I’ve finished K. O. Knausgaard’s
A Man in Love (2010), the second book in his
My Struggle autobiographical series. I had read about two-thirds of it a year ago, then got stuck and forgot about it. As far as I know, Knausgaard, a Norwegian author, is very popular in the Nordic countries, and his writing is often compared to that of Marcel Proust—detailed, introspective, and aimed at preserving his time on Earth. I read the novel in Lithuanian translation.
Knausgaard’s novels are realistic, autobiographical prose. In this second book, he describes in great detail his life with his second wife, Linda (a native of Sweden), and their children. Everyday family life is neither easy nor particularly exciting, and on top of that, as a writer, Karl Ove needs silence and solitude to work. It’s not a luxury for him; he needs it in a primal, existential way—writers will understand this. At the same time, he loves his family—his wife Linda, and their children Vanja, and later Heidi and Jonas—but his existential urge to write is also an essential part of his being. As a result, clashes with Linda erupt from time to time.
We can all relate to how exhausting everyday routines can be—when you realize that most of your time goes to performing basic tasks necessary for family life, while your intellectual self begins to starve. All of this is interwoven with his philosophical conversations with his friend Geir, or simply through the author’s inner monologue. The protagonist is somewhat shy, a perfectionist, often blaming himself for wanting to please others. In reality, he’s just a sensitive and reflective person.
I also found Knausgaard’s observations about Sweden interesting. He lived in Stockholm for several years with his wife, and to him, Sweden felt very different from Norway. Norway seemed rawer, less refined, but more genuine. Sweden, on the other hand, emphasized correctness and equality—people avoided offending or disturbing others, and were overly polite. Swedes tended to suppress emotions in public; passion, anger, and spontaneity seemed almost taboo. Everything had to be balanced, neutral, and under control. For him, it was difficult to censor his inner impulses. He perceived Sweden as a society heavily regulated by bureaucracy and intellectualism—a place where reason and moral correctness dominate over instinct and individuality. Norway, though less sophisticated, struck him as more organic and less overthought. He remarks, too, that open pride in one’s history or national heritage feels frowned upon in Sweden, reflecting a broader modesty and moral caution in public life.
I have no idea how much of it is universally true regarding Sweden’s character, or if it was just the author’s personal impression.
All in all, it’s a serious book—not an adventure or any other kind of fiction story, but the life of an intellectual man balancing family and self-reflection. It’s honest, readable, and relatable. I’ve now read the first two books in his
My Struggle series, and I think I’ll continue reading the rest—over time.
