Autumn

I was still in the middle of something and always will be.

A very moving letter to his soon-to-be-born daughter, then a few short essays about daily scenes and objets. I found some sentences very poetic and well written, but was soon brought back to what this book really is: stories of driving through dozens of frogs, killing a colony of wasps, peeing in his pants when he was a teen, or how many times he peed since he was born. I stopped reading after 27% of the book, especially knowing that he will soon move on to the art of vomiting or how to hide your chewing gum in your hand in public places...

You know how a camera can zoom in on a small object or a faraway object and you can see everything about the object? That's what Karl Ove Knausgaard does. He chooses objects—-randomly, it seems—-and closes in on them—-wasps, chewing gum, the sun, porpoises—-and just looks at them. And looks. And looks. And you suddenly see the object and it seems like something you have just seen for the first time.

Now I can't wait to read Winter.