The Wolves of Eternity

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He nodded. I strung up another target and stood beside him as he loaded and took aim. He was really enjoying himself, a picture of concentration. There was no one in when I got home. Joar was at school and Mum must have gone somewhere after work. I felt restless and impatient, wanting something to happen, but of course nothing did. The interview had gone all right, so it couldn’t have been that that made it so hard for me to relax.

Karl Ove Knausgaard’s Novel for Our Precarious Times – DNyuz

That’s because it was still alive three minutes ago,’ I said. ‘But now it’s not. It’ll never be alive ever again. Do you understand that?’ Hvorvidt denne lange begynnelsen om Terje passer inn i totalhistorien om morgenstjernen, er en helt annen sak. Remy, who was fishing at Lake Eternity, said she heard a strange noise, like some beast. Try investigating the area near the fishing spot.Vasilisa, meanwhile, is researching early-20th-century Russian sects preoccupied with the resurrection of the dead and the afterlife. She focuses on one Nikolai Fyodorov, a savant who in his day was a great influence on both Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. The dead can be revived, Fyodorov believed, and the earth repopulated with all who ever lived. A mad zealotry. For Vasilisa he embodies a drive to somehow counter the terrible carnage of recent wars. She sees a link to our current explorations of transhumanism, the use of technology to counter physical death.

Karl Ove Knausgaard’s new book “The Wolves of Eternity

For cost savings, you can change your plan at any time online in the “Settings & Account” section. If you’d like to retain your premium access and save 20%, you can opt to pay annually at the end of the trial. As mentioned this book ponders the finality of death and the briefness of life, a little known Russian man named Nikolai Fyodorovich Fyodorov is a strange intermission with his ideas of resurrecting the dead, not just one or two people but everyone who has ever lived. His ideas in the early 20th century were ludicrous to some but Christ-like to others. He was friends with Tolstoy, Dostoevsky and many other famous writers and people and to this day in Russia some explore his ideas of the postponement of death, such a seductive endeavor by KOK to explore such relations within this alternate type world he has created ( don’t worry the morning star makes an appearance towards the anticlimactic subtle end and all these themes of death are intoxicatingly related, the man is a genius) I’ve no clue how all these things – the death metal, the transhumanism, the glowing morning star – might fit together in the end; if what he says about planning is true, perhaps Knausgaard doesn’t either (though he tells me there’ll be more about the music in the fourth book). But what is clear is that his pace is extraordinary and unrelenting: a prolixity that’s all the more astonishing if you know that when he reached the end of the autobiographical sequence whose English title is My Struggle, it seemed he might not write a novel ever again. I can’t work out how he does it. Isn’t it exhausting? All-consuming? He smiles. “No, it’s very simple. The key is not to think about the writing as good or bad, but to follow your fascination. That is hard, because there’s so much pressure to think of quality and self-presentation; to not appear stupid, or whatever. But the writing itself is easy.”

Three woman who join together to rent a large space along the beach in Los Angeles for their stores—a gift shop, a bakery, and a bookstore—become fast friends as they each experience the highs, and lows, of love. A book begging to be read on the beach, with the sun warming the sand and salt in the air: pure escapism. He held the drawing up for me to see. The room was recognisable down to the smallest detail, the bed, the wardrobe, the bookcase, even the posters on the wall were there. And at the desk, hunched over some drawing paper, he’d drawn himself, seen obliquely from behind.

The Wolves of Eternity - Penguin Books UK

Time passes and other narratives follow. We meet Alevtina, a Russian scientist who is giving lectures to students. This is now the Putin era. Alevtina is about to set off for her home village to celebrate her father’s 80th birthday when she unexpectedly encounters her estranged friend Vasilisa. Their interaction, like their bond, is mysterious. Vasilisa is a writer, working on a project she says is running away from her. Alevtina is, by her own admission, adrift in life. The following is from Karl Ove Knausgaard's The Wolves of Eternity . Knausgaard’s first novel, Out of the World, was the first ever debut novel to win the Norwegian Critics’ Prize and his second, A Time for Everything, was widely acclaimed. The My Struggle cycle of novels has been heralded as a masterpiece wherever it has appeared. Like its predecessor, The Wolves of Eternity comprises an assortment of first-person narratives. But it’s less sprawling, more balanced; revolving around two poles. On one hand is Syvert, whom we meet in 1986 as a teenager discharged from Norwegian military service. On the other is Alevtina, a biology professor moving in more intellectual circles in Putin’s Russia three decades later.Den nesten delen av boken utspiller seg i Russland, vekslende mellom ulike karakterer og stemmer, men hovedsakelig befinner vi oss i hodet til en middelaldrende biologiprofessor i Moskva. Hennes refleksjoner og menneskemøter åpner opp boken, slipper inn lys fra både evolusjonsteorien og den russiske kulturhistorien. Mange spennende tanker og situasjoner, formidlet gjennom en karakter jeg har langt mer sympati og forståelse for - til tross for at hun befinner seg i en helt annen verden enn min egen. Rundt s. 420 kommer det heldigvis et vendepunkt. Plutselig befinner vi oss i Russland, i hodet til en småkriminell lastebilsjåfør. Hoppet i rom og tid er så voldsomt at man nesten blir litt lammet, hva skjedde egentlig nå? Men nå kommer endelig de 400 sidene med livløs prosa til sin rette, for her, inne i hodet til en erfaren lastebilsjåfør ute på en forblåst og hvitkledd russisk motorvei, fortsetter Knausgård i nøyaktig samme stil og tone. Dette skaper en uventet nærhet til et menneske som i utgangspunktet er så langt borte fra meg og mitt. Litteraturens magiske potensial blir med andre ord virkelig realisert. Endelig lever teksten, lettelsen og gleden er enorm og følger meg utover kvelden. Of course I do,’ he said, and threw the bird into the field. ‘Is that good enough, or do you want to bury it too?’