A new author, about whom some claim that he is the discovery of the 21st century: Karl Ove Knausgaard, from Norway, best known for « My Struggle » (a title inspired by « Mein Kampf », that seems unrelated to the German publication (but so far I have only read two of the six volumes under this title) ). I do not know what aroused my curiosity for this author, who recounted in six volumes his daily and inner life from all angles, but there we are. He had previously published other titles very well received by the critics, crowned with various awards, but it was « My Struggle » that made him known worldwide. In principle, what I thought was a kind of autofiction with narcissistic flavors would not appeal to me. And yet. I first read « Spring », which is I believe its penultimate title, when I did not know where to start (it seemed more logical to me, but I had to start with « A death in the family », which recounts, unsurprisingly, the death of his father, but also his adolescence in a very detailed way) . In this book, he recounts insignificant details or important moments, which makes some passages boring (I don’t always have the patience to read them all). The publisher presents it as « an emotional journey of absolute fidelity », a very accurate description, in my opinion, of the author’s adolescence with an exceptional memory. He remembers colors, flavors, moments, noises with an accuracy that leaves me speechless and that I would probably not be able to reproduce. Beyond this literary detail, and even if some moments are long, I am not sure I can put my finger on the precise reason for what touches me so deeply. Perhaps it is his total fidelity to his memories, without any complacency and hi honesty. I find in him no desire to present himself in a favorable light, to autofiction in order to glorify himself or complain, as is often the case in this kind of work. I’ve read a few reviews where it’s mentioned that you hate it or love it, I can imagine both reactions quite easily. As for the author himself, he confessed that he began to write what would become a monumental work, when he had difficulty writing, that he first did it to grasp the present moment, what was happening in his head, and that he had no intention of publishing what he wrote, which I find easy to believe given what he projects in the eyes of the readers, a quite ordinary human being struggling with a world he does not always understand. Elsewhere, he confesses that he is a shameful individual, from whom he tried to free himself by recounting what he considered shameful. It is, I think, another sign that literature, as well as poetry (which I explore in a very humble way here) is always in movement, always changing, this is such a mysterious and fascinating process at the same time. His family and friends also appear in his books and they do not necessarily appreciate what he has to say about them. It has led of course to the questioning of his version of the facts and confirms that any event is experienced in a unique way. He must also live with what he has honestly admitted, and the possibility that his children will one day read his books (not particularly pleasing). So, maybe to read or not, it really depends on what you are looking for in a book. As for me, I intend to continue reading and discover more about him. Will I be able to go to volume 6 or not? To be continued.