Review on A Death in the Family by Karl Ove Knausgaard

On A Death in the Family by Karl Ove Knausgaard
Before starting this review I went to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee. It was a cold day but I took it out the back past the ventilation ducts to a small square. I find something poetic in ventilator ducts, maybe because my sense of poetry is like a shot glass full of water: it expands to fill the sides until it finds its level. The children who horse around in the playground come running. They always come running to me. I thought I was good at understanding people—and aren’t children little people?—but lately I’ve realized I’m crap at that. So I’ll leave you to infer my good guy attraction.
Back in my office Trogve was crying into her keyboard. “Oh Trogve,” I said, “Life can be so hard. Look at me, why only last…Trogve come back! Why are you deserting me?” I sniffled, hoping that a full flood of tears wasn’t on its way. Jungbe hadn’t washed my handkerchiefs again. And it’s not like I don’t have a large supply.
Then Jungbe called. The contractions were twenty minutes apart. “Oh, it’s you again Jungbe,” I said. “You’ll be fine. Let me tell you about the breakthrough I’ve had. I’ve finally figured out the angle to take with my review. You know how it’s been eating at me. What? No, just let me get this down and I’ll meet you at the hospital. But don’t wait for me, okay love.”
Finally I was making good progress when the phone rang. It was Vuudne. Qwerty had been diagnosed with incurable cancer. Oh death! For such a thing to be inflicted on such a sensitive soul as mine! Sure the death of a parent is hard on anyone, but it is like a prolonged bad mood compared to what I have to endure. And yes it may be true that I hadn’t seen Qwerty in five years but that was because I was just too sensitive to bear what I had thought was his casual drinking. Could it be that my anguish is as much about my desertion as it is about such a dire prognosis? I wish I understood. And how could God do this to me? Hit me when I was in full flow. Life can be so cruel—to me.
I left my office and went to see Sybbke. This is the name Jungbe has chosen for our daughter. I held my new daughter. Feelings are like a frozen fjord whose ice rubs against the shoreline of our will. Then my cell rang. Damn it was my Pjktr, my editor. I don’t understand people like him. Then again I don’t understand any one. How can he demand my review at a time like this? I take exception to his comment that with me it is always “a time like this”. What? Read it to him now, over the phone? Fortunately I carry all my works with me at all times. You never know when inspiration will strike—for the first time. I read this piece to him. What does he mean I haven’t bothered to introduce half of the characters? And how dare he tell me that claiming I don’t understand is not an option for a reviewer. The fool doesn’t realize this review is about me and that readers will just have to fill in as best they can.