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Min kamp 3 by Karl Ove Knausgård
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Min kamp 3 (original 2009; edition 2012)

by Karl Ove Knausgård

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4261824,790 (4.02)33
Member:westing
Title:Min kamp 3
Authors:Karl Ove Knausgård
Info:Pocketförlaget, 2012
Collections:Your library
Rating:***
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My Struggle: Book Three: Boyhood Island by Karl Ove Knausgård (2009)

  1. 10
    I Refuse by Per Petterson (rrmmff2000)
    rrmmff2000: Utterly different in style, but both highly evocative accounts of the struggle towards adulthood in semi-rural Norway
  2. 00
    Black Swan Green by David Mitchell (petterw, julienne_preacher)
    petterw: En annen glitrende oppvekstroman
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» See also 33 mentions

English (11)  Norwegian (Bokmål) (1)  Norwegian (1)  Swedish (1)  Spanish (1)  Catalan (1)  German (1)  Dutch (1)  All (18)
Showing 1-5 of 11 (next | show all)
Another winner by Mr. Knausgaard. Like with Books 1 and 2, I found myself continually wondering why I was so hooked reading about the mundane ins and outs of a regular person's life (in this book, his childhood years), and the only answer I can come up with is that he tells it with such clarity and insight you are totally propelled into the story, to the extent where you feel the emotions of being that child.

This was an uncomfortable read in places - as a child he had a total abject fear of his father, and seemed to exist in a permanent state of heightened anxiety waiting for him to receive his wrath.

I had to remind myself at times that this is not an autobiography in its purest sense - no one has this level of detail about their childhood, and clearly there are more gaps filled in with fictional accounts than real memories. But still - to achieve this sense of reality of being back in his own head as a child is nothing short of astounding.

Probably not my favourite of the 3 books I've read so far, but a winner nonetheless.

4 stars - can this man do no writing wrong? ( )
  AlisonY | Feb 10, 2017 |
Opgegeven na een kwart, bij de zoveelste passage waarin de ik-figuur als jongetje over een pad rent met kiezels langs een beekje en een weiland met links naaldbomen en in de verte een heuvel terwijl de lucht strakblauw is terwijl er toch een zacht briesje waait zodat het niet zo warm is dat je gaat zweten, enz enz.
Het is een lange innerlijke monoloog zonder afwisseling in ritme, zonder nadruk op specifieke passages. Spanningsloos. Het maakt op mij de indruk van een dmv een webcam op het hoofd van de jongen geplaatste camera die alles zonder filter, censuur, bewerking doorgeeft. Wil ik al die details echt lezen? Voegt het iets wezenlijks toe aan het, in deze zee van woorden verzuipende verhaal? Voor mij niet.
De vertelstijl en het taalgebruik zijn daarbij simpel, misschien met opzet omdat het de gedachten van de jongen zijn.
Ik heb het niet met Knausgard. ( )
  stef7sa | Jan 5, 2017 |
Not as fantastic as the first two in this series– but still wonderful. ( )
  KatrinkaV | Aug 9, 2016 |
For once, I think the blurb on the back gets it right. This a great book about being a boy. Many of the themes are also there is Petterson's books, and others, and I'm wondering why all this retrospctive introspectiveness seems to be the thing of the moment. At least there is at least an acknowledgement that being male doesnt equate to repressed emotions, though Kanusgaard's character's father makes it clear why we would. I haven't finished it yet, but I'll get back to this. ( )
  Mijk | Apr 22, 2016 |
It may seem strange to start with Book 3 of an autobiographical series but it didn't seem a problem as this volume apparently goes back in time from his previous ones and covers the time from his early childhood to his adolescence.
I'm still trying to figure out why I enjoyed it so much. My normal reaction would be to complain about a 500 page book about a fairly mundane middle class childhood in a not very interesting part of provincial Norway in which very little of note happens and which is overloaded with minute, often irrelevant detail and unnecessary descriptive passages. And yet, I found it quite compelling. Some of the reasons I really liked it are:
- It reminded me of my own childhood in a way that no previous evocation of childhood has done. The excitement of discovering new things. The meandering purposeless boredom. The frequent examples of self-consciousness and embarrassment. The discovery of the opposite sex and the desperate need to be liked by them.
- Central to the narrative is Karl Ove's relationship with, and fear of, his tyrannical father. However, although this fear is always present, it doesn't dominate the narrative and therefore is far more powerful and shocking when it is suddenly fore grounded. He could easily have shortened the book by concentrating on his father and turning into yet another 'misery memoir' but instead I felt that, by the end of the book, I had a far more complete picture, not just of Knausgard's childhood, but of childhood experience in general.
- It is a terrific evocation of the 1970s (particularly the music) and if you grew up then (I didn't), I'm sure you will identify with it.
- It recalls a time, now long gone, in which childhood was largely about an outdoor life (playing out with friends) whether it was in rural surroundings or on busy city streets. ( )
  stephengoldenberg | Apr 6, 2016 |
Showing 1-5 of 11 (next | show all)
We might wonder why, right now, we as readers are able to see Knausgaard pretty well. If “My Struggle” — which is arguably most engrossing when it describes the care of children in what feels like minute-to-minute detail — were written from the point of view of a woman, would it be the literary sensation it is? I don’t think it would be. But this points to blindnesses outside the book, not in it. That cultural norms are obtuse about men and women in such different ways is an essential part of Knausgaard’s predicament; he changes diapers, he cooks dinner, he is said to be pretty good-looking, he doesn’t talk about sex all that much — he often feels perceived as too feminine. This runs deep. One of his very few childhood memories of his mother involves her buying him a swim cap with flowers on it, and one of the most hilarious moments in the novel so far comes at a party when Knausgaard realizes no one expects him to be the guy to break down the door behind which his own pregnant wife is trapped. The female mirror of “My Struggle” would arguably not be a woman’s detailed domestic diary — we are all too comfortable seeing that situation as wholly normal, and therefore not seeing it at all — but instead a kind of virago story. Perhaps the vardoger that preceded “My Struggle” is that work by another Norwegian great, Henrik Ibsen — “A Doll’s House.”
 
This is not boring in the way bad narrative is boring; it is boring in the way life is boring, and somehow, almost perversely, that is a surprising thing to see on the page. My Struggle (a slippery, self-ironising title) is composed of small incidents, some described at great length – 50 pages at a children's party, more about a teenage plan to hide some cans of beer one New Year's Eve. There are sections about more traumatic or intimate events – the harrowing job of cleaning up after his father's death, a drunken episode of self-cutting after a sexual rejection at a young writers' residential course – but Knausgaard appears to have shaped his narrative according to the "sly and artful" dictates of his memory. One has the sense that many significant things have been omitted, while seemingly insignificant things are being given undue or unlikely weight. In the first two volumes the narrative hops about between times and places, incorporating digressions about art and writing and the nature of remembering. The third is a more conventionally linear childhood memoir. What there isn't is a plot. The various events are allowed to take their own shape, without being forced into a conventional mould.
. . .
The experience of reading My Struggle is that of the world seeming to step forward from the world. It is not the world mirrored or photocopied; its relationship to reality is less direct, less innocent. The book is the record of someone trying and failing (failing better, as Beckett has it) to make an accurate representation of himself; the gap between the world and that representation, between the world and itself, is the space where all sorts of questions about truth and personal identity arise.
added by aileverte | editThe Guardian, Hari Kunzru (Mar 7, 2014)
 

» Add other authors (7 possible)

Author nameRoleType of authorWork?Status
Knausgård, Karl Oveprimary authorall editionsconfirmed
Bartlett, DonTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Huttunen, KatriinaTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Stevens, PaulaTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
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Op een zachte, bewolkte dag in augustus 1969 reed een bus over een smalle weg op een eiland in Zuid-Noorwegen, tussen weilanden en rotsen, grasvelden en bosjes door, over lage heuvels en door krappe bochten, soms met bomen aan weerszijden, als een tunnel, soms vlak langs de zee.
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"A family of four--mother, father and two boys--move to the South Coast of Norway to a new house on a newly developed site. It is the early 1970s and the family's trajectory, upwardly mobile: the future seems limitless. In painstaking, sometimes self-lacerating detail, Knausgaard paints a world familiar to anyone who can recall the intensity and novelty of childhood experience, one in which children and adults lead parallel lives that never meet. Perhaps the most Proustian in the series, Book Three gives us Knausgaard's vivid, technicolor recollections of childhood, his emerging self-understanding, and the multilayered nature of time's passing, memory, and existence."--Amazon.com… (more)

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