Mod naturen

by Tomas Espedal

Jeg er ved at blive gammel; jeg genkender ikke mig selv. Det har altid tiltrukket mig, dette billede af alderdommen: den gamle mand og den unge pige. Jeg ved ikke hvad det minder mig om, en forbrydelse, måske, eller naturen; naturens brutalitet og vold, dens uskyld. Man ved ikke hvem der er den skyldige, ham der sidder på stolen, eller hende der sidder på ham, på skødet, i en udringet, sort selskabskjole.

Genres: Fiction, Novels, Scandinavian Literature, 21st Century, Literature, Roman

164 pages

First published January 1, 2011

About the author

Tomas Espedal er født i Bergen i 1961 og debuterte som forfatter i 1988.

Han er utdannet ved Universitetet i Bergen og har utgitt både romaner og kortprosasamlinger. I 1991 ble han prisbelønt i P2/Bokklubbens romankonkurranse for Hun og jeg. Han har vært initiativtager til Bergen Internasjonale Poesifestival. Tomas Espedal eksperimenter ofte med sjangeroverskridelser. Espedals senere utgivelser utforsker forholdet mellom romanen og sjangere som essay, brev, dagbok, selvbiografi og reiseskildring.

Espedals Gå. Eller kunsten å leve et vilt og poetisk liv (2006) ble nominert til Nordisk Råds Litteraturpris, og han ble på ny nominert for Imot kunsten (2009). Espedal ble også tildelt Kritikerprisen 2009 og Gyldendalprisen 2009.

Skjønnlitterære utgivelser:
Imot kunsten (notatbøkene). 2009
Gå. Eller kunsten å leve et vilt og poetisk liv. 2006
Brev (et forsøk). 2005
Dagbok (epitafer). 2003
Biografi (glemsel). 1999
Blond (erindring). 1996
Hotel Norge. 1995
Hun og jeg. 1991
Jeg vil bo i mitt navn. 1990 (Eide Forlag)
En vill flukt av parfymer. 1988 (Eide Forlag)

Priser og nominasjoner
2009: Gyldendalprisen
2009: Kritikerprisen
2009: Nominasjon Nordisk Råds litteraturpris
2006: Nominasjon Nordisk Råds litteraturpris
2006: Bergensprisen
1991: Prisbelønt i P2/Bokklubbens romankonkurranse

Salg til utlandet
Gå. Eller kunsten å leve et vilt og poetisk liv 2006
Danmark, Russland, Tyskland, Frankrike, Spania, Italia, Tsjekkia, England, USA, India
Imot kunsten (notatbøkene) 2009
Danmark, India, Storbritannia, USA

Reviews

[Chad Felix · Rating 5 out of 5]

A difference between the Norwegian writers Tomas Espedal and Karl Ove Knausgaard is that when Espedal writes the line "The great tits are here" he is referring to a type of bird.

Other than that, their literary projects are strikingly similar. Knausgaard has his Struggle, Espedal his Notebooks, a series that began (in English at least) with Against Art. Both authors are contemporary Norwegian writers; both projects span multiple volumes. Both narratives are classified as fiction; however, neither seem to stray too far from their authors' lives, their personal experiences with love, writing, and fatherhood.

Like my experience with Knausgaard, it wasn't until this, Against Nature, Espedal's second "notebook", that I became truly invested in what the author is doing. In fact, I kind of hated Against Art. The intrusions of purple poetry about white and black flowers against a micro family saga amounted to very little for me, and I became wearied and bored (I found My Struggle: Book One to be similarly exhausting). That being said, I couldn't be happier I picked up Against Nature the very next day.

Late in Against Nature, Espedal writes:

"I've written eleven novels. And I've filled more than forty exercise books with notes; I regard them as bonafide books.

Forty books of notes, sketches, diary entries, drawings and letters. I have no idea how many pages my notebooks cover, these black-bound volumes in which I give substance to my days.

So which work is more important, is it the novels or the notebooks?

I think it's the notebooks."

Shortly thereafter he writes:

"I attempt to write as quickly and directly as possible, without worrying about whether it's bad or good, without correcting or deleting, without troubling about whether it will be read; and it's [in the notebooks] I achieve a vital freedom, I can write whatever I want.

If I only wrote novels, that freedom would atrophy, my writing would stagnate, my style would vanish; I'd be finished as a writer, I'm certain of it."

Either of these passages could be lifted from My Struggle, or else any conversation or interview with Knausgaard. And it seems Espedal is aware of the similar nature of his work, addressing the elephant in the room while at the the peak of happiness (and the height of this remarkable novel): in bed with his true love, a younger woman, reading the other Norwegian's work alongside her, next to her, at the same time as her. Janne remarks first: "How does he dare, it's quite extraordinary, he must have a screw lose." Espedal follows: "Did you read that? How does he dare, it's quite amazing, he's destroying himself."

Where Knausgaard's prose is unbridled, unedited, Espedal's prose is measured and careful. Where Knausgaard is admittedly "dumb" and irreverent in his revealing of his most shameful moments, Espedal is quiet, quiet and remarkably sad.

I think that there will be a veritable garbage heap of long and awful "personal" novels in the wake of Knausgaard's success. Espedal won't be found among it. I think and hope that he'll be in the basement of his childhood home thoughtfully scribbling, filling notebooks, which are indeed bonafide books.

[Ernst · Rating 4 out of 5]

Eine Chronologie der Ereignisse in den Liebesbeziehungen zu Agnete, seiner Frau und Mutter seiner Tochter (ziemlich stürmisch) sowie zu seiner obsessiv begehrten jungen Freundin Janne. Beide verlassen ihn und bei Janne plagt ihn eine grenzenlose Einsamkeit.

Eigentlich hatte ich mir was anderes erwartet, nämlich den Fokus auf der Beziehung zu Janne. Das ist allerdings ganz schnell im Rahmen eines Kapitels mit einer heißen Silvestersexnacht abgetan, in der unerwartet und brutal explizit, die Beteiligung verschiedenster Körperteile geschildert wird, dann kommt ein langer Rückblick auf das Wechselbad der Gefühle mit seiner Frau. Und im letzten Drittel erfährt man nur dass sich Janne nun getrennt hat und wie er damit umgeht (säuft ohne Ende und achtet nicht mehr auf Körperhygiene).

Die beschriebenen Ereignisse in Nicaragua fand ich am stärksten, da hat die Geschichte enormen Sog, bereits die Vorbereitung auf dieses Entwicklungshilfeprojekt; im letzten Drittel war es mir dann zu weinerlich und selbstmitleidig.

Ja, totale Selbstoffenlegung, schonungslos, aber ehrlich gesagt bin ich nicht sicher, ob ich noch mehr von seinen autobiografischen, themen-fokussierten Berichten lesen werde. Irgendwie habe ich das Gefühl, dass ich damit seit Knausgards mehrbändigen “Kampf” durch bin.
Der Unterschied bei Espedal ist, er verdichtet die Ereignisse, verknappt sie; Knausgard entwirrt die Fäden und analysiert jeden einzelnen unter dem Rasterelektronenmikroskop.

Also, im Moment bin ich angenehm gesättigt, aber es kann durchaus sein, dass ich nach einiger Zeit wieder Lust auf Espedals Art der Selbstoffenbarung bekomme, denn geschrieben ist der Text schon ziemlich stark.

[M. Sarki · Rating 5 out of 5]

Another amazing book by Tomas Espedal. I love reading his truth, an honesty that holds no prisoners, that frees like few others have the power to release. This is a wrenching love story that has no end, and figures to remain a spiritual part of me for the rest of my life. A beautiful man who has composed another wondrous title to behold.

[PaperBird]

The whole city is ruined, you feel nauseous, want to run away, walk the museums, it's raining in the museums, the whole world is twisting, just be absolutely still… lose yourself in words, just random words…

More thoughts here: https://youtu.be/pQq0y0PNNng

[Lee Klein · Rating 5 out of 5]

Loved this. Unlike the previous complementary volume Against Art, this one read like it had been written in a burst, the sentences strong and perfect, with an overall sense of solidity, steel to the other volume's wax (felt like the POV in Against Art was often too diffuse as he imagined scenes with predecessors). This one focuses on the relationship between an older male lover (the writer, essentially, is his late 40s) and a lovely young woman half his age. Some explicit sex scenes that seemed surprising and well-done, the chiaroscuro of the older male's rough skin and the younger woman's perfect smooth skin et cetera, the urgency and insanity of falling in love perfectly/realistically rendered, even if it's the oldest story in the book of old stories older male writers aren't really allowed to write anymore. There's a section about the author's first factory job, how working was against his nature although he worked well. He recognized immediately that factory work wasn't for him. And then it switches to a retelling of an old story (The Letters of Abélard and Héloïse) that parallels his own, albeit not quite with the same ending. All this is crossed by a gripping story about the author's first wife and mother of his daughter, an actress who takes the family to a mountain town in Nicaragua, Matagalpa, a town I visited in 1995 while traveling in Central America and left after about three hours walking around after getting an overwhelming sense of bad vibes, as though I could sense the bloodshed there from the '80s. They stayed there for a few months before bailing as militia rolled through town. But generally this felt like it read itself, not easy reading but the story and the sentences had a sense of inevitability, like they had to be written as they were and had a sort of perfection, even or especially when the writing seemed casual, open, effortless. Awesome too that he and his girlfriend read Knausgaard in bed and toward the end as he's in full dissolution mode he goes to a record store and buys the new Lampchop (not sure when the events took place but maybe it was "Nixon"?). Anyway, highly recommended. Will definitely read everything else Espedal's had translated.

[Siv30 · Rating 3 out of 5]

לסקירה מפורטת בעברית, קישור לבלוג שלי -

https://sivi-the-avid-reader.com/נגד-...

[Moth · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Knjiga o sreći ionako ne može biti neka debela knjiga.

Ne, nikako debela knjiga, a ni duboka knjiga, jezik sreće je jednostavan i banalan, u sreći nema nikakve dubine, ili ipak ima?

Knjiga o sreći mora biti kratka. Kratka i fragmentarna, nije moguće stvoriti neku povezanu priču o sreći. Nikakve u njoj nema kronologije. Nikakve logike i razuma; ne, nije moguće napisati roman o sreći."

[Dirk · Rating 5 out of 5]

Meesterwerkje om te lezen en te herlezen.

[Philippe · Rating 3 out of 5]

The rough and tumble of a writerly existence captured in plain, vibrant language. The motto themes are abandonment, loneliness and exploitation. Life as a sequence of desertions. Holed up in his basement room, the writer suffers and relishes his loneliness. He culls raw materials from his trove of personal experiences, extracts raw materials from those who live near him. Nothing is safe for his predatory glance. Everything is inspected, filtered, metabolized through the writerly imagination, and exposed, black on white.

[Myriam · Rating 5 out of 5]

'Elke keer als ik 'mijn' schrijf, moet ik eraan denken hoe weinig we bezitten; we bezitten niets.

Onze kinderen niet, onze ouders en ons gezin niet, onze eigen geschiedenis niet, noch onze eigen kinderjaren, jeugd, vrienden, vriendinnen, onze geliefden niet, noch de liefde; we bezitten niets.'

[Boris · Rating 3 out of 5]

Простичка книга за любовта, щастието и страданието. Нищо ново дето се вика. Но ми хареса, че е много искрено написана, успях да се “свържа” с това, за което пише авторът, макар и често да звучеше като клише, като претенция, като “ту мач” драма, беше искрено и имаше цел :)

[Антония Апостолова · Rating 3 out of 5]

Има нещо събрано, самозатворено, аутистично в скандинавските автори - дори виковете от болка там имплодират, вместо да експлодират - и това прави писането за тях също толкова трудно, свидливо, сбито. С Томас Еспедал имах същия “проблем” (някои го наричат лаконичния събрат на своя известен сънародник Кнаусгор).

“Срещу природата��� (изд. Персей, 2020) е малък, квази-автобиографичен, лаконичен роман, но в него Еспедал успява да разкаже цял един живот - любовния живот на един мъж, изгубил две връзки: едната по-скоро грешка и недоразумение - кастриращ брак, от който е останал с дъщеря, а другата - онзи късен и забранен плод (връзка с двадесетина години по-младо момиче), чието отхапване, и щастието, което то причинява, неизбежно се заплащат, както в Рая. Тази втора история (подобна на историята на Пиер Абелар и 16-годишната Елоиза, както самият Еспедал ни припомня в романа) служи като рамка на повествованието, между запознанството и раздялата, и затваря в себе си останалите реминисценции, където зад едноименния разказвач няма как да не разпознаем самият автор.

Този разказвач ни връща чак в неговото юношество, с първата работа в тъкачната фабрика на баща му, където - каква съвършена метафора за живота - той смазва огромните бучащи станове, докато тяхното масло капе и съсипва кожата и лицето му. Това опропастено младежко лице е предвестник на лицето, опропастено от възрастта и времето - “старческото”, както го нарича той, лице, което против природата се полага върху съвършено белия и непопукан никъде още мрамор на гръдта на младото момиче Яне, което Томас среща случайно след разпадането на първия си брак.

Но срещу природата ли е това наистина? Тази тема е основна в книгата. Но тя съвсем не е еднозначна и затова лично аз разчитам заглавието провокативно, с обърнато значение. Онова, което в социума днес е прието за противоестествено, противоприродно, е всъщност тъкмо обратното - повик на самата инстинктивна природа, на мъжката биология, е да търси здравото, жизненото, младото, в което да се продължи, за което да залови гените си.

“Започвам да остарявам, не мога да се позная. Винаги ме е омайвала тази представа за възрастта: старецът и младото момиче. Не знам на какво ми напомня, навярно не на престъпление, а на природата – на бруталността и насилствеността, на невинността.”

Същото това впиване като в спасителна сламка, както пише Еспедал, се случва с героя и по отношение на дъщеря му. Децата неизбежно ни напускат, и в този смисъл неговото изоставяне и от двете млади жени е съвсем по природата, така както в нея старите и немощни животни биват изолирани. Това се подсилва и от начина, по който разказвачът току изоставя първото лице на разказа, за да премине внезапно в трето, и така да се отдалечи от самия себе си.
Прочетете цялото ревю тук: https://bit.ly/2Z2AvTy

[ebabehh]

Because this is by a Norwegian writer who isn't Knausgaard, because of the beautiful cover art by Auguste Levêque, and because I'd been recommended it by people whose opinions I respect here, I had high hopes for this book. The inside jacket explains that "Espedal dwells on the notion that working is required in order to live in compliance with society, but is this natural? And how can it be natural when he is drawn towards impossible things—impossible love, books, myths and taboos?" The opposition between work and nature is not actually posed by this book. Instead, we're given slapdash accounts of Espedal's most formative romances, from adolescence to late middle-age, when he falls for a woman three decades his junior. Despite his proclamations about this most recent relationship making him the happiest, comparing it to the stories of Heloise and Abelard, it's his exasperating time with Agnete, from Trastevere, Rome to the Nordic farmlands to war-torn Nicaragua, that captivated me, perhaps because it's through her that he engages with the concrete world outside his own fantasies.

[Tobias Cramer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Mod naturen er skrevet som en tricolore-is. Den lyserøde første del er liderlig. Ældre mænd knalder med yngre kvinder. Den midterste brune del er et autofiktivt jordskred. Opløsningen af et ægteskab. Den sidste hvide del er ren sorg. Triste minder om tomme møbler.

Og det er som tricolore-is altid er: En forvirrende lækkerbisken.

Den brune stribe har altid forringet den samlede kvalitet af isen, men samtidig har den også formået at løfte de andre smage. Det gør sig også gældende her. Autofiktionen løfter i allerhøjeste grad romanens andre dele.

Smerten i fortællingen om Espedals forliste ægteskab forstørrer temaet om kærlighed på tværs af årenes afgrund. Det gør simpelthen mere ondt at høre om hans hjertesorger efterfølgende.

En skål Espedal sniger sig behændigt uden om det patetiske, og formår at vise mennesket både i ekstatisk kærlighedsrus og knusende kærlighedssorg.

Polar Is™.

[Sternenstaubsucherin · Rating 5 out of 5]

Espedal schafft es mit einfachen und klaren Worten, Gefühle zu beschreiben und Empfindungen ganz nah an den Leser zu transportieren, dass man wirklich nicht anderes kann, als mitzuleiden.
Es ist kein neues Thema, Liebeskummer und Einsamkeit, aber Tomas Espedal hat mich während des Lesens glauben lassen, dass, obwohl ich all diese Gefühle auch in meinem Leben schon kennenlernen durfte, ich sie erst jetzt voll begreife, weil Epedal sie mir mit seinen Worten so sehr (mit)erlebbar gemacht hat.

In seiner Sprache hab ich mich verloren und habe gleichzeitig Sehnsucht nach mehr. In seinen Worten will ich baden, in seinen Gefühlen unter gehen.

[Iona Stewart · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is my third book by this gifted Norwegian author. I had to read it in Danish because I couldn’t get hold of the English version in these corona times, where the library responsible for ordering books from abroad was shut down.

Espedal received the Citizen’s Prize (Borgerprisen) for this work.

The book is mostly devoted to describing Tomas’ relationships with two women – Agnete and Janne. I’m assuming this is not a work of fiction.

Agnete was very beautiful – there was something ugly and uneven about her face that made it especially beautiful. She was an actress and had played the main role in an award-winning film.

“She had an indifferent, slightly tired expression on her face, it was the way she was, unapproachable and distant.”

She became pregnant – “the heavy and indifferent, tired and remote expression that had characterized her face disappeared, or moved from her face to mine.”

“She was an actress, farmer, gardener, carpenter, soon to be mother and writer. I was nothing. I was paralyzed.”

Agnete got a job in Nicaragua – he had to go too and would receive a large monthly income, but they had to get married.

They didn’t love each other. “We lived together, had a child together, co-operated, but the love between us was gone. Perhaps it had never been there. Now we were going to get married.”

Tomas read Shakespeare’s works to his two-year-old daughter; he wanted to read to her what he himself liked since he couldn’t stand children’s books. Later, she told him that he’d scared her to death with the Shakespearean readings – she had had nightmares from the graveyard scenes and poisonings, from the witches and ghosts, from the swords and knives, and that this was the cause of her resistance to all the books he recommended that she read. She wouldn’t read Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights or Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar or any of the books he gave her.

Later, Agnete died but it wasn’t clear how.

Then Tomas fell in love with Janne. He was going to write a little book on happiness. He was exactly twice her age.


A friend came to see them. When he left, he said “It was lovely to see you and your daughter.”

“Was happiness shameful; our happiness was shameful, it wasn’t natural, it went against Nature.”

They stopped going out together; they isolated themselves.

They made love in all the rooms in the house, but they stayed at home.

Janne moved to Oslo. Tomas’ daughter moved to Oslo. He felt abandoned.

Tomas’ relationship with Janne was like that of Abélard and Héloise. Abélard was 38 and Héloise was 16. That relationship ended badly, particularly for Abélard. (I won’t specify what happened since it was barbarous, perhaps the worst that can happen to a man.

In the notebooks at the end of the book, Tomas describes his loneliness when Janne leaves.

“She is everywhere in the house, everywhere in the house she is gone.”

“I’ve never loved anyone like Janne. The great love at the age of forty-eight, that is deadly dangerous.”

“I just don’t know how to be alone in the house. What does one do? What shall I do with myself?”

“It was hard when Agnete died and I was left alone with Harriet (Agnete’s child by another man) and Amalie ---.”But this is harder in a more dangerous way; now I’m alone with myself.”

“I am a person who is abandoned; it means I’m a person who is left behind; I can’t do anything else, I can’t do anything but stay in the house where I live.”

“Come back to me.

Come back to me.”

He eats junk food, ready-made food, in a hurry. They used to buy three bottles of wine and drink two of them – now he drinks the three bottles alone.

He doesn’t work, doesn’t shave. He’s lost four kilos. He eats only white bread swallowed with red wine.

“A broken heart is a special disease.”

“I cry, throw up, sweat, have fits of anger, as though everything inside me has to come out.”

“Insomnia, fever. Nightmares, fits of jealousy, as though everything outside has to come in.”

Tomas Espedal has a unique, poignant style. One really understands how he feels. He is a brilliant writer, and I highly recommend this book.

[Liina · Rating 5 out of 5]

Tomas Espedal – another Norwegian with a multi-volume autofiction project. In Against Nature, he narrates his story of falling in love with a woman half his age. The absolute exhilarating thrill of it, the inevitable crash of it. In between is the story of meeting his wife and living abroad, becoming a father and the problems of married life.

What is first noticeable is the simplicity of the language. It is solid, almost stern but at the same time very open and effortless. It evokes frustration, compassion, sadness and at times, laughter, without trying to. It does so by simply describing things, life, and situations, as they are. It is easy to read but it is not hollow. I have read quite a lot of auto-fiction lately but for some reason, this book touched me profoundly. The raw description of living alone in a house that just a week ago was shared with a lover and a daughter, with people and voices and laughter and love; the absolute intolerable emptiness, almost an inability to move and go through the basics in life – we have all had those experiences, and if we haven’t well, then there is Espedal who tells you how it feels. It doesn’t feel nice, that’s for sure.

There was also a part at the beginning of the book, where he shared his experience in manual labour and how it took just a few months for him to understand that employment is not for him, he wants a different life.  The descriptions of monotonous workdays, and how it can feel like life is swallowed up. A way out and a horrible prospect at the same time. There were also quite a few bits about ageing.

With just 200 pages this book was an emotional experience, dense but effortless, solid but fragile. Won’t recommend it to raging feminists but if you enjoy autofiction, this is a good one.  

[Tonymess · Rating 5 out of 5]

As visitors here, or even general readers of translated fiction, would know, Norway is home to Karl Ove Knausgaard, author of the six part “My Struggle” a highly successful, frequently debated collection of works, where the lines between fiction and reality are blurred, where our writer reveals in painstaking detail his day to day existence, his struggle with love, fatherhood, writing, relationships and more. The work extending to many many thousands of pages.

Rest assured Tomas Espendal’s “Against Nature” whilst covering the same themes as Knausgaard does so in a different bare, raw style.

Coming from Norway “Against Nature” is possibly always going to be compared to “My Struggle” and when our book contains a protagonist and his lover reading Knausgaard, the inevitable comparison is something you can’t avoid. Here we have a pared-down version, something which goes straight to the heart of the subjects under discussion, a work where the periphery is not required, a novel which says a lot without saying much at all:

For my full review go to http://messybooker.blogspot.com.au/20...

[Barbara · Rating 3 out of 5]

Beim Lesen dieses Buches aus Espedals Reihe "Die Notizbücher" denkt man irgendwann unweigerlich an Knausgård, schon bevor der Autor und seine Freundin ihn lesen. Auf der einen Seite die Herkunft, Norwegen, dann aber auch dieser Blick auf sich selbst, unbeschönt. Und dennoch besteht ein großer Unterschied zu Knausgård: Espedal schreibt kompakter und leichter, hat ein gutes Tempo für die Zeitraffer, verlangsamt im Liebeskummer. Was mir an diesem Buch persönlich widerstrebt hat und mich spontan zu 2 Sternen neigen ließ, war das Thema älterer Mann liebt blutjunge Frau. Der Altersunterschied alleine ist es nicht, der stört mich nicht, sondern dieses alles überdeckende Anbeten der Frau. Das ist für mich nicht Liebe, sondern Liebeswahn, der das Objekt der Begierde nicht wirklich wahrnimmt, es mit sich selbst überdeckt. Aber diesen hat Espedal treffend beschrieben.

[Joke · Rating 5 out of 5]

Verdriet en wanhoop zo wonderlijk mooi beschrijven dat het pijn doet. Ik las het boek in één ruk uit, met Ave Maria van Gaccini als sound track.
Of hoe twee meesterwerken elkaar versterken, optillen naar een ongekend niveau.
Ik voelde fysieke pijn, mij hart leek te krimpen en ik hapte naar adem maar kon niet stoppen met lezen.
Het verdriet van de man, de herinneringen, de herhalingen en de wondermooie zinnen.
Ik herlees niet vaak boeken, maar dit wil ik in mijn boekenkast, ik wil het bij de hand hebben, naast mijn bed, in mijn tas, het op elk ogenblik kunnen openslaan om stukjes te herlezen en herlezen en herlezen...

[NeDa · Rating 4 out of 5]

Понякога и черна корица върши работа.
Наистина ли през 2020 в една книга от 157 страници с редактор Дарина Фелонова и коректор Красимира Цонева е възможно на две съседни страници да се срещнат "пияно" (във всекидневната) и "телефонна бутка", а малко след това - "мекошав" и
"оп-
исваше"?
Хубава книга иначе...

[Daphna · Rating 3 out of 5]

Tomas Espedal writes an author memoire of the type very much the fashion these days, and one can't help but reference Knausgaard in this regard. He writes of his youth, his family, his writing, and of his loves and their ultimate disintegration.
It's a short quick read, not overly interesting or moving. I don't think I'll be reading any of his other notebooks.

[Lese lust · Rating 2 out of 5]

Einzelne interessante und wunderbar formulierte Beobachtungen. Schlecht geschriebene Sexszenen. Insgesamt eher nicht mein Fall.

[Ina · Rating 3 out of 5]

Man darf nicht den Fehler begehen und dieses Buch zu autobiografisch auffassen, auch wenn es natürlich damit spielt sich so zu präsentieren, den darin liegt meiner Meinung nach nicht seine Relevanz.
Umso mehr man darauf achtet desto mehr wird alles was scheinbar im Leben des Autors passiert sein soll, was er in seinen Notizbüchern verarbeiten zu scheint, zu reiner Semantik. Und natürlich versteckt er sich darin: er schreibt über sich selbst, das versucht er zumindest auszudrücken und uns weiß zu machen. Aber dabei sind Handlung, Beschreibungen und alles Weitere doch nur Mittel zum Zweck der Semantik.
Auch die age-gap relationship und wie sie parallel gesetzt wird zu einer Lehrer-Schülerin und Vater-Tochter Beziehung wird zu einem intertextuellen Mittel das vielseitig gedeutet werden kann. Vor der Idee der Wiedergeburt der Autorpersonen durch die Autofiktion nach der Postmoderne, sehe ich besonders eine epochale Deutung, ähnlich wie bei Tod in Venedig und vielen anderen Werken die sich dieses Mittels bedienen darin.

[OM · Rating 3 out of 5]

tja.

et tilnærma pornografisk begjær til den forevig ungdommelige kropp møter alderdommens sakte forvitring. kunsten å tviholde på en (viss) selvoppholdelse selv i perioder der det virker uutholdelig. alt pakka inn i espedals varemerka 'autofiksjon' og Abélard og Héloïses kjærlighet i bakgrunnen.

[Zek · Rating 4 out of 5]

אספנדל כותב כתיבה מאד איכותית. הספר עצמו לא תמיד מהנה ותחילתו של הספר אפילו מעצבנת משהו עד שהגעתי לפרק השני שנקרא ״עבודת האהבה״ בו הוא מתאר מערכת יחסיו של הסופר עם אשתו וגרושתו שנפטרה, פרק שהוא לטעמי מאסטרפיס.
גם הפרק האחרון, בו הוא כותב על הבדידות לאחר שאהבת חייו עזבה אותו, מכמיר לב ומאד מרשים.

[Ka Vee · Rating 5 out of 5]

Hoe pijnlijker nog kan verlaten worden worden ?

[Inge Vermeire · Rating 5 out of 5]

Kwetsbaar. Eerlijk. Heel mooi!

[John Marius Gjersvold · Rating 4 out of 5]

Her er det mye smerte. Mest det, faktisk. Lett å kjenne seg igjen i. Av og til tenkte jeg «Dette kunne han spart seg», men når man er gal av sorg vet man faktisk ikke bedre.

[Elise · Rating 5 out of 5]

Nydelig språk