Knausgaard caused a storm with a six book series entitled "My Struggle" which in Norweigian is "Min Kamp." Now this title was almost certain to raise a few hackles immediately as it shared a name with Adolf Hitler's infamous autobiography "Mein Kampf" which also means "My Struggle."
There is a poetic strangeness about the Knausgaard books which I do find compelling. They are very long and seem to get longer the more they go on. They are supposed to be novels but quite obviously aren't - particularly as Knausgaard has been the subject of law suits from so called fictitious characters who just happen to have the same name and characteristics of his own family members. When they were first published, journalists scoured the country trying to find the characters featured who had had their lives dissected.
The books describe every happening in his life in great detail. An outing can command 50 pages. And intertwined are his thoughts on love, life, the universe and everything else he wishes to talk about. Bit like these blogs I suppose.
One reviewer mentioned that nothing really happens, thus missing the subtleties of the text. A great deal happens, it's just that the majority of it is pretty mundane. As such that's something that we can all relate to and that's the enjoyment of the books - as long as you stick with them.
I thought about doing similar things but I'm afraid my books really would be dull and boring and just drone on about nothing (again a bit like these blogs).
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I haven't mentioned much about sport in these blogs on the grounds that it might bore everyone.
I have always been passionate about most sports and for many years sport was a part of my working life as a sports editor of local newspapers. It was like having a hobby as work.
Both my sons and now my grandson have inherited the love of football, cricket, tennis, athletics and many others. In fact there aren't many sports I won't watch and there certainly aren't any that I actively dislike. Mind you WWE wrestling does annoy me but that's technically entertainment and scripted and not a real sporting contest.
In future blogs I will feature a few pieces on my involvement in sport over the years and I promise I will try to make them entertaining and interesting (even to non sports lovers). I will start with the only time I have ever inflicted violence on another human being and it was all over football.
I have to turn the clock back to around 1959 when I was either six or seven depending on what part of the year this took place. Looking at records it is likely it was March and it sparked my interest in football and Norwich City that exists to this day.
Norwich were in the old Third Division at that time (that would now be the equivalent of League Two). They went on a giantkilling FA Cup run, beating Manchester United, Tottenham and Sheffield United on the way. That Manchester United team included the likes of Bobby Charlton and Norwich won 3-0. Terry Bly scored two goals and the local newspaper came up with one of its best loved headlines of all time "Bly Bly Babes"- a reference to the fact that the Manchester players were known as the Busby Babes after their manager Matt Busby and their relative inexperience.
There was tragedy in that nickname, however. In February, 1958, British European Airways Flight 609 crashed as it attempted to take off from Munich Airport. It was the plane's third attempt to get into the air. On board were the Manchester United football team returning from a match in Belgrade (then in Yugoslavia). The plane stopped in Munich to refuel. Eight Manchester United players either died in the crash or in hospital afterwards. Nine players survived but two of these never played again. Sadly of the 17 players, Bobby Charlton is the only one still alive.
But back to my story. The Manchester United team beaten so comfortably by Norwich was still a very strong one.
In the semi-final, Norwich came up against Luton Town. The first game ended in a 1-1 draw. That meant a replay. In Curls Department store in Norwich (later to become Debenhams and shortly to probably become empty) they had replica FA Cups which they were going to sell if Norwich got to the final. My grandmother promised me that if they won she would buy me one of the replica cups.
Well of course promises made to a six year old need to be kept. But Norwich lost the replay 1-0 and, when the news came through, all the replica cups were put away in boxes. I presume they found their way somewhere else (possibly Luton which would have made things worse). My disappointment was huge.
It must have been a few days later that I was catching a train with my mother and father. The only places we ever went in those days were Great Yarmouth and London. I suspect we were on our way to London and I also suspect we were in one of those old fashioned individual train compartments that held either six or eight people.
Sitting across from us was a lady who started talking to my parents and said she came from Luton. The red mists took over and I think I hit her. I believe she laughed and it was left to my parents to apologise on my behalf and explain the reasons for the attack. I, of course, blamed her for not being able to have a replica FA Cup.
I have to say I put a curse on Luton Town which obviously worked because they were beaten in the final 2-1 by Nottingham Forest and then proceeded to hit hard times which saw them drop out of the football league for a while. They are now in the same division as Norwich, so somewhere along the years my curse was obviously lifted. Mind you I also put a curse on the houses that were built on the Firs Speedway Stadium in Norwich and they are all still standing. Perhaps that was beyond my ability as a curse lord.