I hated this at first; to say that Zola is prolix is unjust in the context of Knausgaard.
The first 200 pages seemed to be a tedious interior monologue mainly about an 18 year old’s attempts to smuggle alcohol in parties and get in the occasional girl’s knickers.
However the 2nd half about his father’s death many years later and particularly the squalor and degradation in which he died and the son’s confused pain about the death of a man he didn’t think he loved in any way were powerfully written and moving.
The 2nd half was almost a painting which overlaid the tedium of part 1. He does nonetheless write at great length, but so did Tolstoy.
The jury is out but I might try the next one (there are many!), perhaps on holiday.
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