It’s a Book About Nothing. And Everything.

friend of mine was visiting from Detroit.  While we enjoyed the beautiful California weather, the subject of books arose.  After comparing notes on the fantastic things we had recently read and talked about current reads, the Other Brian suggested that we choose something to read together.

I selected Karl Ove Knausgaard’s memoir.  Well, the first volume of this massive tome, My Struggle: Book 1.  Literary circles have certainly been buzzing about this book, literary experiment, literary revolution, tedious rambling, or whatever it is.  It was on my list of books to check out, but it wasn’t at the top of the list.

A few podcasts mentioned the book last week.  It came back to my attention.  So I grabbed the Kindle sample and read it.  Proust.  The word kept floating across my consciousness as I read the sample.  This feels like Proust.  Perhaps a bit sharper.  I couldn’t put it down.  I wanted more.  In my brief reading sessions yesterday, I must have highlighted five or six passages.

It’s still early.  The book could fizzle out, veer off in a different direction.  But, if the current trajectory holds, it’s going to be a great read.  I’m sure I’ll post more on this later.