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Morgenstjernen #4
Nattskolen
Årets roman fra Karl Ove Knausgård, «Nattskolen», inngår i det store Morgenstjernen-verket som åpnet med romanen «Morgenstjernen» i 2020, og som videre består av «Ulvene fra evighetens skog» (2021) og «Det tredje riket» (2022).
«Nattskolen» begynner i 1985, da en ung mann fra Norge flytter til London for å studere fotografi. Han heter Kristian Hadeland, og han er ambisiøs, ærgjerrig og skånselløs av natur. Vi følger hans første år i storbyen, gjennom mange nederlag, men også noen viktige møter. Særlig betydningsfull skal den ti år eldre nederlenderen Hans vise seg å bli. Hans er besatt av teknologi, fra fotografiet og grammofonens spede begynnelse til datamaskinenes langsomme overtakelse av virkeligheten. Samtidig treffer Kristian også Vivian, som er teaterregissør og som skal sette opp Doktor Faustus av Christopher Marlowe, en forestilling hun ber Kristian om å ta bilder for. I romanens andre del møter vi Kristian igjen fireogtyve år senere, da han er en framgangsrik kunstner med en større retrospektiv utstilling i New York på trappene. Han har nådd sine mål, men til hvilken pris?
«Nattskolen» er en roman om hvordan kunst skapes, og om hvordan menneskeliv ødelegges. Det er en roman om de kreftene som omgir oss, både de mørke og lyse, og om et menneskes oppgang og fall.
«Nattskolen» begynner i 1985, da en ung mann fra Norge flytter til London for å studere fotografi. Han heter Kristian Hadeland, og han er ambisiøs, ærgjerrig og skånselløs av natur. Vi følger hans første år i storbyen, gjennom mange nederlag, men også noen viktige møter. Særlig betydningsfull skal den ti år eldre nederlenderen Hans vise seg å bli. Hans er besatt av teknologi, fra fotografiet og grammofonens spede begynnelse til datamaskinenes langsomme overtakelse av virkeligheten. Samtidig treffer Kristian også Vivian, som er teaterregissør og som skal sette opp Doktor Faustus av Christopher Marlowe, en forestilling hun ber Kristian om å ta bilder for. I romanens andre del møter vi Kristian igjen fireogtyve år senere, da han er en framgangsrik kunstner med en større retrospektiv utstilling i New York på trappene. Han har nådd sine mål, men til hvilken pris?
«Nattskolen» er en roman om hvordan kunst skapes, og om hvordan menneskeliv ødelegges. Det er en roman om de kreftene som omgir oss, både de mørke og lyse, og om et menneskes oppgang og fall.
484 pages, Hardcover
First published October 27, 2023
468 people are currently reading
11272 people want to read
About the author
Karl Ove Knausgård
74 books7,527 followersNominated to the 2004 Nordic Council’s Literature Prize & awarded the 2004 Norwegian Critics’ Prize.
Karl Ove Knausgård (b. 1968) made his literary debut in 1998 with the widely acclaimed novel Out of the World, which was a great critical and commercial success and won him, as the first debut novel ever, The Norwegian Critics' Prize. He then went on to write six autobiographical novels, titled My Struggle (Min Kamp), which have become a publication phenomenon in his native Norway as well as the world over.
Karl Ove Knausgård (b. 1968) made his literary debut in 1998 with the widely acclaimed novel Out of the World, which was a great critical and commercial success and won him, as the first debut novel ever, The Norwegian Critics' Prize. He then went on to write six autobiographical novels, titled My Struggle (Min Kamp), which have become a publication phenomenon in his native Norway as well as the world over.
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January 13, 2026
The School of Night may be Knausgaard’s most accessible, suspenseful, and intriguing novel so far. Whether it’s his “best,” or maybe even a nearly “perfect” novel, despite being the fourth in The Morning Star series, it feels complete on its own, unlike any of his novels since A Time for Everything, and therefore it may be the place to start if you’re KOK curious.
My review of The Third Realm presents the possible pentacle-like “star structure” of the series, with interior “meeting place” novels set more or less in the present, populated by a handful of first-person narrators (The Morning Star, The Third Realm, and most likely three others to come) and exterior “peripheral” backstory novels mostly set in the past (The Wolves of Eternity, The School of Night, Arendal, and most likely SEVEN others to come, if the author ultimately fulfills the totally ambitious structure he’s suggested).
The School of Night is really the first of the exterior/peripheral novels (along the sides of the star shape) after the revelation of the structure by “the star architect” in the third section of the third novel to successfully show how the structure works. I’m not quite sure Knausgaard understood what he was doing, structure-wise, when he wrote The Wolves of Eternity, which is comparatively messy and not really something that can stand alone, or if read out of context of the series it would confound more than satisfy? But The School of Night shows how these backstory novels in the series can operate with great latitude, free from the central story of the interior novels and the present-day supernatural intrigue yet charged by the possibility of a second sun suddenly appearing in the sky or of a character who dies possibly not quite actually dying at all or returning somehow.
The School of Night is a Faustian pact novel but, despite the misleading and apparently AI-generated jacket/flap copy making it seem like a literal deal with the devil in the guise of a Danish artist named Hans who Kristian meets in a London bar, Knausgaard is a better writer than that, applying plentiful layers of ambiguity. By the end of the novel it’s clear that total fulfillment of Kristian’s artistic ambitions has involved a so-called deal with the devil but when exactly did that deal go down? Possibly when something happened with his sister and he really only thought about himself and his art? Or before that, when he decided to be true to his own nature, to put all his chips in on his artistic self? By the time he meets Hans and is introduced to the director of a staging of Faust, it’s already too late for him, isn’t it? Or maybe when he took the trash bag filled with photos from Hans’s old loft and left behind a little something of his own?
The book excels at ambiguity of this sort, very much in large part because it’s also so clear sentence to sentence, page to page. And this ambiguity extends to what some readers call “likability,” the question of whether or not one should root for Kristian as he pursues ends via questionable means, or even more so the fundamental scene of the novel after he generously bestows upon an old decrepit homeless man two cigarettes and a light.
The School of Night also presents and in part rhymes with possible dynamics between Shakespeare and Christopher Marlowe (the author of Doctor Faustus), who was part of a group of atheists known as The School of Night — why the translation is titled as such instead of “The Night School” as expected.
If Wolves was in part about a man whose life is committed to death (ie, a mortician) learning to pay attention to life, The School of Night is narrated by a noticer, a young man with eyes wide-open to art and music and physical beauty. But Kristian, the 20-year-old Norwegian narrator studying photography at an art school in London in the mid-’80s, isn’t an innocent despite inexperience. He senses his capabilities and believes in his potential despite not yet having produced much of merit. And wanting to create something great — or at least interesting, unexpected, beguiling, radiating whatever qualities he sees in what he deems admirable art — drives him in part to essentially cut off contact with his family and even take on a different surname after, while home for Christmas, he overhears his father demean him during a fraught time for the family.
(Christmas Knausgaard is flat-out wonderfully fun reading FWIW, and as far as I can remember not something yet to appear in one of his novels, complete with an outing in the snow on a sleigh to find and cut down a Christmas tree. But it’s not all joyous juletid thanks to Kristian’s søster.)
The School of Night is a Künstlerroman showing the development and maturation of a stjernefotograf (a “star photographer” instead of a star architect as in The Third Realm). Just as he associatively orders his records, one area of exploration intuitively leads to another. A focus on structure (the intricate architecture of trees, beams and girders of building’s under construction) leads to the darkly comical process by which he creates his breakthrough image. All of which is interesting and good, thematic jetsam that flows downstream with ease and at pace thanks to a few instances of super-satisfying extended suspense, the first major narrative propulsion benefiting from literary precedence, echoing Raskolnikov, and then the rocket boost propelling the final third or so of the novel comes with contemporary relevance related to so-called cancel culture, echoing the 2022 movie Tár. These larger sections of suspense in turn are driven by smaller, simpler yet sufficiently suspenseful sections relevant to anyone: will Kristian and his normie downstairs neighbor hook up, and will something bad happen toward the end to the boy?
Whenever a young child is potentially endangered, at least since I became a father twelve years ago, I’ve had massive trouble for example watching movies when an unattended infant wanders too close to the surf at the beach. I issue all-caps accusations of EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION. But Knausgaard, the father of innumerable children at this point (the acknowledgments at the end list a Brady Bunchian number of names) handles all this perfectly well, knowing how lightly he needs to introduce the endangerment among Kristian’s progression through the day with his child. I won’t reveal too much about all this, just that it’s emotionally stirring, absolutely lucid, engaging, page-turning, satisfying reading that seems totally “earned,” as they say in creative writing classes.
The School of Night is also a suicide-note novel, something that only clarified for me once I re-read the opening pages (which I had first read eight months earlier) after the book’s perfectly satisfying ending, inevitable in its way since it suggests Marlowe’s death as well. But — spoiler — of course Kristian doesn’t dramatize his own death, it’s left open, and knowing what we know of the series overall, it’s very possible that death is not the end.
A frame device introduces the suicide note motif, set in a cabin on the water in Norway, a setting that briefly appears three times, but the novel mostly takes place in London and Kristian’s family home in Norway in the mid-1980s, and Manhattan and London again in approximately 2010? The latter section in New York I loved, if just for Knausgaard/Kristian’s descriptions of the city and a bit dissing Lou Reed, The Ramones, Patti Smith, The Talking Heads, and Television.
Overall, I’d say there’s something about this one that feels almost perfect in its conception, structure, and execution, including loose ends that open spaces of possibility (for example the friend from Norway who visits or the guy who seemed to be following Kristian around London), almost like storyline nubbins that could be picked up and developed in future volumes or remain as they are, red herrings to enhance the sense that the novel’s reality, despite the supernatural superstructure, pledges allegiance in its details to the natural looseness of life.
*
I Reserve the Right to be Wrong About the Star Structure However.
I just learned of the existence of Jeg var lenge død — I Was Long Dead — scheduled to publish in October 2025 in Norway — seems like it’s about Syvert’s brother, Joar, and takes place in the present era when the star appears. Per my pet theory pentacle structure paradigm, it’s an “interior” novel, I suppose, although since it apparently has a single narrator it’s not a “meeting-place novel,” so maybe the “interior” novels are primarily marked by a contemporary time frame more than the number of narrators? Or maybe Jeg Var Lenge Død intentionally blends the interior- and exterior-type distinction since it apparently involves exploration of the afterworld, that is, a place where distinctions such as past and present, living and dead, are transcended?
Betelgeuse Supernova?
I wonder if Knausgaard got the idea for The Morning Star series from articles on the likelihood of Betelgeuse, one of the shoulders of the constellation Orion, apparently going supernova fairly soon (within 10K years). If this happens during our lives, Knausgaard will seem prophetic for sure. As with DeLillo’s Mao II, something about novel writing sometimes glimpses the future. The first volume of the series was published in 2020, right around the time Betelgeuse started dimming, possibly in advance of an explosion. Anyway, something to think about and the likely culprit if you suddenly see what looks like another sun in the sky.
Where to start with Knausgaard at this point?
If you’re trying to figure out which of his many books to read first, do you start with six volumes of My Struggle? Four volumes of The Seasons Quartet? Two early standalone novels (only one available in English so far), an essay collection, a book on Munch, a book about soccer written with another writer, and a few others? Not to mention six volumes so far of the Morning Star series: The Morning Star, The Wolves of Eternity, The Third Realm, The School of Night, Arendal, and I Was Long Dead those last three unavailable at this point in English?
Seems weird to suggest starting with the fourth novel in a series, but if you’ve never read Knausgaard, this may be the place to start — or a recommended reentry point if you’ve only read My Struggle 1 and maybe 2. You don’t need to have read the first three in the series, although knowing the themes and expectations of the others would definitely thicken and extend (engorge?) your reading experience.
The Below Relates More to My Reading Experience Than to the Book Itself
My reading experience was engorged by the eggplant of novelty. Unlike every other novel I’ve ever read (other than a short Tomas Espedal book earlier this year), I read the original Norwegian/Bokmål edition of Nattskolen in ebook format (consistently referring to the automatically generated English translation via Kindle to confirm my understanding after I read a third of a page). Also, unlike every novel I’ve ever read, I read Nattskolen over the course of eight months, from January to August 2025, at first trying to cover a single ebook page a day and then aiming to accomplish the reasonably achievable goal of a single ebook percentage per day (1% of ~584 pages was about six or seven pages).
Over the months of making my way through the ebook, my reading speed and comprehension improved as I looked up words multiple times until I finally knew what they meant without necessarily translating them. Uforvarende simply meant uforvarende, for example. Notably, I learned the word faen in this, which for some reason didn’t come up in the Duolingo course I completed, and which the translation feature sometimes refused to translate, at most offering “damn.” And generally after a while I didn’t feel like I was dealing with a “foreign” language. Toward the end I felt comfortable with the process of reading a language that a few years ago would have been daunting/impossible, and I just downloaded Arendal, the fifth volume in the series, to ensure that the progress I’ve made in the language doesn’t degrade.
Over the past few years, achieving a degree of reading facility in Norwegian and French, and this year in Italian, I’ve come to realize that I enjoy settling or at least mapping in my mind a territory that at first seems disorientating and wild. In the modern era, I first noticed this about 10 years ago when I rediscovered electric guitar and started exploring the endless world of effect pedals (see Neutral Evil ))) ), and again six years ago when we moved from the South Philadelphia city grid to the wild winding hills 15 miles west of Philly (see Chaotic Good). Streets in the new area aren’t numbered, their undulations determined by topographical irregularities, creeks, ravines, really old trees. It felt like a maze at first, and I loved not quite knowing where I was, that feeling of being turned around. But now I drive without really even thinking about how to get where I’m going. I enjoyed that process of learning our new area, just as I enjoy encountering a page of incomprehensible text and over time making sense of it, if not totally settling it. To put it simply: I’ve realized fairly recently that I really like learning.
But sometimes I wonder why I intuitively decided to learn Norwegian when first presented the options on Duolingo? At first I intended to “do” German or French (my Spanish is already pretty good) but then seeing that they offered Norwegian, because I’d read so much Hamsun, Knausgaard, Solstad, Vesaas, Bjornboe, Espedal, et al, I tried Norwegian and figured it would be easier than German or French for a native English speaker. I definitely didn’t intentionally decide to learn Norwegian just to get a jump on reviewers who have to wait to receive Advanced Reading Copies of Knausgaard’s new novels in translation.
And I definitely look forward to reading the official English translation by Martin Aitken as soon as it publishes (on January 13, 2026 — or before that if the kind/wise Associate Marketing Manager at Penguin Random House once again ships an ARC to my home), in part to revisit this world: mid-’80s art school in London soundtracked by post-punk on vinyl (I made a playlist of more or less everything Kristian mentions or puts on his turntable), a Christmas break in scenic snowy Norway, relatively contemporary NYC, and back to London and then a cabin on the fjords in sunny nocturnal Norway.
I’ll surely update this once I read the English translation in a few months.
My review of The Third Realm presents the possible pentacle-like “star structure” of the series, with interior “meeting place” novels set more or less in the present, populated by a handful of first-person narrators (The Morning Star, The Third Realm, and most likely three others to come) and exterior “peripheral” backstory novels mostly set in the past (The Wolves of Eternity, The School of Night, Arendal, and most likely SEVEN others to come, if the author ultimately fulfills the totally ambitious structure he’s suggested).
The School of Night is really the first of the exterior/peripheral novels (along the sides of the star shape) after the revelation of the structure by “the star architect” in the third section of the third novel to successfully show how the structure works. I’m not quite sure Knausgaard understood what he was doing, structure-wise, when he wrote The Wolves of Eternity, which is comparatively messy and not really something that can stand alone, or if read out of context of the series it would confound more than satisfy? But The School of Night shows how these backstory novels in the series can operate with great latitude, free from the central story of the interior novels and the present-day supernatural intrigue yet charged by the possibility of a second sun suddenly appearing in the sky or of a character who dies possibly not quite actually dying at all or returning somehow.
The School of Night is a Faustian pact novel but, despite the misleading and apparently AI-generated jacket/flap copy making it seem like a literal deal with the devil in the guise of a Danish artist named Hans who Kristian meets in a London bar, Knausgaard is a better writer than that, applying plentiful layers of ambiguity. By the end of the novel it’s clear that total fulfillment of Kristian’s artistic ambitions has involved a so-called deal with the devil but when exactly did that deal go down? Possibly when something happened with his sister and he really only thought about himself and his art? Or before that, when he decided to be true to his own nature, to put all his chips in on his artistic self? By the time he meets Hans and is introduced to the director of a staging of Faust, it’s already too late for him, isn’t it? Or maybe when he took the trash bag filled with photos from Hans’s old loft and left behind a little something of his own?
The book excels at ambiguity of this sort, very much in large part because it’s also so clear sentence to sentence, page to page. And this ambiguity extends to what some readers call “likability,” the question of whether or not one should root for Kristian as he pursues ends via questionable means, or even more so the fundamental scene of the novel after he generously bestows upon an old decrepit homeless man two cigarettes and a light.
The School of Night also presents and in part rhymes with possible dynamics between Shakespeare and Christopher Marlowe (the author of Doctor Faustus), who was part of a group of atheists known as The School of Night — why the translation is titled as such instead of “The Night School” as expected.
If Wolves was in part about a man whose life is committed to death (ie, a mortician) learning to pay attention to life, The School of Night is narrated by a noticer, a young man with eyes wide-open to art and music and physical beauty. But Kristian, the 20-year-old Norwegian narrator studying photography at an art school in London in the mid-’80s, isn’t an innocent despite inexperience. He senses his capabilities and believes in his potential despite not yet having produced much of merit. And wanting to create something great — or at least interesting, unexpected, beguiling, radiating whatever qualities he sees in what he deems admirable art — drives him in part to essentially cut off contact with his family and even take on a different surname after, while home for Christmas, he overhears his father demean him during a fraught time for the family.
(Christmas Knausgaard is flat-out wonderfully fun reading FWIW, and as far as I can remember not something yet to appear in one of his novels, complete with an outing in the snow on a sleigh to find and cut down a Christmas tree. But it’s not all joyous juletid thanks to Kristian’s søster.)
The School of Night is a Künstlerroman showing the development and maturation of a stjernefotograf (a “star photographer” instead of a star architect as in The Third Realm). Just as he associatively orders his records, one area of exploration intuitively leads to another. A focus on structure (the intricate architecture of trees, beams and girders of building’s under construction) leads to the darkly comical process by which he creates his breakthrough image. All of which is interesting and good, thematic jetsam that flows downstream with ease and at pace thanks to a few instances of super-satisfying extended suspense, the first major narrative propulsion benefiting from literary precedence, echoing Raskolnikov, and then the rocket boost propelling the final third or so of the novel comes with contemporary relevance related to so-called cancel culture, echoing the 2022 movie Tár. These larger sections of suspense in turn are driven by smaller, simpler yet sufficiently suspenseful sections relevant to anyone: will Kristian and his normie downstairs neighbor hook up, and will something bad happen toward the end to the boy?
Whenever a young child is potentially endangered, at least since I became a father twelve years ago, I’ve had massive trouble for example watching movies when an unattended infant wanders too close to the surf at the beach. I issue all-caps accusations of EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION. But Knausgaard, the father of innumerable children at this point (the acknowledgments at the end list a Brady Bunchian number of names) handles all this perfectly well, knowing how lightly he needs to introduce the endangerment among Kristian’s progression through the day with his child. I won’t reveal too much about all this, just that it’s emotionally stirring, absolutely lucid, engaging, page-turning, satisfying reading that seems totally “earned,” as they say in creative writing classes.
The School of Night is also a suicide-note novel, something that only clarified for me once I re-read the opening pages (which I had first read eight months earlier) after the book’s perfectly satisfying ending, inevitable in its way since it suggests Marlowe’s death as well. But — spoiler — of course Kristian doesn’t dramatize his own death, it’s left open, and knowing what we know of the series overall, it’s very possible that death is not the end.
A frame device introduces the suicide note motif, set in a cabin on the water in Norway, a setting that briefly appears three times, but the novel mostly takes place in London and Kristian’s family home in Norway in the mid-1980s, and Manhattan and London again in approximately 2010? The latter section in New York I loved, if just for Knausgaard/Kristian’s descriptions of the city and a bit dissing Lou Reed, The Ramones, Patti Smith, The Talking Heads, and Television.
Overall, I’d say there’s something about this one that feels almost perfect in its conception, structure, and execution, including loose ends that open spaces of possibility (for example the friend from Norway who visits or the guy who seemed to be following Kristian around London), almost like storyline nubbins that could be picked up and developed in future volumes or remain as they are, red herrings to enhance the sense that the novel’s reality, despite the supernatural superstructure, pledges allegiance in its details to the natural looseness of life.
*
I Reserve the Right to be Wrong About the Star Structure However.
I just learned of the existence of Jeg var lenge død — I Was Long Dead — scheduled to publish in October 2025 in Norway — seems like it’s about Syvert’s brother, Joar, and takes place in the present era when the star appears. Per my pet theory pentacle structure paradigm, it’s an “interior” novel, I suppose, although since it apparently has a single narrator it’s not a “meeting-place novel,” so maybe the “interior” novels are primarily marked by a contemporary time frame more than the number of narrators? Or maybe Jeg Var Lenge Død intentionally blends the interior- and exterior-type distinction since it apparently involves exploration of the afterworld, that is, a place where distinctions such as past and present, living and dead, are transcended?
Betelgeuse Supernova?
I wonder if Knausgaard got the idea for The Morning Star series from articles on the likelihood of Betelgeuse, one of the shoulders of the constellation Orion, apparently going supernova fairly soon (within 10K years). If this happens during our lives, Knausgaard will seem prophetic for sure. As with DeLillo’s Mao II, something about novel writing sometimes glimpses the future. The first volume of the series was published in 2020, right around the time Betelgeuse started dimming, possibly in advance of an explosion. Anyway, something to think about and the likely culprit if you suddenly see what looks like another sun in the sky.
Where to start with Knausgaard at this point?
If you’re trying to figure out which of his many books to read first, do you start with six volumes of My Struggle? Four volumes of The Seasons Quartet? Two early standalone novels (only one available in English so far), an essay collection, a book on Munch, a book about soccer written with another writer, and a few others? Not to mention six volumes so far of the Morning Star series: The Morning Star, The Wolves of Eternity, The Third Realm, The School of Night, Arendal, and I Was Long Dead those last three unavailable at this point in English?
Seems weird to suggest starting with the fourth novel in a series, but if you’ve never read Knausgaard, this may be the place to start — or a recommended reentry point if you’ve only read My Struggle 1 and maybe 2. You don’t need to have read the first three in the series, although knowing the themes and expectations of the others would definitely thicken and extend (engorge?) your reading experience.
The Below Relates More to My Reading Experience Than to the Book Itself
My reading experience was engorged by the eggplant of novelty. Unlike every other novel I’ve ever read (other than a short Tomas Espedal book earlier this year), I read the original Norwegian/Bokmål edition of Nattskolen in ebook format (consistently referring to the automatically generated English translation via Kindle to confirm my understanding after I read a third of a page). Also, unlike every novel I’ve ever read, I read Nattskolen over the course of eight months, from January to August 2025, at first trying to cover a single ebook page a day and then aiming to accomplish the reasonably achievable goal of a single ebook percentage per day (1% of ~584 pages was about six or seven pages).
Over the months of making my way through the ebook, my reading speed and comprehension improved as I looked up words multiple times until I finally knew what they meant without necessarily translating them. Uforvarende simply meant uforvarende, for example. Notably, I learned the word faen in this, which for some reason didn’t come up in the Duolingo course I completed, and which the translation feature sometimes refused to translate, at most offering “damn.” And generally after a while I didn’t feel like I was dealing with a “foreign” language. Toward the end I felt comfortable with the process of reading a language that a few years ago would have been daunting/impossible, and I just downloaded Arendal, the fifth volume in the series, to ensure that the progress I’ve made in the language doesn’t degrade.
Over the past few years, achieving a degree of reading facility in Norwegian and French, and this year in Italian, I’ve come to realize that I enjoy settling or at least mapping in my mind a territory that at first seems disorientating and wild. In the modern era, I first noticed this about 10 years ago when I rediscovered electric guitar and started exploring the endless world of effect pedals (see Neutral Evil ))) ), and again six years ago when we moved from the South Philadelphia city grid to the wild winding hills 15 miles west of Philly (see Chaotic Good). Streets in the new area aren’t numbered, their undulations determined by topographical irregularities, creeks, ravines, really old trees. It felt like a maze at first, and I loved not quite knowing where I was, that feeling of being turned around. But now I drive without really even thinking about how to get where I’m going. I enjoyed that process of learning our new area, just as I enjoy encountering a page of incomprehensible text and over time making sense of it, if not totally settling it. To put it simply: I’ve realized fairly recently that I really like learning.
But sometimes I wonder why I intuitively decided to learn Norwegian when first presented the options on Duolingo? At first I intended to “do” German or French (my Spanish is already pretty good) but then seeing that they offered Norwegian, because I’d read so much Hamsun, Knausgaard, Solstad, Vesaas, Bjornboe, Espedal, et al, I tried Norwegian and figured it would be easier than German or French for a native English speaker. I definitely didn’t intentionally decide to learn Norwegian just to get a jump on reviewers who have to wait to receive Advanced Reading Copies of Knausgaard’s new novels in translation.
And I definitely look forward to reading the official English translation by Martin Aitken as soon as it publishes (on January 13, 2026 — or before that if the kind/wise Associate Marketing Manager at Penguin Random House once again ships an ARC to my home), in part to revisit this world: mid-’80s art school in London soundtracked by post-punk on vinyl (I made a playlist of more or less everything Kristian mentions or puts on his turntable), a Christmas break in scenic snowy Norway, relatively contemporary NYC, and back to London and then a cabin on the fjords in sunny nocturnal Norway.
I’ll surely update this once I read the English translation in a few months.
March 21, 2024
”I skolan lärde de sig ju att vara emot allt som var ont och för allt som var gott. Ända fram tills vi insåg, eller i alla fall anade, att det som var ont kunde löna sig och började maskera det som gott.”
Nattens skola är en parafras på faustmyten. Kollektivromanerna Morgonstjärnan och Det tredje riket handlar om gränser mellan liv och död. Vargarna från evighetens skog handlar om odödlighet och teknikens framfart. I den här fjärde boken är det ondskan som står i fokus. Vår jagberättare heter Kristian Hadeland. Han är en målinriktad och ambitiös fotograf som så att säga säljer sin själ till djävulen. Han är bitvis otäckt lik den man vi kan läsa om i tidigare böcker av Karl Ove Knausgård och han har själv sagt att det kändes som om han sålde sin själ till djävulen med Min kamp. Kristian har även likheter med mig. Och dig.
”..om människor var hus som såg på varandra genom fönstren och kommunicerade genom att öppna dörren och släppa ut ljud saknade mitt hus en vägg mitt emot dem och deras hus en vägg mitt emot mig, så att vi kunde gå rakt in i varandra när vi var tillsammans. Det tyckte jag inte om.”
Berättelsen om Faust är också berättelsen om den moderna människan som köper sig fri från moraliska skyldigheter och med hänsynslös roffarmentalitet tar för sig av jordens resurser utan betänkligheter inför andra människor och djur. Detta kan mycket väl liknas vid att ingå en pakt med djävulen. Kostnaden? Evig fördömelse.
Nattens skola är en obehaglig bladvändare som säkert kan läsas fristående, men jag söker ivrigt efter röda trådar fästa i de tidigare romanerna. Kristian visade sig för prästen Kathrine i Morgonstjärnan, och begrovs sedan i en svart kista. Hon predikade helt spontant att ”döden helgar livet” vilket blev ifrågasatt. Jag vet tyvärr inte om han är med i andra boken. Men i Det tredje riket dyker han upp igen med sitt märkliga sätt. Först i Nattens skola får vi lära känna Kristian på djupet och i samma veva får jag några idéer om vad det är Karl Ove Knausgård söker efter i den här romanserien.
När författaren med sin raka och flödande detaljprosa gestaltar Kristian Hadeland inifrån undersöker han kampen mellan gott och ont i människan, hur egoismen (känslor för oss själva) och empatin (känslor för andra) påverkar våra handlingar. Bokens knappa femhundra sidor filtreras genom Kristians modus och ett tydligt mönster framträder: Han gör i princip ingenting för andra människors skull. Andras känslor påverkar honom inte, bara om de direkt innefattar honom själv. När hans syster inte går att väcka blir han inte orolig. När han hjälper till att duka av bordet gör han det för att slippa klander, inte för att han tycker det är rimligt att hjälpa sin mamma. Han verkar oförmögen att känna skuldkänslor. Han tycks kunna förstå hur andra människor tänker (alltså är han inte autistisk i så fall hade han varit ärlig inifrån och ut med sitt missnöje som Egils son Viktor (i Morgonstjärnan) som sår sönder saker) men feltolkar ofta och avfärdar andra som hycklare. Han är lågaffektiv utåt, narcissist, psykopat, misantrop och statuerar tydligt exempel hur farligt det blir när en människa är enbart rationell. Hans beteende är antisocialt, han förnekar godhet men spelar ibland på den.
På samma sätt som man är oförmögen att känna sin egen doft kan en människa som saknar empati inte förstå vad empati är och alltså inte veta att hon saknar det. Kristian har ingen som helst förmåga att se sig själv utifrån. Det kan dock ingen fullt ut. En av storheterna med den här boken är att Kristian nästan är vanlig. Unga män är ju inte kända för sitt konsekvenstänk precis, men Kristians grandiosa tankevärld växer inte bort. Knausgård visar att mellan ont och gott, mellan vardag och kaos finns ibland bara en tunn hinna. En gnutta ouppmärksamhet och barnet springer ut framför bussen, ett impulsivt slag i ansiktet och offret slår i huvudet och avlider. Olyckshändelser säger förstås inte mycket om ondska, uppsåt kan saknas men det finns också något som heter oaktsamhet. När Kristian orsakar olyckor försöker han inte bara slippa klander, (det gjorde Emil i Morgonstjärnan som lämnade Liam att falla ner från skötbordet också), han saknar förmåga att känna skam och skuld och kan därför inte lära sig av misstagen. I skulden och skammen möter den vi är inombords den vi är för andra. Det är väl därför man skäms mer som ung, man håller på och övar. Skuld och skam hjälper oss att välja rätt väg framledes, det som man kan kalla att mogna och utvecklas.
”..om jag bestod av jag och anti-jag, vem var jag? Det var så klart jag. Så då borde jag ha kvävt de små impulserna från anti-jag, det skulle vara lätt gjort, men det gjorde jag inte.”
Ondska rör sig längs en glidande skala och vi alla har mer eller mindre narcissistiska drag. Ondska är kanske att inte kväva de dåliga impulserna. Ondska är väl att använda andra människor som medel och inte se att varje människa är ett ändamål i sig själv. Ondska kan nog vara att som offentlig person/konstnär avslöja smutsiga hemligheter om sin familj för att det gynnar karriären. Ondska är ge upp hoppet, att sluta tro på det goda det vill säga alliera sig med djävulen som står för överskridelse av alla lagar, alla regler, alla tankar om medmänsklighet och solidaritet. Ondska är att få det till en sorts frihet. Ingen annan ska bestämma över vad man får och inte får göra. Exempel på djävulska idéer är att döden är regeln och livet undantaget, att inte bara låta ”döden helga livet” utan att välja döden och se på livet efter detta som det verkliga livet.
”Nattens filosofi… vad kunde den bestå av? En evig väntan på gryningen? Med ens slog det mig att döden var gryningen. Livet var natten, döden var dagen. Det var de levande som var de döda, de döda som var levande.”
”En bok vet mer än sin författare”, har Milan Kundera uttryckt. De är många trådarna och frågorna som uppstår i serien om Morgonstjärnan och fler ska säkert komma. Knausgård säger i en intervju att han har själv stora problem med att få ihop det. Jag vågar mig ändå på att gissa vad det hela handlar om: Dygderna tro, hopp och kärlek, de tre benen på lyckans pall.
Knusgård vill, tror jag, med sitt himlafenomen rikta vår blick mot himlen för att öka medvetenheten om den del av världen som inte är mätbar och inte kan fångas av det rationella. Vikten av att ha en tro, även om vi lever sekulariserat. ”Verkligheten är en komplicerad storhet som innefattar både det rationella som vetenskapen ägnar sig åt och det irrationella att en människa är något mer än biologiskt-materiellt.” ”Det är inte så att vi vet det vi ser, det är omvänt: vi ser det vi vet”, skriver han i Morgonstjärnan. Detta kan förklara varför vi upplever så få mirakler och syner i modern tid, jämfört med på Marlowes tid exempelvis. Till och med Kristian som man tror är helt renons på tro och hopp, ber Gud om hjälp i en svår situation.
”Vi bor i en värld av speglar nu. Så vi har blivit avstängda från livet, precis som Narkissos och Echo. Har du inte märkt hur allting blir mer och mer likt? Att allt blir samma? Det är inte bara logiken i monopolkapitalismen som gör det. Det är också spegelns logik. Alltså bilderna av oss själva. Vi lever i en loop.”
Jag var tvungen att rota fram mitt exemplar av Morgonstjärnan och hittade då avsnitten om Egil Stray. Han som idealiserade och längtade efter ensamhet i sin stuga på ön, samma stuga som Kristian kommer att bo i. Det som skulle vara Paradiset och som mycket riktigt påminner sig med en smak av (kunskapens) äpple i Egils mun, blir för en ensam människa inget Guds rike, kanske rent av ett helvete. Människan är ju fördömd. Kunskapen om döden betraktas som ett fall i Bibeln. Att ha ett dödsmedvetande försvårar det paradisiska tillståndet, att leva i ögonblicket. Människans tänkande innebär att hon kan tänka att hon tänker. Det för oss närmare varandra och kulturen men fjärmar oss från naturen. Morgonstjärnan är nog också ett tecken om att vi måste ta hänsyn till naturen, dels som i våra arkaiska behov, dels som klimathot.
Egil är inte lika narcissistisk som Kristian men han har vänt sin enda son ryggen och lever ensam med ingen annan längtan kvar förutom efter att dricka. Han har dock sin tro.
”Morgonstjärnan hette Lucifer på latin, och det betydde ljusbringare. Här var Lucifer morgonrodnadens son, och morgonrodnaden kunde svårligen vara annat än Gud, alltets skapare. Lucifer försökte bli hans like, men störtades ned från himlen till dödsriket, som han sedan enligt traditionen blev härskare över.”
Citatet ovan kommer från Egils essä som avslutar första boken. I Bibeln refererar Morgonstjärnan dubbelt, både till Djävulen och till Jesus. Precis som det finns gott och ont i varje människa (jag och anti-jag). Jesus var (också) en enstöring som avvisade sin mor och bror. Kristendomens teologi om att vända andra kinden till, att ta hand om sjuka och svaga, att möta vår nästa med kärlek, är i grunden tron på det sociala. Nietzsche menar att genom kristendomen finner de svaga ett sätt att kuva de starka. I de svagas tyranni blir det svaga det starka, det dåliga det goda och det sjuka det friska. Jesus tankar förändrar världen, Nietzsches förändrar bara tankarna. Man måste inte tro på hela paketet med av andra färdigskapade värderingar, man kan som Kierkegaard låta tron leda en till det sociala, kärleken till medmänniskorna.
”Jag kunde inte ha tänkt så klart utan att ha läst. Det var det de bästa böckerna erbjöd: Jag drog ut tankar ur dem som annars hade varit svåråtkomliga, de drog ut tankar ur mig som annars hade varit svåråtkomliga, till ett slags bord mellan oss, där de låg och lät sig beskådas och kunde funderas över ytterligare. […] Samtidigt ledde de inte till något, det kom ingenting ur läsningen, annat än det här tankarna, förstås, och vad skulle jag ha dem till?”
Tro, hopp och kärlek alltså! Inte trodde jag att alla dessa visserligen intressanta karaktärer, utläggningar och omvägar om allt mellan himmel och jord samt upprepningar om Knausgård själv skulle mynna ut i sådan klyscha.
Vad tror du på?
Nattens skola är en parafras på faustmyten. Kollektivromanerna Morgonstjärnan och Det tredje riket handlar om gränser mellan liv och död. Vargarna från evighetens skog handlar om odödlighet och teknikens framfart. I den här fjärde boken är det ondskan som står i fokus. Vår jagberättare heter Kristian Hadeland. Han är en målinriktad och ambitiös fotograf som så att säga säljer sin själ till djävulen. Han är bitvis otäckt lik den man vi kan läsa om i tidigare böcker av Karl Ove Knausgård och han har själv sagt att det kändes som om han sålde sin själ till djävulen med Min kamp. Kristian har även likheter med mig. Och dig.
”..om människor var hus som såg på varandra genom fönstren och kommunicerade genom att öppna dörren och släppa ut ljud saknade mitt hus en vägg mitt emot dem och deras hus en vägg mitt emot mig, så att vi kunde gå rakt in i varandra när vi var tillsammans. Det tyckte jag inte om.”
Berättelsen om Faust är också berättelsen om den moderna människan som köper sig fri från moraliska skyldigheter och med hänsynslös roffarmentalitet tar för sig av jordens resurser utan betänkligheter inför andra människor och djur. Detta kan mycket väl liknas vid att ingå en pakt med djävulen. Kostnaden? Evig fördömelse.
Nattens skola är en obehaglig bladvändare som säkert kan läsas fristående, men jag söker ivrigt efter röda trådar fästa i de tidigare romanerna. Kristian visade sig för prästen Kathrine i Morgonstjärnan, och begrovs sedan i en svart kista. Hon predikade helt spontant att ”döden helgar livet” vilket blev ifrågasatt. Jag vet tyvärr inte om han är med i andra boken. Men i Det tredje riket dyker han upp igen med sitt märkliga sätt. Först i Nattens skola får vi lära känna Kristian på djupet och i samma veva får jag några idéer om vad det är Karl Ove Knausgård söker efter i den här romanserien.
När författaren med sin raka och flödande detaljprosa gestaltar Kristian Hadeland inifrån undersöker han kampen mellan gott och ont i människan, hur egoismen (känslor för oss själva) och empatin (känslor för andra) påverkar våra handlingar. Bokens knappa femhundra sidor filtreras genom Kristians modus och ett tydligt mönster framträder: Han gör i princip ingenting för andra människors skull. Andras känslor påverkar honom inte, bara om de direkt innefattar honom själv. När hans syster inte går att väcka blir han inte orolig. När han hjälper till att duka av bordet gör han det för att slippa klander, inte för att han tycker det är rimligt att hjälpa sin mamma. Han verkar oförmögen att känna skuldkänslor. Han tycks kunna förstå hur andra människor tänker (alltså är han inte autistisk i så fall hade han varit ärlig inifrån och ut med sitt missnöje som Egils son Viktor (i Morgonstjärnan) som sår sönder saker) men feltolkar ofta och avfärdar andra som hycklare. Han är lågaffektiv utåt, narcissist, psykopat, misantrop och statuerar tydligt exempel hur farligt det blir när en människa är enbart rationell. Hans beteende är antisocialt, han förnekar godhet men spelar ibland på den.
På samma sätt som man är oförmögen att känna sin egen doft kan en människa som saknar empati inte förstå vad empati är och alltså inte veta att hon saknar det. Kristian har ingen som helst förmåga att se sig själv utifrån. Det kan dock ingen fullt ut. En av storheterna med den här boken är att Kristian nästan är vanlig. Unga män är ju inte kända för sitt konsekvenstänk precis, men Kristians grandiosa tankevärld växer inte bort. Knausgård visar att mellan ont och gott, mellan vardag och kaos finns ibland bara en tunn hinna. En gnutta ouppmärksamhet och barnet springer ut framför bussen, ett impulsivt slag i ansiktet och offret slår i huvudet och avlider. Olyckshändelser säger förstås inte mycket om ondska, uppsåt kan saknas men det finns också något som heter oaktsamhet. När Kristian orsakar olyckor försöker han inte bara slippa klander, (det gjorde Emil i Morgonstjärnan som lämnade Liam att falla ner från skötbordet också), han saknar förmåga att känna skam och skuld och kan därför inte lära sig av misstagen. I skulden och skammen möter den vi är inombords den vi är för andra. Det är väl därför man skäms mer som ung, man håller på och övar. Skuld och skam hjälper oss att välja rätt väg framledes, det som man kan kalla att mogna och utvecklas.
”..om jag bestod av jag och anti-jag, vem var jag? Det var så klart jag. Så då borde jag ha kvävt de små impulserna från anti-jag, det skulle vara lätt gjort, men det gjorde jag inte.”
Ondska rör sig längs en glidande skala och vi alla har mer eller mindre narcissistiska drag. Ondska är kanske att inte kväva de dåliga impulserna. Ondska är väl att använda andra människor som medel och inte se att varje människa är ett ändamål i sig själv. Ondska kan nog vara att som offentlig person/konstnär avslöja smutsiga hemligheter om sin familj för att det gynnar karriären. Ondska är ge upp hoppet, att sluta tro på det goda det vill säga alliera sig med djävulen som står för överskridelse av alla lagar, alla regler, alla tankar om medmänsklighet och solidaritet. Ondska är att få det till en sorts frihet. Ingen annan ska bestämma över vad man får och inte får göra. Exempel på djävulska idéer är att döden är regeln och livet undantaget, att inte bara låta ”döden helga livet” utan att välja döden och se på livet efter detta som det verkliga livet.
”Nattens filosofi… vad kunde den bestå av? En evig väntan på gryningen? Med ens slog det mig att döden var gryningen. Livet var natten, döden var dagen. Det var de levande som var de döda, de döda som var levande.”
”En bok vet mer än sin författare”, har Milan Kundera uttryckt. De är många trådarna och frågorna som uppstår i serien om Morgonstjärnan och fler ska säkert komma. Knausgård säger i en intervju att han har själv stora problem med att få ihop det. Jag vågar mig ändå på att gissa vad det hela handlar om: Dygderna tro, hopp och kärlek, de tre benen på lyckans pall.
Knusgård vill, tror jag, med sitt himlafenomen rikta vår blick mot himlen för att öka medvetenheten om den del av världen som inte är mätbar och inte kan fångas av det rationella. Vikten av att ha en tro, även om vi lever sekulariserat. ”Verkligheten är en komplicerad storhet som innefattar både det rationella som vetenskapen ägnar sig åt och det irrationella att en människa är något mer än biologiskt-materiellt.” ”Det är inte så att vi vet det vi ser, det är omvänt: vi ser det vi vet”, skriver han i Morgonstjärnan. Detta kan förklara varför vi upplever så få mirakler och syner i modern tid, jämfört med på Marlowes tid exempelvis. Till och med Kristian som man tror är helt renons på tro och hopp, ber Gud om hjälp i en svår situation.
”Vi bor i en värld av speglar nu. Så vi har blivit avstängda från livet, precis som Narkissos och Echo. Har du inte märkt hur allting blir mer och mer likt? Att allt blir samma? Det är inte bara logiken i monopolkapitalismen som gör det. Det är också spegelns logik. Alltså bilderna av oss själva. Vi lever i en loop.”
Jag var tvungen att rota fram mitt exemplar av Morgonstjärnan och hittade då avsnitten om Egil Stray. Han som idealiserade och längtade efter ensamhet i sin stuga på ön, samma stuga som Kristian kommer att bo i. Det som skulle vara Paradiset och som mycket riktigt påminner sig med en smak av (kunskapens) äpple i Egils mun, blir för en ensam människa inget Guds rike, kanske rent av ett helvete. Människan är ju fördömd. Kunskapen om döden betraktas som ett fall i Bibeln. Att ha ett dödsmedvetande försvårar det paradisiska tillståndet, att leva i ögonblicket. Människans tänkande innebär att hon kan tänka att hon tänker. Det för oss närmare varandra och kulturen men fjärmar oss från naturen. Morgonstjärnan är nog också ett tecken om att vi måste ta hänsyn till naturen, dels som i våra arkaiska behov, dels som klimathot.
Egil är inte lika narcissistisk som Kristian men han har vänt sin enda son ryggen och lever ensam med ingen annan längtan kvar förutom efter att dricka. Han har dock sin tro.
”Morgonstjärnan hette Lucifer på latin, och det betydde ljusbringare. Här var Lucifer morgonrodnadens son, och morgonrodnaden kunde svårligen vara annat än Gud, alltets skapare. Lucifer försökte bli hans like, men störtades ned från himlen till dödsriket, som han sedan enligt traditionen blev härskare över.”
Citatet ovan kommer från Egils essä som avslutar första boken. I Bibeln refererar Morgonstjärnan dubbelt, både till Djävulen och till Jesus. Precis som det finns gott och ont i varje människa (jag och anti-jag). Jesus var (också) en enstöring som avvisade sin mor och bror. Kristendomens teologi om att vända andra kinden till, att ta hand om sjuka och svaga, att möta vår nästa med kärlek, är i grunden tron på det sociala. Nietzsche menar att genom kristendomen finner de svaga ett sätt att kuva de starka. I de svagas tyranni blir det svaga det starka, det dåliga det goda och det sjuka det friska. Jesus tankar förändrar världen, Nietzsches förändrar bara tankarna. Man måste inte tro på hela paketet med av andra färdigskapade värderingar, man kan som Kierkegaard låta tron leda en till det sociala, kärleken till medmänniskorna.
”Jag kunde inte ha tänkt så klart utan att ha läst. Det var det de bästa böckerna erbjöd: Jag drog ut tankar ur dem som annars hade varit svåråtkomliga, de drog ut tankar ur mig som annars hade varit svåråtkomliga, till ett slags bord mellan oss, där de låg och lät sig beskådas och kunde funderas över ytterligare. […] Samtidigt ledde de inte till något, det kom ingenting ur läsningen, annat än det här tankarna, förstås, och vad skulle jag ha dem till?”
Tro, hopp och kärlek alltså! Inte trodde jag att alla dessa visserligen intressanta karaktärer, utläggningar och omvägar om allt mellan himmel och jord samt upprepningar om Knausgård själv skulle mynna ut i sådan klyscha.
Vad tror du på?
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
November 30, 2025
Gawd yesssss, this book this book!! This book is the fourth book in The Morning Star series, but unlike the other entries, this one is very much a standalone. That means if you’re at all curious to dip your toes into the series or Knausgaard, you can dive right into this one without fomo. (Publication date: January).
I was sucked right into this one. And dare I say I think this is my absolute fave. After my initial “irritation” over it not picking up from where we left off in THE THIRD REALM, I soon got over that because it was so damn absorbing. It introduced an additional dimension to the intrigue. This entry brought a thriller-esque vibe to the story. Psychological horror, I guess you can say. It’s much more of a page-turner, but because this is Knausgaard we’re talking about so expect existential dread and intricacy.
Our narrator Kristian is a hard one to root or give a damn about. Your empathy radar will probably switch off. Those are the best kind of narrators imo. The kind of character that forces us to locate the emotional core/center ourselves.
Some of you may know that I am beyond obsessed with this series and the writer pulling the strings (wedding bells are ringing). I have no idea where the next entry will take me, but I want it and I need it now. This one proves that anything can happen. Knausgaard is not interested in telling a linear story or even one kind of story; nor is he here to satisfy instant gratification impulses. There’s far more than what meets the eye and he’s gonna take his time sharing it with us. It’s something much bigger.
I was sucked right into this one. And dare I say I think this is my absolute fave. After my initial “irritation” over it not picking up from where we left off in THE THIRD REALM, I soon got over that because it was so damn absorbing. It introduced an additional dimension to the intrigue. This entry brought a thriller-esque vibe to the story. Psychological horror, I guess you can say. It’s much more of a page-turner, but because this is Knausgaard we’re talking about so expect existential dread and intricacy.
Our narrator Kristian is a hard one to root or give a damn about. Your empathy radar will probably switch off. Those are the best kind of narrators imo. The kind of character that forces us to locate the emotional core/center ourselves.
Some of you may know that I am beyond obsessed with this series and the writer pulling the strings (wedding bells are ringing). I have no idea where the next entry will take me, but I want it and I need it now. This one proves that anything can happen. Knausgaard is not interested in telling a linear story or even one kind of story; nor is he here to satisfy instant gratification impulses. There’s far more than what meets the eye and he’s gonna take his time sharing it with us. It’s something much bigger.
January 24, 2026
Very dark take on Faust - a bit unlike most of his work, w/ the sociopathy and narcissism of the lead, but the last 150 pages really hammer in what a fascinating project this is, and the very ending is masterful. It has more impact if you've read the other books of this sequence, but it is less necessary than usual - goes back to the re-telling that was at work in A Time for Everything.
By the way, I wrote up Knausgaard's oeuvre for the Times - a real treat: https://www.nytimes.com/article/karl-...
By the way, I wrote up Knausgaard's oeuvre for the Times - a real treat: https://www.nytimes.com/article/karl-...
June 17, 2025
Kristian Hadeland, geboren am 6.6.1956, gestorben am 23.8.2023. Zur Beerdigung kommt niemand. Kathrine die Pastorin, die die Totenmesse hält, ist völlig von der Rolle, weil sie sicher ist, den Toten tags zuvor im Flugzeug gesehen und mit ihm gesprochen zu haben. Aber das ist nicht möglich, zumal er schon seit eigenen Tagen tot ist. Soviel weiß man bereits aus Band 1 Morgenstern. Wer sich übrigens mal mit Numerologie befasst hat, dem fällt vielleicht auf, dass das Todesdatum in der Quersumme die göttliche 1 ergibt. Das Geburtsdatum enthält 3 mal die 6. ich denke nicht, dass Knausgard das dem Zufall überlassen hat.
In Band 4 steht nun das Leben dieses Kristian Hadeland im Zentrum. Wir sind immer ganz eng bei ihm von der ersten bis zur letzten Seite. Kristian erzählt aus der Ich Perspektive, er hat sich auf eine norwegische Insel zurückgezogen, um seinem Leben ein Ende zu setzen. Vorher will er aber noch sein Leben in einer Art Biografie festhalten, vor allem seine Zeit als Fotokunst-Student in London, in der er von einer Niederlage zur nächsten stolpert und später als anerkannter Künstler, eine Phase die aber auch alles andere als reibungslos für ihn verläuft. Er ist ein schwieriger Charakter, meist voller Misstrauen und Geringschätzung für seine Mitmenschen. Dennoch gelingt es ihm ein paar Kontakte zu knüpfen die es gut mit ihm zu meinen scheinen.
Dieses Buch ist mein absolutes Jahreshighlight 2025 und hat damit Krachts Air souverän abgelöst. Letzteres ist im Vergleich ein liebenswürdiges kleines Märchen, das ich geliebt habe und gerne in einiger Zeit noch mal lesen werde. Aber was Knausgard mit der Schule der Nacht geschaffen hat ist etwas ganz besonderes. Es ist Weltliteratur im besten Sinne. Damit meine ich, es ist alles enthalten, was uns Menschen im Kern interessiert, Leben, Tod, Beziehungen, Freundschaft, Sinnsuche, Erfüllung, Niederlagen und Erfolg, Vertrauen, Missgunst, Gerechtigkeit und genau, was fehlt noch? Liebe! Die ist für Kristian allerdings ein besonders kniffliges Thema, eigentlich liebt er niemanden außer sich selbst.
Ich merke beim Schreiben, dass das ziemlich langatmig klingt. Das Gegenteil ist aber der Fall, der Roman ist so unglaublich spannend, dass die 665 Seiten (die Seite 666 ist leer) am liebsten in einem Durchgang gelesen werden wollen.
Wahrscheinlich werde ich die Buchbesprechung noch etwas erweitern, aber fürs erste werde ich die erste Begeisterung etwas sacken lassen und dann versuchen mit etwas emotionalem Abstand zu betrachten.
Im Moment habe ich den Eindruck, Knausgard wird immer besser, das ist schon furchteinflössend, ich brauche bald ein zweites Leben in dem ich mich nur noch seinen Büchern widme.
In Band 4 steht nun das Leben dieses Kristian Hadeland im Zentrum. Wir sind immer ganz eng bei ihm von der ersten bis zur letzten Seite. Kristian erzählt aus der Ich Perspektive, er hat sich auf eine norwegische Insel zurückgezogen, um seinem Leben ein Ende zu setzen. Vorher will er aber noch sein Leben in einer Art Biografie festhalten, vor allem seine Zeit als Fotokunst-Student in London, in der er von einer Niederlage zur nächsten stolpert und später als anerkannter Künstler, eine Phase die aber auch alles andere als reibungslos für ihn verläuft. Er ist ein schwieriger Charakter, meist voller Misstrauen und Geringschätzung für seine Mitmenschen. Dennoch gelingt es ihm ein paar Kontakte zu knüpfen die es gut mit ihm zu meinen scheinen.
Dieses Buch ist mein absolutes Jahreshighlight 2025 und hat damit Krachts Air souverän abgelöst. Letzteres ist im Vergleich ein liebenswürdiges kleines Märchen, das ich geliebt habe und gerne in einiger Zeit noch mal lesen werde. Aber was Knausgard mit der Schule der Nacht geschaffen hat ist etwas ganz besonderes. Es ist Weltliteratur im besten Sinne. Damit meine ich, es ist alles enthalten, was uns Menschen im Kern interessiert, Leben, Tod, Beziehungen, Freundschaft, Sinnsuche, Erfüllung, Niederlagen und Erfolg, Vertrauen, Missgunst, Gerechtigkeit und genau, was fehlt noch? Liebe! Die ist für Kristian allerdings ein besonders kniffliges Thema, eigentlich liebt er niemanden außer sich selbst.
Ich merke beim Schreiben, dass das ziemlich langatmig klingt. Das Gegenteil ist aber der Fall, der Roman ist so unglaublich spannend, dass die 665 Seiten (die Seite 666 ist leer) am liebsten in einem Durchgang gelesen werden wollen.
Wahrscheinlich werde ich die Buchbesprechung noch etwas erweitern, aber fürs erste werde ich die erste Begeisterung etwas sacken lassen und dann versuchen mit etwas emotionalem Abstand zu betrachten.
Im Moment habe ich den Eindruck, Knausgard wird immer besser, das ist schon furchteinflössend, ich brauche bald ein zweites Leben in dem ich mich nur noch seinen Büchern widme.
December 18, 2025
I absolutely loved this – easily one of the best books I’ve read this year – yet I’ve struggled to write about why I loved it. I feel a lot of things about it shouldn’t work for me, yet do.
Kristian Hadeland is writing his life story, which is also (as he tells us right at the very beginning) a suicide note. We begin with Kristian as a young photography student, struggling to create original work and simmering with resentment, especially when he returns home for a family Christmas. Somewhere along the way he enters into a hazily defined sort of Faustian bargain, and his practice suddenly (magically?) shifts, putting him on a path to fame and fortune and then, eventually, catastrophe. I found it all somewhat reminiscent of the rags-to-riches-to-rags arc in David Szalay’s Flesh, albeit rendered in a much richer, more exciting, more challenging style.
I found the honesty in the character of Kristian – he is pure id, really – fascinating and bracing. I kept thinking the story was going to pursue a plot thread I found interesting and then it went off and did something else. But I found every single part of it so incredibly compelling that I couldn’t stop reading. I was carrying the book around the house with me, reading when I was brushing my teeth, reading into the early hours of the morning when I needed to get up early the next day. I didn’t really care what it was doing, where it was going because I just wanted to read it, I could have read about any part of Kristian’s life for hours and hours and my interest would never have waned.
The whole Christmas sequence is extraordinary and could stand alone as a perfect short story. The New York section reminded me of What I Loved. At times the London writing reminded me of how Joel Lane writes about Birmingham. I completely adored the use of weird, uncanny details: Hans, the old photographs, Leo’s prophecy...
I think its ultimate ‘message’ is actually in complete opposition to what I want a story like this to be interested in doing, and I’ve never read Knausgard before so I can’t comment on its relationship to the rest of the cycle, but I was consumed by The School of Night. This is a near 500-page book and I wanted more of everything. Fantastic, and I will absolutely be reading the others now.
Kristian Hadeland is writing his life story, which is also (as he tells us right at the very beginning) a suicide note. We begin with Kristian as a young photography student, struggling to create original work and simmering with resentment, especially when he returns home for a family Christmas. Somewhere along the way he enters into a hazily defined sort of Faustian bargain, and his practice suddenly (magically?) shifts, putting him on a path to fame and fortune and then, eventually, catastrophe. I found it all somewhat reminiscent of the rags-to-riches-to-rags arc in David Szalay’s Flesh, albeit rendered in a much richer, more exciting, more challenging style.
I found the honesty in the character of Kristian – he is pure id, really – fascinating and bracing. I kept thinking the story was going to pursue a plot thread I found interesting and then it went off and did something else. But I found every single part of it so incredibly compelling that I couldn’t stop reading. I was carrying the book around the house with me, reading when I was brushing my teeth, reading into the early hours of the morning when I needed to get up early the next day. I didn’t really care what it was doing, where it was going because I just wanted to read it, I could have read about any part of Kristian’s life for hours and hours and my interest would never have waned.
The whole Christmas sequence is extraordinary and could stand alone as a perfect short story. The New York section reminded me of What I Loved. At times the London writing reminded me of how Joel Lane writes about Birmingham. I completely adored the use of weird, uncanny details: Hans, the old photographs, Leo’s prophecy...
I think its ultimate ‘message’ is actually in complete opposition to what I want a story like this to be interested in doing, and I’ve never read Knausgard before so I can’t comment on its relationship to the rest of the cycle, but I was consumed by The School of Night. This is a near 500-page book and I wanted more of everything. Fantastic, and I will absolutely be reading the others now.
January 31, 2026
Karl Ove Knausgaard opens this novel by calmly announcing that the narrator plans to die, which is his way of saying hello. He retreats to a borrowed house by the sea, drinks coffee, smokes, writes, and stares at the water while circling the idea that language contains light and night contains none.
Death is treated like a roommate in the next room, always audible, never visible. Before anything irreversible happens, the narrator decides to write himself back through memory, not to heal, not to improve, but to leave a trace. Writing becomes a delay tactic dressed up as philosophy, a way to keep breathing while pretending not to care.
The book then slips into an extended recollection of the narrators youth in London during the mid 80s, when he is a photography student wandering pubs, streets, and cheap rooms, soaking up loneliness like it is a required course.
He befriends a strange, overconfident Dutchman named Hans, who lectures endlessly about machines, fate, art, and systems, and who builds unsettling mechanical animals that behave as if they are thinking. Their conversations spiral through photography, free will, biology, and technology, with Hans insisting that humans are flawed systems and machines are the future, while the narrator resists, mostly by being unimpressed. London appears as a city of rain, beer, half formed ambitions, and people slowly sanding themselves down to survive.
What ties these strands together is the book's obsession with consciousness, randomness, and the terror of being alive inside a body that will eventually fail. The mechanical rat in a maze, the robotic turtles chasing light, the narrator pacing his thoughts, all perform variations on the same question. Are we choosing, or just following wiring we did not install.
The book stuffs itself with an entire moving van of wonderful references. Epicurus and Christopher Marlowe loiter beside Shakespeares plays, Doctor Faustus tags along, with Agrippa, Bruno, Swedenborg, Crowley, Parmenides, Pythagoras, and Orpheus waiting impatiently offstage.
London keeps coughing up locations like Foyles, Charing Cross Road, Deptford, Bloomsbury, Camden Town, Shoreditch, Southwark, Chinatown, Underground escalators, luxury hotels, and grimy pubs. Photography school, darkrooms, contact sheets, nineteenth century photographs, daguerreotype era images, film projectors, early moving pictures, and stage lighting rigs pile up alongside mechanical rats, maze experiments, robotic turtles, early computer science, artificial intelligence research, and behaviorist experiments.
History interrupts with the Chernobyl nuclear disaster, radioactivity panic, taped windows, and Scandinavian news reports, including Ringsaker Blad. Music spins in a particular order through vinyl record shops, turntables, The Jam, U2, Husker Du, gothic subculture, and The Sisters of Mercy album First and Last and Always.
Art world clutter arrives with occult installations, vernissages, international galleries, press interviews, and a Financial Times profile. Domestic reality barges in carrying Leo, Lego police stations, Lego bank robberies, toy shops, plastic shopping bags, white contact sheets, plus the inevitable sex and alcohol.
Knausgaard is doing what he always does, dragging thought out into the open and letting it sprawl. At its best, the book feels stark and hypnotic, especially when it lingers on loneliness, night, and the strange comfort of routines performed while everything inside is quietly collapsing. At its worst, it indulges his favorite vice, the belief that if a thought is sincere enough, it automatically deserves twenty more pages. I kept admiring the nerve while checking how many pages were left.
The main themes circle Knausgaard's familiar obsessions. Language as light. Silence as truth. Consciousness as both miracle and trap. Human life as a badly wired system where habit and meaning blur into each other.
The mechanical animals and AI digressions are not tech fantasies, they are mirrors. He asks whether humans are any less programmed than machines, and whether our sense of freedom is simply wishful storytelling. Death appears not as shock or moral lesson, but as background weather. Writing becomes a way to hold off the dark without denying it exists, a form of resistance that already knows how it ends.
And then there's also a Dostoyevkian killing mystery, one of the the best I've ever encountered of that style. That just sends this book over the top. WOW!
Is this one of his best, as some reviewers claim? That depends on what you think Knausgaard is best at. If you love the My Struggle books for their domestic claustrophobia, social cruelty, and humiliating self exposure, this will not replace them. If you value his colder, more philosophical mode, where autobiography turns into metaphysics and memory becomes an instrument, this is very strong.
The book feels leaner, more disciplined, and more conceptually focused than much of his earlier work. It is less emotionally generous, more intellectually austere, and far less interested in pleasing. He is not trying to charm you here. He is trying to sit with you in the dark and see who leaves first. I stayed until the end and absolutely loved it.
Death is treated like a roommate in the next room, always audible, never visible. Before anything irreversible happens, the narrator decides to write himself back through memory, not to heal, not to improve, but to leave a trace. Writing becomes a delay tactic dressed up as philosophy, a way to keep breathing while pretending not to care.
The book then slips into an extended recollection of the narrators youth in London during the mid 80s, when he is a photography student wandering pubs, streets, and cheap rooms, soaking up loneliness like it is a required course.
He befriends a strange, overconfident Dutchman named Hans, who lectures endlessly about machines, fate, art, and systems, and who builds unsettling mechanical animals that behave as if they are thinking. Their conversations spiral through photography, free will, biology, and technology, with Hans insisting that humans are flawed systems and machines are the future, while the narrator resists, mostly by being unimpressed. London appears as a city of rain, beer, half formed ambitions, and people slowly sanding themselves down to survive.
What ties these strands together is the book's obsession with consciousness, randomness, and the terror of being alive inside a body that will eventually fail. The mechanical rat in a maze, the robotic turtles chasing light, the narrator pacing his thoughts, all perform variations on the same question. Are we choosing, or just following wiring we did not install.
The book stuffs itself with an entire moving van of wonderful references. Epicurus and Christopher Marlowe loiter beside Shakespeares plays, Doctor Faustus tags along, with Agrippa, Bruno, Swedenborg, Crowley, Parmenides, Pythagoras, and Orpheus waiting impatiently offstage.
London keeps coughing up locations like Foyles, Charing Cross Road, Deptford, Bloomsbury, Camden Town, Shoreditch, Southwark, Chinatown, Underground escalators, luxury hotels, and grimy pubs. Photography school, darkrooms, contact sheets, nineteenth century photographs, daguerreotype era images, film projectors, early moving pictures, and stage lighting rigs pile up alongside mechanical rats, maze experiments, robotic turtles, early computer science, artificial intelligence research, and behaviorist experiments.
History interrupts with the Chernobyl nuclear disaster, radioactivity panic, taped windows, and Scandinavian news reports, including Ringsaker Blad. Music spins in a particular order through vinyl record shops, turntables, The Jam, U2, Husker Du, gothic subculture, and The Sisters of Mercy album First and Last and Always.
Art world clutter arrives with occult installations, vernissages, international galleries, press interviews, and a Financial Times profile. Domestic reality barges in carrying Leo, Lego police stations, Lego bank robberies, toy shops, plastic shopping bags, white contact sheets, plus the inevitable sex and alcohol.
Knausgaard is doing what he always does, dragging thought out into the open and letting it sprawl. At its best, the book feels stark and hypnotic, especially when it lingers on loneliness, night, and the strange comfort of routines performed while everything inside is quietly collapsing. At its worst, it indulges his favorite vice, the belief that if a thought is sincere enough, it automatically deserves twenty more pages. I kept admiring the nerve while checking how many pages were left.
The main themes circle Knausgaard's familiar obsessions. Language as light. Silence as truth. Consciousness as both miracle and trap. Human life as a badly wired system where habit and meaning blur into each other.
The mechanical animals and AI digressions are not tech fantasies, they are mirrors. He asks whether humans are any less programmed than machines, and whether our sense of freedom is simply wishful storytelling. Death appears not as shock or moral lesson, but as background weather. Writing becomes a way to hold off the dark without denying it exists, a form of resistance that already knows how it ends.
And then there's also a Dostoyevkian killing mystery, one of the the best I've ever encountered of that style. That just sends this book over the top. WOW!
Is this one of his best, as some reviewers claim? That depends on what you think Knausgaard is best at. If you love the My Struggle books for their domestic claustrophobia, social cruelty, and humiliating self exposure, this will not replace them. If you value his colder, more philosophical mode, where autobiography turns into metaphysics and memory becomes an instrument, this is very strong.
The book feels leaner, more disciplined, and more conceptually focused than much of his earlier work. It is less emotionally generous, more intellectually austere, and far less interested in pleasing. He is not trying to charm you here. He is trying to sit with you in the dark and see who leaves first. I stayed until the end and absolutely loved it.
July 27, 2024
Fy fader for en spennende lesning. Denne boka har vært i hodet mitt de siste tre ukene som en mørk fristelse, en historie så selvskadelig og tragisk at den var umulig å legge fra seg!
Kristian Hadeland er en selvsentrert, såret liten gutt som flykter fra sine problemer, tar hevn over hans nærmeste, stjeler og ødelegger det som er godt rundt ham. Hans komplette mangel på talent, hans nærmeste vennekrets og livsløp ser ut til å skylde noe mystisk og uforklarlig. Historien har tydelige paralleller med Faust: en ambisiøs mann inngår en avtale med djevelen, men går selv til grunne. Han viser ofte interesse for det okkulte, Shakespeare, Christopher Marlowe og fotografikunsten.
Det mest interessante er det som foregår usagt, det makabre og det hemmelige. Hvordan blir Kristian verdenskjent? Hans metoder får vi kun et lite innblikk i i starten, og allerede der skjønner vi at han faller for et mystisk og makabert onde. Jeg mistenker at han har gjort mye mer ondt enn det som kommer frem i boken.
Kristian vaskes ut i det som faller rundt ham, han mister vilje og blir et offer for en dyster skjebne som forhåpentligvis de neste bøkene kan gi mer svar på.
Kristian Hadeland er en selvsentrert, såret liten gutt som flykter fra sine problemer, tar hevn over hans nærmeste, stjeler og ødelegger det som er godt rundt ham. Hans komplette mangel på talent, hans nærmeste vennekrets og livsløp ser ut til å skylde noe mystisk og uforklarlig. Historien har tydelige paralleller med Faust: en ambisiøs mann inngår en avtale med djevelen, men går selv til grunne. Han viser ofte interesse for det okkulte, Shakespeare, Christopher Marlowe og fotografikunsten.
Det mest interessante er det som foregår usagt, det makabre og det hemmelige. Hvordan blir Kristian verdenskjent? Hans metoder får vi kun et lite innblikk i i starten, og allerede der skjønner vi at han faller for et mystisk og makabert onde. Jeg mistenker at han har gjort mye mer ondt enn det som kommer frem i boken.
Kristian vaskes ut i det som faller rundt ham, han mister vilje og blir et offer for en dyster skjebne som forhåpentligvis de neste bøkene kan gi mer svar på.
January 26, 2026
In my reading experience books that come in a series typically start losing their steam as they progress forward. I am happy to report that The School of Night, which is the fourth book in the Morning Star series, was wonderful and perhaps the strongest entry in the series. While it is the fourth book, it can be read as a stand-alone title. At least, I didn’t catch any connections to the previous books.
One of the first things that struck me as I was reading this book was how unlikable the protagonist is. His name is Kristian Hadeland and he’s an art student in London. He’s extremely self-absorbed and borderline narcissistic. He uses people around him to get his way. Early in the novel, Kristian completely snubs his family for something they said about him. I won’t get into what he does later in the novel to avoid spoilers, but let’s just say it doesn’t make him very likeable. You would think that creating a character who’s so unlikable could be a detriment to the novel, but no, Knausgaard manages to create an unlikable character you still care for and that requires a careful touch of a great author. Knausgaard is certainly that.
So, who should read this book? If you’re looking for something bleak and disturbing, you cannot go wrong with The School of Night. If you’re interested in learning how obsessive ambition could negatively affect you and your life (one example of that in the film format would be masterful Whiplash (2014)), then pick up this book. If you like three-dimensional, unlikable characters in your stories, then this book should be right up your alley. Additionally, if you’re looking for something thought-provoking and a book that will keep you thinking about it long after you finish it, then The School of Night should be your choice. Overall, this book was nearly perfect for me. One minor complaint is that some parts dragged just a little bit and probably could have benefited from an aggressive editing session in the postproduction. But that’s just a minor complaint. This book was still incredible despite all of that, but it’s not for everyone. 5 strong stars.
One of the first things that struck me as I was reading this book was how unlikable the protagonist is. His name is Kristian Hadeland and he’s an art student in London. He’s extremely self-absorbed and borderline narcissistic. He uses people around him to get his way. Early in the novel, Kristian completely snubs his family for something they said about him. I won’t get into what he does later in the novel to avoid spoilers, but let’s just say it doesn’t make him very likeable. You would think that creating a character who’s so unlikable could be a detriment to the novel, but no, Knausgaard manages to create an unlikable character you still care for and that requires a careful touch of a great author. Knausgaard is certainly that.
So, who should read this book? If you’re looking for something bleak and disturbing, you cannot go wrong with The School of Night. If you’re interested in learning how obsessive ambition could negatively affect you and your life (one example of that in the film format would be masterful Whiplash (2014)), then pick up this book. If you like three-dimensional, unlikable characters in your stories, then this book should be right up your alley. Additionally, if you’re looking for something thought-provoking and a book that will keep you thinking about it long after you finish it, then The School of Night should be your choice. Overall, this book was nearly perfect for me. One minor complaint is that some parts dragged just a little bit and probably could have benefited from an aggressive editing session in the postproduction. But that’s just a minor complaint. This book was still incredible despite all of that, but it’s not for everyone. 5 strong stars.
October 29, 2025
I am new to Knausgard, being the only person on earth who hasn't read My Struggle. I have to after reading this brilliant book.
Kristian Hedeland is a photographer from Norway, living and going to school in London to study photography. His work is quite mediocre until he meets Hans in a pub. Hans tells him about Marlowe and Faust and Shakespeare, befriending him and drawing him in to his circle of odd friends. Then one night, on his way to see a woman he doesn't really like that much Kristian has an altercation with a homeless man and his life changes forever.
The School of Night is based on the play of Doctor Faustus by Marlowe, which I read many decades ago but the basic principle is that Faust is ordinary until he meets Mephistopheles who persuades Faust to give up his soul for greatness. Faust agrees but forgets that there will be a terrible price to pay for success.
The writing is excellent and the character of Kristian is so utterly devoid of any humanity that he is very hard to like but compelling to read. I would like to read it all again immediately. Kristian doesn't fool his parents who see his narcissism early on and his ego is ever-present throughout his interactions with the lesser mortals he finds himself having to deal with.
I should warn you that there are some very upsetting parts that deal with suicide, murder and death of a child.
This book is a warning of what can happen if you make deals with the devil. But even though Kristian has a vile character I would not wish his fate on anyone.
An exceptionally great read. Very highly recommended.
Thankyou to Netgalley and Random House UK for the advance review copy. Very much appreciated.
Kristian Hedeland is a photographer from Norway, living and going to school in London to study photography. His work is quite mediocre until he meets Hans in a pub. Hans tells him about Marlowe and Faust and Shakespeare, befriending him and drawing him in to his circle of odd friends. Then one night, on his way to see a woman he doesn't really like that much Kristian has an altercation with a homeless man and his life changes forever.
The School of Night is based on the play of Doctor Faustus by Marlowe, which I read many decades ago but the basic principle is that Faust is ordinary until he meets Mephistopheles who persuades Faust to give up his soul for greatness. Faust agrees but forgets that there will be a terrible price to pay for success.
The writing is excellent and the character of Kristian is so utterly devoid of any humanity that he is very hard to like but compelling to read. I would like to read it all again immediately. Kristian doesn't fool his parents who see his narcissism early on and his ego is ever-present throughout his interactions with the lesser mortals he finds himself having to deal with.
I should warn you that there are some very upsetting parts that deal with suicide, murder and death of a child.
This book is a warning of what can happen if you make deals with the devil. But even though Kristian has a vile character I would not wish his fate on anyone.
An exceptionally great read. Very highly recommended.
Thankyou to Netgalley and Random House UK for the advance review copy. Very much appreciated.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 11, 2025
THE best book I’ve read so far this year!
April 10, 2025
Ein weiterer großer Wurf des norwegischen Autors, der dem Faust-Stoff neues faszinierendes Leben einhaucht und sich dabei an Thomas Manns Dr. Faustus orientiert. Wieder gelingt es Karl-Ove Knausgard, mich mit einigen wenigen Sätzen in seine Geschichte hineinzuziehen. Es gibt keine Möglichkeit, sich aus den suggestiven Fängen des nihilistischen und amoralischen Narzissten Kristian zu befreien. Grandios!
January 22, 2026
Jebem ti mater, Knausgore.
Zbog ovog romana sam imala jedan od najgorih snova, a poslednjih 40 stranica su mi izazvale stravičnu anksioznost. Najmračniji deo Morgenstjernen serijala, ubedljivo. "The School of Night" pritom ima jednog od najgorih likova, narcisa i egomanijaka bez empatije za kog se do samog kraja pitamo da li ipak ume da voli ili samo misli da ume, posmatrajući sve kroz svoju prizmu. Ipak, Knausgor ume da napiše svoje pripovedače tako da ih nikad ne mrzimo sasvim, zato što s njima prođemo štošta, pa je tako i sa Kristianom Hadelandom. Iako se veći deo romana odvija u Londonu osamdesetih, ne računajući završnicu, najjači utisak su mi ostavile scene kada se mladi Kristian za Božić vraća kući u Norvešku, provodi dane sa porodicom za koju tvrdi da ga ne razume (umjetnik) i, tipično knausgorovski, naizgled ne radi ništa.
Da li je ovo delo šekspirovsko ili marlouovsko? Meni je opet i Dostojevski bio prisutan u senkama. Knausgor ovde postavlja pitanja, spaja filozofiju, nelagodu i spor ritam u priču staru kao vreme – prodaja duše đavolu zarad ostvarenja snova, uz kontemplacije o smrti i životu, koji se na neki način preslikavaju i prožimaju.
Na kraju možda najteže odjekuje ono "Your worst sin is that you've destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing", ali može li to da dopre do lika kao što je Kristian?
Zbog ovog romana sam imala jedan od najgorih snova, a poslednjih 40 stranica su mi izazvale stravičnu anksioznost. Najmračniji deo Morgenstjernen serijala, ubedljivo. "The School of Night" pritom ima jednog od najgorih likova, narcisa i egomanijaka bez empatije za kog se do samog kraja pitamo da li ipak ume da voli ili samo misli da ume, posmatrajući sve kroz svoju prizmu. Ipak, Knausgor ume da napiše svoje pripovedače tako da ih nikad ne mrzimo sasvim, zato što s njima prođemo štošta, pa je tako i sa Kristianom Hadelandom. Iako se veći deo romana odvija u Londonu osamdesetih, ne računajući završnicu, najjači utisak su mi ostavile scene kada se mladi Kristian za Božić vraća kući u Norvešku, provodi dane sa porodicom za koju tvrdi da ga ne razume (umjetnik) i, tipično knausgorovski, naizgled ne radi ništa.
Da li je ovo delo šekspirovsko ili marlouovsko? Meni je opet i Dostojevski bio prisutan u senkama. Knausgor ovde postavlja pitanja, spaja filozofiju, nelagodu i spor ritam u priču staru kao vreme – prodaja duše đavolu zarad ostvarenja snova, uz kontemplacije o smrti i životu, koji se na neki način preslikavaju i prožimaju.
Na kraju možda najteže odjekuje ono "Your worst sin is that you've destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing", ali može li to da dopre do lika kao što je Kristian?
May 14, 2025
berauschend düster mit einem herrlich unangenehmen Protagonisten
August 3, 2024
Utrolig bra bok. Mørk og dyster, men mesterlig skrevet med varierende tempo og et klimaks mot slutten. Kan godt leses uavhengig av om man har lest de andre bøkene i Morgenstjernen-serien.
December 11, 2025
Knausgaard deserves all the stars 🧡
October 13, 2024
Guuuuuuud vilken helt odräglig huvudkaraktär Kristian Hadeland är. Djupt osympatisk och därmed extremt svår att tycka om. Jag önskade honom faktiskt all olycka under tiden jag läste. Jag vet ju att det är ett grepp, det finns en uppsjö av andra bra böcker med samma upplägg, MEN mitt problem med Natten skola är att den inte ens är så bra? Knausgård vinner ingenting på detta personporträtt, framförallt utifrån att hans språk verkligen är mediokert. Det kanske flög i Min kamp, som också kunde vila sig på andra egenskaper som gjorde den till vad den är och det värde den har tillskrivits, men inte i Nattens skola. Den var bara rätt och slätt MID.
January 12, 2024
Å inngå avtale med djevelen er en farlig lek; han vender alltid tilbake og krever en pris som overstiger det du makter å betale.
'Nattskolen' er en mørk fortelling om kunstens skapelse og menneskets nedgang. Knausgård utforsker også prisen som må betales for suksess.
Hovedkarakteren, Kristian Hadeland, er en skikkelse som er langt fra det man kaller sjarmerende. Arrogant, selvopptatt og blærete, er han provoserende og likevel uimotståelig interessant å følge. Knausgård bryter ned grensene mellom leser og karakter, og selv om Kristian irriterer, drar Knausgård deg med på en reise du ikke kan unnslippe.
Boken starter i 1985, da Kristian flytter fra Norge til London for å studere fotografi. Ambisiøs og skånselløs kaster han seg ut i storbyens utfordringer, møter nederlenderen Hans og teaterregissøren Vivian. Gjennom Kristians livsreise, fra London på 80-tallet til en retrospektiv utstilling på MoMA i New York 24 år senere, avslører Knausgård de lyse og mørke kreftene som omgir oss.
Faust-myten skildres elegant inn i fortellingen. Spekulasjonen om Marlowes forfatterskap og en gruppe dissidenter kjent som 'The School of Night'. Djevelen selv blir antydet i Daguerres første fotografi fra 1838, hvor en svart skygge truer over en mennesketom gate. Knausgård vever elegant sammen historiske elementer med Kristians moderne utfordringer, og spørsmålet om hva som må betales tilbake henger over deg som en mørk sky.
I bokens andre del møter vi en eldre, vellykket Kristian Pedersen, kunstfotograf med en retrospektiv utstilling i New York. Men suksessen kommer ikke uten kostnad, og Knausgård utforsker dyptgående temaer som kunstnerisk skapelse og menneskelig offer.
På slutten av denne litterære reisen sitter du nesten igjen med en tomhetsfølelse, en følelse av å ha inngått en pakt med Knausgård selv, og prisen er en uutslettelig opplevelse av hans mesterlige mørke og underfundige fortellerkunst.
'Nattskolen' er en mørk fortelling om kunstens skapelse og menneskets nedgang. Knausgård utforsker også prisen som må betales for suksess.
Hovedkarakteren, Kristian Hadeland, er en skikkelse som er langt fra det man kaller sjarmerende. Arrogant, selvopptatt og blærete, er han provoserende og likevel uimotståelig interessant å følge. Knausgård bryter ned grensene mellom leser og karakter, og selv om Kristian irriterer, drar Knausgård deg med på en reise du ikke kan unnslippe.
Boken starter i 1985, da Kristian flytter fra Norge til London for å studere fotografi. Ambisiøs og skånselløs kaster han seg ut i storbyens utfordringer, møter nederlenderen Hans og teaterregissøren Vivian. Gjennom Kristians livsreise, fra London på 80-tallet til en retrospektiv utstilling på MoMA i New York 24 år senere, avslører Knausgård de lyse og mørke kreftene som omgir oss.
Faust-myten skildres elegant inn i fortellingen. Spekulasjonen om Marlowes forfatterskap og en gruppe dissidenter kjent som 'The School of Night'. Djevelen selv blir antydet i Daguerres første fotografi fra 1838, hvor en svart skygge truer over en mennesketom gate. Knausgård vever elegant sammen historiske elementer med Kristians moderne utfordringer, og spørsmålet om hva som må betales tilbake henger over deg som en mørk sky.
I bokens andre del møter vi en eldre, vellykket Kristian Pedersen, kunstfotograf med en retrospektiv utstilling i New York. Men suksessen kommer ikke uten kostnad, og Knausgård utforsker dyptgående temaer som kunstnerisk skapelse og menneskelig offer.
På slutten av denne litterære reisen sitter du nesten igjen med en tomhetsfølelse, en følelse av å ha inngått en pakt med Knausgård selv, og prisen er en uutslettelig opplevelse av hans mesterlige mørke og underfundige fortellerkunst.
November 22, 2025
Possibly the greatest modern horror novel I have ever read.
January 13, 2024
Hva kan jeg lese etter dette? Nok en gang tenker jeg slik etter å ha fullført en bok av Knausgård. Utrolig bra om en uempatisk og selvopptatt jeg-person. Pakt med djevelen? Det er suksessen verdt. Tror han…
Denne boka kan leses for seg selv. Men den gir mer mening som del fire av Morgenstjernen-bøkene. Jeg håper virkelig det kommer en femte🤞🏼
Denne boka kan leses for seg selv. Men den gir mer mening som del fire av Morgenstjernen-bøkene. Jeg håper virkelig det kommer en femte🤞🏼
October 31, 2023
Knausgård er rett og slett ikke særlig god på dialog, spesielt når han skal skildre samtaler mellom noenogtyveåringer. Men utover det syns jeg dette er kjempespennende: en salig blanding av Faust-myten og Dostojevskij, som jeg gleder meg til å se hvordan passer inn i resten av universet.
November 15, 2025
Good god I feel sick.
May 20, 2025
Die knappen, schwachen Dialoge.
Die intensive Innensicht, das sich entwickelnde Psychogramm des Protagonisten.
Teilweise nicht auszuhalten, seine schroffe Art.
Jedenfalls nicht auszuhalten, das vierte und letzte Kapitel.
(Was das mit der Morgenstern-Serie zu tun hat bleibt ungeklärt. Aber da bin ich sicher nicht der erste, der das anmerkt.)
Die intensive Innensicht, das sich entwickelnde Psychogramm des Protagonisten.
Teilweise nicht auszuhalten, seine schroffe Art.
Jedenfalls nicht auszuhalten, das vierte und letzte Kapitel.
(Was das mit der Morgenstern-Serie zu tun hat bleibt ungeklärt. Aber da bin ich sicher nicht der erste, der das anmerkt.)
November 16, 2025
Such a page-turner, it gave me insomnia. But then again, 500 pages went by as a speed train. Some parts were verging on mystery, some – on the psychological novel, others were full of mysticism. Downright morbid batches in between.
It has a surprising structure. "Crime and punishment" came to mind often, but it came to a rather different conclusion. Can't say much more so as not to spoil the fun for the readers. Tension seemed to be the core of this reading experience.
At the end I was left wondering. Is there art beyond morality? Is success a real thing? Appearances tend to build an abyss between what is expected and what is intimate. To the point that there are two beings in one body. Crazy how it works out.
It has a surprising structure. "Crime and punishment" came to mind often, but it came to a rather different conclusion. Can't say much more so as not to spoil the fun for the readers. Tension seemed to be the core of this reading experience.
At the end I was left wondering. Is there art beyond morality? Is success a real thing? Appearances tend to build an abyss between what is expected and what is intimate. To the point that there are two beings in one body. Crazy how it works out.
November 4, 2023
Må tygge litt mer på denne. Den inneholder mye bra, men bærer preg av at den gjerne kunne vært innom redaksjonen en gang til. Det jeg likte best ved denne var betraktningene rundt kunsten og da spesielt fotokunsten. Fikk også veldig lyst til å lese Hamlet.
November 14, 2024
Et højdepunkt i forfatterskabet. Ødelagde mig fuldstændigt.
October 26, 2025
Den klart beste boka i serien. En fokusert og gjennomført fortelling om en komplisert og horribel fyr som både får det han fortjener og som man tar seg i å forsiktig heie på. En faktisk triumf, endelig et storverk i Morgenstjerne-serien!
December 10, 2025
An absolute gut punch. Probably the darkest thing Karl Ove has ever written - intensely, interminably dark. Almost a dark reflection of My Struggle 4 - it is clear Kristian was in many ways influenced by a young Karl Ove.
Disintegration, destruction, and an infernal interiority.
Disintegration, destruction, and an infernal interiority.
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