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I did not feel anything while reading this novel.

Well, this is not strictly true. What I mean is that I felt no pity, no compassion, no sorrow, no empathy, while following the struggles, the penuries, the poverty, the deprivation, the hunger, of the nameless protagonist.

My feelings were not of the humanitarian type, but of the literary.

I was astonished at the literary proposal Hamsun had written in what was still the nineteenth century. The ‘flâneur� existence of the narrator made me think of Baudelaire, but this is no gentleman who idly strolls an urban landscape. Hamsun’s man is certainly urban; he is a writer, a journalist really. But he is prey to an anxiety and to his own excruciating self-examination. His poverty places him on the opposite side of dandy. But he is very modern too; just another epitome of modernity. The author’s ability to develop this character in all his plight without making me feel any commiseration for the stroller, astounded me. Very different writing from a nineteenth century naturalist depiction of poverty to provoke the reader's or viewer's emotions.

Rather, I felt admiration for this man who is in a continuous and desperate need of nourishment, manages, however, to keep his spirits up and who, when encountering any little surprise or sparkle, is even capable of feeling exhilaration quickly forgetting that he is in dire straits. The absence of social analysis or criticism, and the character’s moral dignity distances him from any portrayal as a victim. There is humour too, and this has the effect of letting tension dissolve - but only at intervals, before it builds up again. And as this anonymous person also has inclination to web lies around his existence, to no purpose, just to avoid anyone getting too close to him � whether this is another fictional character, or the reader--, he remains elusive.

No, I could not feel pity for him.

The hunger he feels seems part of his nature, for even when he manages to swallow some food, his body cannot take it and he vomits it and expels it out of his system. Feeling hungry is not something that happens to him, but is his mode of existence.

That is, until he gets tired of this, and leaves.

And I am left in literary perplexity.

**

I used the edition translated by Sverre Lyngstad. He has also included an essay on the Translation issues as well as a comparative table of terms in this edition.

This is the one I would recommend.