Dag Solstadīs novels about lives of no consequence may border on the boring, but that is their hypnotic beautyThe cover of the proof copy of TÂ Singer (originally published in Norwegian in 1999) is given over entirely to a photograph of the 76-year-old author, brooding on the unremarkable fact of having his picture taken, with a tangle of ash-white hair that is all but indistinguishable from the smoke of the cigarette heīs sucking on. Almost a piece of anti-PR, itīs the perfect expression of how Dag Solstad presents his work to the world. Who else would title a book Novel 11, Book 18, as though to alert readers that far from attempting to achieve that elusive publishing grail, a breakout book, there is nothing special about this one, that itīs just more of the same?Solstadīs same, however, is unlike anyone elseīs, even the younger Norwegian writers such as Karl Ove Knausgård and Per Petterson whose international success has helped create a climate in which we might be newly receptive to his wonderfully uncompromising conception of the novel.Solstad`s protagonists drift through the novels named after them, brooding on their lot by fixating on very little Continue reading...
|
