Additionally, Knausgaard has happily joined the marketing circus, which is why I find Ferrante’s presumed exhibitionism a lot more palatable. The autobiographical component is official in case of Knausgaard and alleged in Ferrante’s. Personally, I find this whole mystery of little interest as I share her view that all that the author wants to say she should say in the book and there is no need for the entire marketing circus.įerrante’s Naples novels have been compared to Knausgaard’s magnum opus because both authors can be characterised by their hyperreal scrutiny which seemingly can only be achieved in autobiographical novels. No review of Ferrante’s book is complete without a mention of how no one knows who Ferrante is or even if she exists as an individual woman at all. So despite the terrible cover, and a rather idiotic blurb I knew it would be a fine book. Before you start wondering what sort of wonderful place I worked at, let me clarify it was a literary agency, so such things were totally commonplace. In fact, everyone in the office received a copy – that’s how much our boss wanted us to read it. I received this book as a Christmas present from my boss over a year ago.
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