What do you think?
Rate this book
Årstidsencyklopedien #2
En hiver
.
304 pages, Paperback
First published November 1, 2015
About the author
Karl Ove Knausgård
70 books6,673 followersNominated to the 2004 Nordic Council’s Literature Prize & awarded the 2004 Norwegian Critics’ Prize.
Karl Ove Knausgård (b. 1968) made his literary debut in 1998 with the widely acclaimed novel Out of the World, which was a great critical and commercial success and won him, as the first debut novel ever, The Norwegian Critics' Prize. He then went on to write six autobiographical novels, titled My Struggle (Min Kamp), which have become a publication phenomenon in his native Norway as well as the world over.
Karl Ove Knausgård (b. 1968) made his literary debut in 1998 with the widely acclaimed novel Out of the World, which was a great critical and commercial success and won him, as the first debut novel ever, The Norwegian Critics' Prize. He then went on to write six autobiographical novels, titled My Struggle (Min Kamp), which have become a publication phenomenon in his native Norway as well as the world over.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 388 reviews
January 17, 2018
An effective, often moving continuation of his excellent Autumn, as Knausgaard continues to write brief pieces to his unborn daughter, trying to explain the world one word at a time. As with the first book in this quartet, there is a pre-occupation with the elemental aspects of humanity, as the author explores why we have retreated inside as a species, and how we perceive infinity. In this philosophic bent, the book has as much to do with his underrated masterpiece A TIME FOR EVERYTHING as it does with the well-known memoirs that gave him his fame. Many of these are quite weird too (there's a memorable image of hundreds of human brains floating in the ocean like jelly-fish who have achieved Nirvana).
I went to a lecture earlier this fall where he talked about how he wrote these - he chose all the words ahead of time and would write one a day, as the mood struck him. (As a note to writing instructors, I did this with my class and they produced the best student writing I've seen). There is a slight exhaustion in this volume, likely because these words are slightly less captivating to the author. He does a bit less with, say "Ears" then he did with "Ambulance." To compensate for that, fascinatingly, a plot begins to emerge. 3 vignettes in a row are about escape; he begins to describe the old men in his neighborhood; the baby is born ahead of schedule. Perhaps it is the novelistic instinct in Knausgaard coming out, but 500 pages and two books in, this is beginning to feel like a sneakier project than I first thought. There is a unique narrative here, and it is worth pursuing.
My favorite defined words this time were: "Water"; Safety Reflector"; "Mess"; "Father Christmas" (the image of a nervous Knausgaard dressed like Santa and waiting to surprise a neighboring child will stick with me); "The Nose"; "Fireworks"; "The Social Realm"; "Setting Limits"; the hilarious "Q-Tips" (in which he wonders if he's been using Q-Tips wrong his whole life and everyone reading the book will think he's an idiot); and best of all is "Operation," which in its initial guilt and eventual redemption is a gorgeous piece of flash fiction. I'll put the first paragraph here, and end with it:
"There was something slightly absent-minded about one of our daughters when she was little, somehow she never quite paid attention. Since she didn't seem unintelligent, I thought it might be due to a hint of dreamy introversion in her character, which in other respects was light-hearted and sociable. But a few months ago they did a hearing test at the public health centre which revealed that her hearing is significantly impaired. So what I had observed wasn't dullness, that's not why she seemed inattentive, it was because she couldn't hear us properly...I don't think I have ever felt so guilty about anything."
I went to a lecture earlier this fall where he talked about how he wrote these - he chose all the words ahead of time and would write one a day, as the mood struck him. (As a note to writing instructors, I did this with my class and they produced the best student writing I've seen). There is a slight exhaustion in this volume, likely because these words are slightly less captivating to the author. He does a bit less with, say "Ears" then he did with "Ambulance." To compensate for that, fascinatingly, a plot begins to emerge. 3 vignettes in a row are about escape; he begins to describe the old men in his neighborhood; the baby is born ahead of schedule. Perhaps it is the novelistic instinct in Knausgaard coming out, but 500 pages and two books in, this is beginning to feel like a sneakier project than I first thought. There is a unique narrative here, and it is worth pursuing.
My favorite defined words this time were: "Water"; Safety Reflector"; "Mess"; "Father Christmas" (the image of a nervous Knausgaard dressed like Santa and waiting to surprise a neighboring child will stick with me); "The Nose"; "Fireworks"; "The Social Realm"; "Setting Limits"; the hilarious "Q-Tips" (in which he wonders if he's been using Q-Tips wrong his whole life and everyone reading the book will think he's an idiot); and best of all is "Operation," which in its initial guilt and eventual redemption is a gorgeous piece of flash fiction. I'll put the first paragraph here, and end with it:
"There was something slightly absent-minded about one of our daughters when she was little, somehow she never quite paid attention. Since she didn't seem unintelligent, I thought it might be due to a hint of dreamy introversion in her character, which in other respects was light-hearted and sociable. But a few months ago they did a hearing test at the public health centre which revealed that her hearing is significantly impaired. So what I had observed wasn't dullness, that's not why she seemed inattentive, it was because she couldn't hear us properly...I don't think I have ever felt so guilty about anything."
September 28, 2018
"Winter has almost no self-confidence after the triumph of summer and autumn's resolute clean up that followed, for what is winter, with its snowfalls and its icing of the waters, other than a cheap conjurer?"
- Karl Ove Knausgård, Winter
I'm definitely a Knausgård fan. I love his observations. I love his energy. I love his prose. He isn't always perfect, but he is constantly pushing and exploring. This book is book 2 in his Årstidsencyklopedien (Seasonal Encyclopedia) Series. Winter or Om vinteren. His first book in the series was Autumn or Om høsten. The structure of these books is relatively (and seductively) simple. Knausgård writes every day for three months on a variety of subjects that relate to the season and month he is writing about, for example, in Winter he writes about:
Water
The First Snow
Owls
Pipes
Winter Sounds
Guests
The Otter
Sexual Desire
Atoms
Loki
Conversation
Winter Boots
Vanishing Point
The 1970s
This is just a sample of the mini-essays. He writes about 20 essays a month. So, 20 for December, 20 for January, 2o for February. He also includes 3 Essays at the beginning of each month; two letters to an unborn daughter, and one letter to a newborn daughter. Essentially, these books are open letters to his unborn, and in late January, newborn daughter. His fourth child. These essays are interesting, not always directly related to the seasons, but generally dealing with people, objects, animals, and concepts that interest him. And like Montaigne's essays, the subject is often just the starting point. His curiousity and thoughfulness allow these subjects to open and spin a bit. They are sometimes uneven, and some of them fall flat, but here is a guy that will, over the course of a year, write four books with about 240+ essays on various subjects. Not too shabby.
- Karl Ove Knausgård, Winter
I'm definitely a Knausgård fan. I love his observations. I love his energy. I love his prose. He isn't always perfect, but he is constantly pushing and exploring. This book is book 2 in his Årstidsencyklopedien (Seasonal Encyclopedia) Series. Winter or Om vinteren. His first book in the series was Autumn or Om høsten. The structure of these books is relatively (and seductively) simple. Knausgård writes every day for three months on a variety of subjects that relate to the season and month he is writing about, for example, in Winter he writes about:
Water
The First Snow
Owls
Pipes
Winter Sounds
Guests
The Otter
Sexual Desire
Atoms
Loki
Conversation
Winter Boots
Vanishing Point
The 1970s
This is just a sample of the mini-essays. He writes about 20 essays a month. So, 20 for December, 20 for January, 2o for February. He also includes 3 Essays at the beginning of each month; two letters to an unborn daughter, and one letter to a newborn daughter. Essentially, these books are open letters to his unborn, and in late January, newborn daughter. His fourth child. These essays are interesting, not always directly related to the seasons, but generally dealing with people, objects, animals, and concepts that interest him. And like Montaigne's essays, the subject is often just the starting point. His curiousity and thoughfulness allow these subjects to open and spin a bit. They are sometimes uneven, and some of them fall flat, but here is a guy that will, over the course of a year, write four books with about 240+ essays on various subjects. Not too shabby.
March 1, 2018
Winter is Karl Ove’s season! His imagination cuts loose in this second volume of his Seasonal Encyclopedia. The writing is whimsical, at times fantastic, hilarious or joyful, while not losing his ruminating voice or his confrontations with mortality and eternity.
There’s a sweetness to many stories involving his children and his own childhood memories, snowfall, Christmastime festivities with their blessing/curse of houseguests, and the birth of his daughter. Maybe especially because of her birth, this volume seems super-inspired. (If the word “sweetness” deters you, keep in mind this is still the depressive Karl Ove Knausgaard.) If you are new to the series, each season’s volume, covering three months’ time, contains a monthly letter to his unborn/newborn daughter, sixty micro-essays (20 per month) and about ten paintings. These musings on everyday and seasonal things, occurrences, phenomena and concepts seem like a new way to do philosophy, and maybe theology, as I said my review of Autumn. Science is sometimes a jumping-off point for his audacious imagination.
It’s hard to choose favorite essays because I loved pretty much all of them, to me Winter was consistently at the top of its game, and I think the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Just as the first essay in Autumn faintly echoed the biblical book of Genesis with an encounter with a lone apple tree in the woods, from which the family freely plucked fruit, the first essay in Winter, The Moon, contemplates the lifeless moon over which no wind, mighty or otherwise, ever stirred, then imagines a fantastic moonly genesis. Other essays that stand out in my memory: Owls, Pipes, Mess, Guests, Conversations, Father Christmas, Stuffed Animals, The Otter, The Social Realm, Setting Limits, Hollow Spaces, The Local, Winter Boots, Q-Tips, Feeling of Life, Snowdrifts, and The Brain which takes my prize for hilarious crazy whimsy. Here's a sample from The Moon:
The moon, this enormous rock which from far out there accompanies the earth on its voyage around the sun, is the only celestial body in our immediate vicinity. We see it in the evening and at night, when it reflects the light from the sun, which is hidden from us so that the moon appears fluorescent and seemingly reigns supreme in the sky. . . . If one points a telescope towards the moon, one can see that it is completely lifeless and barren and consists of dust and rock, like an enormous sand quarry. Not even a breath of wind ruffles it, ever; the moon is ruled by silence, by immobility, like an eternal image of a world before life, or of a world after life. Is that what dying is like? Is this what awaits us? . . . . The moon is the eye of all that is dead, it hangs there blindly, indifferent to us and our affairs, those waves of life which rise and subside on earth far down below. But it didn't have to be that way, for the moon is so close that it is possible to travel there from here, as to a distant island. . . . . Consider the peculiar kinds of creatures which have developed on earth from primordial times until today, with the most remarkable traits to enable them to meet the physical demands of their environment, it wouldn't have taken that much of an adjustment for creatures to appear that were equipped with the qualities required to cross the short distance in space. . . . The common horsetail, a primitive, primeval plant, couldn't its spools have developed a way of spinning that could have taken them up through the atmosphere and allowed them to drift slowly through space, landing gently in the dust of the moon a few weeks later? Or the jellyfish, couldn't they have left the oceans to float like little bells through the air? Air-fish, would that have been any more remarkable than fluorescent, blind deep-sea fish? Not to mention birds. Then life on the moon would have resembled life on earth, but would still have been different, like a radical version of the Galapagos, and the moon's birds, almost weightless, independent of oxygen, would have been able to come in swarms over the earth, visible as tiny specks far, far up there, slowly growing larger, and gliding with their enormous, paper-thin wings over the fields, shimmering in the light of the moon, which for people of that time was the seat of the sacred and the terrible.
Lars Lerin, whose stunning watercolors illustrate this volume, ought to be listed on the cover as a collaborator; I am in love with his darkly glowing winter scenes; they drew me into the book like an enchantment. I kept wondering why so many were night scenes until remembering that winter in Norway means it’s dark most of the time. It looks like Knausgaard chose a different artist for each season. I so appreciate that he, an art lover, turned his book into a visual as well as a literary experience and gave this opportunity to four Scandinavian artists.
There’s a sweetness to many stories involving his children and his own childhood memories, snowfall, Christmastime festivities with their blessing/curse of houseguests, and the birth of his daughter. Maybe especially because of her birth, this volume seems super-inspired. (If the word “sweetness” deters you, keep in mind this is still the depressive Karl Ove Knausgaard.) If you are new to the series, each season’s volume, covering three months’ time, contains a monthly letter to his unborn/newborn daughter, sixty micro-essays (20 per month) and about ten paintings. These musings on everyday and seasonal things, occurrences, phenomena and concepts seem like a new way to do philosophy, and maybe theology, as I said my review of Autumn. Science is sometimes a jumping-off point for his audacious imagination.
It’s hard to choose favorite essays because I loved pretty much all of them, to me Winter was consistently at the top of its game, and I think the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Just as the first essay in Autumn faintly echoed the biblical book of Genesis with an encounter with a lone apple tree in the woods, from which the family freely plucked fruit, the first essay in Winter, The Moon, contemplates the lifeless moon over which no wind, mighty or otherwise, ever stirred, then imagines a fantastic moonly genesis. Other essays that stand out in my memory: Owls, Pipes, Mess, Guests, Conversations, Father Christmas, Stuffed Animals, The Otter, The Social Realm, Setting Limits, Hollow Spaces, The Local, Winter Boots, Q-Tips, Feeling of Life, Snowdrifts, and The Brain which takes my prize for hilarious crazy whimsy. Here's a sample from The Moon:
The moon, this enormous rock which from far out there accompanies the earth on its voyage around the sun, is the only celestial body in our immediate vicinity. We see it in the evening and at night, when it reflects the light from the sun, which is hidden from us so that the moon appears fluorescent and seemingly reigns supreme in the sky. . . . If one points a telescope towards the moon, one can see that it is completely lifeless and barren and consists of dust and rock, like an enormous sand quarry. Not even a breath of wind ruffles it, ever; the moon is ruled by silence, by immobility, like an eternal image of a world before life, or of a world after life. Is that what dying is like? Is this what awaits us? . . . . The moon is the eye of all that is dead, it hangs there blindly, indifferent to us and our affairs, those waves of life which rise and subside on earth far down below. But it didn't have to be that way, for the moon is so close that it is possible to travel there from here, as to a distant island. . . . . Consider the peculiar kinds of creatures which have developed on earth from primordial times until today, with the most remarkable traits to enable them to meet the physical demands of their environment, it wouldn't have taken that much of an adjustment for creatures to appear that were equipped with the qualities required to cross the short distance in space. . . . The common horsetail, a primitive, primeval plant, couldn't its spools have developed a way of spinning that could have taken them up through the atmosphere and allowed them to drift slowly through space, landing gently in the dust of the moon a few weeks later? Or the jellyfish, couldn't they have left the oceans to float like little bells through the air? Air-fish, would that have been any more remarkable than fluorescent, blind deep-sea fish? Not to mention birds. Then life on the moon would have resembled life on earth, but would still have been different, like a radical version of the Galapagos, and the moon's birds, almost weightless, independent of oxygen, would have been able to come in swarms over the earth, visible as tiny specks far, far up there, slowly growing larger, and gliding with their enormous, paper-thin wings over the fields, shimmering in the light of the moon, which for people of that time was the seat of the sacred and the terrible.
Lars Lerin, whose stunning watercolors illustrate this volume, ought to be listed on the cover as a collaborator; I am in love with his darkly glowing winter scenes; they drew me into the book like an enchantment. I kept wondering why so many were night scenes until remembering that winter in Norway means it’s dark most of the time. It looks like Knausgaard chose a different artist for each season. I so appreciate that he, an art lover, turned his book into a visual as well as a literary experience and gave this opportunity to four Scandinavian artists.
October 16, 2023
In 'Winter', Knausgard continues the process he started in Autumn: in short notes, he initiates his at first unborn daughter into the facts of life. Again, the short chapters apparently are randomly chosen and often start from the description of trivial objects and conditions to push through to a deeper dimension of being human.
But it is striking that Knausgard now describes a little more the people he knows and of which he highlights their petty-human side, and he also recalls more nostalgic childhood memories. Still, the wonder for what exists, for life itself, remains central. But I have to admit that I was less charmed by the vignettes. There are still gems in between (such as the really beautiful "cold"), but slightly less than in the first book. Or is that perhaps just due to the "wintry" timbre? Rating 2.5 stars.
My review of Autumn: here
My review of Spring: here
My review of Summer: here
But it is striking that Knausgard now describes a little more the people he knows and of which he highlights their petty-human side, and he also recalls more nostalgic childhood memories. Still, the wonder for what exists, for life itself, remains central. But I have to admit that I was less charmed by the vignettes. There are still gems in between (such as the really beautiful "cold"), but slightly less than in the first book. Or is that perhaps just due to the "wintry" timbre? Rating 2.5 stars.
My review of Autumn: here
My review of Spring: here
My review of Summer: here
March 15, 2022
Kao i u prvoj knjizi prvi deo knjige mi je bio bolji. Knausgor i ja uvek naiđemo na problem kad on kaže nešto s čim se uopšte ne slažem ili što mi je gnusno. Al predivno piše i čitaću ga i dalje.
January 19, 2018
My favorite of the three Knausgaard books I’ve read so far, and miles better than Autumn. These short essays successfully evoke the sensations of winter and the conflicting emotions elicited by family life and childhood memories. The choices of topic in Autumn (“Toilet Bowls,” “Vulva”) were often so peculiar that I didn’t know what they were doing there, but I think I see now what Knausgaard was trying to do. This series is, loosely, a set of instruction manuals for his unborn daughter, who is born a month premature in the course of this volume. So in the first book he’s starting with the basics of physical existence – orifices, bodily fluids and clothing – and now he’s moving on to slightly more advanced but still everyday things she’ll encounter, like coins, stuffed animals, a messy house, toothbrushes, and the moon. I’ll see out this series, and then decide afterwards if I have the nerve to return to My Struggle.
January 21, 2018
This is the second volume in the four-season set of "Season Encyclopedias," where the author writes an essay about a one-word object/topic/concept, in one sitting. They vary in seriousness and theme, and I think the seasons sometimes effect the essays and sometimes they don't. Still, I started reading Winter when we had a snow day, because it seemed the closest I could get to Norwegian weather.
The object/nature/concept essays are interspersed with letters to his unborn/born daughter, because she comes at the end of January, which happens in this volume.
I found the best way to read this was a few essays at a time, in between other reads.
You may see my review of the previous volume, Autumn, here.
My favorites in this volume include:
Mess (about messy people and his messy house)
Winter Sounds (very beautiful passage about the forest in winter!)
The Local
Fish (talks about his realization of the connections between the water and island as a young teen)
Thanks to the publisher for providing early access to this title via Edelweiss. This comes out January 23, 2018.
The object/nature/concept essays are interspersed with letters to his unborn/born daughter, because she comes at the end of January, which happens in this volume.
I found the best way to read this was a few essays at a time, in between other reads.
You may see my review of the previous volume, Autumn, here.
My favorites in this volume include:
Mess (about messy people and his messy house)
Winter Sounds (very beautiful passage about the forest in winter!)
The Local
Fish (talks about his realization of the connections between the water and island as a young teen)
Thanks to the publisher for providing early access to this title via Edelweiss. This comes out January 23, 2018.
February 5, 2018
More of the same, maybe not as tight, definitely not as novel as the first installment Autumn, the significance feels forced at times, the whole project like practice runs, exercises, but still I enjoy reading it for the world evoked and system of associations — will read the remaining two seasons as soon as they appear. Here's a quotation toward the end that summarizes the thematic dealio throughout: ". . . most of all it probably has to do with the dynamics between the visible and the hidden, between what we know and what we don't know. The more we know about the world the greater the pull of what we don't know, and every tunnel, every grotto, every subterranean chamber is a confirmation of what we have always felt, that nothing ends with what the eyes can see."
December 28, 2021
''U zimu'' je po formi ista knjiga kao i ''U jesen'', dakle, u pitanju su kratki eseji ili pasusi (nijedan nije duži od tri strane) o svetu oko nas - o stvarima, pojavama, predmetima, osećanjima. Iz te perspektive, jako je teško preporučiti ovu knjigu nekome, jer zašto bi iko hteo da čita šta to neki pisac tamo ima da kaže o cevima, o stolicama, o autobusima ili čizmama? I to razmišljanje ne mogu da krivim, ali ukoliko pročitate bar jedan Knausgovor esej videćete šta je to što propuštate. On pristupa tim predmetima, tim osećanjima na jedan potpuno drugačiji način, i tako piše o njima da vi prosto ne možete da prestanete da ga čitate, i uvek se morate složiti sa njim. Ljudi, on u ovoj knjizi ima sjajan esej o cevima i o tome koliko su cevi dominantne na svetu i u našim života. I apsolutno je sve tačno, i prezabavno, i predivno napisano, i duboko, i slatko, i pitko.
Mislim da nije bilo potrebno da pravim toliko pauzu između jeseni i zime, ali ako bih morao da uporedim ove dve zbirke, onda bih rekao da je glavna razlika u tome što su ovde priče ličnije. U nekim esejima Knausgor ovde daje crtice iz svoje prošlosti - piše o tome kako je jednom ubio životinju na putu, o svojoj porodici, o gostima koje je imao tokom godina... Osim toga što je vrlo lična i samim tim toplija (što je ujedno i osećanje koje nam je potrebno da bismo preživeli zimu), ova knjiga se bavi i zimskim stvarima kao što su prvi snegovi. Ne smete preskočiti ni tri pisma nerođenoj ćerkici koja je napisao i koji se nalaze na početku, sredini i pred kraj knjige. Fenomenalna književnost.
Od srca preporučujem ovo, zaista. Meni se mnogo više dopala od ''U jesen'', iako mi je i ta bila presjajna. ''U zimu'' je odličan način da se preživi naredno godišnje doba - utopliće vas oko srca, neće vam biti potrebno grejanje.
January 16, 2021
Karl Ove Knausgård: Zimå je hlådnå, sneg je beo, vråne su ptice, čistim uši štåpićimå zå uši. Veliki såm pisåc, zår ne?!
Ja: Naravno Karl Ove, sve kako ti kažeš!
Karl Ove Knausgård: I, koju ocenu ćeš mi dåti?
Ja: Još pitaš, Ove, pa peticu, naravno!
Karl Ove Knausgård: Hvålå lepo, vol. 2, håhåhåhåhå.
Ja: Naravno Karl Ove, sve kako ti kažeš!
Karl Ove Knausgård: I, koju ocenu ćeš mi dåti?
Ja: Još pitaš, Ove, pa peticu, naravno!
Karl Ove Knausgård: Hvålå lepo, vol. 2, håhåhåhåhå.
March 2, 2021
Nije mi to-to, ako ne kuka na porodicu.
January 16, 2023
„𝑺𝒗𝒂𝒌𝒐 𝒌𝒐 𝒋𝒆 𝒐𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒔𝒏𝒆𝒛̌𝒏𝒊𝒎 𝒛𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒎𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒛𝒏𝒂𝒋𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒋 𝒕𝒐𝒏, 𝒌𝒐𝒋𝒊 𝒄́𝒆 𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒅 𝒄̌𝒖𝒕𝒊 𝒄̌𝒂𝒌 𝒊 𝒅𝒐𝒌 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒋𝒊 𝒖 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒎 𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒋𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒋 𝒃𝒂𝒔̌𝒕𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒂, 𝒌𝒂𝒅 𝒈𝒂 𝒊𝒛𝒏𝒆𝒃𝒖𝒉𝒂 𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊 𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒗𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒋𝒊𝒗𝒂 𝒄̌𝒆𝒛̌𝒏𝒋𝒂, 𝒊 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒄̌𝒊𝒎𝒂 𝒎𝒖 𝒔𝒆 𝒑𝒐𝒋𝒂𝒗𝒊 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒏𝒂 𝒔̌𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒖 𝒌𝒐𝒋𝒐𝒋 𝒗𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒊 𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒏𝒊𝒉 𝒑𝒂𝒉𝒖𝒍𝒋𝒂 𝒎𝒆đ𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒄̌𝒏𝒊𝒎, 𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒏𝒊𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒂 𝒖 𝒎𝒓𝒂𝒌����.“
Mislim da mi se 𝑈 𝑗𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛 ipak više svidela, ovde sam dosta puta uhvatila sebe kako mi misli lutaju usred čitanja, što je šteta, jer Knausgor ume da te ubaci u trenutak. Ono što mi se posebno dopalo i što bih izdvojila, jeste što u ovoj drugoj knjizi, pored predmeta, pojava i situacija, počinje da opisuje i neke ljude i ti delovi su mi bili naročito upečatljivi.
Mislim da mi se 𝑈 𝑗𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛 ipak više svidela, ovde sam dosta puta uhvatila sebe kako mi misli lutaju usred čitanja, što je šteta, jer Knausgor ume da te ubaci u trenutak. Ono što mi se posebno dopalo i što bih izdvojila, jeste što u ovoj drugoj knjizi, pored predmeta, pojava i situacija, počinje da opisuje i neke ljude i ti delovi su mi bili naročito upečatljivi.
December 23, 2017
Winter by the Norwegian author Karl Ove Knausgaard is the second in his series of essays and letters written to his unborn daughter. Knausgaard is well known for his six volume biography My Struggle. His writing breaks all 'rules' about writing, and is spontaneous, unstudied, often confessional, and sometimes mundane.
In almost daily meditations over December, January, and February, the author wrote about whatever was on his mind. Owls, Christmas, people he knows, the mythical legend Loki, and even toothbrushes. In the first letter, he warns his daughter that we expect life to be full of joy and light, but instead we encounter pain and suffering and loss. At times he shares an insight that sparks a new way of looking at things, such as the thought that society is based on a belief in the fiction that a coin has intrinsic value, but if our belief vanishes, so does a coin's value. He tries to describe inanimate things, but I note that his descriptions include concepts that are not concrete, which seems to defeat his intention. Some essays just left wondering what the point was.
I have been reading several essays each night before bed. I will finish the book, just to plumb it for those unexpected gems.
I won this book on a Goodreads giveaway.
In almost daily meditations over December, January, and February, the author wrote about whatever was on his mind. Owls, Christmas, people he knows, the mythical legend Loki, and even toothbrushes. In the first letter, he warns his daughter that we expect life to be full of joy and light, but instead we encounter pain and suffering and loss. At times he shares an insight that sparks a new way of looking at things, such as the thought that society is based on a belief in the fiction that a coin has intrinsic value, but if our belief vanishes, so does a coin's value. He tries to describe inanimate things, but I note that his descriptions include concepts that are not concrete, which seems to defeat his intention. Some essays just left wondering what the point was.
I have been reading several essays each night before bed. I will finish the book, just to plumb it for those unexpected gems.
I won this book on a Goodreads giveaway.
February 16, 2018
I'd be surprised to see much variation in other readers' takes on Karl Ove's Autumn vs. Karl Ove's Winter. More of the same. Some weaker, some stronger, some just ordinary Karl, our favorite have-a-beer-with guy (and please don't smoke).
Only the conceit of writing these to his unborn daughter disappears about 3/4ths through, as the little one is born on 28 January. This means that Spring (which has already sprung, I believe, in Europa) will be essays written to his infant daughter, and Summer take the hindmost.
I like KO's personality, voice, and views on life, so I'm anOlympic team Russian judge, skewed in his favor. The wonder lies in writing about all of these seemingly insignificant things in unique ways. Also in watching him go off topic in the course of three lousy pages. Well done, Sir!
Only the conceit of writing these to his unborn daughter disappears about 3/4ths through, as the little one is born on 28 January. This means that Spring (which has already sprung, I believe, in Europa) will be essays written to his infant daughter, and Summer take the hindmost.
I like KO's personality, voice, and views on life, so I'm an
February 21, 2022
It's so bad I want to give you a zero. But that's not possible so I give you a one.
December 11, 2021
Jednostavnim, naizgled običnim stvarima Knausgard udahnjuje novi život, tjera nas da se zagledamo u te stvari i vidimo ih drugačijim očima.
Read
November 12, 2022Hey there, Karl Ove. It's me, Andrew. I'm a big fan. I know My Struggle is easy to make fun of, but so much of that making-fun (it being a 3000 word tract about daddy issues) comes from a place of love. We admired your commitment to self-examination, your unflinching honesty, your raw vulnerability, all told in a compelling voice.
Then I started reading your Four Seasons, and it just felt like you were winging it, writing whatever diaristic observations you could string together, because we needed you to produce something, we needed whatever B-sides you could scrounge together into a... fiction? I don't know if I could even classify it as such. And that very personal touch, that very honesty, that very vulnerability? They have become your golden handcuffs, the thing your howling fantods expect. And that's why I had trouble liking Winter, no matter how much I liked each sentence.
Then I started reading your Four Seasons, and it just felt like you were winging it, writing whatever diaristic observations you could string together, because we needed you to produce something, we needed whatever B-sides you could scrounge together into a... fiction? I don't know if I could even classify it as such. And that very personal touch, that very honesty, that very vulnerability? They have become your golden handcuffs, the thing your howling fantods expect. And that's why I had trouble liking Winter, no matter how much I liked each sentence.
December 27, 2023
majstor
October 19, 2022
I liked some of the ideas and reflections, the writing was good as well (even if maybe not really suited to short-essay form). That said, they felt overall lukewarm (almost too gentle) and just read like nice annecdotes, but missed cohesion and often lacked in originality, precision and punch.
Some of the attempts at exposing provocative ideas and triggering reflection or reaction felt a bit too simplistic and reductionist. In those cases, I couldn’t help but feeling we were handed hollow drawn up conclusions, rather than a chance for mindful consideration.
For that reason, the most successful pieces were certainly the ones originating from a confessional place and an attempt to look into the roots of his short comings as a father and family man.
If you like sketchbooks in writing form, this might be for you. I must admit my favorite thing about it is still its stunning cover.
Will I remember any of them in a few months? Definitely not.
Mostly a pleasant, harmless read, nonetheless.
Some of the attempts at exposing provocative ideas and triggering reflection or reaction felt a bit too simplistic and reductionist. In those cases, I couldn’t help but feeling we were handed hollow drawn up conclusions, rather than a chance for mindful consideration.
For that reason, the most successful pieces were certainly the ones originating from a confessional place and an attempt to look into the roots of his short comings as a father and family man.
If you like sketchbooks in writing form, this might be for you. I must admit my favorite thing about it is still its stunning cover.
Will I remember any of them in a few months? Definitely not.
Mostly a pleasant, harmless read, nonetheless.
September 21, 2021
103rd book for 2019.
In Winter, his second book in his Seasons Quartet, Knausgård continues to write short meditative pieces on a range of topics obsenstively to his unborn daughter inspired by the rural Norwegian winter—the moon, the first snow, winter sounds, the nose, the otter, sexual desire, Loki, the brain, manholes, the 1970s, windows.
I found the essays if anything better than the first volume and thoroughly enjoyed his quiet meditations.
4-stars.
In Winter, his second book in his Seasons Quartet, Knausgård continues to write short meditative pieces on a range of topics obsenstively to his unborn daughter inspired by the rural Norwegian winter—the moon, the first snow, winter sounds, the nose, the otter, sexual desire, Loki, the brain, manholes, the 1970s, windows.
I found the essays if anything better than the first volume and thoroughly enjoyed his quiet meditations.
4-stars.
February 13, 2021
''Belo je odsustvo boje, pa pandan beline u svetu zvuka mora biti tišina. Kad snegom pokrivena šuma nepomično leži pod blago sumračnim nebom, sasvim je tiho. Kad počne da pada sneg i pahulje ispune vazduh, opet je sasvim tiho, ali ta tišina je drugačija, nekako gušća, koncentrisanija, i taj zvuk, koji i nije zvuk, već je samo nijansa tišine, njeno osnaživanje ili produbljenje, jeste soničan izraz suštine zime.''
Drugi dio književnog serijala Četiri godišnja doba Karla Uvea Knausgora, nastao u zimu, kako mu i sam naslov kaže, počinje u decembru, kada on još uvijek piše svojoj nerođenoj ćerki (ovo će se promijeniti krajem januara, i postaće ''pismo novorođenoj ćerki'').
Ovaj praznični mjesec autor je obilježio zapisima o snijegu, Božiću, Deda Mrazu, svojim sjećanjima na zime u djetinjstvu, ali i zimskom svakodnevnicom u kojoj se njegova porodica nalazi.
''Možda je Mlečni put zarez u rečenici u novinama koje niko još nije pokupio. Jer i pojam vremena je relativan; četiri milijarde godina ovde možda su tri minuta tamo. I pokret ka subatomskom nivou stvarnosti i pokret ka beskraju prostora/vremena ostavljaju nas bespomoćnim, i u tom svetlu se čini da je monoteistički bog adekvatniji odgovor na zagonetke postojanja nego nauka. Sve što se nalazi izvan razuma podvodi se pod Boga, čije se ime ne može izreći, pošto je Bog izvan jezika, a ipak je prisutan u nama, pošto smo stvoreni u božjem liku. Odnos postoji, neverbalan je, i kad se klanjamo pred Bogom, upravo to osećamo, kao nečuvenu punoću koja nas povezuje sa svime što jeste, svime što je bilo i svime što će biti. Ali naučeno se ne može odučiti. Sada živimo u svetu atoma, i u tom svetu smo usamljeni.''
Osim svakodnevnih predmeta i događaja kojima smo okruženi, a kojima Knausgor daje objektivna objašnjenja uz neizostavni lični utisak, ''U zimu'' predstavlja i malu enkciklopediju biologije i fizike, ispisanu redovima koji su prožeti metafizikom i egzistencijalizmom, na taj način dajući čitaocu prostor za sopstvene ideje i razmišljanje o pojavama koje su sveprisutne, a o kojima zapravo veoma malo znamo.
Pojedini naslovi govore o pojedincima iz autorovog okruženja, neki o životinjama, neki o predmetima, koji u ovoj knjizi iz svoje jednostavnosti rastu i bivaju sačuvani od zaborava i banalnosti, jer ih autor vezuje za svoje postojanje, kao i za iskustvo čitalaca, što im daje novi život i značenje.
''Mislim da epohe svih kultura prožimaju ova dva modusa, otvaranje budućnosti i zatvaranje budućnosti, a čudno je to što se čini da kultura teži ka zatvaranju budućnosti, kao da je to njen najviši oblik, kada je čežnja zadovoljena, što se zapravo ne dešava jer se čežnja tada okreće ka prošlosti, ili ka nečemu drugom izgubljenom ili nedovršenom, kao što je bilo u godinama pre Prvog svetskog rata, rata koji niko nije očekivao i niko nije hteo, izazvanog silama koje niko nije video, ali koje su na najbrutalniji način, prvo jednom, pa još jednom, iskrčile prostor za ponovno otvaranje budućnosti.''
Drugi dio književnog serijala Četiri godišnja doba Karla Uvea Knausgora, nastao u zimu, kako mu i sam naslov kaže, počinje u decembru, kada on još uvijek piše svojoj nerođenoj ćerki (ovo će se promijeniti krajem januara, i postaće ''pismo novorođenoj ćerki'').
Ovaj praznični mjesec autor je obilježio zapisima o snijegu, Božiću, Deda Mrazu, svojim sjećanjima na zime u djetinjstvu, ali i zimskom svakodnevnicom u kojoj se njegova porodica nalazi.
''Možda je Mlečni put zarez u rečenici u novinama koje niko još nije pokupio. Jer i pojam vremena je relativan; četiri milijarde godina ovde možda su tri minuta tamo. I pokret ka subatomskom nivou stvarnosti i pokret ka beskraju prostora/vremena ostavljaju nas bespomoćnim, i u tom svetlu se čini da je monoteistički bog adekvatniji odgovor na zagonetke postojanja nego nauka. Sve što se nalazi izvan razuma podvodi se pod Boga, čije se ime ne može izreći, pošto je Bog izvan jezika, a ipak je prisutan u nama, pošto smo stvoreni u božjem liku. Odnos postoji, neverbalan je, i kad se klanjamo pred Bogom, upravo to osećamo, kao nečuvenu punoću koja nas povezuje sa svime što jeste, svime što je bilo i svime što će biti. Ali naučeno se ne može odučiti. Sada živimo u svetu atoma, i u tom svetu smo usamljeni.''
Osim svakodnevnih predmeta i događaja kojima smo okruženi, a kojima Knausgor daje objektivna objašnjenja uz neizostavni lični utisak, ''U zimu'' predstavlja i malu enkciklopediju biologije i fizike, ispisanu redovima koji su prožeti metafizikom i egzistencijalizmom, na taj način dajući čitaocu prostor za sopstvene ideje i razmišljanje o pojavama koje su sveprisutne, a o kojima zapravo veoma malo znamo.
Pojedini naslovi govore o pojedincima iz autorovog okruženja, neki o životinjama, neki o predmetima, koji u ovoj knjizi iz svoje jednostavnosti rastu i bivaju sačuvani od zaborava i banalnosti, jer ih autor vezuje za svoje postojanje, kao i za iskustvo čitalaca, što im daje novi život i značenje.
''Mislim da epohe svih kultura prožimaju ova dva modusa, otvaranje budućnosti i zatvaranje budućnosti, a čudno je to što se čini da kultura teži ka zatvaranju budućnosti, kao da je to njen najviši oblik, kada je čežnja zadovoljena, što se zapravo ne dešava jer se čežnja tada okreće ka prošlosti, ili ka nečemu drugom izgubljenom ili nedovršenom, kao što je bilo u godinama pre Prvog svetskog rata, rata koji niko nije očekivao i niko nije hteo, izazvanog silama koje niko nije video, ali koje su na najbrutalniji način, prvo jednom, pa još jednom, iskrčile prostor za ponovno otvaranje budućnosti.''
January 30, 2018
Karl Ove Knausgaard’s talent is to hold the reader’s attention even as he writes about the small, mundane aspects of life in great detail. As I read his “My Struggle” volumes, I kept asking myself why they were for me so intoxicating. While it is not entirely satisfying, the only answer I could find was that he has an ability to defamiliarize, to portray even the most common event or thing in a new light. Knausgaard’s “Winter,” part of his new seasons “quartet,” underlines this talent. In short two- or three-page essays, he explores the common in clever, sometimes even jaw-dropping ways. Whether he’s writing about the nose, snowdrifts, guests, the otter, atoms, or any of the fifty or so other topics he tackles in these essays, he holds our attention and surprises us with his poignant and sometimes rather humorous insights. This is genius.
August 7, 2017
Oh, wat geniet ik van deze seizoenenreeks. Op naar het derde deel: 'Lente'.
February 27, 2019
Antra skaityta Knausgårdo esė knyga (po rudenį skaityto "Rudens"). Kaip esė žanro skaitytojai (galimai buvusiai), man gaila, kad LT šis žanras, kad ir koks išskirtinis, nebūna toks nudailintas ir - monumentalus.
Savo metų laikų tetralogiją Knausgårdas rašo negimusiai dukteriai - tipo supažindina ją su pasauliu ("Žiemos" tome - tokios temos kaip: gimtadienis, monetos, minkšti žaislai, socialinė erdvė, Lokis, autobusai, seksas, langai). Per vidurį knygos dukra jau gimsta, tai kiti du sezonai, spėju, bus tiek apie pasaulį, tiek apie ją mažą. Bent labai tikiuosi. Kaip ir "Ruduo", "Žiemos" tomas išleistas kaip kokia nacionalinė brangenybė - neįtikėtino švelnumo popierius, o jau paveikslai... Autorius Larsas Lerinas, tobulai žiemiški darbai. Pvz:
Labai gražu.
Patys tekstai kelia dviprasmišką įspūdį. Kaip ir "Rudenyje", man gražiausi jų - tie, kur jis ką nors pasakoja, ir jau patys gražiausi tekstai - tai kas mėnesį (vadinasi, vienoje knygoje 3) rašomi laiškai negimusiai / užgimusiai dukteriai - kaip jos laukia, kaip ją įsivaizduoja, kaip ji gimė ir vos nemirė, nes labai silpna. O esė konkrečia tema - kai kurios geros, kai kurios nuobodžios, dauguma - nei tokios nei tokios. Kai kurios priartėja wtf - pvz, esė apie atomus, kur Knausgårdas domisi, kodėl plastiko atomai yra žvilgūs, ploni, o piršto atomai - visai ne tokie. Pusę teksto skaičiau ir nesupratau, ar jis rimtai, ar imituoja naivų žvilgsnį, bet kai papasakojo, kad iš Amazonės prisipirko knygų Įvadas į atomus, Branduolinė energija, Radioaktyvumas - supratau, kad rimtai. Nu ok. Knausgårdas - ne skaitytojas, o rašytojas; nu ir gal Norvegijoj mokyklinė programa ne tokia kaip pas mus, fizika chemija, etc. Tikiuosi, jis nesimoko dabar apie pasaulio pagrindus iš Houllebecque'o "Elementariųjų dalelių". Nors gal kaip tik būtų visai faina....
Baigusi "Mano kovos" 2 dalį, kažkaip nenorėjau atsiplėšti nuo Karlo Uvės, apie kurį jau tiek daug žinau - daugiau nei apie bet kokį savo mėgstamą rašytoją. Bet jo eseistika šitam kontekste atrodo keistai. Tarsi, jau išpasakojus savo istoriją, pradedi kalbėt apie tai, ką matai per langą. Gal rašymas jam - kaip terapinis procesas? Kol rašai, tol gyvas esi, kaip stebuklinėj pasakoje. Nežinau, noriu sužinoti, bet sužinojimas ir biški knisa.
Savo metų laikų tetralogiją Knausgårdas rašo negimusiai dukteriai - tipo supažindina ją su pasauliu ("Žiemos" tome - tokios temos kaip: gimtadienis, monetos, minkšti žaislai, socialinė erdvė, Lokis, autobusai, seksas, langai). Per vidurį knygos dukra jau gimsta, tai kiti du sezonai, spėju, bus tiek apie pasaulį, tiek apie ją mažą. Bent labai tikiuosi. Kaip ir "Ruduo", "Žiemos" tomas išleistas kaip kokia nacionalinė brangenybė - neįtikėtino švelnumo popierius, o jau paveikslai... Autorius Larsas Lerinas, tobulai žiemiški darbai. Pvz:
Labai gražu.
Patys tekstai kelia dviprasmišką įspūdį. Kaip ir "Rudenyje", man gražiausi jų - tie, kur jis ką nors pasakoja, ir jau patys gražiausi tekstai - tai kas mėnesį (vadinasi, vienoje knygoje 3) rašomi laiškai negimusiai / užgimusiai dukteriai - kaip jos laukia, kaip ją įsivaizduoja, kaip ji gimė ir vos nemirė, nes labai silpna. O esė konkrečia tema - kai kurios geros, kai kurios nuobodžios, dauguma - nei tokios nei tokios. Kai kurios priartėja wtf - pvz, esė apie atomus, kur Knausgårdas domisi, kodėl plastiko atomai yra žvilgūs, ploni, o piršto atomai - visai ne tokie. Pusę teksto skaičiau ir nesupratau, ar jis rimtai, ar imituoja naivų žvilgsnį, bet kai papasakojo, kad iš Amazonės prisipirko knygų Įvadas į atomus, Branduolinė energija, Radioaktyvumas - supratau, kad rimtai. Nu ok. Knausgårdas - ne skaitytojas, o rašytojas; nu ir gal Norvegijoj mokyklinė programa ne tokia kaip pas mus, fizika chemija, etc. Tikiuosi, jis nesimoko dabar apie pasaulio pagrindus iš Houllebecque'o "Elementariųjų dalelių". Nors gal kaip tik būtų visai faina....
Baigusi "Mano kovos" 2 dalį, kažkaip nenorėjau atsiplėšti nuo Karlo Uvės, apie kurį jau tiek daug žinau - daugiau nei apie bet kokį savo mėgstamą rašytoją. Bet jo eseistika šitam kontekste atrodo keistai. Tarsi, jau išpasakojus savo istoriją, pradedi kalbėt apie tai, ką matai per langą. Gal rašymas jam - kaip terapinis procesas? Kol rašai, tol gyvas esi, kaip stebuklinėj pasakoje. Nežinau, noriu sužinoti, bet sužinojimas ir biški knisa.
December 6, 2015
Jeg valgte at høre Om Vinteren som lydbog på norsk, og det kan kun anbefales. Den er letforståelig, og det tilføjer en poesi og tone, der højner bogens indhold. Formen er den samme som Om Høsten (se beskrivelsen nedenfor), men jeg blev bekræftet i, at det er de personlige prosastykker (dem, der minder mest om Min Kamp), der taler mest til mig.
Om Høsten består af encyklopædiske prosastykker. Og hvis man ikke forventer andet, så er den en fornøjelse at læse. Hvorimod, hvis man forventer Min Kamp 7, så bliver man frustreret. Jeg nød de små breve til den ufødte datter, fordi jeg holder af Min Kamp og få glimt af en fortsættelse er en fornøjelse, men det er umiddelbart et forkert udgangspunkt, for brevene er kun få side af selve bogen. Resten forsøger Knausgård at forklare den ufødte datter, hvilken verden hun bliver født ind i, ved at beskrive stort og småt fra æbler til tis osv. Når jeg giver bogen firestjerner, så er det fordi, han skriver fremragende, de små reportage iagttagelser er en fornøjelse. Detaljerige og rammende. I flere anmeldelser har han fået kritik for at holde "lidt for meget af hverdagen" - jeg forstår kritikken - og der er da også tendens til lal, men igen, så længe han er så velskrivende, så læser jeg hver enkelt beskrivelse som små fornøjelige prosastykker og glædes ved dét.
Om Høsten består af encyklopædiske prosastykker. Og hvis man ikke forventer andet, så er den en fornøjelse at læse. Hvorimod, hvis man forventer Min Kamp 7, så bliver man frustreret. Jeg nød de små breve til den ufødte datter, fordi jeg holder af Min Kamp og få glimt af en fortsættelse er en fornøjelse, men det er umiddelbart et forkert udgangspunkt, for brevene er kun få side af selve bogen. Resten forsøger Knausgård at forklare den ufødte datter, hvilken verden hun bliver født ind i, ved at beskrive stort og småt fra æbler til tis osv. Når jeg giver bogen firestjerner, så er det fordi, han skriver fremragende, de små reportage iagttagelser er en fornøjelse. Detaljerige og rammende. I flere anmeldelser har han fået kritik for at holde "lidt for meget af hverdagen" - jeg forstår kritikken - og der er da også tendens til lal, men igen, så længe han er så velskrivende, så læser jeg hver enkelt beskrivelse som små fornøjelige prosastykker og glædes ved dét.
March 6, 2017
Terwijl ik de 'mijn strijd'-reeks niet vervolledigde trekt deze seizoensreeks me wel aan. Knausgard (waar is dat a-tje met dat bolletje als je het nodig hebt) heeft een onovertreffelijk observatievermogen als het om dingen in ons dagelijks leven gaat die we als zo vanzelfsprekend zijn gaan zien dat ze niets apart meer vormen.
Zo schrijft hij in dit boek opnieuw over natuurelementen, chemische processen en het heelal, maar evengoed over menselijke aspecten, lichaamsdelen, dinosaurussen van zielen die in fijnmotorische lijven zitten die met Chinees porselein omkunnen.
Ook zijn scherpe blik op wat we precies doen en het waarom daarvan vond ik wonderschoon in 'Winter'. Zo schrijft hij dat 'we met geld een hele samenleving bij elkaar fantaseren' en 'veel menselijke activiteit neerkomt op het scheppen van holle ruimtes'. Hij analyseert de ramen in een huis, en alleen daar. Hij betrekt Noorse Mythologie en volksvertellingen. Met veel respect voor mens, natuur en geschiedenis laat hij zijn woeste kop los op de wereld. Eén aanrader: lees bij aanvang van de winter... Nu de eerste lentesprietjes er door beginnen te komen is het verwarrend opnieuw de Kerstman te zien komen. Opnieuw een pareltje, voor volwassenen me dunkt.
Zo schrijft hij in dit boek opnieuw over natuurelementen, chemische processen en het heelal, maar evengoed over menselijke aspecten, lichaamsdelen, dinosaurussen van zielen die in fijnmotorische lijven zitten die met Chinees porselein omkunnen.
Ook zijn scherpe blik op wat we precies doen en het waarom daarvan vond ik wonderschoon in 'Winter'. Zo schrijft hij dat 'we met geld een hele samenleving bij elkaar fantaseren' en 'veel menselijke activiteit neerkomt op het scheppen van holle ruimtes'. Hij analyseert de ramen in een huis, en alleen daar. Hij betrekt Noorse Mythologie en volksvertellingen. Met veel respect voor mens, natuur en geschiedenis laat hij zijn woeste kop los op de wereld. Eén aanrader: lees bij aanvang van de winter... Nu de eerste lentesprietjes er door beginnen te komen is het verwarrend opnieuw de Kerstman te zien komen. Opnieuw een pareltje, voor volwassenen me dunkt.
February 22, 2019
“İç ile dış arasında bir denge olunca gelir huzur ancak; yani iç dışa, dış da içe özgürce ve engelsiz akabildiğinde...”
.
Knausgaard,Sonbahar’da dördüncü çocuğunu bekliyordu.Kış’ta kucağına alıyor onu. Gördüklerini ve içselleştirdiklerini yazmaya ise devam ediyor. Çünkü hayatımıza giren/çıkanlar olduğunda dahi bazı şeyler değişmiyor. Eli kalemle bütünleşmiş bir yazarın, yazma tutkusundan vazgeçememesi gibi..
.
Sonbahar’da dışarıdaydık, renklerin dönüşümünü izlemiş ve yenilikleri kabul etmiştik. Kış’ta ise çoğunlukla evdeyiz, soğuğa karşı geliştirdiğimiz bir mekanizma olabilir bu. Yazarın yazdıklarına da yansıyor elbet mevsim döngüsü. Daha içe kapanık, daha dingin bu kitapta. Ve tabii sorumlulukları daha fazla..
.
Karl Ove Knausgaard, günlük hayatın basitliklerindeki güzelliği ortaya çıkarıyor. Büyük sözler etmeye gerek var mı okuru sarsmak için? Sanmıyorum. İçimizdeki kilitler bile en basit anahtarlarla açılmıyor mu? İlkbahar ve Yaz da ılık bir rüzgarla gelecek, çiçeklendirecek okuru biliyorum~
.
Haydar Şahin çevirisi, Lars Lerin resimleri ile yine göz dolduruyor~
.
Knausgaard,Sonbahar’da dördüncü çocuğunu bekliyordu.Kış’ta kucağına alıyor onu. Gördüklerini ve içselleştirdiklerini yazmaya ise devam ediyor. Çünkü hayatımıza giren/çıkanlar olduğunda dahi bazı şeyler değişmiyor. Eli kalemle bütünleşmiş bir yazarın, yazma tutkusundan vazgeçememesi gibi..
.
Sonbahar’da dışarıdaydık, renklerin dönüşümünü izlemiş ve yenilikleri kabul etmiştik. Kış’ta ise çoğunlukla evdeyiz, soğuğa karşı geliştirdiğimiz bir mekanizma olabilir bu. Yazarın yazdıklarına da yansıyor elbet mevsim döngüsü. Daha içe kapanık, daha dingin bu kitapta. Ve tabii sorumlulukları daha fazla..
.
Karl Ove Knausgaard, günlük hayatın basitliklerindeki güzelliği ortaya çıkarıyor. Büyük sözler etmeye gerek var mı okuru sarsmak için? Sanmıyorum. İçimizdeki kilitler bile en basit anahtarlarla açılmıyor mu? İlkbahar ve Yaz da ılık bir rüzgarla gelecek, çiçeklendirecek okuru biliyorum~
.
Haydar Şahin çevirisi, Lars Lerin resimleri ile yine göz dolduruyor~
March 17, 2022
Yes, thank you, these bite-sized Knausgaard’s do quite perfectly for me. This is my second of his seasonal quartet of books, following reading “Spring”, I'm a bit out of order, and while I meant to read this in the heart of winter for my imagined idealized atmosphere (the book takes place over the months of December, January and February - two months preceding and one month following his daughter’s birth), it seems I’ve still been, fairly successful as I write my notes on a winter-like day in March, NYC.
Each of the three months contains 20 topics, each topic two or three pages. It’s quite perfect for picking up, putting down, reading with whatever time you may have. The chapters float along like a dream covering an eclectic array of topics - drifting gently like snow in the wind from an essay describing an acquaintance or friend, to a (generally unexpected) part of the anatomy, to a household item, to a bit of nature or family life, to Scandinavian folklore. Often the most mundane-seeming topics surprise into being about something completely unexpected and philosophical and I found this to be quite fun.
Within the current state of world - pandemic/war - affairs, I found this to be a particularly comforting book to escape to. While he includes the inevitability of death throughout, he also writes at a remove from the state of the world or any sort of anxious discourse of civilization. This book feels like it exists on its own plane - the “we can be civilized, and we can end up ok”. I need this. In this way, for some reason, these books remind me of a classical painting, and fittingly he includes gorgeous paintings by Lars Lerin interspersed within the pages.
I really admire - whether it always works or not - his complete open vulnerability and earnest nature. I find it to be incredibly liberating, this simplicity of: here is my life, here is my every thought about it, and here we are. It feels like we are best friends, and I like that. The downside, is at times it feels a bit preachy to me, but I find even that somewhat interesting to have such a look inside how someone else is approaching being alive. Really one of the best things about books and perhaps one of my personal favorite things.
There’s also something so pleasing about the pacing of his many sensitive observations of life’s simple wonders. He is able to perfectly capture an inner voice, the exact rhythm, and while I wonder how much is him and how much is his translator (Ingvild Berkey), the pace - especially in these short chapters - works for me.
Ultimately, although the essays are for us as readers, they are attributed as a gift to his new daughter, and he includes a “letter to the newborn” which is worth the book - it brought tears to my eyes in its beauty. I have two children and I wrote them both long letters before they were born, and I found it very moving to read this sensitive letter from a father’s perspective. I love how universal some feelings are that we all can share.
Here’s a few fave excerpts:
A new favorite sweet little quote about books:
“A little ink on a page wakens a tempest of emotions and causes everything else to vanish”
From “funeral procession”:
“I followed the boat with my eyes, half expecting it to continue at trolling speed, out of respect for the dead, but as soon as it had cleared the shoals, it sped up, giving rise to that curious effect which occurs when the drone of an engine increases and grows stronger, and at the same time, since it is moving away, also becomes fainter. As the boat was swallowed up by all the grey, I thought that that is exactly how death is.”
From “trains”:
“The train’s escape, on the other hand, is almost an embodiment of longing, as it winds slowly through the landscape, never stopping long enough in one place for any commitments to be undertaken, and from the windows of which the view is constantly changing, as in a dream. The train never goes from being ‘here’ to being ‘there’, and this it has in common with longing, which as soon it reaches ‘there’ transforms it into ‘here’, which by its nature it doesn’t accept and therefore begins to direct itself towards a new ‘there’. And so life goes on."
About “Georg” whom he describes as a great poet and brilliant social critic:
“And then, at that moment, I understood who he was, or the quality that was most essential to his nature. He had the most sensitive eyes I have seen. They were filled with sorrow, and they took everything in. … He himself talked the whole way without ever stopping amiably and about trivial matters, and I realized that it was his way of coping. He was so close to the world and he was so close to other people, so full of feelings, that in order to cope he had to establish a permanent, continual distance between himself and everything and everyone.”
“Winter boots” with a (bitter)sweet thought on childhood joy - ends like this:
“if I equate the child I was then with the man I am now and say that the child’s happiness is worth every bit as much as the man’s, then those weeks were probably the happiest of my life: it is the only time I have achieved everything I dreamed of.”
And, finally - I think this one is my favorite. Love this excerpt from “feeling of life”
“both because I have children and see how the world flows through them and because I myself have been a child and remember what it was like, but also because on a very few occasions I have experienced everything within me lifting and becoming light and easy, and each time it was caused by a powerful experience of the world. The experience of art can be powerful too, it can lift one up and seem light but without leaving what it is bound to - as when a branch is lifted by the wind, when all its leaves tremble and flicker and are filled with glinting reflections on sunlight. The lightness of experiencing the world is different, it isn't centered on anything in particular, what fills the soul is precisely the lightness of the indefinite. Not the branch lifting in the wind, but the wind. Not the leaves reflecting the sunlight, but the sunlight.”
Each of the three months contains 20 topics, each topic two or three pages. It’s quite perfect for picking up, putting down, reading with whatever time you may have. The chapters float along like a dream covering an eclectic array of topics - drifting gently like snow in the wind from an essay describing an acquaintance or friend, to a (generally unexpected) part of the anatomy, to a household item, to a bit of nature or family life, to Scandinavian folklore. Often the most mundane-seeming topics surprise into being about something completely unexpected and philosophical and I found this to be quite fun.
Within the current state of world - pandemic/war - affairs, I found this to be a particularly comforting book to escape to. While he includes the inevitability of death throughout, he also writes at a remove from the state of the world or any sort of anxious discourse of civilization. This book feels like it exists on its own plane - the “we can be civilized, and we can end up ok”. I need this. In this way, for some reason, these books remind me of a classical painting, and fittingly he includes gorgeous paintings by Lars Lerin interspersed within the pages.
I really admire - whether it always works or not - his complete open vulnerability and earnest nature. I find it to be incredibly liberating, this simplicity of: here is my life, here is my every thought about it, and here we are. It feels like we are best friends, and I like that. The downside, is at times it feels a bit preachy to me, but I find even that somewhat interesting to have such a look inside how someone else is approaching being alive. Really one of the best things about books and perhaps one of my personal favorite things.
There’s also something so pleasing about the pacing of his many sensitive observations of life’s simple wonders. He is able to perfectly capture an inner voice, the exact rhythm, and while I wonder how much is him and how much is his translator (Ingvild Berkey), the pace - especially in these short chapters - works for me.
Ultimately, although the essays are for us as readers, they are attributed as a gift to his new daughter, and he includes a “letter to the newborn” which is worth the book - it brought tears to my eyes in its beauty. I have two children and I wrote them both long letters before they were born, and I found it very moving to read this sensitive letter from a father’s perspective. I love how universal some feelings are that we all can share.
Here’s a few fave excerpts:
A new favorite sweet little quote about books:
“A little ink on a page wakens a tempest of emotions and causes everything else to vanish”
From “funeral procession”:
“I followed the boat with my eyes, half expecting it to continue at trolling speed, out of respect for the dead, but as soon as it had cleared the shoals, it sped up, giving rise to that curious effect which occurs when the drone of an engine increases and grows stronger, and at the same time, since it is moving away, also becomes fainter. As the boat was swallowed up by all the grey, I thought that that is exactly how death is.”
From “trains”:
“The train’s escape, on the other hand, is almost an embodiment of longing, as it winds slowly through the landscape, never stopping long enough in one place for any commitments to be undertaken, and from the windows of which the view is constantly changing, as in a dream. The train never goes from being ‘here’ to being ‘there’, and this it has in common with longing, which as soon it reaches ‘there’ transforms it into ‘here’, which by its nature it doesn’t accept and therefore begins to direct itself towards a new ‘there’. And so life goes on."
About “Georg” whom he describes as a great poet and brilliant social critic:
“And then, at that moment, I understood who he was, or the quality that was most essential to his nature. He had the most sensitive eyes I have seen. They were filled with sorrow, and they took everything in. … He himself talked the whole way without ever stopping amiably and about trivial matters, and I realized that it was his way of coping. He was so close to the world and he was so close to other people, so full of feelings, that in order to cope he had to establish a permanent, continual distance between himself and everything and everyone.”
“Winter boots” with a (bitter)sweet thought on childhood joy - ends like this:
“if I equate the child I was then with the man I am now and say that the child’s happiness is worth every bit as much as the man’s, then those weeks were probably the happiest of my life: it is the only time I have achieved everything I dreamed of.”
And, finally - I think this one is my favorite. Love this excerpt from “feeling of life”
“both because I have children and see how the world flows through them and because I myself have been a child and remember what it was like, but also because on a very few occasions I have experienced everything within me lifting and becoming light and easy, and each time it was caused by a powerful experience of the world. The experience of art can be powerful too, it can lift one up and seem light but without leaving what it is bound to - as when a branch is lifted by the wind, when all its leaves tremble and flicker and are filled with glinting reflections on sunlight. The lightness of experiencing the world is different, it isn't centered on anything in particular, what fills the soul is precisely the lightness of the indefinite. Not the branch lifting in the wind, but the wind. Not the leaves reflecting the sunlight, but the sunlight.”
September 5, 2017
http://www.comunidadeculturaearte.com...
Karl Ove Knausgård alcançou fama mundial quando se dispôs a narrar a sua vida, com um registo híbrido entre memória e ficção, num conjunto de livros ao qual deu o nome de A Minha Luta. Com uma totalidade de seis volumes e cerca de três mil páginas – quatro dos volumes estão já publicados em português, pela Relógio d’Água – este projecto chocou o mundo, ou parte dele, pelo menos, pela forma como o norueguês não poupou qualquer detalhe nem ninguém aos seus retratos do quotidiano. Praticamente todos os seus familiares são englobados nessa obra de larga escala, e quase nenhum sai de lá com uma imagem propriamente positiva, como também não sai, aliás, o próprio autor. Mas, se a atenção recaiu sobre ele em parte motivada por esses factores mais escandalosos, o mérito reconhecido foi o da forma meticulosa como o autor descreve episódios do seu quotidiano e da sua vida, uma exploração descritiva ao máximo.
Após esse projecto, o escritor norueguês decidiu ser ainda mais ambicioso e, ao invés de tentar abarcar em diversos volumes toda a sua vida, pôs mãos à obra para, em quatro diferentes livros (cada um referente a uma estação do ano), fazer como que uma enciclopédia, onde, por entre cartas à sua filha em gestação na barriga da sua mulher, descreve todo o tipo de coisas, desde objectos a estados de espírito, desde pessoas a personagens mitológicas. Em textos que são um híbrido entre descrição informativa e profundas reflexões filosóficas motivadas pela coisa que dá título ao texto, o mais interessante é a forma como o autor, com grande mestria, é capaz de, partindo de um ponto, chegar, no final do texto de duas ou três páginas, a algo que, inicialmente, nos poderia parecer completamente distante ou não relacionado.
No Inverno é o segundo volume deste projecto publicado em Portugal (o primeiro, No Outono, publicado no final do ano passado), pela Relógio d’Água. Como seria de esperar pela estação do ano que lhe dá nome, as entradas desta enciclopédia são agora mais relacionadas com factos particularmente invernais. ‘Neve’, ‘Frio’, ‘Prendas de Natal’, ‘Fogo de Artifício’, ‘Botas’; estas são algumas das coisas sobre as quais os textos incidem. Longe de ser um livro só ligado a motivos invernais, a época sazonal não invalida a existência de textos completamente independentes dela, como serão por exemplo os casos dos sobre ‘Procissão funerária’, ‘O desejo sexual’, ‘Cotonetes’, ‘Tampas de Esgoto’ e ‘Canos’.
Neste último, Knausgård monta toda uma linha de pensamento que nos leva desde os banais canos, que nos trazem a água, até toda uma tese acerca de redes de alimentação (das quais fazem parte, além da da água, também a da eletricidade, por exemplo), que não são mais que prolongamentos do nosso ser que expõem a nossa dependência, “porque o que é o cano que termina na torneira senão um prolongamento da garganta, o cano que sai da retrete senão um prolongamento do intestino grosso e da uretra, o cabo que transporta as imagens para a televisão senão um prolongamento dos olhos, e o cabo que transporta a informação para o computador um prolongamento do cérebro?”
Também esta enciclopédia sazonal é um prolongamento de A Minha Luta, acima de tudo na obsessão com o quotidiano e corriqueiro. Tal como no seu magnum opus, o foco está em mostrar que a nossa vida como humanos é, acima de tudo, só isto, mas que só isto, que parece ser tão banal, é afinal capaz de proporcionar momentos de elevada reflexão e, acima de tudo, de uma beleza efémera, como a das alterações sazonais que se repetem umas às horas, em balanços tão quotidianos como os que nos regem a nós.
Karl Ove Knausgård alcançou fama mundial quando se dispôs a narrar a sua vida, com um registo híbrido entre memória e ficção, num conjunto de livros ao qual deu o nome de A Minha Luta. Com uma totalidade de seis volumes e cerca de três mil páginas – quatro dos volumes estão já publicados em português, pela Relógio d’Água – este projecto chocou o mundo, ou parte dele, pelo menos, pela forma como o norueguês não poupou qualquer detalhe nem ninguém aos seus retratos do quotidiano. Praticamente todos os seus familiares são englobados nessa obra de larga escala, e quase nenhum sai de lá com uma imagem propriamente positiva, como também não sai, aliás, o próprio autor. Mas, se a atenção recaiu sobre ele em parte motivada por esses factores mais escandalosos, o mérito reconhecido foi o da forma meticulosa como o autor descreve episódios do seu quotidiano e da sua vida, uma exploração descritiva ao máximo.
Após esse projecto, o escritor norueguês decidiu ser ainda mais ambicioso e, ao invés de tentar abarcar em diversos volumes toda a sua vida, pôs mãos à obra para, em quatro diferentes livros (cada um referente a uma estação do ano), fazer como que uma enciclopédia, onde, por entre cartas à sua filha em gestação na barriga da sua mulher, descreve todo o tipo de coisas, desde objectos a estados de espírito, desde pessoas a personagens mitológicas. Em textos que são um híbrido entre descrição informativa e profundas reflexões filosóficas motivadas pela coisa que dá título ao texto, o mais interessante é a forma como o autor, com grande mestria, é capaz de, partindo de um ponto, chegar, no final do texto de duas ou três páginas, a algo que, inicialmente, nos poderia parecer completamente distante ou não relacionado.
No Inverno é o segundo volume deste projecto publicado em Portugal (o primeiro, No Outono, publicado no final do ano passado), pela Relógio d’Água. Como seria de esperar pela estação do ano que lhe dá nome, as entradas desta enciclopédia são agora mais relacionadas com factos particularmente invernais. ‘Neve’, ‘Frio’, ‘Prendas de Natal’, ‘Fogo de Artifício’, ‘Botas’; estas são algumas das coisas sobre as quais os textos incidem. Longe de ser um livro só ligado a motivos invernais, a época sazonal não invalida a existência de textos completamente independentes dela, como serão por exemplo os casos dos sobre ‘Procissão funerária’, ‘O desejo sexual’, ‘Cotonetes’, ‘Tampas de Esgoto’ e ‘Canos’.
Neste último, Knausgård monta toda uma linha de pensamento que nos leva desde os banais canos, que nos trazem a água, até toda uma tese acerca de redes de alimentação (das quais fazem parte, além da da água, também a da eletricidade, por exemplo), que não são mais que prolongamentos do nosso ser que expõem a nossa dependência, “porque o que é o cano que termina na torneira senão um prolongamento da garganta, o cano que sai da retrete senão um prolongamento do intestino grosso e da uretra, o cabo que transporta as imagens para a televisão senão um prolongamento dos olhos, e o cabo que transporta a informação para o computador um prolongamento do cérebro?”
Também esta enciclopédia sazonal é um prolongamento de A Minha Luta, acima de tudo na obsessão com o quotidiano e corriqueiro. Tal como no seu magnum opus, o foco está em mostrar que a nossa vida como humanos é, acima de tudo, só isto, mas que só isto, que parece ser tão banal, é afinal capaz de proporcionar momentos de elevada reflexão e, acima de tudo, de uma beleza efémera, como a das alterações sazonais que se repetem umas às horas, em balanços tão quotidianos como os que nos regem a nós.
February 4, 2018
I definitely enjoyed this more than Autumn, even though the words chosen for this installment are less original and inspiring than the ones in the first volume. The ones in which we have a peak at Knausgård as a father are the most accomplished, such as Father Christmas, where he and a friend dress up as Santa Claus to surprise their respective children, Nikolai Astrup, where he and his family visit his mother in north-west Norway, Setting Limits, where he reflects on the necessity for parents to set limits for their children and Operation, in which his daughter goes through surgery.
And obviously, this being Knausgård, a few of his musings have to involve childhood memories, like Toothbrushes, where he hilariously justifies his poor dental hygiene or like Winter Boots, about a pair of boots, inherited from his brother, that he would use to slide down the snow-covered slopes of his hometown along with his friends.
Some of these are also clever and bizarre, like Brains, and quite funny, like Q-tips, where he describes his fascination with cotton buds.
At times I get an expectant feeling, a sense that something good is about to happen without remembering exactly what, until it suddenly comes back to me on a wave of disappointment: the good thing I was looking forward to was just cleaning the earwax out of my ear.
I can't wait to see what he will do with Spring.
And obviously, this being Knausgård, a few of his musings have to involve childhood memories, like Toothbrushes, where he hilariously justifies his poor dental hygiene or like Winter Boots, about a pair of boots, inherited from his brother, that he would use to slide down the snow-covered slopes of his hometown along with his friends.
Some of these are also clever and bizarre, like Brains, and quite funny, like Q-tips, where he describes his fascination with cotton buds.
At times I get an expectant feeling, a sense that something good is about to happen without remembering exactly what, until it suddenly comes back to me on a wave of disappointment: the good thing I was looking forward to was just cleaning the earwax out of my ear.
I can't wait to see what he will do with Spring.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 388 reviews