Lee Klein 's Reviews > The Morning Star

Theological thriller, philosophical pulp, an extraordinarily well-characterized, dramatized elaboration of the internal/external worlds thematic focus of The Seasons Quartet, perfect for the longer nights and dark mornings of autumn, as neighbors decorate yards with plastic representations of skeletons and ghouls. Through the first two-hundred pages I wasn't sure about it, doubted its page count (666), thought it contrived and manipulated with prevalent one-sentence paragraphs like in a Blake Crouch novel. But then it started to take off, thanks in part to cliffhangers at the end of each section either for the new star or minor natural and some major supernatural oddities that began to proliferate, yet never in such a way as to overwhelm the emphasis on character and interiority -- and I was in it to win it and very much recommend it, not just to Knausgaard fans.

Structured as a series of first-person stories, each titled by the narrator's first name, many of which repeat, two of which (Arne, Egil) resemble Knausgaard, but also a few are women, a middle-aged priest of Norway, a young convenience-store clerk, a night shift worker at a mental hospital married to Jostein, a hideous man-type journalist whose idfulness and general hatefulness charge the pages through the middle and end like booster rockets whenever he appears. There are also two sections -- one about a young rocker named Emil and the other about a 33-year-old curator mother married to a 60-year-old famous architect -- that don't repeat and seem almost like teases for future installments of what seems like it will definitely continue as a series.

Knausgaard proved himself a master of suspense during the rising waters in the Noah section in A Time for Everything, and here it's really the same dynamic on a book-length level. Rising drama threatening everything we take for granted, all the little movements of the day, the common conversations and perceptions we barely register, especially all the time we spend trying to connect with loved ones but also find some time alone. In this there's a bit about a car accident and how the seriously injured family members will never sit around the kitchen again in the same way as they ready themselves for school -- extended over the course of the novel is the same dynamic, which infects the reader (me at least) with a sense of gratitude and amplifies perception of the everyday surrounding world, including thoughts and feelings and dreams, ie, the internal world. But also this achieved simple straightforward spookiness. Yes, I was spooked one night as I put down the book and turned off the light, listening to insects, animals (owls, foxes, our cat), and distant thunder.

Only criticism is the Emil section where he talks about a band called Ohia (presumably it's Songs:Ohia), but I did love when Emil talks about the warmth and effortless licks in David Crosby's "If I Could Only Remember My Name" (cool to see a suggested Garcia reference in a Knausgaard novel). Also liked that it ends with an essay, a la War & Peace, although the similarities end there.

I'll write more later but for now let's just say that I had hopes for this and looked forward to its arrival, thought it maybe a little hokey and underdone through the first two-hundred pages, but then couldn't put it down until the end, reading 100+ pages a day. For a book in part about belief, let's just say I remain a believer in this author -- I'm actually low-key astounded by his ability to meld "high" and "low" literature in a convincing, moving, intellectually satisfying or at least intriguing fashion, all while evoking the world around Bergen, Norway, as well as believably describing worlds of the mind, imagination, and the beyond.

Also, not that any of this matters but this is printed on the softest, silkiest, thin-yet-not-translucent paper, which I noticed immediately when opening the book and again when opening the new Franzen book that arrived as I neared the end -- the paper in the Franzen book seems like it's much lower quality and the book itself is thicker than the Knausgaard book despite having 130 fewer pages. I should also mention that I did achieve a minor silly goal of finishing The Morning Star the day Crossroads arrived -- middle-aged white male reader loser that I am, I want to read these two big fall novels back to back and see if there's anything of interest there in the overlap.