In my observation, Karl Ove Knausgaard is one of the authors about whom people disagree most. Some people love his work and read all of it (and there’s a lot of it); some people read fifteen pages and never pick it up again. I’m in the first group. I’m counting the days until his new novel The Third Realm hits the shelves, but I tell people, “Knausgaard isn’t for everyone.” 

Recently, as I was walking through Central Park, I was reminded of this passage from Spring: 

“The great and terrifying beauty does not abandon us, it is there all the time, in everything that is always the same, in the sun and the stars, in the bonfire and the darkness, in the blue carpet of flowers beneath the tree. It is of no use to us, it is too big for us, but we can look at it, and we can bow before it.” 

I’m trying to think of other authors in that category. J.R.R. Tolkien?

Onward,