The strangest thing just happened. The Gray Lady just ran a profile on the gentleman above, Karl Ove Knausgaard, whose incredible unforgettable work, [his brilliant novel A Time for Everything is here and the first book of his recently translated more-or-less-a-memoir My Struggle is here] has been the cause of many of my excitable spittle-spraying rants of late.
This means, of course, that now I’ll feel free to assume you know the guy. “Oh you know, this reminds me of that one passage from Karl Ove,” I’ll say. “Right, the one with the lustful teenaged fumbling!” you’ll answer.
Or, “Oh hey, see that seagull over there?” I’ll ask. “And you’ll rub your chin in feigned pensiveness and say “Oh yes. You know, seagulls never gave me weird oedipal shame/rage issues until I read … .” And then we’ll look at each other and squeal “K.O.K!” and high five and laugh and then think about how much we resent our children, just like Karl Ove would.
This photo, by the way? From some Norwegian tourism site. Because when one of the most beautiful men alive is writing indelible books about your country, you damn well put his photo everywhere.