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Ole Jastrau is the very model of an enterprising and ambitious young man of letters, poised on the brink of what is sure to be a distinguished career as a critic. In fact he is teetering on the brink of an emotional and moral abyss. Bored with his beautiful wife and chafing at the burdens of fatherhood, disdainful of the commercialism and political opportunism of the newspaper he works for, he feels more and more that his life lacks meaning. He flirts with Catholicism and flirts with Communism, but somehow he doesn鈥檛 have the makings of a true believer. Then he takes up with the bottle, a truly meaningful relationship. 鈥淪lowly and quietly,鈥� he intends to go to the dogs.
Jastrau鈥檚 romance with self-destruction will take him through all the circles of hell. The process will be anything but slow and quiet.
Jastrau鈥檚 romance with self-destruction will take him through all the circles of hell. The process will be anything but slow and quiet.
512 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1930
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4,306 people want to read
About the author
Tom Kristensen
67听books53听followersFor the Norwegian author by the same name, please see: Tom Kristensen
Tom Aage Kristensen was born in London in United Kingdom in 1893 to Danish parents. In his early childhood the family moved back to Denmark, more specifically Copenhagen, where Kristensen grew up.
Kristensen was a Danish poet, writer, and critic. He was a key figure in Danish literature in the interwar period (as well as later), and is considered one of the few Danish expressionist writers.
A path towards literature was being shaped early on, as he was named after the fictional character Uncle Tom from Harriet Beecher Stowe's novel Uncle Tom's Cabin (1852), which was his mother's favorite book.
In 1919 Kristensen graduated with a major in Danish. After graduating he taught English for two years whilst writing his first works. In 1920 he debuted as a poet, when 贵谤颈产测迟迟别谤诲谤酶尘尘别 (in English: "Freebooter Dreams") was published. The year after he made his debut as a novelist with Livets Arabesk (in English: "The Arabesque of Life"). Both works are characterized as expressionistic writings with strong influences from Nietzsche's thoughts on chaos and lack of accept of the passed-on systems of belief.
During the 1920's Kristensen travelled a lot within and outside of Europe. Travels to i.e. China, Japan and Spain resulted in published fictional depictions of his destinations.
Despite his many travels and writings thereof, his probably best known novel takes place in his own Copenhagen as well as in some of his own personal struggles:
In 1930 贬忙谤惫忙谤办 (published in English in 1968 as Havoc) was published. The novel, considered by many to be Kristensen's greatest work, revolts around the life of alcoholized literary critic Ole Jastrau, whose life bears great resemblance to Tom Kristensen's own life at the time. The story depicts a self-destructive nihilistic soul determined to drink himself to death in a modern western capital. Kristensen's fascination with chaos and disaster once again shines through in his masterpiece.
A few years after the death of his third wife in 1943, he withdrew from the Danish capital, and moved to the small island Thur酶 in 1946 where he lived until his death in 1974.
Tom Aage Kristensen was born in London in United Kingdom in 1893 to Danish parents. In his early childhood the family moved back to Denmark, more specifically Copenhagen, where Kristensen grew up.
Kristensen was a Danish poet, writer, and critic. He was a key figure in Danish literature in the interwar period (as well as later), and is considered one of the few Danish expressionist writers.
A path towards literature was being shaped early on, as he was named after the fictional character Uncle Tom from Harriet Beecher Stowe's novel Uncle Tom's Cabin (1852), which was his mother's favorite book.
In 1919 Kristensen graduated with a major in Danish. After graduating he taught English for two years whilst writing his first works. In 1920 he debuted as a poet, when 贵谤颈产测迟迟别谤诲谤酶尘尘别 (in English: "Freebooter Dreams") was published. The year after he made his debut as a novelist with Livets Arabesk (in English: "The Arabesque of Life"). Both works are characterized as expressionistic writings with strong influences from Nietzsche's thoughts on chaos and lack of accept of the passed-on systems of belief.
During the 1920's Kristensen travelled a lot within and outside of Europe. Travels to i.e. China, Japan and Spain resulted in published fictional depictions of his destinations.
Despite his many travels and writings thereof, his probably best known novel takes place in his own Copenhagen as well as in some of his own personal struggles:
In 1930 贬忙谤惫忙谤办 (published in English in 1968 as Havoc) was published. The novel, considered by many to be Kristensen's greatest work, revolts around the life of alcoholized literary critic Ole Jastrau, whose life bears great resemblance to Tom Kristensen's own life at the time. The story depicts a self-destructive nihilistic soul determined to drink himself to death in a modern western capital. Kristensen's fascination with chaos and disaster once again shines through in his masterpiece.
A few years after the death of his third wife in 1943, he withdrew from the Danish capital, and moved to the small island Thur酶 in 1946 where he lived until his death in 1974.
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August 18, 2020
"Havoc should come with a health warning. Tom Kristensen's novel, about a thirty-something literary critic who loses himself in a maelstrom of drink, jazz, and sex is one of the most disturbing and absorbing accounts of self-destruction in modern European literature."
The above warning is from Morten H酶i Jensen鈥檚 Introduction to the novel in the New York Review Books edition. I couldn鈥檛 think of more accurate words to describe what a reader is in store for with Havoc. Incidentally, the literal translation of the original Danish title 贬忙谤惫忙谤办 is vandalism, and that鈥檚 vandalism as a ravaging, sacking, smashing, wreckage, defacing and trashing. In other words, creating havoc.
I was initially drawn to this novel since one literary critic called it the Steppenwolf of Danish literature. Ah, the magic theater and a magic carpet ride in Copenhagen 鈥� irresistible. And similar to the connection between Hermann Hesse and wolf of the steppes Harry Haller, author Tom Kristensen (1893-1974) most definitely shares much with his protagonist Ole Jastrau 鈥� he published poetry and worked as a literary critic in Copenhagen, had rocky relations with women (Kristensen was married five times), and, most famously, was an excessive drinker.
The opening pages of Kristensen's Havoc (published in 1930) provide the frame: Ole Jastrau sits at his desk in his apartment down the street from Copenhagen鈥檚 Town Square Hall. There鈥檚 a stack of books waiting for his review. No question, Ole needs peace and quiet so he can do his job. But he has anything but peace and quiet: the telephone keeps ringing, the front doorbell keeps ringing and, since his wife Johanne is out shopping, Ole must deal with his nagging young son Oluf. Ahhhhh! Enough to drive a book reviewer crazy . . . or drive him to the bottle for a much needed drink.
The doorbell rings yet again. Standing in the hallway are none other than Ole鈥檚 old buddies Bernhard Sanders and Stefan Steffensen, Sanders a Communist agitator and Steffensen an antiestablishment poet, both men wanted by the police, both men wanting to hide out in Jastrau鈥檚 apartment. And since Jastrau invites his visitors in, he has just obliterated the prospect of spending the next hours writing book reviews.
As host, Ole Jastrau brings out a bottle of liquor to offer his guests a drink. And it is exactly at this juncture Tom Kristensen offers readers what will amount to a cantus furmus for the entire 500-page novel: 鈥淎lready, now that he hugged the bottle close against his chest, he felt a warm sense of reassurance. It was as if he suddenly found himself at home 鈥� he who felt like a stranger everywhere, here among his own furniture, here with his own son, yes, even with the things he wrote.鈥�
Havoc is intense, every single scene counts and provides its own distinctive sting as we witness Ole Jastrau鈥檚 slide into chaos. Thus, in this sense, we have a work of bleak existentialism. Perhaps Ole Jastrau would have felt a kinship with the father of existentialism who also spent his brief life writing in the city of Copenhagen 鈥� none other than nineteenth century Danish philosopher S酶ren Kierkegaard. But, alas, Jastrau wasn鈥檛 given the opportunity as Kierkegaard's work and ideas were not rediscovered and brought to light throughout Europe until many years later.
One of the more intriguing parts of the novel is Ole鈥檚 ongoing conversations with Arne Vulum, a man of letters and reviewer of foreign literature, a critic known for not having read a single book of Danish fiction for at least five years. Vulum relates with pride the fact he no longer writes in Danish because his home language, like American English, has been infected with the barbarism of materialistic culture. In many ways, the Jastrau-Vulum connection highlights how, from a particular angle, a reading of Havoc can be taken as a denouncement of a society submerged and made soulless by omnipresent, moneygrubbing capitalism.
Since repetition a la Nietzsche鈥檚 eternal return is among the novel鈥檚 major themes, let me repeat, in a bar blaring with jazz, drinking and more drinking, alone in his apartment following the departure of Johanna and Oluf, drinking and more drinking, in the publisher鈥檚 office, roaming out on the street, in bed with a prostitute, each and every scene delivers its own unique existential sting.
One telling example: Ole and Johanna get dressed up to attend a formal party. In his tails and white tie Ole feels like a waiter 鈥� and in the daylight he has the sense all of this is a masquerade, even a carnival. Shapely, attractive Johanne puts on her black dress with bold yellow pattern. Swelling curves, full breasts, sexy legs, Ole sees Johanne as too provocative, an untamed creature having a come-on look. As much as Ole Jastrau yearns for the Dionysian frenzy of a swirling booze fueled chaos, the bourgeois in him recoils at the sight of his wife looking dangerous. Jarstau鈥檚 conflicted nature does indeed echo Harry Haller, thus I can see why Havoc is the Danish Steppenwolf.
After the party, a get-together that made Jastrau feel as if he was held in the clutches of the flames of hell, he and Johanna ride back in a cab. Jastrau says he can鈥檛 take it any longer. Johanna asks in a severe tone why he turned the photographs of his mother and son around at home. Jastrau reflects: 鈥淚n his mind鈥檚 eye he saw himself as he had been there in the apartment 鈥� how, unable to rest because of dissipation an the whiskey in his system, he had paced back and forth through the rooms and suddenly felt himself tormented by the two faces, the photographs of his mother and his son, how he had had a feeling that they could see right through him, and then he had turned the pictures around.鈥�
This two hundred pages in. The following three hundred pages rage on, spiraling down in an alcoholic burn. No wonder Morten H酶i Jensen issued his warning. And no wonder Havoc has had a cult following ever since. Vandalism given literary form by one of the most articulate and sensitive souls writing in the first half of the twentieth century. Thank you New York Review Books for republishing. An overlooked classic deserving a wide modern audience.
Danish author Tom Kristensen
December 9, 2024
鈥澛e profundis clamavi!鈥�La novela se lee con la sensaci贸n persistente del que est谩 viendo una pel铆cula de terror en la que el est煤pido personaje, haciendo o铆dos sordos a todas nuestras advertencias, se va encaminando hacia la puerta con la intenci贸n de abrirla. 隆No la abras, no abras esa maldita puertaaaaaa隆, nos desga帽itamos in煤tilmente: el personaje, obviamente, abre la puerta y鈥� Bien, pues as铆 nos las tenemos que ver, aunque sin sombra alguna de la intensidad que ponemos ante el tipo de la puerta, durante m谩s de seiscientas p谩ginas con Ole Jastrau, un pobre hombre con una juventud pol铆ticamente rebelde y con 铆nfulas de poeta que a su mediana edad se ve encerrado en una vida burguesa y acomodada que lo va secando poco a poco mientras 茅l se va mojando en alcohol de mucho en mucho. De nada sirve que nos desga帽itemos mentalmente, Ole Jastrau va tomando en cada momento la opci贸n que justamente m谩s le perjudica, aunque quiz谩 sea tambi茅n la 煤nica opci贸n que puede soportar, la que le acerca un poquito m谩s a la devastaci贸n buscada.
鈥澛h, all铆 no hab铆a vac铆o! 隆Vida! 隆Vida!... Sum茅rgete en whisky y cree en tus amigos.鈥�Nada se le puede decir a Jastrau, no ser铆an m谩s que 鈥渧oces desde la orilla mientras 茅l pasa flotando a la deriva鈥�. Su familia, su trabajo, su vida entera, la que siente como una traici贸n a todos sus principios, se va escabullendo poco a poco en una lenta espiral degradante alrededor del desag眉e que, como un agujero negro, terminar谩 por atraerlo y absorberlo sin mucha resistencia por su parte. Jastrau es de esas personas que arrojan sobre sus espaldas todas las culpas de la humanidad y por las que, como la figura de Jesucristo con la cual se identifica a menudo, no descansar谩 hasta obtener su castigo.
鈥淪铆, beber hasta perder el juicio ten铆a algo de religioso. La sensaci贸n de vac铆o se desvanec铆a. El espacio se colmaba de un yo ruidoso, balbuciente y borracho, todo el espacio.鈥�El atractivo de ese fondo del pozo al que se dirige activamente radica en el sentimiento de invulnerabilidad, no tener ya nada que temer, y, sobre todo, no tener que ceder m谩s para mantener esa vida burguesa que desprecia tan intensamente y para la que no encuentra alternativa posible m谩s all谩 del pr贸ximo vaso de whisky.
鈥淣unca he visto una an茅mona azul鈥� necesito sacarme de la cabeza esta asquerosa an茅mona azul, la muy maldita.鈥�Todo esto suena muy bien, al menos para un lector como yo. Hasta tiene alguna que otra pincelada de humor:
鈥溾€擫a vida es la mayor canallada con la que me he topado, qu茅 verg眉enza que Goethe jam谩s escribiera una palabra al respecto.Y sin embargo, a pesar de todo ese interesante camino hacia la devastaci贸n personal, uno lee las seiscientas cincuenta p谩ginas con una aburrida indiferencia. El estilo de Kristensen es fr铆o, su ritmo, lento, las escenas, repetitivas (quiz谩s un homenaje al eterno retorno de Nietzsche, citado en la novela) 鈥� En fin, otro libro en el que la letra es estupenda pero la m煤sica no es capaz de resaltarla como convendr铆a.
鈥擲铆, es para volverse loco鈥� La cantidad de cosas que Goethe no escribi贸.鈥�
鈥淗ay que construir un lenguaje nuevo鈥� El lenguaje es una furcia, s铆, se帽or. El ser humano jam谩s deber铆a haberse liado con ella. No deber铆a haber aprendido a hablar, no. Eso ha destruido la vida鈥� esas est煤pidas palabras cierran el camino hacia el infinito鈥�
August 6, 2018
鈥滲ehold the man. But wasn鈥檛 it a lie to maintain that he had sought for the spiritual? He with his Mongoloid features? The infinitude and intractability of the soul?
Anyway what had come of it?
A ruined marriage and a lost job. Here he was. Brawling and broken window panes. Tawdry seduction and infidelity. Ridiculous conversion and a home gone up in flames. Hallucinations and havoc. And Ecce Homo! Was it a man who stood here? And whiskey, whiskey, whiskey!
Ole 鈥淛azz鈥� Jastrau has a respectable job writing book reviews for the newspaper Dagbladet. He has an apartment, a wife, a child, and all the books he could possibly read. He has the same dissatisfaction that all people have, wondering if this is it. Is this all? These are mild concerns, but then two communist friends shove their way into the apartment, on the run from the police, and in the course of their discourse with Jazz, they shove wedges and crowbars into the cracks of his insecurities and make them into yawning chasms of all consuming rebellion.
He begins to drink too much.
His wife and child move out.
The books, his livelihood, piled about his apartment are oppressing him with their demands to be read. 鈥滻t was impossible to escape one鈥檚 fate. There lay the stack of review copies---waiting, waiting.鈥� There are many of us reviewers who have suffered from a cacophony of imploring overtures, not only from new books and their anxious authors, but also the books from the past that still haunt us with their beseeching appeals for our attention.
鈥漎es, of course. He was going to resign. It was like peeling a whole layer of opinions from himself. He no longer wanted a steady job as a producer of opinions. Infinity---was that not what he was seeking? He wanted to be an infinite person, one who was initiated into the mysteries.鈥�
Jazz is railing, in his own fashion, at the shape of the world. He doesn鈥檛 see what he gains from being a productive member of it, except increasing levels of responsibility and a growing distance from what makes life real.
Whiskey seems to be the quickest way to go to the dogs. If he becomes a drunken lout, little will be expected of him. He can focus on reaching the divine, which frankly, whatever that is becomes more and more muddled in his mind. Whiskey induced philosophical hallucinations of Jesus and Nietzsche lead to an ill-fated attempt by Jazz to convert to Catholicism.
Giving up the religion of economics to clutch at faith? Leaping from one blazing inferno into yet another?
In the introduction, Morten H酶i Jensen sums up the novel perfectly. 鈥�Havoc should come with a health warning. Tom Kristensen鈥檚 novel, about a thirty-something literary critic who loses himself in a maelstrom of drink, jazz, and sex, is one of the most disturbing and absorbing accounts of self-destruction in modern European language.鈥�
There is music. 鈥漈his feeling was tempered somewhat, as it was by the jazz from the worn and scratchy records on the phonograph.鈥�
There is drink, of which Tom Kristensen has firsthand knowledge. 鈥漁n more than one occasion, his nighttime exploits landed him in a cell at the local police station, where it was joked that Kristensen didn鈥檛 have enough blood in his alcohol content.鈥�---Morten H酶i Jensen
There is sex and the accompanying worry of disease. A woman by the name of Black Else keeps showing up, and despite warnings from his friend Vuldum that she is diseased, Jazz can not stay away from her. By attempting to avoid her, he just keeps finding her. After an unwise assignation, he sees her as a vision caught against the backdrop of a fire from across the street. 鈥�...fiery shadows, bloody shadows. The naked female body floated upright but obliquely through purple waves, arms outstretched above its head. A greenish darkness lurking in the shadowy armpits. Black Else! Her breasts became so full in the reflections of the red light flickering on the yellow skin. Feminine curves. Just then a tongue of flame shot up across the way and ignited another curtain--an elongated feminine arm, a demanding feminine body, supple, alluring, devouring. A raging fire. Yes---a woman.鈥�
There is seduction. Not by Jazz, but of Jazz by a married woman named Luise Kryger. 鈥漈he neck of the pajama top had fallen aside, and in the glow from the pink fabric one of her breasts, which had come to view, shone with a fresh and youthful charm, and the dark nipple caught his glance and fascinated him by its disproportionate size, so large was the brown aureola surrounding it.鈥�
That dark nipple is going to cause Jazz all sorts of irritations with the unwanted attentions of her cuckold husband, who keeps trying to usher him out of town with a cluster of 脴re notes.
There is also the heady backdrop of Copenhagen pollution. 鈥漇tanding beneath this wide-open expanse they both instinctively drew a deep breath of cool evening air, seasoned with gasoline and perfume and the fetid odor of many people, to which was added the acrid aroma of metal and coal smoke from the subterranean railway---a slightly intoxicating draught of poisonous liqueurs that the big city had to offer in spring.鈥�
This book has never been out of print in Denmark since it was published in 1930. There is a good reason for this, because the concerns of Jazz are the same concerns of the modern age. As society demands more from us for less in return, and we become aware of the true shambles our belief in the system has made for us, the urge to drop out becomes more and more appealing. There is a cautionary tale mingled with the booze, slutty encounters, and the 鈥渄eviant鈥� music that going to the dogs creates just as much anxiety as being a productive member of society. Hedonism certainly has some attractions, but the cost proved too high for Jastrau and, in the end, to be equally dissatisfying. Perhaps we all should do some unpeeling, but at a moderate speed so we don鈥檛 find ourselves face down in a gutter with a mangy critter licking our sweaty, whiskey swollen faces.
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Anyway what had come of it?
A ruined marriage and a lost job. Here he was. Brawling and broken window panes. Tawdry seduction and infidelity. Ridiculous conversion and a home gone up in flames. Hallucinations and havoc. And Ecce Homo! Was it a man who stood here? And whiskey, whiskey, whiskey!
I have longed for shipwrecks,
For havoc and sudden death.鈥�
Ole 鈥淛azz鈥� Jastrau has a respectable job writing book reviews for the newspaper Dagbladet. He has an apartment, a wife, a child, and all the books he could possibly read. He has the same dissatisfaction that all people have, wondering if this is it. Is this all? These are mild concerns, but then two communist friends shove their way into the apartment, on the run from the police, and in the course of their discourse with Jazz, they shove wedges and crowbars into the cracks of his insecurities and make them into yawning chasms of all consuming rebellion.
He begins to drink too much.
His wife and child move out.
The books, his livelihood, piled about his apartment are oppressing him with their demands to be read. 鈥滻t was impossible to escape one鈥檚 fate. There lay the stack of review copies---waiting, waiting.鈥� There are many of us reviewers who have suffered from a cacophony of imploring overtures, not only from new books and their anxious authors, but also the books from the past that still haunt us with their beseeching appeals for our attention.
鈥漎es, of course. He was going to resign. It was like peeling a whole layer of opinions from himself. He no longer wanted a steady job as a producer of opinions. Infinity---was that not what he was seeking? He wanted to be an infinite person, one who was initiated into the mysteries.鈥�
Jazz is railing, in his own fashion, at the shape of the world. He doesn鈥檛 see what he gains from being a productive member of it, except increasing levels of responsibility and a growing distance from what makes life real.
Whiskey seems to be the quickest way to go to the dogs. If he becomes a drunken lout, little will be expected of him. He can focus on reaching the divine, which frankly, whatever that is becomes more and more muddled in his mind. Whiskey induced philosophical hallucinations of Jesus and Nietzsche lead to an ill-fated attempt by Jazz to convert to Catholicism.
Giving up the religion of economics to clutch at faith? Leaping from one blazing inferno into yet another?
In the introduction, Morten H酶i Jensen sums up the novel perfectly. 鈥�Havoc should come with a health warning. Tom Kristensen鈥檚 novel, about a thirty-something literary critic who loses himself in a maelstrom of drink, jazz, and sex, is one of the most disturbing and absorbing accounts of self-destruction in modern European language.鈥�
There is music. 鈥漈his feeling was tempered somewhat, as it was by the jazz from the worn and scratchy records on the phonograph.鈥�
There is drink, of which Tom Kristensen has firsthand knowledge. 鈥漁n more than one occasion, his nighttime exploits landed him in a cell at the local police station, where it was joked that Kristensen didn鈥檛 have enough blood in his alcohol content.鈥�---Morten H酶i Jensen
There is sex and the accompanying worry of disease. A woman by the name of Black Else keeps showing up, and despite warnings from his friend Vuldum that she is diseased, Jazz can not stay away from her. By attempting to avoid her, he just keeps finding her. After an unwise assignation, he sees her as a vision caught against the backdrop of a fire from across the street. 鈥�...fiery shadows, bloody shadows. The naked female body floated upright but obliquely through purple waves, arms outstretched above its head. A greenish darkness lurking in the shadowy armpits. Black Else! Her breasts became so full in the reflections of the red light flickering on the yellow skin. Feminine curves. Just then a tongue of flame shot up across the way and ignited another curtain--an elongated feminine arm, a demanding feminine body, supple, alluring, devouring. A raging fire. Yes---a woman.鈥�
There is seduction. Not by Jazz, but of Jazz by a married woman named Luise Kryger. 鈥漈he neck of the pajama top had fallen aside, and in the glow from the pink fabric one of her breasts, which had come to view, shone with a fresh and youthful charm, and the dark nipple caught his glance and fascinated him by its disproportionate size, so large was the brown aureola surrounding it.鈥�
That dark nipple is going to cause Jazz all sorts of irritations with the unwanted attentions of her cuckold husband, who keeps trying to usher him out of town with a cluster of 脴re notes.
There is also the heady backdrop of Copenhagen pollution. 鈥漇tanding beneath this wide-open expanse they both instinctively drew a deep breath of cool evening air, seasoned with gasoline and perfume and the fetid odor of many people, to which was added the acrid aroma of metal and coal smoke from the subterranean railway---a slightly intoxicating draught of poisonous liqueurs that the big city had to offer in spring.鈥�
This book has never been out of print in Denmark since it was published in 1930. There is a good reason for this, because the concerns of Jazz are the same concerns of the modern age. As society demands more from us for less in return, and we become aware of the true shambles our belief in the system has made for us, the urge to drop out becomes more and more appealing. There is a cautionary tale mingled with the booze, slutty encounters, and the 鈥渄eviant鈥� music that going to the dogs creates just as much anxiety as being a productive member of society. Hedonism certainly has some attractions, but the cost proved too high for Jastrau and, in the end, to be equally dissatisfying. Perhaps we all should do some unpeeling, but at a moderate speed so we don鈥檛 find ourselves face down in a gutter with a mangy critter licking our sweaty, whiskey swollen faces.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:
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July 24, 2018The short bio in the front of this book says, "Kristensen lived a notoriously dissolute life." So, write about what you know, right?
The protagonist is Ole Jastrau, a book reviewer for a Danish newspaper, circa 1930. He's married with child. He's paid well enough. He says he loves his son. His wife is not a shrew, even saying the immortal words to him: I wish you always had a hangover. But enough is enough (maybe it was the prostitute), and his wife leaves with son and Jastrau can continue with his dissolution.
Yet, Jastrau is never alone. And, oddly, never truly despised.
His friends all call him Jazz, and there is a Jazz theme running through the novel. Well, Jazz music plays and the author repeats little phrases, thinking perhaps that that is Jazz. But recurring themes and phrases are not unique to Jazz. It's through repetition that one gets to know hell.
Ah. Religion. So, maybe there's a Christ motif. And, yes, Jastrau says be good to each other. And in case we missed that, the author says, you know, like Jesus Christ. His drunken romances are likened to Jesus and the fallen women. Even one of the four parts of the book is called Ecce homo. For chrissakes.
But then he tries to break into a church, unsuccessfully, and in perfect character, says: I know a bar that's never closed.
So, perhaps, my allegorical friends, Jastrau is someone else.
A friend says to him, "Life is the damnedest filthy mess I've ever come up against, and it's amazing that Goethe never said so in one syllable."
That's an amazing sentence, by the way, and we weren't even talking about Goethe. The reader does a double-, triple-take. The reader stops in mid-conversation because Goethe did say so . . . in one syllable. That guy. Jastrau is sober or drunk enough to reply, "Yes, all the things Goethe didn't say are enough to drive you crazy."
Now, a little known fact is that lead guitarists in a rock band, American football quarterbacks, and book reviewers always get the girl. Jastrau, for all his dissolution, had a way with women.
"Oh, by the way," Fru Kryger said, squeezing his arm, "the other day you wrote about a contemporary Irish book, didn't you? About Odysseus, I think it was."
Jastrau tells her that a little thing like her might not be able to carry Ulysses but he lends it to her anyhow, with a warning: It takes a series of directions to get through it.
There's a few other references to a pallid whale, but by then I was only looking for soundbites.
There were those gems popping up in a series of conversations in bars. Like a cool solo, a bit of artistry, in an extended boring Jazz piece. But it's Jazz, not truth, I seek in drunken revelry.
I don't want to hear the truth at my table. . . . It isn't housebroken.
The protagonist is Ole Jastrau, a book reviewer for a Danish newspaper, circa 1930. He's married with child. He's paid well enough. He says he loves his son. His wife is not a shrew, even saying the immortal words to him: I wish you always had a hangover. But enough is enough (maybe it was the prostitute), and his wife leaves with son and Jastrau can continue with his dissolution.
Yet, Jastrau is never alone. And, oddly, never truly despised.
His friends all call him Jazz, and there is a Jazz theme running through the novel. Well, Jazz music plays and the author repeats little phrases, thinking perhaps that that is Jazz. But recurring themes and phrases are not unique to Jazz. It's through repetition that one gets to know hell.
Ah. Religion. So, maybe there's a Christ motif. And, yes, Jastrau says be good to each other. And in case we missed that, the author says, you know, like Jesus Christ. His drunken romances are likened to Jesus and the fallen women. Even one of the four parts of the book is called Ecce homo. For chrissakes.
But then he tries to break into a church, unsuccessfully, and in perfect character, says: I know a bar that's never closed.
So, perhaps, my allegorical friends, Jastrau is someone else.
A friend says to him, "Life is the damnedest filthy mess I've ever come up against, and it's amazing that Goethe never said so in one syllable."
That's an amazing sentence, by the way, and we weren't even talking about Goethe. The reader does a double-, triple-take. The reader stops in mid-conversation because Goethe did say so . . . in one syllable. That guy. Jastrau is sober or drunk enough to reply, "Yes, all the things Goethe didn't say are enough to drive you crazy."
Now, a little known fact is that lead guitarists in a rock band, American football quarterbacks, and book reviewers always get the girl. Jastrau, for all his dissolution, had a way with women.
"Oh, by the way," Fru Kryger said, squeezing his arm, "the other day you wrote about a contemporary Irish book, didn't you? About Odysseus, I think it was."
Jastrau tells her that a little thing like her might not be able to carry Ulysses but he lends it to her anyhow, with a warning: It takes a series of directions to get through it.
There's a few other references to a pallid whale, but by then I was only looking for soundbites.
There were those gems popping up in a series of conversations in bars. Like a cool solo, a bit of artistry, in an extended boring Jazz piece. But it's Jazz, not truth, I seek in drunken revelry.
I don't want to hear the truth at my table. . . . It isn't housebroken.
August 13, 2021
Riiiiing, Riiiiing... Hello, Ole Jastrau speaking. Ole Jastrau, the critic? Yes, that's me. Who's calling? Jo茫o Reis. Who? Jo茫o Reis. Never heard the name. That makes sense, as I was born 55 years after this book was first published. You were? Good for you, pal. And what do you want? Well, taking into account how things work, I want to have a word with you about my next novel. You see... Oh, I see indeed. You're pulling a HC Stefani on me? You can say so, yes, Jazz. Don't call me Jazz, prick. You're the prick, asshole. You're the asshole, you piece of shit. And you're a damm drunkard. Who, me? I just drink a glass or two. No, no, you keep hitting the bottle. By the way, I live quite near the port wine cellars, you know. Want to take a sip? Hmm, that would be great. And can I also borrow a couple of kroner from you? Ole, Ole, in 2020's Copenhagen a couple of kroner won't get you booze. Whatever, just loan me some more. Let's go to the dogs together. Sorry, I don't drink.
Writers, boozers, poets, journalists, whores, critics, art. Ole Jastrau, ecce homo.
Havoc, a fabulous, fun novel by Tom Kristensen in which some episodes don't really add up and whose ending is pretty much obvious since the beginning (the fire is quite predictable and too convenient as he insists on talking about that fire insurance policy throughout the book, and having that lascivious woman as his neighbour and dweller of the flat in front of his is rather silly), but which is proof that a book is more than all its parts considered separately.
A great read, a powerful character-driven novel. I surely recommend it. Read it!
Translated by Carl Malmberg.
Writers, boozers, poets, journalists, whores, critics, art. Ole Jastrau, ecce homo.
Havoc, a fabulous, fun novel by Tom Kristensen in which some episodes don't really add up and whose ending is pretty much obvious since the beginning (the fire is quite predictable and too convenient as he insists on talking about that fire insurance policy throughout the book, and having that lascivious woman as his neighbour and dweller of the flat in front of his is rather silly), but which is proof that a book is more than all its parts considered separately.
A great read, a powerful character-driven novel. I surely recommend it. Read it!
Translated by Carl Malmberg.
January 21, 2020
"賮賷 夭賲丕賳賳丕 賯丿 賷購賵賱賻丿 賯丿賾賷爻賹 賵丕丨丿賹 賰賱賻 賲卅丞 毓丕賲貙 亘賷賳賲丕 賷賵 賱丿購 丌孬賲賵 賳 賰賱賻 孬丕賳賷丞貙 賳丨賳 賱爻賳丕 賯賱賾丞 ".
- 鬲賵賲 賰乇賷爻鬲賷賳爻賳
鬲鬲賳丕賵賱 乇賵丕賷丞 "赖丿賲" 賱賱乇賵丕卅賷 鬲賵賲 賰乇賷爻鬲賷賳爻賳 丨賷丕丞 卮丕毓乇 賵氐丨賮賷 賲毓乇賵賮 賷毓賲賱 賮賷 兀賰亘乇 丕賱氐丨賮 丕賱丿賳賲丕乇賰賷丞貙 賷毓賷卮 丨賷丕丞 賲爻鬲賯乇丞貙 亘丿賻禺賱 孬丕亘鬲貙 賵毓丕卅賱丞 賵兀胤賮丕賱貙 賵卮賯賻賾丞 乇丕賯賷丞貙 賯乇賾乇 賮噩兀丞 兀賳 賷赖丿賲賻 丨賷丕鬲賴. 賴匕丕 丕賱賯乇丕乇貙 賰賲丕 爻賵賮 賳乇賶貙 賷鬲噩丕賵夭購 胤丕亘毓賻 丕賱鬲賲乇丿 丕賱卮禺氐賷 廿賱賶 丕囟胤乇丕亘丕鬲 賲乇丨賱丞 夭賲賳賷丞 賰丕賲賱丞.
鬲丿賵乇購 兀丨丿丕孬購 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 賮賷 賮鬲乇丞 賲賳 鬲丕乇賷禺 丕賱丿賳賲丕乇賰貙 噩乇賶 賮賷賴丕 丕賱賰孬賷乇購 賲賳 丕賱賲鬲睾賷乇丕鬲 爻賷丕爻賷丕賸 賵丕賯鬲氐丕丿賷丕賸 賵丕噩鬲賲丕毓賷丕賸貙 賵賴賷 丕賱賮鬲乇丞 賲丕 亘賷賳 丕賱丨乇亘賻賷賿賳 丕賱鬲賷 鬲賳丕賵賱賴丕 丕賱兀丿亘購 丕賱兀賵乇賵亘賷 亘鬲賵爻毓. 毓購丿賾鬲 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 賵孬賷賯丞賸 賱賲丕 兀購胤賱賯 毓賱賷賴 噩賷賱賻 賲丕 亘賷賳 丕賱丨乇亘賻賷賿賳 丕賱囟丕卅毓貙 賵馗賴乇鬲 丕賳毓賰丕爻丕鬲賴 賵丕囟丨丞賸 毓亘乇賻 賮氐賵賱 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 賲鬲賲孬賾賱丞賸 賮賷 丕爻鬲毓乇丕囟 丿賯賷賯 賲賲鬲毓 賱廿賷賯丕毓 丕賱賲丿賷賳丞貙 賵賳亘囟賴丕貙 賮賷 賲乇丨賱丞 兀賵丕禺乇 丕賱毓卮乇賷賳賷丕鬲.
鬲購毓丿 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 賲賳 丕賱兀毓賲丕賱 丕賱賰賱丕爻賷賰賷丞 丕賱乇丕卅毓丞 賱賱兀丿亘 丕賱丿賳賲丕乇賰賷貙 賮賴賷 賮囟賱丕賸 毓賳
丕賱鬲賮丕氐賷賱 丕賱丿賯賷賯丞 丕賱鬲賷 鬲購賯丿賾賲購賴丕 毓賳 丨丕賱丞 丕賱亘胤賱貙 鬲鬲賳丕賵賱 亘鬲丨賱賷賱 毓賲賷賯 丕賱卮賾賰賻賾 丕賱匕賷
賷氐賷亘購 丕賱廿賳爻丕賳賻 賮賷 亘丨孬賴 毓賳 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞貙 賲毓賳賶 賵噩賵丿賴 賵兀賴賲賾賷賾鬲賴. 賲丕 賲毓賳賶 丕賱丿賾賷賳 賵丿賵乇賴責
賴賱 鬲禺鬲賱賮購 丕賱賰丕孬賵賱賷賰賷丞 賮賷 賳馗乇鬲賴丕 廿賱賶 丕賱廿賳爻丕賳責 賵賲丕 丕賱匕賷 賷購賯乇賾亘 丕賱廿賳爻丕賳 賲賳 丕賱賲爻賷丨責
賴賱 賴賵 爻購賰賿乇賴 賵丕賳爻丨丕亘賴責 兀賲 廿賷賲丕賳賴 丕賱丿賷賳賷責
...
May 2, 2020
To paraphrase the Norwegian Nobel Prize Winner Knut Hamson as he wrote in a letter to Tom Kristensen after having read 贬忙谤惫忙谤办: "Over the past one and a half days I have been living with Jastrau and the other characters, but now that it's over, I am sitting here missing them so much that it hurts. It seems so empty now that it's finished......a stroke of genius and a masterpiece".
February 24, 2021
Books like Havoc make me realize I'm a lousy book reviewer. A good reviewer would write a few paragraphs alluding to various facets of the book and its time and then provide a lengthy summary and follow with some brilliant insights. Me? I read the book knowing I was lucky to have it recommended and am engaged and know by page 100 it is a great book and start thinking too much of what I want to say in a review and the more I think of it the less I understand how to review the book.
I begin to think of comparisons...Dostoevsky for Copenhagen in the 1920s? The book was published in 1930. It isn't postmodern. It's rather old-fashioned. Do I think of Knut Hamsun's Mysteries because that, too, was Nordic and the protagonist was unmoored? Should I consider it proto-existentialist for the absurd and inexplicable behavior of Ole Jastrau, our hero who goes to the dogs? Does the book fall into that most jejune of all categories, modernist? Actually, yes. Yes, I think, in that it is very much a book of a man in a large city during a time of absurd freedoms and clearly random yet bullying expectations. Ole more or less has it made at age 35, being the literary editor of what appears to be the most significant daily newspaper in Denmark, and he is not even required to work every day. But he is not satisfied, and it is never made clear why. He needs to go to the dogs. Is it freedom he seeks? Not necessarily, not explicitly stated. So it must be meaning. Yet throughout the year or so the book's action most conversations, most action, is of obscure motivation. The need to go to the dogs, though, somehow is passed by Kristensen through Jastrau to the reader. Reviewers should be definitive. So here: this is a book intended to make the reader want to go to the dogs. The conflict is rather simple: going to the dogs requires dissolution in the form of drinking, drinking requires money, which you run out of when you go to the dogs. "A thinking brain was a painful affliction." Yeah, I get that. My brain thinks I need to drink, but then it cautions me about the consequences, which make want to drink even more...when I think about it.
The inevitable Kjaer pulled one of his own teeth, got the whole thing out in one blackish, nerve-trailing piece. To Jastrau: "It looks like my lawyer." One of the delights of this novel is that you never know what anyone is going to say. It's a floating world, a portrait of a floating world. "A fish in sunlit water. Sharp outlines of buildings and traffic. Somewhere inside his brain a cocktail glowed." Often Kristensen uses ship imagery. Jastrau often imagines he's at sea. Ceilings in the morning are disturbing. "I have longed for shipwrecks, havoc and violent death" is the most famous bit from the book, apparently...
I want badly to get drunk.
I begin to think of comparisons...Dostoevsky for Copenhagen in the 1920s? The book was published in 1930. It isn't postmodern. It's rather old-fashioned. Do I think of Knut Hamsun's Mysteries because that, too, was Nordic and the protagonist was unmoored? Should I consider it proto-existentialist for the absurd and inexplicable behavior of Ole Jastrau, our hero who goes to the dogs? Does the book fall into that most jejune of all categories, modernist? Actually, yes. Yes, I think, in that it is very much a book of a man in a large city during a time of absurd freedoms and clearly random yet bullying expectations. Ole more or less has it made at age 35, being the literary editor of what appears to be the most significant daily newspaper in Denmark, and he is not even required to work every day. But he is not satisfied, and it is never made clear why. He needs to go to the dogs. Is it freedom he seeks? Not necessarily, not explicitly stated. So it must be meaning. Yet throughout the year or so the book's action most conversations, most action, is of obscure motivation. The need to go to the dogs, though, somehow is passed by Kristensen through Jastrau to the reader. Reviewers should be definitive. So here: this is a book intended to make the reader want to go to the dogs. The conflict is rather simple: going to the dogs requires dissolution in the form of drinking, drinking requires money, which you run out of when you go to the dogs. "A thinking brain was a painful affliction." Yeah, I get that. My brain thinks I need to drink, but then it cautions me about the consequences, which make want to drink even more...when I think about it.
The inevitable Kjaer pulled one of his own teeth, got the whole thing out in one blackish, nerve-trailing piece. To Jastrau: "It looks like my lawyer." One of the delights of this novel is that you never know what anyone is going to say. It's a floating world, a portrait of a floating world. "A fish in sunlit water. Sharp outlines of buildings and traffic. Somewhere inside his brain a cocktail glowed." Often Kristensen uses ship imagery. Jastrau often imagines he's at sea. Ceilings in the morning are disturbing. "I have longed for shipwrecks, havoc and violent death" is the most famous bit from the book, apparently...
I want badly to get drunk.
May 29, 2019
賴匕賴 乇賵丕賷丞 亘胤賷卅丞貙 爻鬲毓賱賲賰 兀賳 鬲鬲匕賵賯 丕賱兀丿亘 毓賱賶 賲賴賱. 匕賰乇鬲賳賷 賰孬賷乇賸丕 賴匕賴 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 亘丕賱賲賯賵賱丞 丕賱鬲丕賱賷丞: 丕賱噩賵毓 賴賵 兀賲賴乇 丕賱胤亘丕禺賷賳貙 亘匕賱賰 毓賲丿 鬲賵賲 賰乇賷爻鬲賷賳爻賳 毓賱賶 胤亘禺 賴匕賴 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 亘卮賰賱 亘胤賷卅 噩丿賸丕. 賮賴賵 賲賳匕 丕賱亘丿丕賷丞 賷毓賱賲賰 亘兀賳 亘賷賳 賷丿賷賰 賳氐 兀丿亘賷 賷丨鬲乇賲貙 賷丨囟乇 毓賱賶 賳丕乇 賴丕丿卅丞.
鬲賰賲賳 賯賵丞 賴匕賴 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 賮賷 丕賱賵氐賮貙 賷氐賮 賰乇賷爻鬲賷賳爻賳 丕賱賲卮丕賴丿 亘卮賰賱 毓馗賷賲貙 賱賷亘賱睾 賲賳鬲賴賶 丕賱毓馗賲丞 丕賱鬲賷 鬲噩毓賱 丕賱賳氐 丕賱兀丿亘賷 兀睾賳賶 賲賳 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞貙 兀賵 兀賰孬乇 丨賯賷賯丞 賲賳 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞 賳賮爻賴丕.
賴賷 賯氐丞 賷丕爻鬲乇丕賵貙 賳丕賯丿 兀丿亘賷 賵兀亘 賱胤賮賱貙 賷毓賲賱 賮賷 氐丨賷賮丞 丿賳賲丕乇賰賷丞 匕丕卅毓丞 丕賱氐賷鬲. 丨賷丕丞 賲爻鬲賯乇丞 賲孬丕賱賷丞貙 亘賳丕亍 賲卮賷丿 賲鬲賷賳貙 賷鬲毓乇囟 - 亘丕禺鬲賷丕乇賴 - 賵賲賳 丨丕丿孬丞 亘爻賷胤丞 噩丿賸丕 賱賱赖丿賲. 賱賳賯乇兀 亘毓丿賴丕 丨賷丕丞 爻賰賷乇貙 賲賴賲賱貙 賲賴丿賵賲.
賴匕賴 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 賵丕賱鬲賷 鬲毓鬲亘乇 賲賳 賰賱丕爻賷賰賷丕鬲 丕賱兀丿亘 丕賱丿賳賲丕乇賰賷貙 賵氐賮鬲 亘兀賳賴丕 爻賷乇丞 賰乇賷爻鬲賷賳爻賳 丕賱匕丕鬲賷丞 賵賱賰賳賴丕 賰丕賳鬲 賲鬲賲孬賱丞 亘賷丕爻鬲乇丕賵. 乇亘賲丕 賲賳 賴賳丕 丕賰鬲爻亘鬲 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 賴匕丕 丕賱毓賲賯 丕賱睾乇賷亘 賮賷 卮禺賵氐賴丕 賵禺氐賵氐賸丕 卮禺氐賷丞 丕賱亘胤賱 賷丕爻鬲乇丕賵.
乇賵丕賷丞 鬲丨賱賯 亘賰 賮賷 乇丨賱丞 丕賱賲毓賳賶貙 賵賲丕 賵乇丕亍賴. 乇賵丕賷丞 禺胤乇丞貙 賲乇賴賯丞貙 鬲爻鬲賳夭賮 賰賱 匕乇丞 賮賷 丿賲丕睾賰貙 賵賰賱 賯胤乇丞 賮賷 丿賲賰.
胤賵丕賱 賲賲丕乇爻鬲賷 賱賮毓賱 丕賱賯乇丕亍丞貙 賰賳鬲 兀賯賮 賰孬賷乇賸丕貙 乇賵丕賷丞 氐毓亘丞貙 賰兀賳 賰乇賷爻鬲賷賳爻賳 賷丨丕賵賱 廿噩賴丕丿賳丕 賰賲丕 兀噩賴丿 賴賵 賳賮爻賴貙 賵賷卮睾賱 毓賯賱賳丕 賰賲丕 賰丕賳 毓賯賱賴 毓賱賶 丕賱丿賵丕賲 賲卮睾賵賱賸丕. 賰兀賳賴 賷乇賷丿 賱賱賯丕乇卅 兀賳 賷氐亘丨 賲賳 卮禺氐賷丕鬲 丕賱賯氐丞. 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 爻鬲鬲乇賰 胤毓賲賸丕 賱丕 賷賳爻賶貙 賵賱賰賳 廿賯乇兀 賴匕賴 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 丨賷賳 鬲賰賵賳 賲爻鬲毓丿賸丕 賱鬲匕賵賯 胤亘賯 兀丿亘賷 丿爻賲貙 賲胤賴賵 毓賱賶 賳丕乇 賴丕丿卅丞. 賵鬲匕賰乇 亘兀賳 丕賱賵賯鬲 賴賵 胤亘賯 丕賱亘賳丕亍 丕賱乇卅賷爻賷貙 賵兀賳 丕賱赖丿賲 爻乇賷毓 噩丿賸丕 賱丕 賷毓賳賷賴 丕賱賵賯鬲 兀亘丿賸丕.
兀爻賲丨賵丕 賱賷 乇噩丕亍 兀賳 兀毓賷丿 廿毓噩丕亘賷 亘丕賱賳氐 賵丕賱丨賵丕乇貙 賵丕爻賲丨賵丕 賱賷 兀賳 丕禺鬲賲 丕賱賲乇丕噩毓丞 賰賲丕 賷賱賷:
"兀丨賷丕賳賸丕 賷孬賷乇 賴匕丕 丕賱毓丕賱賲 丕卮賲卅夭丕夭賷貙 賱賰賵賳賷 賲爻丕賴賲賸丕 賮賷 鬲胤賵乇賴 丕賱賲卮賵賴貙 賵賴匕丕 丕賱卮毓賵乇 賯丿 丕爻鬲賮丨賱 亘賷 鬲賲丕賲賸丕貙 賵賴賵 賲丕 丿賮毓賳賷 廿賱賶 丕賱丕賳爻丨丕亘."
鬲賰賲賳 賯賵丞 賴匕賴 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 賮賷 丕賱賵氐賮貙 賷氐賮 賰乇賷爻鬲賷賳爻賳 丕賱賲卮丕賴丿 亘卮賰賱 毓馗賷賲貙 賱賷亘賱睾 賲賳鬲賴賶 丕賱毓馗賲丞 丕賱鬲賷 鬲噩毓賱 丕賱賳氐 丕賱兀丿亘賷 兀睾賳賶 賲賳 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞貙 兀賵 兀賰孬乇 丨賯賷賯丞 賲賳 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞 賳賮爻賴丕.
賴賷 賯氐丞 賷丕爻鬲乇丕賵貙 賳丕賯丿 兀丿亘賷 賵兀亘 賱胤賮賱貙 賷毓賲賱 賮賷 氐丨賷賮丞 丿賳賲丕乇賰賷丞 匕丕卅毓丞 丕賱氐賷鬲. 丨賷丕丞 賲爻鬲賯乇丞 賲孬丕賱賷丞貙 亘賳丕亍 賲卮賷丿 賲鬲賷賳貙 賷鬲毓乇囟 - 亘丕禺鬲賷丕乇賴 - 賵賲賳 丨丕丿孬丞 亘爻賷胤丞 噩丿賸丕 賱賱赖丿賲. 賱賳賯乇兀 亘毓丿賴丕 丨賷丕丞 爻賰賷乇貙 賲賴賲賱貙 賲賴丿賵賲.
賴匕賴 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 賵丕賱鬲賷 鬲毓鬲亘乇 賲賳 賰賱丕爻賷賰賷丕鬲 丕賱兀丿亘 丕賱丿賳賲丕乇賰賷貙 賵氐賮鬲 亘兀賳賴丕 爻賷乇丞 賰乇賷爻鬲賷賳爻賳 丕賱匕丕鬲賷丞 賵賱賰賳賴丕 賰丕賳鬲 賲鬲賲孬賱丞 亘賷丕爻鬲乇丕賵. 乇亘賲丕 賲賳 賴賳丕 丕賰鬲爻亘鬲 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 賴匕丕 丕賱毓賲賯 丕賱睾乇賷亘 賮賷 卮禺賵氐賴丕 賵禺氐賵氐賸丕 卮禺氐賷丞 丕賱亘胤賱 賷丕爻鬲乇丕賵.
乇賵丕賷丞 鬲丨賱賯 亘賰 賮賷 乇丨賱丞 丕賱賲毓賳賶貙 賵賲丕 賵乇丕亍賴. 乇賵丕賷丞 禺胤乇丞貙 賲乇賴賯丞貙 鬲爻鬲賳夭賮 賰賱 匕乇丞 賮賷 丿賲丕睾賰貙 賵賰賱 賯胤乇丞 賮賷 丿賲賰.
胤賵丕賱 賲賲丕乇爻鬲賷 賱賮毓賱 丕賱賯乇丕亍丞貙 賰賳鬲 兀賯賮 賰孬賷乇賸丕貙 乇賵丕賷丞 氐毓亘丞貙 賰兀賳 賰乇賷爻鬲賷賳爻賳 賷丨丕賵賱 廿噩賴丕丿賳丕 賰賲丕 兀噩賴丿 賴賵 賳賮爻賴貙 賵賷卮睾賱 毓賯賱賳丕 賰賲丕 賰丕賳 毓賯賱賴 毓賱賶 丕賱丿賵丕賲 賲卮睾賵賱賸丕. 賰兀賳賴 賷乇賷丿 賱賱賯丕乇卅 兀賳 賷氐亘丨 賲賳 卮禺氐賷丕鬲 丕賱賯氐丞. 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 爻鬲鬲乇賰 胤毓賲賸丕 賱丕 賷賳爻賶貙 賵賱賰賳 廿賯乇兀 賴匕賴 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 丨賷賳 鬲賰賵賳 賲爻鬲毓丿賸丕 賱鬲匕賵賯 胤亘賯 兀丿亘賷 丿爻賲貙 賲胤賴賵 毓賱賶 賳丕乇 賴丕丿卅丞. 賵鬲匕賰乇 亘兀賳 丕賱賵賯鬲 賴賵 胤亘賯 丕賱亘賳丕亍 丕賱乇卅賷爻賷貙 賵兀賳 丕賱赖丿賲 爻乇賷毓 噩丿賸丕 賱丕 賷毓賳賷賴 丕賱賵賯鬲 兀亘丿賸丕.
兀爻賲丨賵丕 賱賷 乇噩丕亍 兀賳 兀毓賷丿 廿毓噩丕亘賷 亘丕賱賳氐 賵丕賱丨賵丕乇貙 賵丕爻賲丨賵丕 賱賷 兀賳 丕禺鬲賲 丕賱賲乇丕噩毓丞 賰賲丕 賷賱賷:
"兀丨賷丕賳賸丕 賷孬賷乇 賴匕丕 丕賱毓丕賱賲 丕卮賲卅夭丕夭賷貙 賱賰賵賳賷 賲爻丕賴賲賸丕 賮賷 鬲胤賵乇賴 丕賱賲卮賵賴貙 賵賴匕丕 丕賱卮毓賵乇 賯丿 丕爻鬲賮丨賱 亘賷 鬲賲丕賲賸丕貙 賵賴賵 賲丕 丿賮毓賳賷 廿賱賶 丕賱丕賳爻丨丕亘."
November 24, 2024
鈥淪ometimes a person is overcome by disgust at being an active participant in this world鈥檚 perverted affairs. I have been assailed so strongly by this feeling that I am withdrawing from the scene.鈥�
And that is what we witness here. Plain and simple. And addiction. The feeling is sad, addiction is sad, but they are both very real. These facts make the story sad, and the author too, because only someone who is truly intimate with these things can write about them so effectively. That鈥檚 about all I鈥檓 going to say about this one, because a lot of it hits uncomfortably close to home for me.
And that is what we witness here. Plain and simple. And addiction. The feeling is sad, addiction is sad, but they are both very real. These facts make the story sad, and the author too, because only someone who is truly intimate with these things can write about them so effectively. That鈥檚 about all I鈥檓 going to say about this one, because a lot of it hits uncomfortably close to home for me.
August 12, 2017
This was something of a book! Despite the events it depicts being altogether tragic, it's a quite cheerful story. A rather tough and dense read, but definitely worth it.
June 30, 2024
Oof. What a down spiral of a man. What a book!
February 13, 2021
"I can never forget Jesus among the whores. The more I drink and dissipate, the closer He is to me. He is resurrected inside me in the midst of all this havoc."
More like 3.5 stars.
Touted as the pinnacle of 20th century Danish literature, this is a slow-burn of a novel and if you're seeking its central conceits--alcoholism, syphilis, and collapsing marriages--you'll need to get through about 200 pages before the proverbial lort hits the fan. It's also less experimental than the back-cover blurbs suggest, comparing it to Ulysses of all things. Whatever. It is its own bird, the story of a dithering, withering thirty-something literary critic who ruins his marriage and drinks more than you feel comfortable reading about. The terrible dive into ruin--"going to the dogs" as hero Jastrau calls it--is the axis of the novel and much of the action revolves around bar-hopping and a fascinating mix of divey fellow alcoholics and scum. Jastrau hangs out with communist and syphilitics and tries not to ponder his murky future.
Be patient with this one. I think folks will like it if they give it a chance especially if you like shit bleak and hopeless!
More like 3.5 stars.
Touted as the pinnacle of 20th century Danish literature, this is a slow-burn of a novel and if you're seeking its central conceits--alcoholism, syphilis, and collapsing marriages--you'll need to get through about 200 pages before the proverbial lort hits the fan. It's also less experimental than the back-cover blurbs suggest, comparing it to Ulysses of all things. Whatever. It is its own bird, the story of a dithering, withering thirty-something literary critic who ruins his marriage and drinks more than you feel comfortable reading about. The terrible dive into ruin--"going to the dogs" as hero Jastrau calls it--is the axis of the novel and much of the action revolves around bar-hopping and a fascinating mix of divey fellow alcoholics and scum. Jastrau hangs out with communist and syphilitics and tries not to ponder his murky future.
Be patient with this one. I think folks will like it if they give it a chance especially if you like shit bleak and hopeless!
February 28, 2018
Fantastisk sprog, men selve fort忙llingen tabte mig undervejs efter 2-300 siders druk og forfald.
December 18, 2018
蹿补苍迟谩蝉迟颈肠辞
March 31, 2020
賱賷賰賳 丕賱赖丿賲 賷丕 兀氐丿賯丕卅賷 賴丿賮丕賸 賮賱爻賮賷丕賸貙 賱賷賰賳 丕賱赖丿賲 亘丕亘丕 賷賵氐賱賳丕 廿賱賶 賲丕賵乇丕亍 丕賱賲毓賳賶貙 賰賲丕 賯丕賱 賷丕爻鬲乇丕賵貙 丕賱乇噩賱 丕賱匕賷 匕賴亘 亘毓賷丿丕賸 賮賷 爻亘賷賱 丕賱亘丨孬 毓賳 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞!.
"兀賳丨賳賷 賯丿乇 丕爻鬲胤丕毓鬲賷
賱賷亘丿賵 丕賱毓丕賱賲 賰亘賷乇丕"
"兀賳丨賳賷 賯丿乇 丕爻鬲胤丕毓鬲賷
賱賷亘丿賵 丕賱毓丕賱賲 賰亘賷乇丕"
April 3, 2021
Havoc: A relentless, slow-motion descent 鈥� to oblivion. Although written in the early decades of the last century, Havoc manages to accurately capture today's existential angst, the spiritual wandering of man adrift in a century of modernism, lost values, relativism and indifferentism, without anchor to the real, with no sense of the ineffable, of the infinite. Except for the anachronistic political references, this reads like today.
Ole Jastrau, 鈥淛azz鈥� to his drinking buddies, reviews books for a local newspaper and lives a comfortable bourgeois existence with his wife and young son. There was a price to pay, however, and that was to forgo life as a true artist, as a poet. Instead he now finds himself bored with marriage, with his nine-to-five pedestrian job writing for a paper more concerned with shmoozing self-important politicians than artistic integrity. He is trapped, and he knows it. Sound familiar? Author Kristensen captures the 鈥渁imless, dull, regulated, homogeneous society of questionable values鈥� 鈥� then as now 鈥� and it is all downhill for Ole Jastrau. The ending is a bit opaque and has prompted some discussion, which I won't engage in here. Good novel. Worth reading.
I enjoy novels of self-destruction 鈥� says something about me, I suppose.
Ole Jastrau, 鈥淛azz鈥� to his drinking buddies, reviews books for a local newspaper and lives a comfortable bourgeois existence with his wife and young son. There was a price to pay, however, and that was to forgo life as a true artist, as a poet. Instead he now finds himself bored with marriage, with his nine-to-five pedestrian job writing for a paper more concerned with shmoozing self-important politicians than artistic integrity. He is trapped, and he knows it. Sound familiar? Author Kristensen captures the 鈥渁imless, dull, regulated, homogeneous society of questionable values鈥� 鈥� then as now 鈥� and it is all downhill for Ole Jastrau. The ending is a bit opaque and has prompted some discussion, which I won't engage in here. Good novel. Worth reading.
I enjoy novels of self-destruction 鈥� says something about me, I suppose.
December 26, 2012
Amazing... Some of the best prose I've ever read, and an incredibly captivating exploration of the depths and darkness of the human soul. Ecce Homo!
August 15, 2021
Anmeldelsen indeholder muligvis mindre spoilers.
鈥淔rygt sj忙len og dyrk den ikke
For den ligner en last.鈥�
Tom Kristensens 鈥澅崦Π姑Π焘€� er Danmarks m氓ske mest ber酶mte undergangsroman. Vi f酶lger den fallerede anmelder og digter, Ole Jastrau, ned i dybet. Hvorfor drikker Ole? Det bliver ikke sl氓et fast med absolut sikkerhed i bogen og er som s氓 meget andet, inklusiv den 氓bne slutning, 氓ben for fortolkning og diskussion. Siden sin f酶dsel har bogen v忙ret udsat for en m忙ngde radikale fortolkninger og subjektive diskurser, som bogens forfatter hverken har be- eller afkr忙ftet. Den minder i sit opg酶r med det borgerlige samfund og livsmoral om v忙rker som 鈥漇teppeulven鈥� og 鈥漇ol og m氓ne鈥� af Hermann Hesse, selvom disse er af senere dato. Min personlige fortolkning er, at Ole Jastrau drikker, fordi hans forfatter- og digterevne er gevaldigt undertrykt af behovet for normalitet og borgerlig livssikkerhed. Hans kreative drifter kan dog ikke undertrykkes og f酶rer til, at han drikker sig fra det hele, kanaliserer s氓 at sige sin kreativitet over i drikf忙ldigheden i stedet for poesien. Men til trods for dette sj忙lelige og kreative ford忙rv er poesien der hele vejen igennem, b氓de i forfatterens maleriske beskrivelser, men bestemt ogs氓 hos Jastrau selv, der gerne fors酶ger at udkrystallisere sine livsomst忙ndigheder i lyriske vendinger og faste slogans, som alle kunne s忙lge tusindvis af t-shirts i vor tids postmoderne hipster- og bohememilj酶.
鈥漃eter Boyesen hilser alle glade drenge!鈥�
Slutningen er pr忙cis som den skal v忙re her 鈥� 氓ben. Hvordan g氓r det Jastrau til slut? Hvordan g氓r det alle kreative mennesker, der ikke lytter til deres sj忙l og indre drift mod skabelse? Kan du ikke af egen erfaring besvare dette sp酶rgsm氓l, er det ikke Tom Kristensens job at fort忙lle dig det.
鈥淔rygt sj忙len og dyrk den ikke
For den ligner en last.鈥�
Tom Kristensens 鈥澅崦Π姑Π焘€� er Danmarks m氓ske mest ber酶mte undergangsroman. Vi f酶lger den fallerede anmelder og digter, Ole Jastrau, ned i dybet. Hvorfor drikker Ole? Det bliver ikke sl氓et fast med absolut sikkerhed i bogen og er som s氓 meget andet, inklusiv den 氓bne slutning, 氓ben for fortolkning og diskussion. Siden sin f酶dsel har bogen v忙ret udsat for en m忙ngde radikale fortolkninger og subjektive diskurser, som bogens forfatter hverken har be- eller afkr忙ftet. Den minder i sit opg酶r med det borgerlige samfund og livsmoral om v忙rker som 鈥漇teppeulven鈥� og 鈥漇ol og m氓ne鈥� af Hermann Hesse, selvom disse er af senere dato. Min personlige fortolkning er, at Ole Jastrau drikker, fordi hans forfatter- og digterevne er gevaldigt undertrykt af behovet for normalitet og borgerlig livssikkerhed. Hans kreative drifter kan dog ikke undertrykkes og f酶rer til, at han drikker sig fra det hele, kanaliserer s氓 at sige sin kreativitet over i drikf忙ldigheden i stedet for poesien. Men til trods for dette sj忙lelige og kreative ford忙rv er poesien der hele vejen igennem, b氓de i forfatterens maleriske beskrivelser, men bestemt ogs氓 hos Jastrau selv, der gerne fors酶ger at udkrystallisere sine livsomst忙ndigheder i lyriske vendinger og faste slogans, som alle kunne s忙lge tusindvis af t-shirts i vor tids postmoderne hipster- og bohememilj酶.
鈥漃eter Boyesen hilser alle glade drenge!鈥�
Slutningen er pr忙cis som den skal v忙re her 鈥� 氓ben. Hvordan g氓r det Jastrau til slut? Hvordan g氓r det alle kreative mennesker, der ikke lytter til deres sj忙l og indre drift mod skabelse? Kan du ikke af egen erfaring besvare dette sp酶rgsm氓l, er det ikke Tom Kristensens job at fort忙lle dig det.
March 10, 2023
Booze takes more than it is capable of giving and we turn order into confusion as we seek the infinite divine while only illusions surround us as we pretend to participate in the eternal recurrence of the same. Jastrau knows that life is a comedy as we think about it, and it is a tragedy when we actually are forced to experience it. Jastrau is no different than most of us, but he just acts on his desires. The ultimate question is always 'why not suicide', and Jastrau existentially responds to Camus' Myth of Sisyphus by reasonably slowly drinking himself to death.
I don't see the story has negative or a downer, but it just describes life as it really is not as one wished it should be. I'm glad that highballs and cocktails have gone out of fashion.
I don't see the story has negative or a downer, but it just describes life as it really is not as one wished it should be. I'm glad that highballs and cocktails have gone out of fashion.
February 14, 2021
Just a little bit boring. It feels almost like blasphemy writing this knowing that it is one of the most highly rated Danish novels of all time, and as a former Danish teacher I should know. But give me his poems anytime, they are much better, and come to think of it there is actually one in this novel which is highly recommendable....
February 12, 2016
贬忙谤惫忙谤办 er og bliver et mesterV脝RK uden lige. Jeg var helt tosset med denne n酶gleroman, dette gennembrud i dansk litteratur. Ole Jastraus selvdestruktive rejse gennem de m酶rke K酶benhavnske gader og str忙der. Mindblowing. Den kan og skal helt klart l忙ses igen.
April 3, 2025
鈥淲as it there that he belonged - down at the lowest level of existence where things were so nice? Did he want to go to the dogs? He wanted to - yes, he had to. The thought gave him a wholesome feeling - a sense of liberation. Then he could reveal himself as the person he was, get on intimate terms with himself.鈥� p212
Tom Kristensen鈥檚 Havoc is a descent into the abyss. It鈥檚 like a drunken orgy of annihilation as we witness the slow, intentional yet fatalistic metamorphosis of Ole Jastrau. It鈥檚 a profound and insightful interrogation of change in human behaviour that doesn鈥檛 always have a rational explanation yet is indicative of something inherent below the surface.
鈥淏ut he lifted his glass with its foaming head and drank, and felt a melancholy tranquility come over him. 鈥淚 want to be at ease with myself鈥� he said, 鈥渁nd observe what comes to the surface from deep down inside me.鈥� p389
Jastrau is such an intriguing character. Fully human with every insecurity evident as he seeks, perhaps unwittingly to establish his identity in a world grappling in the inbetween two world wars. Dissatisfaction, political misalignment, anti-establishmentarianism, revolt against the bourgeois, journalistic opiates, unrequited artistic and poetic tendencies all meld together to form an incredible chrysalis of transformation for him.
It鈥檚 kind of like a descent that is truly intentional yet one that happens incidentally. That鈥檚 the aspect that truly intrigued me. Jastrau鈥檚 life transforms irrevocably - is it for the better or the worse? It鈥檚 kind of obvious yet it鈥檚 not. 鈥溾€nd I鈥檓 also interested in how one constructs a real world - finds reality.鈥� p156
The character of Stefan Steffensen is interesting. He seems like the other side of Jastrau or perhaps the mirror image of Jastrau in many ways. There鈥檚 a kind of love/hate relationship between them and we see and feel the push/pull of change.
Kristensen has indeed painted a portrait of havoc and disorder. Its annihilation and entropy all mixed into the human soul. There鈥檚 a little bit of havoc inside all of us I would think. It鈥檚 just whether this havoc receives the expression it is seeking.
Tom Kristensen鈥檚 Havoc is a descent into the abyss. It鈥檚 like a drunken orgy of annihilation as we witness the slow, intentional yet fatalistic metamorphosis of Ole Jastrau. It鈥檚 a profound and insightful interrogation of change in human behaviour that doesn鈥檛 always have a rational explanation yet is indicative of something inherent below the surface.
鈥淏ut he lifted his glass with its foaming head and drank, and felt a melancholy tranquility come over him. 鈥淚 want to be at ease with myself鈥� he said, 鈥渁nd observe what comes to the surface from deep down inside me.鈥� p389
Jastrau is such an intriguing character. Fully human with every insecurity evident as he seeks, perhaps unwittingly to establish his identity in a world grappling in the inbetween two world wars. Dissatisfaction, political misalignment, anti-establishmentarianism, revolt against the bourgeois, journalistic opiates, unrequited artistic and poetic tendencies all meld together to form an incredible chrysalis of transformation for him.
It鈥檚 kind of like a descent that is truly intentional yet one that happens incidentally. That鈥檚 the aspect that truly intrigued me. Jastrau鈥檚 life transforms irrevocably - is it for the better or the worse? It鈥檚 kind of obvious yet it鈥檚 not. 鈥溾€nd I鈥檓 also interested in how one constructs a real world - finds reality.鈥� p156
The character of Stefan Steffensen is interesting. He seems like the other side of Jastrau or perhaps the mirror image of Jastrau in many ways. There鈥檚 a kind of love/hate relationship between them and we see and feel the push/pull of change.
Kristensen has indeed painted a portrait of havoc and disorder. Its annihilation and entropy all mixed into the human soul. There鈥檚 a little bit of havoc inside all of us I would think. It鈥檚 just whether this havoc receives the expression it is seeking.
June 17, 2023
Havoc [1930/1968] 鈥� 鈽呪槄鈽呪槄1/2
With a razor-sharp prose, Kristensen paints a vivid picture of an ordinary man on a swift ride to hell.
Franz Kafka wrote: 鈥渁 book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.鈥� If we take this definition of a book then Kristensen鈥檚 Havoc comes out on top. Havoc is now considered a classic of Danish literature and, accordingly to one author, 鈥渙ne of the best novels to ever come out of Scandinavia鈥�. The main character here is Ole Jastrau, a thirty-something literary critic living with his wife and small child in Copenhagen, Denmark, a city that is going through some kind of a political upheaval. Disillusioned with his work and desperately searching for meaning in his day-to-day existence, Jastrau starts to slowly succumb to the rhetoric of his eccentric friends (Catholics, communists and poets) and also to the only thing that starts to make sense in his life 鈥� alcohol. Jastrau sees his apartment being taken over by others, his addiction to the popular Bar des Artistes growing daily and his faithfulness to the core moral principles of life crumbling before his eyes. Will there be a limit to Jastrau鈥檚 鈥渇all鈥� and humiliation? Can there be hope amidst all the boundless despair?
The book is set in bleak and murky Copenhagen, probably of the late 1920s. A perfectly ordinary family man Ole Jastrau is seemingly devoted to his wife and child and works for one 鈥渉ypocritical鈥� newspaper Dagbladet. In his position of a literary critic he leads a hectic lifestyle as, apart from his family duties, he needs to meet strict deadlines and read a hundred or so books every few months. One day, though, a knock on his door and the entrance of two figures of Copenhagen鈥檚 underbelly 鈥� communist Sanders and poet Steffensen, first give Jastrau a pause and then settle him comfortably into a slow train-wreck. Their destination? Havoc, i.e. 鈥済oing to the dogs鈥�. Very soon, the main character is torn between his respectable life (family) and the temptations of a seedier lifestyle (friends), often caught in the crossfire between the two. In some sense, Kristensen鈥檚 Havoc foreshadows Richard Yates鈥檚 middle-class disillusionment with life and lives of quiet desperation in Revolutionary Road [1961] (鈥渢he empty hopelessness and the hopeless emptiness鈥� of existence), as well as the male angst against rules of a post-industrial society in Chuck Palahniuk鈥檚 Fight Club [1996].
Poet Steffensen in particular becomes Jastrau鈥檚 dark and mysterious alter ego, his 鈥渆vil spirit鈥�, who both repels and intrigues Jastrau and gives him an idea that the meaning of life can be found in high concepts, poetry and at the bottom of a glass. Jastrau is converted into a man preoccupied with the matters of 鈥渢he soul鈥�: 鈥淎 big man! As if that were what he wanted. What did that have to do with the infinitude of the soul, the real meaning of things, a man鈥檚 true self?鈥� [Kristensen/Malmberg, Gyldendal 1930/68: 320]. At another point, Jastrau proclaims: 鈥淚 turn out to be a simple, ordinary man who has made a slight attempt to plumb the depths of the soul and find the meaning of absolute freedom鈥� [Kristensen/Malmberg, Gyldendal 1930/68: 460]. Jastrau鈥檚 work colleagues are no better, and religious Vuldum and conservative Kryger also drag Jastrau in different directors, trying to show him 鈥渢he way鈥�. Here, Tom Kristensen is interested in these questions 鈥� Are we just the sum of others? Do other people鈥檚 personalities and our intimate relations with them really play such a big role in shaping who we are? What is the limit of other people鈥檚 鈥渂ad鈥� influence on us? Can we escape the inevitable?
Havoc is an unflinching account of alcoholism. The author shows the destructive power of a drink over Jastrau鈥檚 personal and professional lives, which, incidentally, also made me think of such films about alcoholism as Leaving Las Vegas [1995], When a Man Loves a Woman [1994] and Flight [2012]. It is curious to observe how shyly alcohol first 鈥渃reeps in鈥� in the story, for example when Jastrau鈥檚 brother-in-law is bragging about his wine-cellar or when Jastrau鈥檚 colleague is spotted with a beer in the middle of the day, but then is slowly taking full control of the story鈥檚 talks, scenes and characters. Jastrau is on a roller-coaster ride, going through extreme 鈥渉ighs鈥� and extreme 鈥渓ows鈥�. While being 鈥渃omforted鈥� by a drink, he also inevitably tastes shame, guilt and humiliation, all part and parcel of his new alcoholic lifestyle: 鈥溾€ow that he hugged the bottle close against his chest, he felt a warm sense of reassurance. It was as if he suddenly found himself at home鈥︹€� [Kristensen/Malmberg, Gyldendal 1930/68: 25]. 鈥淲hen he was drunk he did not feel unproductive. Intoxication was the stuff of which poems were made鈥︹€漑Gyldendal 1930/68: 277]. However, Jastrau also recognises that he suffers from 鈥渁 sickness of the soul鈥� [1930/68: 223] and starts living in a hallucinatory, almost imaginary world: 鈥淭he present, actuality, reality was so inconstant鈥� [1930/68: 233]; 鈥淒isorder and chaos. Persistently they forced themselves into his consciousness, and persistently he had to combat them, hold them down鈥� [1930/68: 218]. Jastrau soon comes to grips with the ultimate punishment for wanting an hour of oblivion.
While the Danish society will be merciless with those who try 鈥渢o step over certain lines鈥�, it also seems that Denmark is a country that is far from being indifferent to diversions involving a drink and Havoc鈥檚 characters more than agree: 鈥淚s it any wonder that people get drunk in a town like this?鈥︹€漁r perhaps the city is this way because we鈥檙e all stewed half the time. The History of Denmark is one big binge. Our fatherland has a red nose鈥� [Kristensen/Malmberg, Gyldendal 1930/68: 155]. Thomas Vinterberg鈥檚 Academy Award-winning film Another Round [2020] has recently testified to the country鈥檚 unusual relationship with alcohol and its notorious drinking culture.
馃嵕Translated from the Danish by Carl Malmberg, Havoc is a dark existential novel about a man balancing on the edge of abyss. It may be an overlong novel, but it is still an entrancing portrayal of a man in crisis, a man 鈥渇allen from grace鈥�.
With a razor-sharp prose, Kristensen paints a vivid picture of an ordinary man on a swift ride to hell.
Franz Kafka wrote: 鈥渁 book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.鈥� If we take this definition of a book then Kristensen鈥檚 Havoc comes out on top. Havoc is now considered a classic of Danish literature and, accordingly to one author, 鈥渙ne of the best novels to ever come out of Scandinavia鈥�. The main character here is Ole Jastrau, a thirty-something literary critic living with his wife and small child in Copenhagen, Denmark, a city that is going through some kind of a political upheaval. Disillusioned with his work and desperately searching for meaning in his day-to-day existence, Jastrau starts to slowly succumb to the rhetoric of his eccentric friends (Catholics, communists and poets) and also to the only thing that starts to make sense in his life 鈥� alcohol. Jastrau sees his apartment being taken over by others, his addiction to the popular Bar des Artistes growing daily and his faithfulness to the core moral principles of life crumbling before his eyes. Will there be a limit to Jastrau鈥檚 鈥渇all鈥� and humiliation? Can there be hope amidst all the boundless despair?
The book is set in bleak and murky Copenhagen, probably of the late 1920s. A perfectly ordinary family man Ole Jastrau is seemingly devoted to his wife and child and works for one 鈥渉ypocritical鈥� newspaper Dagbladet. In his position of a literary critic he leads a hectic lifestyle as, apart from his family duties, he needs to meet strict deadlines and read a hundred or so books every few months. One day, though, a knock on his door and the entrance of two figures of Copenhagen鈥檚 underbelly 鈥� communist Sanders and poet Steffensen, first give Jastrau a pause and then settle him comfortably into a slow train-wreck. Their destination? Havoc, i.e. 鈥済oing to the dogs鈥�. Very soon, the main character is torn between his respectable life (family) and the temptations of a seedier lifestyle (friends), often caught in the crossfire between the two. In some sense, Kristensen鈥檚 Havoc foreshadows Richard Yates鈥檚 middle-class disillusionment with life and lives of quiet desperation in Revolutionary Road [1961] (鈥渢he empty hopelessness and the hopeless emptiness鈥� of existence), as well as the male angst against rules of a post-industrial society in Chuck Palahniuk鈥檚 Fight Club [1996].
Poet Steffensen in particular becomes Jastrau鈥檚 dark and mysterious alter ego, his 鈥渆vil spirit鈥�, who both repels and intrigues Jastrau and gives him an idea that the meaning of life can be found in high concepts, poetry and at the bottom of a glass. Jastrau is converted into a man preoccupied with the matters of 鈥渢he soul鈥�: 鈥淎 big man! As if that were what he wanted. What did that have to do with the infinitude of the soul, the real meaning of things, a man鈥檚 true self?鈥� [Kristensen/Malmberg, Gyldendal 1930/68: 320]. At another point, Jastrau proclaims: 鈥淚 turn out to be a simple, ordinary man who has made a slight attempt to plumb the depths of the soul and find the meaning of absolute freedom鈥� [Kristensen/Malmberg, Gyldendal 1930/68: 460]. Jastrau鈥檚 work colleagues are no better, and religious Vuldum and conservative Kryger also drag Jastrau in different directors, trying to show him 鈥渢he way鈥�. Here, Tom Kristensen is interested in these questions 鈥� Are we just the sum of others? Do other people鈥檚 personalities and our intimate relations with them really play such a big role in shaping who we are? What is the limit of other people鈥檚 鈥渂ad鈥� influence on us? Can we escape the inevitable?
Havoc is an unflinching account of alcoholism. The author shows the destructive power of a drink over Jastrau鈥檚 personal and professional lives, which, incidentally, also made me think of such films about alcoholism as Leaving Las Vegas [1995], When a Man Loves a Woman [1994] and Flight [2012]. It is curious to observe how shyly alcohol first 鈥渃reeps in鈥� in the story, for example when Jastrau鈥檚 brother-in-law is bragging about his wine-cellar or when Jastrau鈥檚 colleague is spotted with a beer in the middle of the day, but then is slowly taking full control of the story鈥檚 talks, scenes and characters. Jastrau is on a roller-coaster ride, going through extreme 鈥渉ighs鈥� and extreme 鈥渓ows鈥�. While being 鈥渃omforted鈥� by a drink, he also inevitably tastes shame, guilt and humiliation, all part and parcel of his new alcoholic lifestyle: 鈥溾€ow that he hugged the bottle close against his chest, he felt a warm sense of reassurance. It was as if he suddenly found himself at home鈥︹€� [Kristensen/Malmberg, Gyldendal 1930/68: 25]. 鈥淲hen he was drunk he did not feel unproductive. Intoxication was the stuff of which poems were made鈥︹€漑Gyldendal 1930/68: 277]. However, Jastrau also recognises that he suffers from 鈥渁 sickness of the soul鈥� [1930/68: 223] and starts living in a hallucinatory, almost imaginary world: 鈥淭he present, actuality, reality was so inconstant鈥� [1930/68: 233]; 鈥淒isorder and chaos. Persistently they forced themselves into his consciousness, and persistently he had to combat them, hold them down鈥� [1930/68: 218]. Jastrau soon comes to grips with the ultimate punishment for wanting an hour of oblivion.
While the Danish society will be merciless with those who try 鈥渢o step over certain lines鈥�, it also seems that Denmark is a country that is far from being indifferent to diversions involving a drink and Havoc鈥檚 characters more than agree: 鈥淚s it any wonder that people get drunk in a town like this?鈥︹€漁r perhaps the city is this way because we鈥檙e all stewed half the time. The History of Denmark is one big binge. Our fatherland has a red nose鈥� [Kristensen/Malmberg, Gyldendal 1930/68: 155]. Thomas Vinterberg鈥檚 Academy Award-winning film Another Round [2020] has recently testified to the country鈥檚 unusual relationship with alcohol and its notorious drinking culture.
馃嵕Translated from the Danish by Carl Malmberg, Havoc is a dark existential novel about a man balancing on the edge of abyss. It may be an overlong novel, but it is still an entrancing portrayal of a man in crisis, a man 鈥渇allen from grace鈥�.
May 28, 2021
Vaya sorpresa que me llev茅 con la novela de Tom Kristensen, un autor que me era total, completa y absolutamente desconocido, cuya novela, 鈥淒evastaci贸n鈥�, publicada originalmente en 1968 y editada en espa帽ol por Errata natura 50 a帽os despu茅s, me sumergi贸 en un reto lector, del cual emerg铆 saturado, colmado de sensaciones encontradas, despu茅s de atravesar por diversos estados, que pasaban de la conmoci贸n al asombro, sacudido con tanta fuerza, que me obligaba a poner toda mi concentraci贸n en la lectura.
鈥淒evastaci贸n鈥� me la encontr茅 arrinconada entre cientos de libros en la secci贸n de Literatura Universal. Tomo 煤nico, lo compr茅 m谩s por curiosidad que por otras razones, y no de primer impulso. Cuando lo vi, lo saqu茅 del estante, medio le铆 la sinopsis, lo dej茅 y segu铆 recorriendo la librer铆a. Media hora despu茅s, ya en la fila para pagar, inquieto con lo que no llevaba en las manos, me sal铆, cruc茅 la librer铆a y regres茅 por ella. De vez en cuando mis intuiciones son muy afortunadas.
Autor dan茅s nacido en Londres, Tom Kristensen (1893-1974) fue poeta, novelista, cr铆tico literario y periodista. Es una de las principales figuras literarias danesas de la generaci贸n posterior a la Primera Guerra Mundial. Adem谩s de 鈥淒evastaci贸n鈥�, su novela m谩s reconocida, public贸 tres libros de poes铆a y numerosos textos autobiogr谩ficos o de viajes.
Diez d铆as me llev贸 su lectura. Normalmente una novela de 650 p谩ginas me toma la mitad de ese tiempo. Pero 鈥淒evastaci贸n鈥� no es una novela f谩cil. Es m谩s, a ratos me incomodaba y la ten铆a que dejar. Pero cr茅eme: ni por asomo era por fastidio, cansancio, aburrimiento. Pausaba la lectura, pero ansiaba regresar a ella.
La historia de la auto degradaci贸n de Ole Jastrau, un cr铆tico literario en sus treinta, que trabajaba en uno de los diarios m谩s importantes de Dinamarca me ten铆a atrapado, subyugado, pero a la vez, anhelando un poco de sosiego. Testimoniar su descenso a los infiernos, reh茅n del alcohol; atestiguar su ca铆da gradual pero inexorable, su desamparo, su decadencia, no me resultaba f谩cil de digerir.
Nos encontramos en Copenhague, en los a帽os 20 del siglo pasado. Ole, casado y con un hijo, vive una vida aburguesada y rutinaria de clase media rese帽ando libros para el peri贸dico Dagbladet, hasta que una noche, un viejo conocido del ambiente nocturno y un joven desarrapado, hijo de un reconocido poeta, irrumpen en su casa en busca de refugio, pues la polic铆a los busca por cuestiones pol铆ticas.
La extra帽a, rara, muy chocante influencia que el joven, poeta como su padre, ejerce sobre Ole, lo conduce a cuestionarse el sentido de su vida, consider谩ndola vac铆a y sin incentivos; a objetar su monoton铆a, a sacar a flote su insatisfacci贸n con su vida matrimonial, a mostrar su amargura, su desencanto; y palpas la maestr铆a de Kristensen para crear esa ambientaci贸n, esa atm贸sfera, entre bohemia y decadente que arrastra a Ole, y a nosotros junto con 茅l, hacia la destrucci贸n de su vida.
Insisto: lectura inc贸moda, extra帽a. Por momentos me identificaba con el protagonista, para inmediatamente despu茅s considerar sus reacciones como inmaduras, por no decir francamente inveros铆miles. 驴Ser铆a debido a mi absoluta ignorancia sobre Dinamarca y la cultura danesa? 驴Brecha generacional, adem谩s de cultural? Ese vac铆o emocional de Ole, ese intenso y acusado deseo de hundirse, de destruir su vida matrimonial, familiar, profesional me provocaba sensaciones ininteligibles.
Relatada con una prosa medida, seca, producto, creo, de una excepcional traducci贸n; con un narrador distante, muy fr铆o, que prefer铆a mostrar m谩s que explicar o resumir, lo que ralentizaba el ritmo del relato, utilizando los di谩logos y las acciones, evitando reflexionar sobre las razones, dej谩ndonos a los lectores la tarea de ponderar, especular, meditar, deducir, comprender, adivinar las causas, motivos y sin razones del proceso autodestructivo de Ole Jastrau, 鈥淒evastaci贸n鈥� es, aunque cueste su lectura, una gran novela.
S茅 que habr谩 lectores que podr谩n considerarla cruda, lenta, cansada, excesiva en el n煤mero de p谩ginas, inveros铆mil e incomprensible las acciones y reacciones de los personajes, y no soy nadie para contradecirlos ni desmentirlos. A m铆, a pesar de lo que me cost贸 su lectura, me fascin贸. Cruda, inquietante, molesta, retadora, 鈥淒evastaci贸n鈥� me supuso un gran descubrimiento.
Retrato de una cultura y una 茅poca desconocida, su lectura me confront贸 con muchos de mis demonios, pues funcion贸 a manera de espejo y lo que vi, pudo disgustarme. 鈥淒evastaci贸n鈥� es, sin duda, una novela sobresaliente, notable, realmente relevante. 隆Te leo!
鈥淒evastaci贸n鈥� me la encontr茅 arrinconada entre cientos de libros en la secci贸n de Literatura Universal. Tomo 煤nico, lo compr茅 m谩s por curiosidad que por otras razones, y no de primer impulso. Cuando lo vi, lo saqu茅 del estante, medio le铆 la sinopsis, lo dej茅 y segu铆 recorriendo la librer铆a. Media hora despu茅s, ya en la fila para pagar, inquieto con lo que no llevaba en las manos, me sal铆, cruc茅 la librer铆a y regres茅 por ella. De vez en cuando mis intuiciones son muy afortunadas.
Autor dan茅s nacido en Londres, Tom Kristensen (1893-1974) fue poeta, novelista, cr铆tico literario y periodista. Es una de las principales figuras literarias danesas de la generaci贸n posterior a la Primera Guerra Mundial. Adem谩s de 鈥淒evastaci贸n鈥�, su novela m谩s reconocida, public贸 tres libros de poes铆a y numerosos textos autobiogr谩ficos o de viajes.
Diez d铆as me llev贸 su lectura. Normalmente una novela de 650 p谩ginas me toma la mitad de ese tiempo. Pero 鈥淒evastaci贸n鈥� no es una novela f谩cil. Es m谩s, a ratos me incomodaba y la ten铆a que dejar. Pero cr茅eme: ni por asomo era por fastidio, cansancio, aburrimiento. Pausaba la lectura, pero ansiaba regresar a ella.
La historia de la auto degradaci贸n de Ole Jastrau, un cr铆tico literario en sus treinta, que trabajaba en uno de los diarios m谩s importantes de Dinamarca me ten铆a atrapado, subyugado, pero a la vez, anhelando un poco de sosiego. Testimoniar su descenso a los infiernos, reh茅n del alcohol; atestiguar su ca铆da gradual pero inexorable, su desamparo, su decadencia, no me resultaba f谩cil de digerir.
Nos encontramos en Copenhague, en los a帽os 20 del siglo pasado. Ole, casado y con un hijo, vive una vida aburguesada y rutinaria de clase media rese帽ando libros para el peri贸dico Dagbladet, hasta que una noche, un viejo conocido del ambiente nocturno y un joven desarrapado, hijo de un reconocido poeta, irrumpen en su casa en busca de refugio, pues la polic铆a los busca por cuestiones pol铆ticas.
La extra帽a, rara, muy chocante influencia que el joven, poeta como su padre, ejerce sobre Ole, lo conduce a cuestionarse el sentido de su vida, consider谩ndola vac铆a y sin incentivos; a objetar su monoton铆a, a sacar a flote su insatisfacci贸n con su vida matrimonial, a mostrar su amargura, su desencanto; y palpas la maestr铆a de Kristensen para crear esa ambientaci贸n, esa atm贸sfera, entre bohemia y decadente que arrastra a Ole, y a nosotros junto con 茅l, hacia la destrucci贸n de su vida.
Insisto: lectura inc贸moda, extra帽a. Por momentos me identificaba con el protagonista, para inmediatamente despu茅s considerar sus reacciones como inmaduras, por no decir francamente inveros铆miles. 驴Ser铆a debido a mi absoluta ignorancia sobre Dinamarca y la cultura danesa? 驴Brecha generacional, adem谩s de cultural? Ese vac铆o emocional de Ole, ese intenso y acusado deseo de hundirse, de destruir su vida matrimonial, familiar, profesional me provocaba sensaciones ininteligibles.
Relatada con una prosa medida, seca, producto, creo, de una excepcional traducci贸n; con un narrador distante, muy fr铆o, que prefer铆a mostrar m谩s que explicar o resumir, lo que ralentizaba el ritmo del relato, utilizando los di谩logos y las acciones, evitando reflexionar sobre las razones, dej谩ndonos a los lectores la tarea de ponderar, especular, meditar, deducir, comprender, adivinar las causas, motivos y sin razones del proceso autodestructivo de Ole Jastrau, 鈥淒evastaci贸n鈥� es, aunque cueste su lectura, una gran novela.
S茅 que habr谩 lectores que podr谩n considerarla cruda, lenta, cansada, excesiva en el n煤mero de p谩ginas, inveros铆mil e incomprensible las acciones y reacciones de los personajes, y no soy nadie para contradecirlos ni desmentirlos. A m铆, a pesar de lo que me cost贸 su lectura, me fascin贸. Cruda, inquietante, molesta, retadora, 鈥淒evastaci贸n鈥� me supuso un gran descubrimiento.
Retrato de una cultura y una 茅poca desconocida, su lectura me confront贸 con muchos de mis demonios, pues funcion贸 a manera de espejo y lo que vi, pudo disgustarme. 鈥淒evastaci贸n鈥� es, sin duda, una novela sobresaliente, notable, realmente relevante. 隆Te leo!
December 21, 2011
m氓ske er genren psykologisk roman bare ikke for mig men hold op hvor var den kedelig....en mand der g氓r i hundene af egen fri vilje er ikke noget der f氓r mig til l忙se 氓ndel酶st i flere timer. det var virkelig en kamp at komme igennem den bog! selve sproget var dog godt og den var ret velskrevet, men som sagt 酶delagde handlingen (eller mangel p氓 samme) det for mig.
April 14, 2021
En genistreg, et mesterv忙rk.
Ole Jastrau p氓 Bar des Artistes.
贬忙谤惫忙谤办 er meget mere end en fulderoman.
Ole Jastrau p氓 Bar des Artistes.
贬忙谤惫忙谤办 er meget mere end en fulderoman.
Read
October 12, 2021Can't help but suspect that this one was underserved by the translation.
Read
February 14, 2023how to g氓 i hoinnan 101
August 4, 2015
"Vernieling" van Tom Kristensen schijnt in Denemarken als klassieker te gelden. Bovendien noemt Knausgard het een van de beste romans die ooit in Scandinavi毛 zijn verschenen, en uitgeverij Lebowski lanceert het als een herontdekking met dezelfde impact en kwaliteit als "Stoner". Ook de Nederlandse recensies van het boek waren lovend tot juichend. Maar ik ben behoorlijk wat sceptischer: ten eerste vind ik "Stoner" echt duidelijk sterker (ook een heel ander boek, trouwens), en als niet-kenner van Scandinavi毛rs heb ik toch allerlei Noren en Zweden in de kast (Gustafsson, Saabye Christensen, Kjaerstad, Hamsun, Torgny Lindgren, Tunstrom, Dagerman, Fosse, Knausgard) die ik hoger aansla. Bovendien vond ik veel stukken in "Vernieling" ongehoord taai en oervervelend, en de plot rammelt naar mijn smaak soms hinderlijk. Maar slecht vind ik het boek zeker niet: er staan ook veel naar mijn smaak echt swingend geschreven of zelfs beeldschone stukken in, en in zijn totaliteit vind ik het uiteindelijk zeer overtuigend. Ik had het boek dus niet willen missen, ondanks de naar mijn smaak mindere passages.
De hoofdpersoon, Ole Jastrau, is een literatuurrecensent van een quasi-ge毛ngageerde krant in Kopenhagen (ergens in de jaren twintig). En het verhaal draait dan om de zelfdestructie van deze man, door drank, verloedering en duistere seksuele drift. Die zelfdestructie lijkt gemotiveerd te worden door totale walging van het al te ordelijke en lege burgermansbestaan, en door van angst doordesemde fascinatie voor de wereld vol duister en gevaar die onder al onze fa莽ades schuilt. Ik zeg met opzet "lijkt": het mooie van de roman is namelijk dat de zelfdestructie niet gemotiveerd wordt en niet wordt verklaard uit een of ander groot trauma, terwijl de verlokking van de zelfdestructie tegelijk toch heel invoelbaar is opgeschreven. In diverse passages word je helemaal meegezogen in de delirerende verloedering van de hoofdpersoon, en kijk je met zijn ogen naar de wereld: de zintuigen van die man zijn dan door drank en slaapgebrek zodanig ontregeld en tegelijk ook verscherpt dat de wereld in een heel ander en duisterder licht verschijnt, en DAT licht laat Kristensen ons dus vlijmscherp zien. En het knappe is dan dat je daardoor OOK het aanlokkelijke van deze zelfdestructie aanvoelt: de intensiteit van ervaring die je als broodnuchtere burgerman nooit ervaart, de paradoxale bevrijding die je als verschoppeling kunt voelen omdat alle knellende banden met baan, gezin en familie zijn doorgesneden, de hunkering naar totale dronkenschap en smerige seks met Syfillytische hoeren terwijl je weet dat je daar kapot aan gaat. Die zelfdestructie vat ik dan op als irrationeel maar dringend verlangen om ALLE grenzen te doorbreken en ALLE regels en conventies te overtreden. Dat is tegelijk ook het verlangen om alle fundamenten te vernielen van het zelfbehoud en van de relatief veilige positie als individu binnen onze maatschappij. En dat verlangen wordt dan volgens mij gevoed door twee dingen: wantrouwen tegen de conventies (dat zijn immers hypocriete fa莽ades waaronder veel wordt toegedekt), maar vooral fascinatie voor 'de andere' wereld die schuilgaat onder die conventies. Of, misschien beter gezegd: door de enorme leegte en leugenachtigheid van de conventionele wereld is elk 'normaal' gevoel leeg en onwaarachtig, en misschien is zelfdestructie voor Jastrau wel de enige manier om 'iets' te voelen dat aan die leegte en leugenachtigheid ontsnapt.
Hoe dan ook, de zelfdestructie is voor Ole Jastrau ook een immense geestelijke ontdekkingsreis. In sommige passages beschrijft Kristensen die ontdekkingsreis heel meeslepend. Vooral in passages waarin hij die reis (die zelfdestructie) vergelijkt met jazz, dus met ge茂mproviseerde muziek waarin nieuwe harmonie毛n worden gezocht en met nieuwe ritmes wordt ge毛xperimenteerd. "In Jastraus lijf rukten de ritmes. Hij was een slecht danser, helaas, helaas, anders was hij gelukkig geweest. Maar zijn benen bewogen in linksige charlestonpassen, pogingen ondernemend tot geluk". En verderop: "Jastrau daarentegen kwam overeind om dansen te improviseren. Ze werden nooit werkelijkheid. Hij stond de ene temperamentvolle armbeweging na de andere te verliezen. Het ritme brak tussen zijn voeten. En hij voelde het. Hij was nogal robuust. Maar in zijn eigen fantasie was hij nu eens een veel te slanke danser, dan weer een veel te dikke, cakewalking gentleman en zijn danspassen hielden het midden tussen wildheid en g锚ne, iets hoogst onvolledigs, iets in zijn gemoed dat er nooit uit kon. Op zulke ogenblikken geloofde hij in een lichte, dansende ziel in een plomp, onhandig lijf en dan voelde hij vertwijfeling en ambivalentie die overstemd moesten, overstemd, verdronken". Zo beleeft Jastrau dus zijn dronken zelfvernietiging: als een jazz- danser die vooral in zijn eigen hoofd woest danst op nog nooit eerder vertoonde wijze. En al dansend "iets" uit zijn lijf en hoofd wil trekken dat hij zelf nog niet kent. Wat maar zeer ten dele lukt, maar wat hij toch keer op keer blijft proberen, woest dansend (fysiek en in zijn eigen hoofd), woest drinkend, zijn eigen huis en haard vernietigend, en al zijn geld over de balk smijtend in bijna hallucinatoire euforie.
Een boek van ruim 400 bladzijden over zelfdestructie lezen is zwaar werk. Zeker als er ook nog taaie bladzijden tussen zitten. Ook de plot leest niet erg lekker: te veel onwaarschijnlijke ontmoetingen, te veel obligate momenten. Maar het verlangen naar zelfdestructie wordt in diverse passages mooi voelbaar gemaakt, net als de euforiserende EN afschrikwekkende aspecten ervan. Kristensen laat bovendien met zijn erg originele en beeldende stijl fraai zien hoe Jastrau in zijn zelfdestructie tastend zoekt naar een nieuw soort jazz, een nieuw soort duistere po毛zie, een nieuwe intensiteit van ervaren. Die zoektocht vind ik, hoe braaf, bangig en burgerlijk ik ook ben, toch heel fascinerend. Daarom heb ik "Vernieling" ondanks al mijn bezwaren toch met plezier gelezen.
De hoofdpersoon, Ole Jastrau, is een literatuurrecensent van een quasi-ge毛ngageerde krant in Kopenhagen (ergens in de jaren twintig). En het verhaal draait dan om de zelfdestructie van deze man, door drank, verloedering en duistere seksuele drift. Die zelfdestructie lijkt gemotiveerd te worden door totale walging van het al te ordelijke en lege burgermansbestaan, en door van angst doordesemde fascinatie voor de wereld vol duister en gevaar die onder al onze fa莽ades schuilt. Ik zeg met opzet "lijkt": het mooie van de roman is namelijk dat de zelfdestructie niet gemotiveerd wordt en niet wordt verklaard uit een of ander groot trauma, terwijl de verlokking van de zelfdestructie tegelijk toch heel invoelbaar is opgeschreven. In diverse passages word je helemaal meegezogen in de delirerende verloedering van de hoofdpersoon, en kijk je met zijn ogen naar de wereld: de zintuigen van die man zijn dan door drank en slaapgebrek zodanig ontregeld en tegelijk ook verscherpt dat de wereld in een heel ander en duisterder licht verschijnt, en DAT licht laat Kristensen ons dus vlijmscherp zien. En het knappe is dan dat je daardoor OOK het aanlokkelijke van deze zelfdestructie aanvoelt: de intensiteit van ervaring die je als broodnuchtere burgerman nooit ervaart, de paradoxale bevrijding die je als verschoppeling kunt voelen omdat alle knellende banden met baan, gezin en familie zijn doorgesneden, de hunkering naar totale dronkenschap en smerige seks met Syfillytische hoeren terwijl je weet dat je daar kapot aan gaat. Die zelfdestructie vat ik dan op als irrationeel maar dringend verlangen om ALLE grenzen te doorbreken en ALLE regels en conventies te overtreden. Dat is tegelijk ook het verlangen om alle fundamenten te vernielen van het zelfbehoud en van de relatief veilige positie als individu binnen onze maatschappij. En dat verlangen wordt dan volgens mij gevoed door twee dingen: wantrouwen tegen de conventies (dat zijn immers hypocriete fa莽ades waaronder veel wordt toegedekt), maar vooral fascinatie voor 'de andere' wereld die schuilgaat onder die conventies. Of, misschien beter gezegd: door de enorme leegte en leugenachtigheid van de conventionele wereld is elk 'normaal' gevoel leeg en onwaarachtig, en misschien is zelfdestructie voor Jastrau wel de enige manier om 'iets' te voelen dat aan die leegte en leugenachtigheid ontsnapt.
Hoe dan ook, de zelfdestructie is voor Ole Jastrau ook een immense geestelijke ontdekkingsreis. In sommige passages beschrijft Kristensen die ontdekkingsreis heel meeslepend. Vooral in passages waarin hij die reis (die zelfdestructie) vergelijkt met jazz, dus met ge茂mproviseerde muziek waarin nieuwe harmonie毛n worden gezocht en met nieuwe ritmes wordt ge毛xperimenteerd. "In Jastraus lijf rukten de ritmes. Hij was een slecht danser, helaas, helaas, anders was hij gelukkig geweest. Maar zijn benen bewogen in linksige charlestonpassen, pogingen ondernemend tot geluk". En verderop: "Jastrau daarentegen kwam overeind om dansen te improviseren. Ze werden nooit werkelijkheid. Hij stond de ene temperamentvolle armbeweging na de andere te verliezen. Het ritme brak tussen zijn voeten. En hij voelde het. Hij was nogal robuust. Maar in zijn eigen fantasie was hij nu eens een veel te slanke danser, dan weer een veel te dikke, cakewalking gentleman en zijn danspassen hielden het midden tussen wildheid en g锚ne, iets hoogst onvolledigs, iets in zijn gemoed dat er nooit uit kon. Op zulke ogenblikken geloofde hij in een lichte, dansende ziel in een plomp, onhandig lijf en dan voelde hij vertwijfeling en ambivalentie die overstemd moesten, overstemd, verdronken". Zo beleeft Jastrau dus zijn dronken zelfvernietiging: als een jazz- danser die vooral in zijn eigen hoofd woest danst op nog nooit eerder vertoonde wijze. En al dansend "iets" uit zijn lijf en hoofd wil trekken dat hij zelf nog niet kent. Wat maar zeer ten dele lukt, maar wat hij toch keer op keer blijft proberen, woest dansend (fysiek en in zijn eigen hoofd), woest drinkend, zijn eigen huis en haard vernietigend, en al zijn geld over de balk smijtend in bijna hallucinatoire euforie.
Een boek van ruim 400 bladzijden over zelfdestructie lezen is zwaar werk. Zeker als er ook nog taaie bladzijden tussen zitten. Ook de plot leest niet erg lekker: te veel onwaarschijnlijke ontmoetingen, te veel obligate momenten. Maar het verlangen naar zelfdestructie wordt in diverse passages mooi voelbaar gemaakt, net als de euforiserende EN afschrikwekkende aspecten ervan. Kristensen laat bovendien met zijn erg originele en beeldende stijl fraai zien hoe Jastrau in zijn zelfdestructie tastend zoekt naar een nieuw soort jazz, een nieuw soort duistere po毛zie, een nieuwe intensiteit van ervaren. Die zoektocht vind ik, hoe braaf, bangig en burgerlijk ik ook ben, toch heel fascinerend. Daarom heb ik "Vernieling" ondanks al mijn bezwaren toch met plezier gelezen.
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