(On the principle that one shouldn’t review books one hasn’t read from cover to cover, I eventually deleted that post.) There I pronounced My Struggle an essentially conceptual artwork, meant to be contemplated as a phenomenon rather than read, and worried that Knausgaard’s willful and much-advertised abandonment of literary form implied that the necessary contrivances by which we live were merely disposable bits of ornament rather than load-bearing structures. As longtime readers know, I tried to read My Struggle when the first installments were published in America, did not succeed in clearing 100 pages, and wrote an impatient and aggrieved assessment of what I did read on this site in 2014. This will be neither a palinode nor a redrawing of the indictment. My Struggle: Book One by Karl Ove Knausgård
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