“As soon as he saw me, he started talking about artists who had been bad fathers. He spoke with great ease, as if we were intimate friends who had discussed the topic many times. I smiled politely and nodded while feverishly trying to get my bearings. What was the connection? Was it because I had written about being a father? Did he himself have a bad conscience as a father? Or was there another reference I hadn’t picked up on? The whole situation was unclear. I wasn’t there to interview him, and we didn’t know each other — I wasn’t even sure if he knew who I was.”
– Karl Ove Knausgaard, “Into the Black Forest With the Greatest Living Artist,” The New York Times.
A meeting of two major (and masc) egos, the neurotic Norwegian novelist Knausgaard devotes months — and a hefty word count — trying to understand what makes Anselm Kiefer tick. Tautology and transference ensue.