Min Kamp 1 - Part 2 and Book as a Whole (May 2016)

[Whitney]

In part 2, things take a major change from the "typical but maybe some things are not quite right" childhood of Karl Ove into a darker place of abuse and hoarding. Your stalwart moderator is still catching up, but for those who have finished here's the place to get things going!

As one item for discussion, how do you think the two parts relate to each other? Do you think K deliberately toned things down in the first part, and if so, why?

[Hugh]

Thanks Whitney. Like part 1, part 2 opens with an introductory section that is out of character with the rest. This helped me understand Knausgaard's own motivations and had some interesting observations on the writing process and literary form.

A few pages on we are abruptly pitched into the chaos that results from the death of Knausgaard's father. I found the descriptions of the chaos left behind by the alcoholic father in his elderly mother's house gripping and horrific, and so far the tone of the second half has been much darker. Had the book started with this, it would have been very powerful but would probably have alienated potential readers, so for me the contrast between books one and two worked quite well.

I'm sure Knausgaard thought quite a lot about what to say and when about the father. Both sections are mostly focused on just a few days each, with digressions to put the events in context and explain their significance - a whole life described in such detail would run to many more than 6 volumes.

I am quite close to finishing the book, but I suspect it will linger in the mind - uncomfortable in places but often startlingly perceptive.

[Hugh]

Just finished the book, and I don't think the last 50 pages changed my perception of it much except that the end of this part felt a little anticlimactic. I'm genuinely uncertain how I feel about it - perhaps I will wait, reflect and see what others say before saying more.

[Hugh]

I'm still uncertain - in some senses the book was very gripping and powerful, but it does leave unresolved questions about what Knausgaard is trying to say and why, and the overwhelming feeling on finishing the book was one of relief at escaping its claustrophobic atmosphere. When I said that the second half ends in anticlimax, what I meant was that it seemed to be building towards the father's funeral but we never got there (maybe that comes into one of the later books, or maybe Knausgaard didn't want to talk about it)...

[Sandra]

Yes, his story is just beginning. I haven't continued with the series yet, so I can't comment on what information they contain. We've only got a small part of the whole right now. It is weird that this seemingly "normal" life could make a compelling read. What is it about us that strives to make a connection? Is it some kind of voyuristic impulse? Or a need to feel superior or at least same-same? Do we see Karl Ove, warts and all and see ourselves?

I think, in a way, the funeral itself is besides the point. It was the revelation of how far the father had fallen that was the shocker. Was there an inherent selfishness that blinded the sons to how bad off the father became? Why did they emotionally abandon each other?

[Hugh]

I agree that the revelation of how far the father had fallen was very powerful, but it takes so long to describe that I was a little disappointed how little was resolved.

[Brandon]

I finished Book 1-3 last summer. I think much of the magic of Knausgaard is his capture of the visuals of a moment. The intro of book 1 completely hooked me.. Cleaning the dad's house was also a visceral, at times disturbing experience to be taken through, but it was something that Knausgaard completely drew me into. Also, I don't have to have tremendous plot movement. I love the richness found in the mundane- elevating the everyday. Book 3 also does this beautifully. After hearing My Struggle being often compared to Proust I started Swann's Way. This is also amazing at times, but it is taking me longer!

[Sandra]

Yes I've heard that comparison made but not having read any Proust I didn't know how realistic it was.

[Whitney]

I was going to ask people what they thought of the comparison. To me it seems very superficial.

[Hugh]

I have to admit Proust has not yet found its way onto my bookshelf and may have to wait until I'm retired, but Knausgaard himself mentioned Proust in this book, so must have thought about the comparison.

[Hugh]

Brandon, interesting that you described it as "the dad's house" - for me it was very much the grandparents' house that the dad had destroyed. Almost used the word visceral myself so I agree with that

[Whitney]

Sandra wrote: "I think, in a way, the funeral itself is besides the point. It was the revelation of how far the father had fallen that was the shocker. Was there an inherent selfishness that blinded the sons to how bad off the father became? Why did they emotionally abandon each other?"

Do you think they abandoned each other, or did they never really connect? I' thinking of the scenes where Karl Ove describes how his father would drag him out on fishing trips, and how in retrospect he realized this was his father's attempt to bond with him. But even then, his father's impatience and temper turn these trips into more of a chore for Karl Ove.

While Knausgaard is definitely opening up more in the second section, it still seems to me he's not really attempting to get below the surface of many of his feelings. He cries. A lot. Obviously, as humans we can all understand the complexity inherent in a relationship between a son and a distant / abusive father, but the self-examination on the part of Knausgaard is largely absent.

[Whitney]

Here are a couple quotes from the book where Knausgaard talks about the act of writing:

"Writing is drawing the essence of what we know out of the shadows. That is what writing is about. Not what happens there, not what actions are played out there, but the there itself. There, that is writing’s location and aim. But how to get there?" And:

"For several years I had tried to write about my father, but had gotten nowhere, probably because the subject was too close to my life, and thus not so easy to force into another form, which of course is a prerequisite for literature. That is its sole law: everything has to submit to form. If any of literature’s other elements are stronger than form, such as style, plot, theme, if any of these overtake form, the result suffers."

What do you think K means by 'form'? Is this autobiographical novel what he finally found to be the proper form for writing about his father? And do you think he succeeds in 'drawing the essence out of the shadows'?

[Marc]

Sandra's point questioning abandonment sparked my interest above... I think Knausgaard's presentation of their family life is so well understated that you wouldn't recognize the level of dysfunction unless you yourself were familiar with it. You get a window into it when he displays the squalor left behind by the father but I see the sons as having distanced themselves as merely a matter of survival. You think to yourself, "How could anyone let their family or a loved one go on like that?" But there's only so much you can do and only so many times you can attempt to help someone who does not want the help and/or hurts you in the process. I'll be curious just how intimately the rest of the series reveals that history because the reader has largely been held at a distance from these things.

Perhaps the draw of all this--at least for me--is that we are coming to know Karl as he is coming to know himself... ?

I'm not really sure what he means by the "form" of literature, Whitney. Beyond prose narrative, what form does this adhere to? I need to go back and read the various interviews and links and think more about what the differences are between an autobiography and an autobiographical novel.

[Marc]

I was just now skimming some of the notes I made and page I dog-eared and thought: This book moves from contemplating death in the abstract and seeking a father's solace (when young Karl Ove thinks he sees a face in the ocean on the TV) to facing death in reality and the father as its physical presence/source.

I can't help wondering why the emotions were handled as they were; i.e., Karl Ove cries, but so many times we're just told he's overwhelmed and not what he's feeling. Is the explanation as simple as he just doesn't know or understand what he's feeling?

Two passages struck me as he prepares to fly home after hearing of his father's death. As he's about to board, he scoffs at the tiny wheels on the luggage accusing them of being both "not worthy of a man" and because they "suggested easy options, shortcuts, savings... Why should you live in a world without feeling its weight? Were we just images? And what were we actually saving energy for with these energy-saving devices?" Then, once he's on the plane, he begins to cry and seems upset at how "idiotic", "sentimental", and "stupid" his crying is. These struck me as almost diametrically opposed. It's like he wants to feel the physical weight of the world but not the emotional weight. He scoffs at our attempts at efficiency (wheeled luggage and energy-saving) and yet he wants himself to be without useless or inefficient reactions. How did others react to this?

[Whitney]

Marc wrote: " These struck me as almost diametrically opposed. It's like he wants to feel the physical weight of the world but not the emotional weight. He scoffs at our attempts at efficiency (wheeled luggage and energy-saving) and yet he wants himself to be without useless or inefficient reactions. How did other react to this? ..."

Great observation. I highlighted the section about him scoffing at the wheeled luggage as well, although I wasn't sure why it struck me as particular meaningful at the time (except that when I was young I had similar feelings about wheeled luggage as somehow being a 'cheat'). I think your comparison between the emotional weight and the physical weight of the world is spot on. Maybe made even more weighty when someone is Scandinavian...

I need to go back and read the various interviews and links and think more about what the differences are between an autobiography and an autobiographical novel.

I think the way you were looking at the luggage versus his emotional state highlights how this may be more of a novel than an autobiography. It's not so much the form as such, but how we are expected to react to the narrative that defines the difference. In an autobiography (or memoir), events are what they are. If we analyze them, it's in terms of how the may have influenced the person or led to subsequent events. In a novel we ask instead, or in addition, what a particular event represents on a more symbolic level.

[Marc]

Humorously enough, I sort of feel the same way he does about wheeled luggage, although the efficiency of it doesn't bother me in the least. In reading through some of the interviews Whitney linked to, I also wondered if a good part of calling this fiction wasn't to soften the blow (emotionally and legally) to those who found themselves included in this grand project. I almost never read autobiography or memoir so it's hard for me to make the comparison, but the notion of shaping how the reader is expected to respond differently to the narrative by how it's classified is a most fascinating one, Whitney. It also seems like most autobiographies sort of tell you the story of one's life, whereas Knausgaard seems to be elevating his life as a struggle with universals (death, shame, etc.) while treating the mundane as just as worthy of "literature" (or maybe just an integral part of living that shouldn't be separated from literature).

For those who read a fair amount of highly-regarded autobiography/memoir, does this book read vastly different when compared? To me, it feels less structured or directed (by which I mean having a direct chronological narrative or defined destination).

[Hugh]

It is an interesting question, but anybody who writes memoir or autobiography has to be selective and is bound to hide things, deliberately or just because they see them as irrelevant or uninteresting. And by no means everything that appears in memoir is true! Like Marc, I don't read many, but I can think of a few. Of course if Knausgaard had classified it as non-fiction, we wouldn't be discussing it here!

[Lauren]

I got about 80% of the way through this but not sure if I want to finish it. Like Whitney said, I thought the comparison to Proust was a little superficial. They both use long sentences and have published a huge work of autobiographical fiction.

I did find the relationships between Karl and his brother and father interesting and I enjoyed some of the insights relating to death and grieving. Especially his transition from shock to realization on the plane. Although couldn't help but giggle as his described what he imagined the woman next to him was thinking.

[Marc]

Every time I read an interview or article about this book/series, I feel like it's classified slightly different each time. Still seems like Knausgaard mostly dodges the question of why he chose the same title as Hitler did...

I've started Book 2 in the series and continue to be compelled by the way Knausgaard oscillates between dispassionate observation and philosophical musings/questions.

[LindaJ^]

Well I finished it. I won't be reading more. He's a bit too self obsessed for me.

[Brandon]

I would like anyone to expand on why they feel the comparison to Proust is superficial. I don't believe it to be. Yes they are both autobiographies with some fictional aspects, but I think there is a more profound connection.

I have only read the first 200 pages of Swan's Way so of course my opinion isn't fully informed, but the connections in just that short amount are obvious.

For example, when Proust describes his going to bed and eagerly needing his Mom's goodnight kiss he fears his dad's reaction. Both dads are an intimidating presence, at least to the kids. Both young kids are overwhelmed about their parents possible reactions.

Also, just the pure use of language- the visual descriptions throughout are "word paintings" not just long sentences. Much of both stories involve descriptions that display the authors love of describing a moment. The fascination with the fleeting aesthetic of any particular place in time.

Consider the fluidity/or lack of animation within solid, objects. Proust describes the room that surrounds him as floating around until he awakes. All the furniture settles into place. Compare this to the scene in Knausgaard's Book 1 where he finds himself at the morgue and the objects surrounding them become one with the father.

The progressions of both works are slight actions with massive amounts of visual descriptions. The actions don't always seem crucial, they sometimes seem as slow vehicles to get us to another place to be described.

[Whitney]

Brandon wrote: "I would like anyone to expand on why they feel the comparison to Proust is superficial. I don't believe it to be. Yes they are both autobiographies with some fictional aspects, but I think there is..."

The following reply has turned into a bit of a dissertation, I'm afraid. But if you have to get lengthy and overblown, I'd say a discussion of Proust and Knausgaard is the place to do it

After finishing Min Kamp, and reconsidering while writing this reply, I think you’re correct that there are some valid comparisons to Proust, and I suspect in the later volumes there may be more. Although in comparing the two I also think it’s useful to keep in mind that in looking at two books with several thousand pages, there are inevitably going to be some similarities. I’m no expert on Proust, but I have read all of In Search of Lost Time as well as some analysis, although it’s been awhile.

What I initially saw as the most superficial similarity is that they are both extremely long pseudo-memoirs. On a slightly deeper level, here is what I see as the main differences and similarities.

- Karl Ove is very much intended as a non-fictionalized Knausgaard, and the events are as they happened, or at least are intended that way. “Marcel” is a freely fictionalized stand-in for Proust (I believe he is only mentioned by name twice in the entire series, and then only by first name). As one critic put it, the character of Marcel is a “faux-naif” version of the author, with an imposed innocence that lets him see events and people with an astonishment and sense of discovery that would be lacking in a more savvy narrator. While Knausgaard hasn’t fictionalized himself, he still writes from the prospective of his naïve younger self, which achieves a similar effect.

-While reading translations make it difficult to compare styles, Proust’s writing is generally much more ornate, he seems to be savoring moments while Knausgaard seems to be interrogating them. Knausgaard’s writing doesn’t share the subtlety or ornateness of Proust’s, and certainly not the more delicate euphemisms. Although the two scenes you picked out could definitely be said to fall on the more ornate / poetic side of things.

-Knausgaard is writing to examine himself and his own feelings about his father’s death. Proust is writing to explore the characters and milieu around him, and to explore his own consciousness with the more abstract goal of capturing the intersection of memory and time to break down barriers between past and present (or something like that). There are certainly a few passages in Min Kamp where this distinction breaks down and Knausgaard also seems to be exploring the intersections of time and memory, although maybe less willingly than Proust.

One of those moments is when Karl Ove sees a pattern in the wood grain in his office, and he is drawn back to his childhood by its reminder of the face he saw in the ocean. (I’m wondering if the face in the ocean will make a reappearance in later books, Knausgaard’s version of Proust’s Madeleine.) Here is the passage; spoiler tagged for length.
(view spoiler)[
“I had seen a similar image on the water in a news item about a missing fishing vessel. In the second it took to fill the pot, I saw our living room before me, the teak television cabinet, the shimmer of isolated snowflakes against the darkening hillside outside the window, the sea on the screen, the face that appeared in it. With the images came the atmosphere from that time, of spring, of the housing estate, of the seventies, of family life as it was then. And with the atmosphere, an almost uncontrollable longing.” (hide spoiler)]

At another point Knausgaard discusses how he had previously engaged in Proustian reveries about the connectedness of people, places and memory, but then ends by an almost belligerent rejection thereof: “For nostalgia is not only shameless, it is also treacherous. What does anyone in their twenties really get out of a longing for their childhood years? For their own youth? It’s like an illness.” Full quote, again spoiler tagged for space.
(view spoiler)[
Until I moved to Stockholm I had felt there was a continuity to my life, as if it stretched unbroken from childhood up to the present, held together by new connections, in a complex and ingenious pattern in which every phenomenon I saw was capable of evoking a memory which unleashed small landslides of feeling in me, some with a known source, others without. The people I encountered came from towns I had been to, they knew other people I had met, it was a network, and it was a tight mesh. But when I moved to Stockholm this flaring up of memories became rarer and rarer, and one day it ceased altogether. That is, I could still remember; what happened was that the memories no longer stirred anything in me. No longing, no wish to return, nothing. Just the memory, and a barely perceptible hint of an aversion to anything that was connected with it.
This thought made me open my eyes. I lay quite still looking at the rice lamp hanging like a miniature moon from the ceiling in the darkness above the bedstead. This really was not anything to regret. For nostalgia is not only shameless, it is also treacherous. What does anyone in their twenties really get out of a longing for their childhood years? For their own youth? It’s like an illness. (hide spoiler)]

This seems like perhaps a “protest too much” kind of statement from Knausgaard, which is one of the things leading me to suspect the future volumes might lean more in that direction.

[Hugh]

Thanks for that Whitney - fascinating stuff. It's been an interesting discussion.

[Lauren]

I think the reason I found them to be different was way they interpreted and wrote about events. I think that Proust really gets to the heart of a lot of human experience- he interprets things very deeply and poetically, with so much accuracy and rigor. Knausgaard seems to describe events like you're watching them on television, and he explains the explicit feelings he has about situations, but doesn't go much deeper than that when being compared to Proust.

[LindaJ^]

I've read no Proust, so have nothing to say on that question! I did manage to finish but did quite a bit of skimming. I was not impressed by the writing, especially the run on sentences.