Året

by Tomas Espedal

«Jeg ville gjerne skrive en bok om årstidene vår høst sommer vinter de lyse dagene i april og juni mørket i august beskrive månedene ukene dagene timene på dagen og forandringene som gjentar det samme alltid på en ny måte»

Så enkelt, så vakkert åpner Tomas Espedals nye roman, Året. Tomas Espedals prosa har alltid hatt en poetisk undertone, og i denne boken er det poetiske enda mer fremtredende enn tidligere. Året er en bok om å elske den samme hele livet, selv når kjærligheten ikke blir gjengjeldt. Det er en bok om aldring og desperasjon, om stillstand og gjentagelse. Handlingen starter den 6. april, den datoen den italienske dikteren Petrarca første gang så sin elskede Laura, da hun var 13 år. Hudløst og vakkert undersøker Tomas Espedal om kjærligheten til den ene, kjærligheten som ikke tar slutt, den kjærligheten Petrarca beskriver i diktene til Laura, om den fortsatt har relevans i vår tid, den store kjærligheten. Er den fortsatt mulig?

Genres: Fiction, Roman, Contemporary, Poetry, Literature

207 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2016

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

[Eric · Rating 5 out of 5]

Other than Bergeners, I think I've now read everything by Espedal in English, and this, The Year, is my favorite. While the other novels occasionally venture out into a poetically lineated (not exactly versified) prose, this one is all that. The book doesn't contain a single paragraph. Instead, sentences split, clip, enjamb, and never run to the limits of the page. I don't think there's a single comma throughout. Periods, instead, complete each thought, or each cascade of thoughts. The reason this style, taken to this extreme, works so well for Espedal has something to do with his diction. His words and his sentiments tend toward the vital, primal, resolutely monosyllabic sort: life, death, love, loss, wine, smoke, blood. The only readerly doubt that sometimes crept into my head had to do with the question of translation: how much does E's work depend (for its beauty, rhythm, effect) on the syntactical patterns possible to Norwegians (assuming some nontrivial degree of non-overlap with English). Anyway, I loved it. The book itself has less to do with the year, even less to do with the promising gambit of following in Petrarch's footsteps, than E's relationships with: his aging father; death; and his Great Lost Love, a woman named Janne. While E's great theme is restlessness, you could make a decent drinking game out of the frequency with which he begins a sentence with "How lovely it is to..." (enjoy the light, the trees, a drink, a smoke). How lovely it is to read a novel by Tomas Espedal.

[Joseph Schreiber · Rating 5 out of 5]

This, the latest of Tomas Espedal's novels to appear in English sees his near-to-life protagonist pondering the big questions of love and death, looking to Petrarch for inspiration on how to love when the one who is loved is gone, and venting his frustration with getting older on his poor father. Presented as a novel in verse, the style pulls the reader right into the head of the grieving, somewhat neurotic narrator with an account that is beautiful, angry, and wise.
A longer review can be found here: https://roughghosts.com/2022/01/13/th...

[Sophie · Rating 3 out of 5]

Tomas Espedal macht es einem schon nicht leicht. Sein autobiographisches Schreiben sagt mir zu großen Teilen sehr zu. Gerade der Verlust seiner Mutter, seiner Frau Agnete war in "Wider die Kunst" bereits gut bearbeitet. In "Das Jahr" geht es wiederum mehr um verlorene Liebe, den Verlust seiner langjährigen Freundin Janne, von der er nicht loskommt. Meinetwegen hätte er den Petrarca-Intertext durch das ganze Buch ziehen können, aber leider entfernt er sich stark davon. "Das Jahr" umfasst auch gar kein ganzes Jahr, lediglich die Zeit zwischen dem 06. April und dem 12. November - zwei Daten, die enorm wichtig sind für die Geschichte, aber irgendwie hatte ich auf "mehr" gehofft. Sprachlich mochte ich es meist sehr gern, aber die gebrochenen Zeilen ergeben nicht durchgehend Sinn. Vielleicht finde ich da Deutsch als Sprache auch nur zu schnöde.. ich weiß auch nicht. ;) Eine kurzweilige, mitunter sehr schmerzhafte Lektüre.

[Lulufrances · Rating 4 out of 5]

Lenya practically forced this into my hands and I am not mad at all about it.
This is a very special book, and there's no way I can convey that to you using my own words, so best would be you check it out for yourself if you're into lyrical, stream of consciousness-esque meanderings of a lovesick protagonist, taking you to Avignon (to commiserate with Petrarca) and on a cruise from Barcelona to Naples and back home to Bergen, dealing with love, age, his father, evident alcoholism and always: sunlight through windows, cigarettes, coffee, trees.
A very particular mood.
Espedal is great at creating rhythm and I wish I could understand enough Norwegian to see what vibe I get from reading him in the original.
Really very special and it's best when read as much in one go as possible for that kind of immersive pull it has to get stronger.

[Susanne · Rating 5 out of 5]

„Was willst du tun
in dem Jahr
das kommt?“

Ein zartes Buch.
Ein poetisches Buch.
Ein Buch über die Liebe.
Ein brutales Buch.
Ein wunderschönes Buch.
Ein Buch über den Tod.
Ein schonungsloses Buch.
Ein Buch wie ein Gedicht.
Ein Buch über ein Jahr.

Das Jahr von Tomas Espedal.
Vor ein paar Monaten sah ich ihn hier in Berlin im Rahmen des ilb zusammen mit seinem großartigen Übersetzer Hinrich Schmidt-Henkel. Eine Stunde unterhielten sich die beiden wie beste Freunde über das Leben und dieses Buch, seine Entstehung, seine Übersetzung, die eine Herausforderung war, da Espedal in diesem Buch andere Dichter, in teils veränderter Form, zitiert. Vor allem Petrarca.
Ein Buch, das niemandem etwas schenkt.

Den Rest meiner Gedanken zu dem Buch findet Ihr unter http://lobedentag.blogspot.com/2020/0...

[Simen Gunerius Jørgensen · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ahh det er godt at bo alene
i et hotell
en mørk glede er det
å bo i denne store stillheten
i et lite rom.
Du er her for å kjenne på ensomheten savnet
av den du elsker.
Når noe gjør ondt
så skal du ikke unngå det
nei
du skal møte det ondeste
med all din svakhet
eller la deg bli ødelagt.
Du skal oppsøke ensomheten
for å kjenne du er alene
for å kjenne du er forlatt
for å kjenne at du har elsket
for å kjenne kjærligheten
som kan ødelegge deg fullstendig

[Maria · Rating 4 out of 5]

Der Schmerz schreit
er ruft fleht nach dem Vorrübergehen.

Und ich mit einer Weinflasche zwei drei
Gin Wodka einer Sprache
die fliesst gluckert sprudelt sinkt
die Liebe
den Tod
das Vergessen
das Vergessen der Liebe und der Eltern.
Tomas schreibt nicht er spricht
zu sich zu mir zu seinem toten Vater der donnerstags zum Abendessen kommt
und sie betrinken sich beide.

Der Dratseilakt Poesie Prosa und die
Zitate der Vergangenheit
Tomas Espedal
Vater Espedal
Petrarca
drei Männer die ewig lieben
ewig leben
ewiges Leben mit ewiger Liebe wollen
und an dem Schmerz dies nicht zu bekommen
fast zerschellen.

Sie gehen widerwillig.
Sie gehen.
Er geht es geht.
Ein Jahr vergeht
ein Jahr geht
ein Jahr.
Das Jahr.

[Tobias Cramer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Tomas Espedal skriver stærkt stiliseret. Han leverer på korte sætninger sat op som versefødderne i et langdigt. Formen snyder - for det er prosa. Skøn indlevende prosa. Espedal beskriver kærligheden til en kæreste, han ikke er kommet over bruddet med. Det er en bitter og rørende tekst, men endnu mere rørende er det, når Espedal beskriver forholdet til den aldrende far. Han indrammer forholdet i stærke scenarier. Det er helt tæt på og ganske ondskabsfuldt følsomt.
Den poetiske stil skaber også et sprogligt overskud i bogen, hvor der er plads til sanseophobninger og luft til strøtanker. Det virker glimrende og gør den let at tilgå. Den enkle struktur påkalder også ens højtlæsningslyst. Man får lyst til at smage på ordene og lade dem dryppe af tungen som sød honning.

[Stine Mulbjerg · Rating 5 out of 5]

Hele skrivearbejdet samles eminent op i den her bog. Læse Espedal og lev, læs Espedal og lev!

[Elin · Rating 4 out of 5]

Vakker og trist bok om kjærlighetssorg. Roman med form og uttrykk som poesi, veldig kreativt!

[Hilde Andreassen · Rating 5 out of 5]

Den vakreste og inderligste boka jeg har lest på lenge!

[M. Sarki · Rating 3 out of 5]

https://rogueliterarysociety.com/f/th...

...Ah it’s good to be alone
in a hotel
it’s a sombre pleasure
to live within this great silence
in a small room.
After all you’re here to feel the loneliness the lack
of the one you love.
When something hurts you shouldn’t avoid it
no
you should meet the worst
with all your weakness
and allow yourself to be destroyed.
You should seek out loneliness
to feel you are alone
to feel you are desolate
to feel that you have loved
to feel the love
that can obliterate you entirely.

Not exactly enamored with the form these poesies take, irritating to say the least, and just because they are called poems does not make it so. The object of his art, on the other hand, is what draws me in. I will read Tomas Espedal in any way he wishes me to read him. Not really sure why he chose this format. He feels better than this.

...Is it really possible to love the same woman
all your life
even if she doesn’t return the love
and what sort of love is that
is it a greater love
or a self-deception
from which the writer spins sufferings…

The passages I have chosen to highlight here amount to being his “best of” which does not add up to as many as he likely wished them to be. But they are important and give me cause to often reconsider my own life which again is mostly why I read.

...Even the loss of love
is love
he says. And you are alone with this love
that’s what loneliness is
he says.
To love and not to be loved in return
that’s what a broken heart is
and because a broken heart can destroy you
it’s one of the most valuable things you possess
you can use it to alter yourself entirely
a new life
he says a poet must endure anything
if not he’s no poet…

My heart, as were many others, was broken early on by the love of my life. Or by my own beliefs and feelings of inadequacy. Often blaming her and adding to my resentments. But we did manage to get together. And we did manage to raise a family and work hard together building a life for the last thirty-eight years. It all matters. But still, it does little to lessen the pain of a broken heart if one wishes to remember.

...where do you want to live
where will you live
where can you live
when you don’t love any more?

The struggle Espedal encounters within himself is real. It feels substantial. He will abide one day at a time. He may not learn to ever live with his pain, but rather continue to suffer miserably.

...I don’t know how long it takes
before someone who moves out
is gone…

My daily reading consists of at least four pages of every book in my pile next to my rocker. What occurs to me today is that few writers get better with age. Wallace Stevens, the great American poet, was an exception. He definitely improved his craft. Now this book, written by one of my favorite writers whose first three books were astounding, is failing me just as his last one did. So when do the rock stars retire? Or accept the sad fact that it is over for them, that anything published further will approach mediocrity when compared to their previous work. Yes, The Year does have its moments, but as a whole it falls quite short in the greater scheme of things.

…Where was it she wrote: I’ve
met someone else. Perhaps
you think it’s a bit strange
that he’s a friend of yours.
A bit strange yes what should I do
with this terrible rage
that ravages my body
like a tempest yes what should I do
not to break down in the storm…

She poured salt in his wound in spite of her being honest. And we all wish for truth and to trust that our partners are being honest with us. Even after they have gone.

...I have never and will never
love anyone like I love you
he reads
over and over again
as if the letters have the power
to conjure up
her love
many years after
she stopped loving him…

Hard to trust that love is forever. I have said these same words to my great love. The fact that events could hasten a rethinking of the feeling that seems so real and permanent adds to the fragileness of our relationships. There is never any sure thing even in light of our believing so.

...Sophie Calle once said to me
when I was interviewing her at a literary festival
in Stavanger:
I only make love to men I don’t like.
It sounded flippant
but I knew quite well what she meant
maybe she’d had a love affair
she didn’t want to reawaken a regret
she didn’t want to disturb
and when she made love to men
she didn’t like
she avoided being reminded of
how painful it is to love…

Perhaps the above lines were the most important to me. It may be why I did what I did after failing in my own attempts at first love. Hard to say why we do what we do. Desperation often has a face we can relate to and find hard to put away.

The book is a good one, but not the format. The words matter but not as poems or something E.E. Cummings might have done. Tomas Espedal is better than that.

[Michael Bohli · Rating 5 out of 5]

Als grosser Liebhaber der knausgardschen Schreibkunst habe ich Bücher stark ins Herz geschlossen, die emotional von Geschehnissen aus dem Leben erzählen, bei welchen Realität und Fiktion gemischt werden. Der Norweger Tomas Espedal gehört zu den grossen Könnern dieser Schreibweise und zelebriert das bei "Das Jahr". Ein trauriges Buch über verlorene Liebe, der Suche nach dem Platz im Leben und der Hoffnung, die dunklen Zeiten gestärkt zu überstehen.

Mit ungewohntem Satz und mit vielen Bezüge zur Vergangenheit wird ein reichhaltiges Spektrum an Empfindungen und Gedanken geboten, die in der Seele Halt finden und beweisen, dass Espedal zu den grossen Verstehern der Menschheit gehört.

[Max · Rating 3 out of 5]

"En

som er alle

er borte."

En litt annerledes bok fra Espedal denne gangen.
Den boken jeg har lest med færrest punktum, vil jeg tro.
Inneholder mye fint tankespinn.

[Ingrid Halvorsen · Rating 5 out of 5]

Kjempefin!! Anbefales! Antageligvis den fineste boken jeg har lest

[Anders · Rating 5 out of 5]

Espedal er bedst, når er han på farten og ude i verden, og 'Året' indeholder nogle af hans stærkeste tanker om det at leve og være i bevægelse. Men det, der er med til at gøre bogen helt urimelig god, er de forskellige årsager til Espedals rejseri: forholdet til sin far og afdøde famile, til sit livs kærlighed og til ensomheden.

Jeg tænkte mindre over årstidernes betydning for bogen. Det kræver en genlæsning, som jeg kun kan se frem til.

[Jakob Okkenhaug · Rating 5 out of 5]

Etter å ha lest denne boken, med så lite tegnsetting, fremstår tekster med vanlig tegnsetting som plumpe og kunstig. Litt som å komme hjem igjen og bruke bestikk, etter noen måneder på reise, til kulturer der man spiser med hendene, sanser maten.

[Nanna Tirsted · Rating 4 out of 5]

Poetisk bog om tabt kærlighed og forholdet til døden. Bogen er skrevet i vers og uden kommaer; ingen kommaer i livet, ingen kommaer i bogen, ingen skelnen mellem del og helhed. Istedet står verset stærkt og vender betydningen, vender ordet, vender retningen, vender livet.

[Åsne · Rating 3 out of 5]

Litt kjedelig og sutrete.

[Lee Klein · Rating 4 out of 5]

Up there with Espedal's best (Love, Tramp, Against Nature), maybe his best. The tightest in a way. Not quite about an entire year, more like some moments in May mostly with his father on a Mediterranean cruise and some moments in October conspiring to kick the shit out of the friend who's now with his ex-girlfriend/love of his life and a dinner with his father on the author's birthday in November. Formally, the text is presented as a 200-page poem but it doesn't really read like poetry, more like brief bursts of language, organically proceeding and graceful for the most part, easy reading, almost like thinking or the textual equivalent of a graphic novel. Lots of white spaces between brief sections, rarely disorientating, maybe only one chapter break for autumn. Focused mostly on the experience of heartbreak and aging, lost love and dying fathers. The most recent of his publications and the last I have to read in English translation (all excellent translations by the same translator as Knausgaard's A Time for Everything). Would love for the few other earlier ones to come out in English, although I should be able to read them in the original in the next few years if not.

[Mak · Rating 4 out of 5]

Litt annerledes enn dei andre eg har lest, men fortsatt veldig gjenkjennelig Espedal. Han skriver fortsatt dagbøker, og han skriver fortsatt dritbra. Han har kjærlighetssorg og har begynt å tenke på døden, og vel, eg begynner å tenke at hans største talent er evnen til å formidle følelsar og tilstandar. Det er så lett å føle det Espedal føler gjennom ordene hans, sorgen, frustrasjonen, tomheiten, det er så lett å se situasjonen han er i utifrå dei direkte skildringane av små detaljar og vanlige dagar. Boka har ei litt pussig form på teksten, uten særlig tegnsetting og med masse linjeskift, som i dikt, men det merker ein ikkje noe særleg til når ein kjem inn i det. Kanskje det til og med bidrar til å styrke den, idk ubestemt på akkurat den delen.

[Synne · Rating 4 out of 5]

Nå er det en stund siden jeg sist leste Espedal, men denne var på mange måter like fantastisk som jeg husker "Å gå, eller kunsten å leve et vilt og poetisk liv."

Alt fra språket, metaforene og den generelle tekstens struktur/oppbygging er definitivt klassisk Espedal på sitt beste, men jeg trekker litt ned for at det atter en gang også i stor grad handler om kjærlighetssorgen hans (omtalt på samme repetitive måte) , og at det gjennom så mange år nå har vært et tema i bok etter bok.

Uansett, jeg gir den 4 stjerner, for alt i alt så kan den mannen virkelig skrive.

[Abby]

The notion of a fallen-apart love that for some reason hangs on, past all reason, long after the anticipated expiration date for “moving on”, is something that would have resonated at a different time but wasn’t what I wanted to wallow in now. I came looking for slow, boring, pretty, atmospheric novels--better luck with the next ones, I suppose, but I was charmed by the way the narrator’s relationship with his father emerges as the true concern of the book.

[Lars B. · Rating 4 out of 5]

En poetisk suite, der kredser om og reflekteret løst i kødet over død og kærlighed med årstidernes skiften til at anslå en molagtigt melankolsk grundtone. Espedals bevidsthedsstrømmende tekst er både ærlig og intenst selvudleverende, men det bliver aldrig banalt privat eller pinagtigt.

[Hildegunn Hodne · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a beautiful book! Painful, tender and sore. So revealing and personal. So familiar and good. So precise and true. To read it is to wander through love and pain on every page.

[Susanne · Rating 5 out of 5]

Smuk og inderlig. En af de store læseoplevelser

[Lisa Jakobsen · Rating 5 out of 5]

En hjerteskjærende bok om å savne en man elsker, og om forhold til aldrende foreldre.

[Kristin Hauge · Rating 5 out of 5]

Har lest den to ganger, må nok lese den igjen

[Kine Albrigtsen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Lettlest sak som vokste på meg.

[Kristine Grønlund · Rating 4 out of 5]

Like den godt, men skjønte lite.