The Evenings

'De avonden' van Gerard Reve is misschien mijn favoriete Nederlandstalige boek tot nu toe. Reve maakt van de nietsheid van alledag 'iets': een verhaal dat kwelt, bedrukt en het leven in zijn afgrijselijke naaktheid toont. Waar Mulisch moet grijpen naar intellectualistische foefjes en een eindeloze stoet van feitjes, en waar Hermans een vervreemdende setting ('nooit meer slapen') nodig heeft, bereikt Reve genialiteit zonder de huiskamer te hoeven verlaten. Het werkelijk geniale aan 'de Avonden' zijn namelijk de avonden uit de titel zelf. De eindeloze avonden met de ouders, die zonder dromen leven en de banaliteit van het bestaan omarmen. Frits van Egters, een jongen met genoeg verstand om zich te realiseren dat zijn leven mislukt is, show more maar met te weinig verstand om er wat van te maken, is de tragische hoofdpersoon in dit verhaal. Hij kijkt, als een spion in een donkere kamer, naar het leven dat zich voor zijn ogen voltrekt. Er zit geen plot in dit boek, geen ontwikkeling, en juist daardoor heeft het die benauwende werking. Het toont de horror van saaiheid en de wanhopige poging van de mens het bestaan betekenis te geven.

Het verhaal van Reve staat uiteraard voor meer dan wat we lezen. Het is niet alleen het verhaal van een jongen die niets meemaakt: het is het verhaal van het leven dat nergens toe leidt. Reve gebruikt slechts schaars symboliek en het meest krachtige symbool wordt misschien wel weggelaten. Wat wil Frits in de laatste scéne zeggen? Was er toch nog niets van wezenlijk belang in zijn leven, dat wij niet te weten krijgen? Lees voor een waardevolle interpretatie verder op deze site: http://home.hccnet.nl/goed.gesprek/AlleenMensenZingen.htm. show less

Several friends advised me against reading this book: I think it has become one of those established classics that people take against because they were forced to read it at school. It's also rather a shock if you're expecting the linguistic, sexual and religious exuberance of late Reve: this is a far more sober, restrained affair. As I read it, the most striking comparisons that came into my mind were with the English "angry young men" of the fifties. Of course, it also ties in with all the obvious classics of frustrated youth (L'étranger, Steppenwolf, etc.), but there are a lot of elements - the descriptions of claustrophobic, purposeless, provincial lower middle-class life; the sense of wasting time; the fear and disgust associated show more with the process of ageing (and especially, of becoming like ones parents) and the undirected anger - that fit very nicely with what Osborne, Amis, Wain, Sillitoe and the rest would be doing ten years or so later.

In the context of post-war Dutch literature, of course it matters that Reve was talking about typically Dutch situations and sets his novel in a thinly-disguised version of Amsterdam. It also clearly matters enormously that the recent war and the German occupation are mentioned only fleetingly. Reve is making a statement about his own generation and their relation to Dutch history. With hindsight, we can also see that it's a novel by a gay author that only talks about sexuality very obliquely and indirectly. All of that is important, but I think what is most striking is the painful realism of the way Reve describes the banal interactions of everyday life. Frits's pointless and often unfinished conversations with his parents, the endless turning on and off of the radio, the family meals: those are the things that stick in my mind. show less

To me this is a comic novel pure and simple, mildly amusing and in one passage rather funny. After reading it I looked at the blurb and online reviews and was surprised to see it described as bleak, oppressive and despairing, with more than one reference to Camus and Kafka. Frits is more Mr Pooter than Mersault, more Švejk than Josef K: neither his inner nor everyday life are anything but mundane and he seems like Švejk a bit simple, though as with him there's the suggestion of shrewdness belying that impression.

I read The Evenings in four or five sittings and tjhink it might be better read in bits rather than at one go; otherwise each chapter will seem too similar to every other chapter and as well the humour might not stand out so show more clearly.. show less

This one is an acknowledged classic of Dutch literature, and it's easy to see why. Reve follows a particular style to its most extreme: he removes himself entirely from the picture, so that absolutely every glimpse we get of the story is through the eyes of his protagonist, Fritz van Egters. It's a form of hugely constrained storytelling, and he carries it off to perfection.

(I was primed, it must be said, by my recent reading: Hal Duncan's Vellum has passages I've heard described as spoken-word poetry, and The Princess Bride has both a frame-story narrator who frequently intrudes with explicit commentary, and a second-level narrator cracking jokes at every turn. At first I was even turned off by the simplicity of Reve's style, but it show more grew on me as I realised how much substance was being conveyed, and how subtly.)

The story apparently captures the atmosphere of the Netherlands post-WWII, in particular the generation who were children and adolescents during the war (Fritz is in his mid-twenties at time of the story, and was I guess 17 or 18 when the war ended). I can't speak for the faithfulness of the description, but certainly the whole novel is focused on conveying a particular atmosphere; it's one that I recognise, and the thought that it might reasonably be a defining feature for a generation is enough to explain the respect accorded this novel.

I won't try too hard to define the tone that Reve strikes, since I'll certainly do it a disservice. It's a winter story (De Avonden: een winterverhaal) of empty evenings, whether spent at home alone or with his parents, or out with friends; the conversation circles the same tired topics and nothing true or meaningful is ever said; they spend a lot of time in silence, carefully not replying to some provocation. Each evening begins optimistically, then gradually Fritz decides it's hopeless (perhaps he drops in on a friend who isn't at home, perhaps his parents are arguing in the kitchen, or he's disappointed with the film he sees) and eventually the chapter ends with his troubled dreams.

Part of the genius is, we're given glimpses of real depth and meaning, but somehow or other the characters never quite reach out and touch them. The reader is left furious with Fritz for not following up the threads we're curious about, and at the same time feeling terribly sorry for him because it seems that he simply isn't capable of seeing them himself.

If it's not clear already: this is not a cheerful novel. It's as anguished as Steppenwolf (another recent read) but the style of narration forces the reader to take the anguish seriously -- with Steppenwolf I wanted more self-deprecating humour, with De Avonden I wanted please anything to break through the twilight.

I'll read it again, but not too soon I think. I'm on a light-reading regime, for emotional recovery. That's intended as praise, and high praise at that. show less

This is a very well written book with a very unlikable main character. The 2 star rating reflects my utter revulsion of the main character and lack of reading enjoyment rather than the book, author, or writing itself.

The Evenings caught my eye because it was described as the great postwar Dutch classic, following a young man on his meanderings through the night-time streets of Amsterdam. As some of you may remember, I spent some time working out of Amsterdam a couple of years ago, and grew rather fond of the city’s laid-back spirit, so I thought I’d give the book a go. The result – and I beg my Dutch friends to forgive me – is bemusement. It turns out that one man’s classic is another man’s bafflement, and perhaps the translation is to blame, for I found little to enjoy in this unremittingly bleak tale of youthful stagnation...

For these rest of the review, please see my blog:
https://theidlewoman.net/2016/12/06/the-evenings-gerard-reve/

Eigenlijk ben ik nog niet klaar, maar gestrand ergens tegen pagina honderd. Ik weet niet wat ik van dit boek moet zeggen. Het is in ieder geval ongelooflijk saai, zo ongelooflijk saai dat dat ook weer zijn kracht wordt (en zo had Reve het uiteraard ook bedoeld). Door de vele reviews die ik heb gelezen in de hoop nog iets van motivatie te vinden ben ik ook enkele spoilers tegengekomen, waardoor ik het einde van het boek ook weer weet. Dat geeft het ook weer charme. Hoe dan ook, Reve neemt je eigenlijk smerig in de maling maar het is moeilijk onder woorden te brengen. Dus ik ga er maar niks over zeggen.