Elsken

by Tomas Espedal

Elsken er en roman om døden. Den gode døden. Romanens hovedperson gleder seg til å dø, han har fått nok av livet, han er fornøyd. Men hvor og hvordan skal han dø? Han gir seg selv ett år igjen å leve. Og dette året blir det mest intense i livet hans, nettopp fordi hver årstid og hver måned og etter hvert hver dag, vil bli den siste.

Genres: Fiction, Literature, Roman, Novels

98 pages, Hardcover

First published December 4, 2022

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

[Ernst · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ein hochästhetischer Gedankensturm, fast wie ein Langgedicht mit ungeheurem Sog, dann wieder abschnittsweise ein Thomas Bernhard Text.
Sprachlich wählt er einen Kunstgriff und ziemlich einzigartige Form, er spaltet das Ich ab, das zur dritten Person wird, der einzige Weg für ihn über seine Todessehnsucht und seinen Entschluss Suizid zu begehen zu schreiben. So kann er aus der Ich-Perspektive schreiben, aber gleichzeitig mit der Distanz das Ich zur dritten Person zu machen. Denn natürlich begeht der reale Espedal keinen Selbstmord, zumal er immer noch in Bergen lebt, gleichzeitig wollte er sich aber so authentisch und glaubwürdig wie nur möglich auf diese Reise in den Tod begeben.

An einer Stelle zitiert er Seneca: man kann darauf warten, bis man aus dem Fest hinausgeschmissen wird oder man entschließt sich freiwillig zu gehen.

Es war erst mein zweiter Espedal (nach Wider die Natur), aber bestimmt nicht mein letzter.

[Gerhard · Rating 3 out of 5]

Da er kein glückliches Leben führt, beschließt er seinen eigenen Tod zu wählen und zwar in einem Jahr. Diese Tatsache beschäftigt ihn über Zeit, Art und Ort usw. Er ordnet seine Angelegenheiten und auch der Rasen soll gemäht sein. Dazwischen jedoch lernt er eine Frau kennen und lernt eine intensive Liebe kennen, ja er soll sogar Vater werden. Doch auch dies soll ihn von seinem Entschluss nicht abbringen. Das Ende bleibt offen. Das Buch von Espedal ist nicht immer einfach zu lesen.

[Simen Gunerius Jørgensen · Rating 5 out of 5]

Kort prosess. Å skrive Espedalsk. En halv ekstra stjerne fordi Espedal er Espedal.

[M. Sarki · Rating 3 out of 5]

Rather surprised at the concept behind this brief but wonderful novel. But seeing how the last two Espedal books failed to capture me as his earlier works did, this entry is a welcome change back to significant and relatively important writing. Death is not an easy subject to write or even talk about, but Espedal tackles the subject with clarity, courage, and honesty. Though only about a third of the way in I knew Espedal was not going to disappoint me no matter the ending. What is also of note is the thread of connection with another book I am currently reading regarding suicide. Interesting how that happens sometimes. Of course, I finished reading this book first as it is quite a bit shorter and supposedly a fiction whereas Clancy Martin’s book How Not to Kill Yourself: A Portrait of the Suicidal Mind is autobiographical.

What is remarkable within this Espedal text are his memories regarding all his prior relationships with women he loved or at least lived with. All his other memories in respect to scenery, weather, nature, travel, and friends proved much happier and more successful than his love interests turned out to be. Maybe this time around he might have better luck and a longer accomplishment. The ending did remind me of something I recently wrote myself, and though somewhat not conventional, it made sense to me. Cuz life is strange. Better than his last two novels, Espedal again fails to measure up to his vast potential previously decreed within his first three novels translated into the English language.

[Matt T · Rating 5 out of 5]

Autofiction we trust

In a more accessible passage in the Critique of Judgement, Kant aims to unravel our predisposition for teleological thinking through using the example of a tree's growth. Normally, it makes little sense to imagine a suspension or reversal of cause and effect, unless we think of the way in which a tree simultaneously depends on both its leaves and its roots. Just as the roots require leaves to process sunlight to grow, so leaves require roots to suck up water and nutrients to produce more leaves. This understanding of living organisms as organic wholes will be termed ‘reciprocal causation’ and Kant will parallel this idea with his notion of reflective judgements, where an artwork is valued insofar as it is composed of parts which are mutually reinforcing, and, like man, should be treated as an end-in-itself.

'Elsken': it would be easy to write this off as another Espedal travelogue, little different from those that precede it. On the surface, Espedal’s novels seem like a continuation of the Beats with a Nordic inflection. All the clichés are present: long leisurely hikes through small towns and wilderness, women picked up on the road who come and go, days and weeks spent drinking in lowly hometown bodegas, the invocation of a bold and incautious life, here, grappling with the existential complexities of love and death. Yet there’s a mixture of tenderness and steely-eyed honesty to Espedal’s works which makes him rank alongside the critical thinkers in the Kantian tradition. He never stretches our patience (as in the late style of Henry Miller) and carefully avoids any lapse into metaphysical dogma or new age mysticism (which cannot be said of the later beats), and this despite the fact that 'Elsken' directly addresses those big questions concerning who we are, what we should do, where we will go, and what we can hope. While Espedal’s literary output uniformly derives from real experience in the manner of a roman à clef, he grounds his answers to those questions through controlled experiment. What would you choose to do if you could only grant yourself one more year of life? How would you experience things you normally take for granted? Such is the premise for ‘Elsken’, and it begins as it ends, on the day he set aside to die.

Early on in Kafka’s diaries, there’s a humorously anti-climactic eureka moment where he discovers the secret of writing fiction. The secret? Change everything you write from first person to third. Espedal follows suit, only adding a deft little twist on the insight through writing about an ‘I’ as if it were the name of a character, ‘Jeg’. This simple trick is used consistently throughout allowing him to utilize his authoritative experiences with ease while giving him the distance to invent. Yet, while we know Espedal must edit and curate his material to maintain dramatic tension – and Espedal is a master at this – it is difficult to believe that he entirely ‘fabricates’ situations, as this would seem too much like a petty trick. We hold him to higher standards, and the dignity of the novel relies on its proximity to actual life. ‘Elsken’ offers the reader a genuine escape route from that ‘self-incurred tutelage’ that Kant warns us of, if not exactly a method for universal enlightenment.

Perhaps it is the re-arrangement of chronological events that gives the novel its lightness. If the main narrative arc charts the year he took to ‘die’, then the narrator repeatedly throws us into the past to dredge up significant life events, many of which will be familiar to Espedal fans. There are the years of drunken lassitude before and after his wife’s death, there's the period in which his wife died, and there's the rape case about which more will be said. The exploration of his emotional ambivalence towards his wife’s death is a staple in Espedal’s writing, a fact which mitigates against accusations of callousness towards the mother of his children. Sometimes these deliberate flashback sequences jar with the otherwise smooth narrative integrity, and this might be due to their unresolved nature in his life as a whole.

What is the difference between Espedal’s life and his literature? The ideal writer’s dens which feature prominently on the covers of his books and find their apotheosis in his recently published family photo-album, ‘My Private Life’, serve as shrines to the man of letters, with their perfectly ordered book piles, artsy photographs and souvenir postcards, and nice wooden furniture all neatly composed into a small quiet Scandinavian space. Espedal’s veneration for his inherited family home legitimates bourgeois affections for ‘good craftsmanship’ and ‘nice things’. About all this he is unrepentant. He doesn’t feign shame or indifference. Similarly, Espedal’s adventures always involve the eminently possible. A summer hike across the south of France. A week or two of ardent drinking in a local tavern. A period of bed-bound desuetude followed by a trigger event leading to recovery. Which of these experiences are unfamiliar to the serious reader? Even the initial idea that ‘Elsken’ was meant to be a response to Seneca’s letters ‘On Life's Brevity’ (which it clearly still is, indirectly), fits in with the interests of that serious reader who is up on their classics.

But Espedal chose to appeal to a wider extra-literary audience. The pivotal events in Espedal’s narrative could happen to anyone. Whether it’s the death of a spouse ending an unhappy marriage, or the blessing of a new child late in life, Espedal shows how, through commitment, even average lives might bifurcate to the road less travelled. After all, one can choose to honour the past and not love again, or, one can choose to commit to new love. Just as one could choose a certain day to die, or embrace parenthood in old age after a lucky fling. Somehow, ‘Elsken’ vacillates between these polarities without ever seeming insincere. Part of the immense charm of Espedal’s work is that he can leave us believing that our lives are not so different from Espedal’s, and consequently, that we too might be able to celebrate our lives with the self-same power. After all, what does he do that is so different from us?

Following Roland Barthes, we might say that Espedal writes at a ‘degree zero’, with a cool crisp transparence which belies the precision of his orchestration. Arguably, his craftsmanship is best seen in the way his work shapes the lives of others. At times, characters seem to slide into allegorical woodcut flatness. A next-door neighbour, ‘Rank’, symbolises what might happen if one stays alone rooted to dull bourgeois comforts, whereas a friend, ‘Karol’, has more forceful macabre expression as a corpse flopping free from a tipped coffin than he did in his sealed Proustian vault of an apartment, where he'd devoted himself to a biography of Francis of Assisi that he could never finish. At his best, Espedal uses his experiences to explore difficult problems with a refreshing frankness. When contemplating the prospect of having a child at fifty-five and considering whether it might be selfish given his plan to end his life within a year, he speculates that it might not be so terrible for a child to grow up without a father after all. In fact, it might be a liberation. Compare this to the rare notes of sentimentality which infect the elderly Cormac McCarthy’s love-letter to his young son in ‘The Road’, and Espedal’s thoughtful originality is clear. What a future child might think of this is for them to determine.

It would be a dereliction of duty to finish up this review without reflection on the perennial moral complexity of writers exploiting real life experience as material. The Kantian idea of ‘reciprocal causation’ in the tree also has its darker side. Where modern biology shows how one tree can pretty straightforwardly ‘cause’ another through seed dispersal, Kant’s fundamentally romantic view of nature implies that the individual parts of a tree, such as a branch, can be said to strain and struggle against the other parts in its competition for resources; the tree as a whole being a product of dynamic tension, one which can devolve into a form of reciprocal cannibalism once this balance is upset. Contemporary autofiction, of which Espedal’s work, along with Knausgaard’s ‘Min Kamp’ and Pablo Llambías’s recent ‘Natteskær’ are prominent examples, foregrounds the ethical challenge of artworks which derive their sustenance from the sacrifice of the author’s own splendid isolation. These works are defined by the harm their works risk causing others in the service of what might be a higher truth. Of course, the names and some details can be changed, and the writers can invoke poetic license as a means to generate distance, but no matter how much they claim that their works are ‘novels’, rather than eye-witness testimony, their effect on the reader derives from a tacit pact: they attempt to show what really goes on in the writer’s mind, without metaphysical ethical boundaries or concern for liberal principles of decorum, and the reader reads in a suspension of judgement. Perhaps they believe that such a thorough clarification of intentions will ultimately exonerate them from any harm caused, regardless of actual consequences.

Towards the end of ‘Elsken’, Espedal receives an ominous summons to the police-station, and long before his interrogation has begun, we read of how he falls to pieces scouring his memory for the potential crimes he may have committed, given that ‘deep in us all there exists a crime.’ (p71) What he will be accused of is a rape, the time of which Espedal projects back seven years. But where the interrogation ends ambiguously, questioning the motives of the accusee, in what is perhaps the only pathetic moment in the novel, the dropped case persists in real life through trial by media, and Norwegian journalists have, apparently, tracked down those involved. Disturbingly, the alleged rape was said to have taken place a year back, around about the same time that Espedal's narrator resolved to give himself one year left to live. By pursuing this story, the press get to subject a known artist to ethical condemnation, which is something everyone can get involved in, and, as a byproduct, they reduce literary works to a crude formula—as a means to excuse the wrong-doing in a life. Should only the innocent throw stones? Who benefits from being innocent until proven guilty in a court of law? In as much as everyone might benefit from the latter, it is impossible to remain impartial, regardless of whether we consider ourselves innocent or not. In the final sequence, much hinges on the meaning of the shared Danish-Norwegian word ‘angre’, which can mean both ‘repent’ and ‘regret’ in English. For my part, I would prefer not to.

[Joseph Schreiber · Rating 4 out of 5]

In this unusual exploration of love and death, Tomas Espedal turns a love story on its head with a protagonist who is committed to keeping a date with death—decided a year in advance without any idea of how or where he will meet it—despite the fact that he unexpectedly falls in love and his new girlfriend is pregnant with his child. As ever, the Espedal hero/anti-hero is a complicated and conflicted character. Referred to as "I," the third person narrative has an initially jarring feel. Spare and poetic, this slender volume raises infinitely more questions than it answers which is, perhaps, the point.
A longer review can be found here: https://roughghosts.com/2022/12/12/de...

[Michelle · Rating 4 out of 5]

Puh, dieser Text hat für viele Diskussionen in meinem Seminar gesorgt. Figuren seien eindimensional, klischeehaft, uninteressant, etc. Der Schreibstil sei anstrengend, mühsam und irgendwie durcheinander. Es gab viele negative Stimmen, was mich überraschte.
Mir gefiel das Buch enorm. Autofiktion vom feinsten und soooo viele literaturtheoretische und poetologische Momente, dass mein Herz aufging beim Lesen. Ich mag es, wenn ein ganzer Roman als Metapher für etwas anderes gelesen werden kann und der Text bietet so, so, so viele Interpretationsmöglichkeiten, was ich ganz wunderbar finde.
Der Schreibstil hat mir gefallen, denn für einen Roman, der so von Plot losgelöst ist wie dieser, muss der Schreibstil stimmen. Espedal fokussiert sich nicht auf Figuren allgemein, sondern auf eine Figur. Sein Protagonist namens 'Ich', der so einfach mit ihm selbst zu verwechseln ist, dass es beim Lesen schwerfällt, Fiktives vom Autor zu trennen. Dafür fallen die anderen Figuren ab, was mich aber nicht gestört hat. Der Roman macht so nur noch deutlicher, wer die Hauptperson ist und wer unwichtiger bleibt. Denn es geht um Gedanken, Erlebnisse, Introspektion und nicht um Beziehungen.
Die Kürze des Romans macht aber viel aus. Ich weiss nicht, ob mir der Text so gefallen hätte, wäre er viel länger gewesen. Vielleicht wäre es ein wenig zu eintönig geworden. Doch auf diesen 120 Seiten beschreibt Espedal sein Ich so genau, so einfühlsam, dass ich die Reise mit Ich sehr genossen habe.

Lieblingsstellen:
"Er liebt es zu verschwinden. Er hat das Verschwinden zu einer Kunstform erhoben. Wie ein Zauberkünstler. Der Trick besteht in seinem Verschwinden. Der alte Traum davon, unsichtbar zu werden. Am nächsten kommst du der Unsichtbarkeit, indem du reist. Der Reisende ist niemand. Wer reist, bewegt sich immer (ohne es zu wissen) in etwas, das der letzten Reise ähnelt: Du näherst dich einer unbekannten Landschaft, überquerst den Fluss, und auf einmal weisst du nicht mehr, wer du bist." (S.45)

"Ich schwebe. Ich habe nicht genug Geld. Ich habe nicht genug Ruhe und Konzentration. Ich mache zu viel, mal hier, mal dort. Es ist, als wäre ich in lauter Einzelteile aufgeteilt, eine Hand dort, eine Hand hier, ein Mund dort, ein Ohr, die Augen ganz woanders; ich möchte das alles zu einem Körper zusammenfügen, es neu zusammensetzen, wie wenn man eine Puppe zusammennäht; all meine gebrauchten Körperteile zu einem neuen Körper zusammennähen: Ihm Leben einhauchen, ihm Liebe einhauchen. (...) Mein Körper ist zusammengenäht, aber noch nicht zusammengewachsen, alles ist noch voller Stiche und Nähte und Wunden, er ist nicht reif." (S.50-51)

[Jens Winther Kristensen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ja. Den var godt nok god. Godt. Nok. God. Sjældent har jeg da brugt så lang tid på at fordøje så få, så kompakte sætninger. Min første Espedal, men bestemt ikke den sidste. Motivet er døden, men temaet er livet. Og mest den tunge side af det. Sårene. Smerten. Angsten for ens eget ukendte endeligt. Og altså smågenialt at lade hovedpersonen kaldes Jeg. Det giver de skønneste sætningen, som man hele tiden må stoppe op, vende om, og slubre i sig igen. Ja.

[Eric · Rating 4 out of 5]

I read this book and he liked it!

[David Svinth · Rating 4 out of 5]

Espedal skriver som ingen anden. Det er en stor fornøjelse at følge hans forfatterskab.

[Andreas Jacobsen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Jeg beslutter at begå selvmord om et år.
Hvad sker med en når man ved man kun har et år tilbage at leve i?

Det spørgsmål stiller Jeg (navnet på karakteren) i Tomas Espedals autofiktive 'Elsken'.
Og Jeg lever. Jeg lever et år med tvivl. Et år med glæde og med sorg, med minder og drømme.
Minder om forliste forhold og minder om at gå i hundene. Drømme om naturen og drømme om menneskelignende fugle. Jeg bliver forelsket i en 30 år yngre kvinde på en gåtur i Frankrig. Jeg indleder et forhold med den yngre kvinde i Paris. Jeg rejser til København og Oslo, besøger og besøger ikke bekendtskaber. Jeg rejser til Bergen, byen hvor Jeg er vokset op, og hvor Jeg skal dø.

Man kan mærke at denne fortælling ligger forfatteren nær. Jeg er utvivlsomt en udgave af Espedal selv [Espedal er fortsat i live], og karakterens følelser, angående selvmord, men i særdeleshed også angående kærlighed, begær og "at være forfatter", antages at være autentiske for Espedals egen karriere og kærlighedsliv. Jeg er en mand der nyder. Han nyder kvinder, han nyder at drikke og ryge, han nyder naturen. Han er den slags mand. Han er over 60 år, men lige så fuld af begær og nydelsestrang som altid. Han har ikke altid været en god mand. Han har ikke altid været en god mand overfor kvinder. Det er, alligevel, i forholdet til kvinderne at bogen er mest rørende.

Og så i en ærlig og sårbar sekvens der handler om Jeg der går i hundene efter et forlist forhold. Han er tæt på at drikke sig ihjel, og denne beskrivelse er både intim og smertefuld at læse, et stærkt indblik i den mentale tilstand på "den fortabte mand" der mister sin rationelle tilgang og kontrollen over sine handlinger.

Espedal skriver simpelt og godt, og Elsken er en kort men stærk indføring i hans ærlige og skarpe stil.

[Line Franzen · Rating 3 out of 5]

Jeg har kun givet 3 stjerner, og det er ikke fair. Den fortjener mere. Men jeg havde svært ved at være i læsningen. Det var for intenst. For nærværende. For stort.
Jeg blev suget med til et sted hvor jeg ikke havde lyst til at være. Et mørkt og dunkelt sted. Et sted hvor håbløshed og druk og ensomhed herskede, og som jeg var uforberedt på. Kun brudt af vilde køreturer i bil som tog mig med til overfladen efter nyt benzin.
Jeg overvejede at stoppe læsningen. Flere gange. Men følte mig fanget i læsningen. Ligesom Jeg er fanget i fortællingen. I sit liv.

Af og til fornemmer man at fortællingen blot er én fortælling ud af flere fortællinger der ligger i lag i tiden. Og at det beskrevne blot er en facet. Det gør det på en gang mere udholdeligt men også mere komplekst. For er Jeg så kompleks. Er vi mennesker?

Jeg er glad for at jeg læste bogen til ende. Glad for at jeg fik slutningen med.

[Ole M · Rating 4 out of 5]

Udødelig

[Lee Klein · Rating 4 out of 5]

Probably my favorite Espedal so far. The title in Norwegian is "Elsken," which is the surname of a photographer the narrator sees in a gallery with a woman with whom he's hiked for a week to Paris alongside rivers etc, the Dutch photographer Ed van der Elsken ("His imagery provides quotidian, intimate and autobiographic perspectives on the European zeitgeist spanning the period of the Second World War into the nineteen-seventies in the realms of love, sex, art, music, and alternative culture," per Wikipedia), and while in the middle of the exhibit they kiss for the first time. "Elske" means "love" in Norwegian, so there's a sort of word play, a double meaning in the title, which is almost misleading in that so much of the book is about death, about deciding to kill oneself and then because of that advancing expiration date seeing the world afresh, appreciating everything, allowing the author to describe the colors of flowers and the taste of wine or whatever. Clear prose, short sentences mostly, organic, natural, usually associative progression. The walk with Aka to Paris and the pages about drinking himself to death and about the death of his first wife are so vivid and well done, they jump off the page and everything achieves three-dimensionality and palpable emotionality. The narrator is called "I," but it's in third person, so the name creates a weird dissonance in sentences that shift between he and I and third-person instead conjugations. Feels real, ends well. A lovely 100-page hardback from Seagull.

[Anders Christensen · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Jeg leder efter et sted at dø" begynder Espedal sin utroligt velskrevede bog, hvor hver sætning nærmest er er kunstværk i sig selv. Hovedpersonen har i en alder af 55 år besluttet sig for at han vil dø om et år, og det skyldes ikke sygdom, men fordi han vil have en smuk død og opleve den følelse, der følger af at være bevidst om at gøre, se og sanse ting og oplevelser for den sidste gang.

[Lars B. · Rating 3 out of 5]

Fascinerende og kort historie om et menneske med en ufravigelig dødsdrift, som trods det lever et sidste år i sanselig henførthed. Det sidste suk er - måske - aldrig uden et stik af fortrydelse og det er bogens og eksistensens vibrerende fikspunkt.

[Alfa Vinterberg · Rating 4 out of 5]

Første norske bog

Syntes den var virkelig god og spændene

Ved kke om det var sproget, historien eller noget eksternt der gjorde at det tog mig 2 måneder at læse en bog på 90 sider, men der må være noget om det. Har også har travlt.

[Jane · Rating 3 out of 5]

3,5 *
Espedal er ikke på sit højeste, men det er stadig en fin roman. Hans sproglige eksperimenter og flere sætninger minder meget om Helle Helles stil.

[My Lothe · Rating 5 out of 5]

<3

[Heidi · Rating 5 out of 5]

Jeg elsker Elsken!

[Eirik Bergesen · Rating 2 out of 5]

Feil tidspkt for meg personlig å lese denne, men hvorfor forklares aldri hovedpersonens motivasjon for en så dramatisk handling?

[Bendik Grieg · Rating 4 out of 5]

Tidvis noe ujevn, men med enkelte partier som er lite annet enn mesterlige.

[Kristoffer Angelo · Rating 4 out of 5]

4/3

[Linda Gullov · Rating 5 out of 5]

Rigtig fin bog. Smukt sprog og underfundig fortælling.

[Ann Wiener · Rating 4 out of 5]

great. gotta stop reading books about ppl that want to die tho (for a little while)
I 🫶🏻 tomas espedal

[Buzz Fledderjohn · Rating 5 out of 5]

I never before cried from reading a book. But Against Nature and this made me weep like a child. Heartbreaking.

[yellowdog · Rating 5 out of 5]

Prosa wie Poesie

Der Roman ist überwiegend in der dritten Person erzählt, doch der Protagonist heißt Ich. Ab und zu fällt der Text auch ins Du.
Es ist eine Methode, um eine gewisse Distanz aufrecht zu erhalten, gleichteitig wird es sehr intensiv.

Streckenweis liest es sich auch wie ein Essay, aber es ist sehr literarisch, also eine Mischung, die beim Leser etwas aufbrechen kann. Dafür muss man sicher etwas konzentrieren, aber es lohnt sich.

Es wird von alltäglichen Dingen erzählt, aber auch von Lieben und dem Verlust des Gefühls und sehr viel über den Tod. Dem Sterben drängt Ich hin, doch gleichzeitig liebt er das Leben und alles was damit zusammenhängt.

Der Norweger Tomas Espedal ist ein interessanter Schriftsteller.
Die Übersetzung von Lieben erfolgte durch Hinrich Schmidt-Henkel.

[Jakob Tvede]

Skøn og desperat bog. Espedal skriver smukt og patetisk.