Unlike Proust, he has the machinery of 20th century philosophy to contend with. And underlying all of that is the implicit promise that his discovery will help us readers make our own discovery. Like Proust, he seems to sense that something in his experience holds the key to understanding who he was and, through that, who he is. On top of that, he writes from a philosophical perspective. That variety of representation shows real skill, and it keeps this from bogging down. Still others are rooted in sound, and we often get catalogues of the music he was enjoying (or attempting to play) at one time or another. Others come emotionally, where he recognizes and probes a feeling that hovers over some memory. Some scenes come to us visually with a range of details lining up into a full picture. He is a master at switching from one sense to another. On the one hand, Knausgaard writes with wonderful precision. At least two friends I respect very much have been raving about him, and they’ve encouraged me in my fits and starts through it. I’ve heard such hype around this Norwegian Proust, that I finally had to make time to read it. He has a subtle and insistent voice, reading efficiently and quickly without losing clarity. Have you listened to any of Edoardo Ballerini’s other performances before? How does this one compare?
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