Knausgaard fits those descriptions, but not gleefully. He isn’t a wilful, tickled badboy like Michel Houellebecq. Though his willingness to alienate friends and relatives suggests, as he admits, a certain degree of dissociation, Knausgaard is not a slave to his own damage in the way Houellebecq is. In Houellebecq’s work, damage is only the motor; in Knausgaard’s, it is a subject. My Struggle is an example of what you might call New Man existentialism, whereby male anomie and exhaustion are depicted along with the pain that underpins them: a more talkative, touchy-feely Camus. Provocation is a by-product of Knausgaard recounting his personal history without letting anyone off the hook, just as exhibitionism is the vessel. Neither is an end in itself.
But as well as provoking legal threats, death threats, hate mail and arson, Knausgaard has earned himself a mass readership in his home country, where the series, published between 2009 and 2011, has sold more than half a million copies. Norwegians have an appetite for the kind of transfixing boringness that Knausgaard offers; Michael Booth, in his enjoyable new book The Almost Nearly Perfect People, describes how Norway’s national broadcaster scored a hit in 2011 with a six-day documentary of footage from a camera mounted on an express ferry, which it advertised as “watching paint dry – live on TV”. But Knausgård-manien seems to arise from a different impulse, at once more pleasure-grabbing and more flag-waving.
Knausgaard was born in December 1968, a year before the discovery by Phillips Petroleum Company of Ekofisk, the first oilfield in the Norwegian sector of the North Sea – and so My Struggle is the fullest account of what it has been to live in a country whose already fierce pride, based on its ancient traditions, recent independence and solid social-democratic agenda, has only increased with its sudden wealth. “Zeitgeist comes from the outside,” we read in Boyhood Island, “but works on the inside.” According to that logic, a family saga can also function as a national epic; and in a country excited about itself, a national epic can hold the appeal of a daytime soap.