Rating: 3.5*
I don't like books from the latter half of the 20th century. I'm specifically talking about the typically European books telling a story of tasteless realism with no beginning, no end, no progression, no story. Only a person or a group of people living a mundane life, not too far removed from my own. I can understand that mundane is a valid form of escapism in the post war era, with everyone having gone through the worst years of their life, but this type of storytelling doesn't belong to our time.
This book, however, gave me some type of understanding into this type of story. De Ingejwiden is everything I have talked about, a "story" that divides itself into 6 different POVs, of people who, for the most part, aren't unique, or interesting, to put simply, they have nothing to entertain a reader.
And yet, 3.5* is definitely above average. That's because this book opened my mind to the concept of something I have dubbed "books as an art form". There is no storytelling by definition. No progression and all. This book is the longest picture you'll ever watch, because it's a picture that does its own analysis, which is pretty helpful because my brain is not wired towards anything too artsy. All the characters, who are thoroughly introduced in their respective chapters, along with their personalities and perspectives are meant to meet each other in one singular scene, being that unnamed (as of memory) village in Crete.
That last chapter was also unnecessary. It was an awkward conclusion, with easily the worst of the characters introduced, and was packed with too much action in a novel that was otherwise rather slow paced. Instead, I would have preferred another chapter with Jessica Manning