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A review by dj_hillier
The End by Karl Ove Knausgård
2.0
Despite thinking the first two books in this series to be masterpieces, I had long since fallen out of love with this series (I found book 3 and 4 to be fairly boring), but still thought it had merit, still thought that the ethical issues involved in this guy essentially using his entire family´s lives for content were outweighed by the merits of the series as a whole, by the merits of Karl Ove´s (usually) tight and focussed narratives which dealt with the poetry of the mundane, of the everyday minutiae and the typical concerns of self-centered young men, to which I and obviously many others could relate on some level.
Book six starts in this vein, focussing on his family life and the chaos living with three young children brings. It is funny, bright and breezy and I thought, even if book six is 1000 + pages long, if it´s all like this it won´t be too much of a slog. But then, towards the end of the first part, there comes a 75 page-odd "essay" on the nature of "the I, the we, the they" which sounds like it has been written by an undergraduate who forgot about their impending deadline and had to bash out a load of waffly, abstract bollocks in order to meet his word count; a section that is so far removed from the everyday realities about which Karl Ove writes so well, that you think "why? Why is he doing this?"
The answer is because he is a massive narcissist. Anyone who gets as far as book six knows this anyway, but the ugly side of Karl Ove´s narcissism really comes out in this book. By the time he was writing book six, he had already achieved fame for the first few books, and the acclaim had obviously gone to his head. That´s the only reason he could think anyone would give a shit about his musings on society, about his pseudo-philosophical waffle, about his intellectual pretentions, about his close reading (line by fucking line) of a Celan poem which a fraction of his readers would have ever read, about his 500 page essay on Hitler.
He obviously thought he must have accumulated an endless reserve of good-will on behalf of his readership that he could afford to be so ridiculously self-indulgent. This is sheer arrogance and cannot be forgiven. Neither can the "editor" of this book. Part 8 did not need to exist and has arguably ruined the whole series.
I haven´t even mentioned his portrayal of his wife Linda in this book. In brief, he uses his wife´s bi-polar condition for content, and goes as far to imply that she is neglectful of her children, not to mention generally lazy and irrational. Not surprised they are divorced now.
In short, WTF, Karl?? You had me as a fan. I recommended your stuff to countless people, but by the end of this book I felt like I was trapped in a basement listening to the ramblings of a slightly sociopathic relative. Now I´m free. And I never want to hear your voice again.
Book six starts in this vein, focussing on his family life and the chaos living with three young children brings. It is funny, bright and breezy and I thought, even if book six is 1000 + pages long, if it´s all like this it won´t be too much of a slog. But then, towards the end of the first part, there comes a 75 page-odd "essay" on the nature of "the I, the we, the they" which sounds like it has been written by an undergraduate who forgot about their impending deadline and had to bash out a load of waffly, abstract bollocks in order to meet his word count; a section that is so far removed from the everyday realities about which Karl Ove writes so well, that you think "why? Why is he doing this?"
The answer is because he is a massive narcissist. Anyone who gets as far as book six knows this anyway, but the ugly side of Karl Ove´s narcissism really comes out in this book. By the time he was writing book six, he had already achieved fame for the first few books, and the acclaim had obviously gone to his head. That´s the only reason he could think anyone would give a shit about his musings on society, about his pseudo-philosophical waffle, about his intellectual pretentions, about his close reading (line by fucking line) of a Celan poem which a fraction of his readers would have ever read, about his 500 page essay on Hitler.
He obviously thought he must have accumulated an endless reserve of good-will on behalf of his readership that he could afford to be so ridiculously self-indulgent. This is sheer arrogance and cannot be forgiven. Neither can the "editor" of this book. Part 8 did not need to exist and has arguably ruined the whole series.
I haven´t even mentioned his portrayal of his wife Linda in this book. In brief, he uses his wife´s bi-polar condition for content, and goes as far to imply that she is neglectful of her children, not to mention generally lazy and irrational. Not surprised they are divorced now.
In short, WTF, Karl?? You had me as a fan. I recommended your stuff to countless people, but by the end of this book I felt like I was trapped in a basement listening to the ramblings of a slightly sociopathic relative. Now I´m free. And I never want to hear your voice again.