This is the second book in a series called My Struggle; it’s about the life of a Norwegian writer. Knausgaard’s narrator, a person very much like himself, tells us about his everyday life in great detail. It’s mesmeric and brilliant. People think he’s a new Proust, or Robert Musil. It’s deeply personal and specific. He writes about things that are ordinary, such as taking his kids to a party, in such a way as to make them seem epic. He can make a drama out of not having an argument with his wife about the washing up. Perhaps the best book I’ve read this year.
