 Novel 11, Book 18 IFFP longlisted)

1994 Genanse og verdighet (2007 Shyness and Dignity IFFP shortlisted)
My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

1996 Professor Andersens natt (2012 Professor Andersen's Night IFFP longlisted) - (1996)
My review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

1999 T Singer (2018 T Singer)
My review https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

When he finished this series of novels he declared, that he was finished as a writer, having perfected, in T Singer, the form as far as he was able. E.g. he told Publishers Weekly this year: As a working hypothesis, I consider T. Singer to be the conclusion of my authorship. After I finished writing T. Singer, I didn't know what to do from that point on. I believed, and maybe I still believe, that I was incapable of writing a better novel than that, and here I was only 57 years old and not wanting to repeat myself for the next 20 years, perhaps getting worse and worse with each book.

In practice he was to go on to write different types of novels, such as the 2006 novel Armand V. Fotnoter til en uutgravd roman, (2018 Armand V, Footnotes to an Unexcavated Novel) - my review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

Novel 11, Book 18 has been translated into English by Sverre Lyngstad.

Although it was the first of the four novels to be written, it is the last I have read, and in many respects, as the self-depreciating title suggests, it covers familiar ground for Solstad in terms of themes and styles.  The prose both seemingly banal at times, yet profound.  And a novel where plot and indeed character development are not key, with a story that sometimes explores particular incidents in-depth and at others simply breaks off from one tangent and follows another.

The novel opens:

When this story begins, Bjørn Hansen has just turned fifty and is waiting for someone at the Kongsberg Railway Station. It has now been four years since he separated from Turid Lammers, with whom he had lived for fourteen years, from the very moment when he arrived at Kongsberg, which before that time barely existed on the map for him. He now lives in a modern flat in the centre of Kongsberg, a mere stone’s throw from the railway station.

When he arrived at Kongsberg eighteen years ago, he had only a few personal belongings, such as clothes and shoes, plus crates and crates of books. When he moved out of the Lammers villa, he also took away with him only personal possessions, such as clothes and shoes, besides crates and crates of books. That was his luggage. Dostoyevsky. Pushkin. Thomas Mann. Céline. Borges. Tom Kristensen. Márquez. Proust. Singer. Heinrich Heine. Malraux, Kafka, Kundera, Freud, Kierkegaard, Sartre, Camus, Butor.

We then cycle back to learn what brought him to this point, in particular his prior life and career in Oslo, working, as a civil servant and economist with good career prospects, in a Government ministry, married and with a young son:

Bjørn Hansen – a poor boy from a Norwegian coastal town, this successful young civil servant in one of our ministries.

Bjørn Hansen decided to go to Oslo to study. In reality, he was mostly interested in art and literature, philosophy and the meaning of life, but he chose to study economics. Chiefly because he had always been good at arithmetic and mathematics, but also because he had a vague feeling that he had to rise and get on in life, so as not to end up in the same poverty as his parents; at any rate, he wanted to get away from their bitter toil, and while he did not equate art and literature, philosophy and the meaning of life with bitter toil, they had, quite simply, an aura of luxury about them. Art and literature were not proper subjects to him, they were interests one could cultivate in one’s spare time, not means whereby to acquire a position, which he, with a genuinely unassuming matter-of-factness, saw as the end of academic study. Hence economics.

But deep down Bjørn Hansen knew that the most desirable happiness on this earth was a brief happiness. He embarks on an affair - an erotic adventure - with the aforementioned Turid Lammers. And when she decides to return to her hometown of Kongsberg and breaks off the affair, he rather surprises himself as well as her, and certainly his unsuspecting wife, by deciding to leave his family and follow her there.

And after sometime commuting to Oslo for his ministry work, Turid encourages him to apply for the job of Kongsberg's Municipal Treasurer, a role for which he is heavily overqualified and which offers much less prospect of career advancement, but a suggestion he accepts with surprising alacrity.

The story then takes a Solstadian turn in another direction, relating Turid's involvement in the local amateur dramatic society, one that gives her, as the star female performer, status as she flirts openly but ultimately physically innocently with a variety of male admirers, and leaving Bjørn reduced to sustaining their relationship by feigning concern:

He fully realised that, after living with Turid for seven years, his chief contribution to preserving their relationship consisted in these outbursts of fake jealousy.

The deeply literary Bjørn is rather intellectually understimulated even when discussing books with Herman Busk, another member of the society who becomes his closest friend:

They discussed a good amount of literature, because both of them were great readers. True, their tastes differed considerably, Herman preferring bulky, rather conventional novels, normally published by the Book Club, while Bjørn Hansen on the whole bought his books at the bookdealers’ annual giant sale, where the real goodies could be found. Therefore they could only seldom profitably discuss individual works, since Herman Busk had not read the books Bjørn Hansen had read, and Bjørn Hansen did not care for the books Herman Busk was reading.

And Bjørn suggests the society take on a more demanding role, specifally (another signature Solstad moment), an Ibsen play.

For two years Bjørn Hansen kept hinting that they should have a shot at Ibsen. It evoked little response. In particular, his effort to arouse their enthusiasm by pointing out the feelings of emptiness they were left with once a performance was over, due to an operetta’s lack of intellectual substance, cut no ice.

It doesn't go well - and the experience also causes him to reevaluate his relationship with Turid, and eventually leave her, but he stays in Kongsberg with little contact with his Oslo former family until one day his son Peter, now 20, contacts him rather out of the blue to say that, pos this military service, he is coming to Konsberg to study optics.

Peter is who is is waiting for as the novel opens, and the story then proceeds down a typical Solstadian diversion into Peter's reasons for pursuing optics and his relationship with his fellow students. And then takes an even odder twist, as Bjørn decides on the plan mentioned in the opening quote, one all about his inability to reconcile himself to the fact that this was it, a plan he is then able to put into action when he finds himself selected on a delegation of Norwegian municipal civil servants sent to educate the fledgling democracy in Lithunia:

An insane project, which he decided to present to Dr Schiøtz the next time he called. It was a plan whereby Bjørn Hansen would actualise his No, his great Negation, as he had begun to call it, through an action that would be irrevocable. Through a single act he would plunge into something from which there was no possibility of retreat and which bound him to this one insane idea for the rest of his life.

Overall, an enjoyable and deeply Solstadian novel, and worthy of its IFFP nomination. But I would point those new to the author to the later works (in the originals), Professor Andersen's Night and T Singer. 3.5 stars.

[Ernst · Rating 5 out of 5]

Meisterwerk, Nobelpreis, Dag Solstad ist der größte, wäre ich nicht schon lange mit Murakami verheiratet, wäre er meine erste Wahl.
Wann endlich wird sich der Verlag auch den noch nicht übersetzten Werken annehmen?

Die freundliche Antwort des Verlags auf meine Anfrage:

Vielen Dank für Ihre Nachfrage und Ihr Interesse an unseren Büchern von Dag Solstad. Das freut uns sehr!

Es sind keine weiteren Übersetzungen in Planung. Für den Fall, dass Sie noch nicht alle unsere Bücher von Solstad kennen, liste ich Ihnen hier gerne alle erschienenen Titel auf:
T. Singer
Scham und Würde
Professor Andersens Nacht
Elfter Roman, achtzehntes Buch
Armand V.
16.7.41

Auf unserer Webseite finden Sie Informationen zu den Büchern und zu Dag Solstad (https://doerlemann.ch/212-9bio).

Wir wünschen weiterhin anregende Lektüren und danken Ihnen, dass Sie unsere Bücher lesen.

Mit freundlichen Grüßen aus Zürich

Fazit: scheinbar muss ich nun doch Norwegisch lernen …

[Andreas · Rating 5 out of 5]

Årets fjerde Solstad og denne skiller seg ut ved å også være faktisk spennende! Begynner å mistenke at Solstads overordna budskap er en advarsel mot å bli for opptatt av Ibsen for da mister du all evne til å fungere i hverdagen

[Ana Carvalheira · Rating 2 out of 5]

O que dizer? Mau demais para ser verdade … pura perda de tempo com algo que nada acrescenta, muito pelo contrário, faz-nos pensar na natureza humana na sua pior conceção. Nada que se compare com “Pudor e Dignidade”, uma narrativa muito bem construída à volta de uma personagem que aborda o “isolamento do ser perdido entre o passado e o futuro, entre aquilo que o presente lhe oferece, preso naquilo que poderia ter sido e não foi”.

Este romance de Dag Solstad intitulado, enigmaticamente, “Romance 11, Livro 18”, é, sobretudo, aborrecido e só não desisti da leitura logo no início primeiro porque não gosto de deixar livros a meio, se comecei, para o melhor e para o pior, vou até ao fim e segundo porque sempre esperei àquela volta na narrativa que nos faz ficar suspensos no drama. Isso aconteceu mas as razões são, de todo, absolutamente patéticas.

Bjorn Hansen vive em Oslo, é formado em Economia, funcionário público na administração central do Estado norueguês, trabalha num Ministério qualquer, casado com Tina Korpi de quem tem um filho de dois anos. É assim que o protagonista se apresenta ao público leitor. Até aqui, não vislumbramos razões para continuar pois nenhum autor começa um livro com pormenores absolutamente banais sobre a sua personagem principal, sem que nos venha a transportar para esferas mais elevadas, mais sinistras, menos óbvias, mais interessantes. Mas, pelo contrário, conduz-nos para trivialidades:

1. Bjorn Hansen arranja uma amante. Fascinado pela sua beleza, pela sua forte personalidade, “anti burguesa em todo o seu ser”, pelos seus gestos afrancesados, pela forma com que se expressava, Turid Lammers vivera sete anos em Paris, o que lhe proporcionava uma aura superior e glamorosa àquilo que Bjorn Hansen estava habituado;

2. Bjorn Hansen abandona a família para ir viver com a amante para Kongsberg, cidade natal de Turid, situada a sudoeste de Oslo, porque, se não o fizesse, poderia vir-se a arrepender;

3. Aí, Bjorn Hansen torna-se no tesoureiro municipal, o que denota um retrocesso na sua vida profissional;

4. Bjorn Hansen, por pressão de Turid, começa a fazer parte da Associação de Teatro de Kongsberg, onde figuravam amadores Encenando operetas famosas, para gáudio do público, os associados, através da intervenção de Bjorn Hansen, decidem o suicídio da companhia: encenar “O Pato Selvagem” de Ibsen – ponto de contacto com “Pudor e Dignidade” -, cujo falhanço deixara feridas no grupo e na relação de Bjorn Hansen e Turid Lammers;

5. Bjorn Hansen decide acabar com a relação com Turid pela sua postura em “O Pato Selvagem” o que salvara a horrível encenação mas também porque esta ficara velha e seca … Por favor, Mr. Solstad, isso é argumento que se apresente para uma separação??? O protagonista não sabeia que, ao mesmo tempo que ele próprio envelhecia, também aconteceria o mesmo à amante, à qual resolveu dedicar a sua vida?

6. Bjorn Hansen vai viver sozinho. De repente, traça um plano macabro porque, pura e simplesmente, a sua vida deixou de ter sentido; aqui começamos a ficar mais interessados;

7. Bjorn Hansen, recebe o filho, já com 21 anos, que vive em Oslo com a mãe mas que vai cursar Óptica na Escola Superior de Engenharia de Kongsberg;

8. Bjorn Hansen não sabe como lidar com o filho, petulante e arrogante tendo percebido a sua enorme solidão, sem ter feito nada para atenuá-la; talvez por medo ou vergonha de efabular uma conversa com o filho que abandonou aos dois anos de idade;

9. Volta o plano macabro que Bjorn Hansen traçou para seu destino;

10. Tornar-se uma pessoa dependente de uma cadeira de rodas sem que tivesse qualquer motivo. Um complô com o médico local e com um medico de Vilnius, onde se deslocara em trabalho, pagando do seu bolso o silencio de ambos para que possa surgir em Kongsberg paralítico;

11. E porquê? Nem o próprio Bjorn Hansen sabe.

Enfim, para uma pessoa que decidiu tirar um curso de Economia pois sabia que seria melhor, do ponto de vista financeiro, para o seu futuro, do que se dedicar àquilo que realmente lhe importava, “Arte, Literatura e Filosofia”. A um homem que lê Dostoievski, Puchkin. Thomas Mann, Céline, Borges, Marquez, Proust, Sartre, Kafka, Kundera, Freud, Kierkegard, Camus, nada faz sentido nesta narrativa.

Ou talvez eu própria não tenha compreendido o alcance do livro, a sua essência.

Ou talvez tenha sido um devaneio psicótico de Solstad.

Ou prefira, ente os noruegueses, os clássicos, como Knut Hamsun que, em muito mais, me acrescentou.

Um livro, na minha perspetiva, a evitar.

[Jayaprakash Satyamurthy · Rating 5 out of 5]

As in SHYNESS AND DIGNITY, we have here a man who is in the grip of a kind of midlife crisis. Only, Bjørn Hansen is more self aware, more in control of himself. His life has been spent following the tide - whether of practicality, setting his love of literature aside to become a well paid bureaucrat, or kicking over the traces to leave his wife and son and move to another city to live with his lover, following what he thinks is the calling of passion. Estranged from his lover now, Bjørn, who spent some time involved, with her, in the local dramatic society, wants to finally write his own role, come out with a plan that signals his big No, his negation. His estranged son joins a college in his town and spends a few months living with him. The boy is conventional, shallow, materialistic. Not especially pleasant, not unpleasant either. It's a kind of reckoning with the passivity, the external locus of control Bjørn has always been at the mercy of. With the help of a doctor he knows, Bjørn goes ahead with his plan. Along the way one wonders if it is to be suicide. Instead it is a perverse imposture that leaves one bewildered, shocked. A great negation indeed.

So many reviewers call this novel laconic, emotionless etc. Perhaps it should not be one's first by Solstad. But it is far from emotionless, only the narrative is carefully impassive. The intensity is subtle and doled out in almost homoeopathic doses - except that it adds up to a powerful portrait of soul consuming anomie and one attempt at a solution.

[Hakan · Rating 2 out of 5]

Amacı, tam olarak ne anlatmaya çalıştığı anlaşılamayan bir roman olmuş.
Yazarın tiyatro sevgisinin ve o alandaki deneyiminin yansıdığı ilk bölümde İbsen'in Yaban Ördeği oyununa çok klişe göndermeler var.
Aksamayan bir çeviriyle, yazarın yalın cümlelerinin kolay okunuşuyla her an kendini toparlayacak ve "işte budur" dedirtecek bir kitap olarak uzun süre umut besledim ama bir türlü olmadı.
Romanın ilk bölümü ile "oğul" meselesinin işlendiği ikinci bölümü arasında çok büyük bir kopukluk var. İlk bölümdeki amatör tiyatro saplantısı ikinci bölümde optimetri olarak sebat ediyor.
Baba-oğul meselesi değişik şekilde işlenmeye çalışılmış ama derinlik ve etki sağlanamamış.
Baş karakterin çok çarpıcı olması beklenen ve "Büyük Ret" olarak adlandırılan planını ne amaçla yaptığı, oğlunun kendisiyle yaşamaya başlamasından önceki bu hesabın sonrasında aynen devam etmesi, planın basitliği, bir Yeşilçam filmi kadar naifliği tuhaf durumlar.
"Büyük Ret" sonrasında bunun ne işe yaradığı da anlaşılamıyor.
Ayrıca kitabın adını da bir yere koymak mümkün değil.
Diyelim ki yazarın on birinci romanı, neden kitap ismi olarak seçilmiş?
Okuma tavsiyesi olamayacak bir roman maalesef.

[divayorgun · Rating 3 out of 5]

İskandinav edebiyatının kuşkusuz en öne çıkan isimlerinden biri olan Dag Solstad 17.Roman kitabıyla kalbimi kazanmıştı yazarın devam kitabı On Birinci Roman, On Sekizinci Kitap adlı romanı kahramanımız Bjørn Hansen'in karısı ve iki yaşındaki oğlu Peter'i terk edişi ve bambaşka bir kadına aşık oluşu ile devam ediyor aslında ilk kitaptaki gelecekten geçmişi doğru bir yolculuk demek daha doğru bir cümle olacak sanıyorum.

Bjørn Hansen evliliğini bitirip başka bir kadına aşık oluyor ve kendine başka bir şehirde başka bir kadınla yeni bir yaşam kuruyor ancak yine de mutlu olamıyor ve uğruna evliliğini bitirdiğini kadını da bırakıp yine yeni bir başlangıç yaparken birdenbire askerden dönen oğlu Peter üniversite eğitimi için onun yanına geliveriyor üstelik alışılagelmiş 'beni ve annemi neden terk ettin mottosunu' takınmadan gayet rahat ve aniden.

Kitapta birdenbire gelip eve yerleşen oğlu Peter'i ve kahramanımızın 'Büyük Red' adını verdiği çılgınca planı tam olarak kafamda oturtamamakla birlikte hikayede derin çatlaklar olduğunu görmek beni üzdü nitekim serinin son kitabında bu çatlakların kapanacağını umarak son kitaba başlamak için sabırsızlanıyorum.

[WillemC · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Hij was helemaal alleen, maar het werk van een ander."

In "Roman 11, boek 18" maken we kennis met Björn Hansen, een vijftigjarige belastinginspecteur die op een keerpunt in zijn leven staat: hij heeft het uitgemaakt met de vrouw voor wie hij jaren geleden zijn echtgenote en kind in de steek liet en die zoon - inmiddels een tiener die klaar is voor verdere studies - trekt bij hem in om dichter bij school te wonen. Plots, onder de invloed waarvan weten we eigenlijk niet, beslist hij om het advies te vragen van een bevriende arts die hem moet helpen een nogal bizar plan te realiseren...
De eerste roman van Solstad die ik lees en ik moet zeggen dat hij me aangenaam verrast heeft. De beschrijving van de liefdesaffaire liet me bij momenten wat koud, maar de relatie met de zoon en het plan met de dokter - dat slechts vijfendertig bladzijden van deze roman beslaat - maken alles goed; dat laatste vooral door de absurditeit ervan. 4.25/5!

"Hij dacht niet meer zoveel aan zijn eigen motieven. Hij kon zich niet meer herinneren waarom hij zo bezeten was geweest van het idee."

"Mijn arme vaderloze zoon, dacht hij."

"[...] het lezen van bepaalde roman is als een epidemie in zakformaat, een geheime epidemie die plotseling uitbreekt op de vreemdste plaatsen, terwijl die aan andere voorbijgaat."

[Kilburn Adam · Rating 5 out of 5]

In Solstad's Novel 11, Book 18, protagonist Bjørn Hansen epitomizes the lonely misanthrope lost in existential rumination. Bjørn seeks escape in grim depictions of life's futility, a quest aligned with Solstad’s trademark integration of dry wit and philosophical pondering. As Bjørn’s mundane middle-class existence spirals into full-on existential crisis, he reaches his nadir.

Destabilised when his personal life ruptures, Bjørn embraces nihilism after a disastrous foray into public performance. He conspires with an unscrupulous associate to perform an irrevocable act, enticed by morally dubious incentives. Defying standard conventions, Solstad’s narrative eschews tidy resolution.

Bjørn personifies the stereotypical middle-aged male enduring an existential midlife crisis. Tormented by feelings of irrelevance, he verges on ruin. Though an unexpected arrival briefly renews Bjørn’s faded optimism, meaningful connection eludes him.

The underlying drivers of Bjørn’s disaffection remain obscured. This lyrical ambiguity imbues characters with an air of mystery. Through radical uncertainty, Bjørn links to mid-century existentialists, but substitutes their optimism for hopelessness –– a gloomy yet wry censure of the human condition.

[Miguel Duarte · Rating 4 out of 5]

https://www.comunidadeculturaearte.co...

Vivemos as nossas vidas como um conjunto de experiências. Experimentamos o amor, temos filhos, viajamos pelo mundo, perseguimos uma carreira, tentamos até experienciar aquilo que nos deixa na fronteira entre a vida e a morte. Mas quando essas experiências se revelam vazias, o que fica? Que resta da vida que levamos?

"Romance 11, Livro 18", o mais recente livro do norueguês Dag Solstad a ser publicado em português pela Cavalo de Ferro, conta a vida de Bjørn Hansen, norueguês de meia-idade que dá por si angustiado com a insignificância da vida que levou.

Quando o seu filho tinha ainda dois anos, Bjørn abandonou o seu casamento, deixando a mulher, e Oslo, para ir viver com a amante, Turid Lammers, para a pequena cidade de Konigsberg. Mais do que por amor, fê-lo pela aventura. Fora com a amante porque receava “que, de outra forma, se viesse a arrepender de tudo.”

Em Oslo, trabalhara no Ministério da Economia. Estudara Economia, apesar de se interessar mais por Arte e Literatura, por ser aquilo que lhe garantia subir na vida e não acabar na mesma pobreza que os pais. Em Konigsberg, Turid incitara-o a tornar-se tesoureiro municipal, um cargo para o qual era sobrequalificado, mas que o mantinha perto de casa e destacado na vida local.

Por causa de Turid, juntara-se também ao grupo de teatro amador da cidade, onde a sua nova mulher era o centro das atenções e captava o interesse de todos os homens, retribuindo também o interesse por eles. Ainda que nada chegasse a acontecer entre Turid e esses outros homens, Bjørn fazia cenas de ciúmes intensíssimas. O problema é que as fingia.

“Fazia-o por ela. Pois nem sequer se atrevia a pôr a hipótese de Turid Lammers ter desperdiçado todo o seu charme feminino sobre o indivíduo eleito da noite, sem que isso levasse o seu parceiro a um ataque de ciúmes.”

Bjørn largara a sua primeira mulher em busca de um significado diferente para a sua vida, uma intensidade que não sentira nunca presente, e era incapaz de abdicar sem levar tudo até às suas últimas consequências. “Sem essa intensidade, o que restava?”

Mesmo que sentisse prazer em pôr em cena, todos os anos, uma nova opereta, começara a sentir que toda a intensidade posta nesse grupo de teatro era desperdiçada.

“Todo esse entusiasmo e toda essa experiência de representação em palco, tanta satisfação pela precisão e tanta energia, não se deveriam usar para algo mais sério do que operetas?”

Lança por isso o desafio de pôr em cena O Pato Selvagem, peça essencial de Ibsen que é também chave no enredo de outro dos romances de Solstad, Pudor e Dignidade (talvez o seu melhor). O grupo recebe a sugestão com pouco entusiasmo, mas lá se lança ao desafio. Como era inevitável, a encenação acaba por ser um desastre, nada corre bem, e Bjørn vê-se a sós com a insignificância da sua vida e a mediocridade de tudo o que o rodeia: mulher, trabalho, amigos, e mesmo a pequena cidade de Konigsberg.

“Mas se não estivesse aqui, teria estado noutro sítio a viver da mesma maneira.”

A vida entusiasmante que julgara encontrar na ida para Konigsberg, optando pela amante em detrimento da mulher e do filho, no fundo era tão insignificante como a que havia deixado para trás. Como viver com essa insignificância? O que pode um homem fazer quando se apercebe que já nada há de significativo para viver e que apenas lhe resta amargurar com o que deixou para trás? Deixar Turid é o passo óbvio, e no início do livro encontramos precisamente Bjørn sozinho, na estação de comboios de Konigsberg. Mas o que raio se pode fazer para ganhar um novo propósito?

[Martha · Rating 3 out of 5]

Denne boken fant jeg ikke frem til på egenhånd, men ble nødt til å lese pga av studiet. Jeg sitter hverken igjen med en stor begeistring eller en følelse av å ha kastet bort tid. Det er rett og slett en helt middelmådig bok. Det er helt sikkert noen som blir fornæret med av den påstanden, men det får bare være. For å bøte litt på i samme slengen må jeg gi boken ros for et godt språk. Jeg hadde litt problemer med formatet i boken, som var en sammenhengenende tekst fra start til slutt uten annet enn små innrykk til nye avsnitt. Jeg ser ikke nødvendigvis behovet for at det skulle vært kapittler, men litt mer mellomrom hadde vært fint. Da hadde ikke teksten virket så overveldene og det hadde dukket opp naturlige steder å ta pauser. Når det gjelder bokens innhold, syntes jeg det hele startet litt tregt, og det tok litt tid før jeg kom meg inn i historien. Det var mange gjentakelser, og noe syntes jeg ble overflødig og unødvendig, men jeg må innrømme at det var godt innimellom når man ikke helt hadde fått med seg hva som nylig hadde skjedd. Ellers må jeg si at historien tok seg opp, og jeg ble etterhvert dratt inn i Bjørn Hansen sitt underlige univers, og undret på hvordan det hele skulle ende - historien gikk bare litt vel sakte for min del, som leser sakte i utganspunktet. Alt i alt en fin bok, og jeg må innrømme at jeg ble litt nysgjerrig på hvordan det går med Bjørn Hansen og vurerer å lese de to neste bøkene på et tidspunkt. Vi får se.

[Sara Jesus · Rating 4 out of 5]

A obra narra a jornada de Bjorn Hansen que abandona esposa e filho para viver com a sua deslumbrante amante. No período de tempo em que vive com a amante torna-se escriturário e pertence ao uma companhia de teatro fundada pela amante. Todo girava a volta dela, ela encena, representava e distribuía os papeis. Bjorn ficava com ciumes dos homens que a rodeavam, e aos poucos percebeu que ela gostava de ser o centro das atenções apesar de fingir-se humilde.

Nessa companhia de teatro, o protagonista acaba por tornar-se grande amigo do dentista e irà relacionar-se com a sua família depois de se separar com a amante. Chego a um momento que Bjorn questiona-se o propósito da sua existência. E decide com a ajuda de um médico, fingir-se doente e embarcar num nova aventura.

Mas o seu filho aparece na sua casa como hospede para licenciar-se em oftalmologia. O pai tenta aproximar-se do filho. Mas existe ali um vazio que nunca será preenchido. São dois estranhos na mesma casa. Apesar de ele ver semelhanças do filho nele. Pois tal como ele escolheu o curso por ser útil e não por que gostava. Ambos foram influenciados por próximos.

Mais uma leitura que me desafia de um escritor norueguês, completamente desconhecido para mim, mas com uma escrita soberba. Esta historia leva-nos a reflectir sobre o sentido da nossa vida e o rumos que elas tomam. Teremos tomado as decisões certas?

[Andrea · Rating 4 out of 5]

Add this to the list of novels about tax officials!

Edited to add: I’ve been mulling this one over. The protagonist is assiduously banal, and also one of the more repellant characters I’ve encountered in fiction. I’m not sure how I feel about him. There’s some overlap with the protagonist is Emmanuel Carrère’s YOGA — entitled and self-absorbed, tremendous inner turmoil but no heart, a yawning void. Both characters make a decisive break as a confrontation with despair, although the nature of the each’s break couldn’t be more different. And both author’s have gorgeous prose.

[Ajay P. mangattu · Rating 4 out of 5]

This Norwegian novel is one of the best I have read this year.An existential novel. He used short ,heavy sentences with lingering pauses. This is the story of a lonely man who chooses to do ‘something more’ in life but fails to achieve what imagines in love, work and creativity. Last part of the novel, especially the last 10 pages breathtaking and suspenseful. The title of the novel is rather mysterious.

[Matteo Fumagalli · Rating 5 out of 5]

Videorecensione: https://youtu.be/6X8jJt3DBco