| Title | : | Rand |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 3548602967 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9783548602967 |
| Language | : | German |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 407 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1990 |
Rand Reviews
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a wild ride of postmodernism that leaves you constantly wanting to find a reason and solution to everything only to realise by the end of the book that there is no reason nor a solution and... you just have to deal with it.
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Sometime in the 90s, I was visiting a friend I hadn't seen for a while. She asked me about a common acquaintance, a guy she'd briefly been involved with, who was also working in research.
"Well," I said, "He's too optimistic. If research were romance, he'd expect all the ideas to behave like women in porno movies, and just lie down in front of him, panting and moaning. He doesn't realize that he needs to seduce them first."
She blinked. "Hm," she said, "I haven't heard many philosophical jokes recently. I'm a little out of practice."
One way to think of Rand is as a series of elaborate philosophical jokes. It's also a serial killer police procedural, a science-fiction novel, a meditation on the nature of God, and a post-modernist pastiche; books I thought of while I was reading it included American Psycho, The Name of the Rose, Lolita, Last and First Men and Philosophical Investigations. The story is narrated by the killer, a mild-mannered software engineer who shares an Oslo apartment with his flight attendant girlfriend and writes down the details of his latest murder while she's away at work. It's edited, in a language written in an unknown script, by a presence that might be an angel or an extra-terrestrial being. The style is alternately reflective, pedantic, ironic and poetic; sometimes it reminds me of a Bach fugue (Kjærstad likes Bach), and sometimes of a David Lynch movie.
A theme Kjærstad loves to explore is recursion. In Forføraren, the novel itself is represented in the text as Jonas's TV series, "Å Tenke Stort"; later on in the series, it turns up again in multiple forms. In Rand, I read the police procedural thread as standing in for the reader's attempts to understand what the book is about. The narrator just kills people every now and then, for no obvious reason. Perhaps he's mad; perhaps there's some purpose behind what he does, that you don't immediately grasp; perhaps he's the tool of a non-human intelligence, that's somehow using him to study life on Earth; perhaps this is God's way of talking to the narrator, a kind of Zen koan that's meant to break him out of his accustomed way of looking at reality and let him see what's behind it. The police invest more and more resources in the hunt for the killer, and develop more and more elaborate theories; these provide much of the humor. Similarly, Kjærstad invites you to speculate about the meaning of the book. He's warning you ahead of time that he's probably going to laugh at you.
You've no doubt gathered by now that Rand is unlikely ever to outsell Twilight, and it's indeed almost unknown. Kjærstad certainly didn't waste his time, though; he wrote it immediately before Forføraren, his masterpiece, and you can see he's warming up for it. Many of the themes that are fully realized in the later book are sketched here. If you liked Forføraren as much as I did, you'll find Rand worth reading just for that reason. Or at least, you will once the English translation comes out; annoyingly, it exists, but apparently hasn't yet found a publisher. Sibyl says that the Dutch translation is quite good.
Let me close by quoting you one of the book's more obvious philosophical jokes. The last page is a short lexicon of key concepts, compiled by the mysterious editor. A dozen or so Norwegian words appear in the left-hand column. On the right-hand side, you can see their definitions in the unknown script. The definitions for "whale", "tree", "alphabet" and "orgasm" are all about a line long. Clearly that's straightforward stuff. You think "conscience" might require some explanation, but its definition is even shorter. Finally, we get to "as if". The editor goes wild, and spends a whole long paragraph discussing it. If you also thought that was funny, you might enjoy Rand. -
Verder dan 240 pagina’s kom ik niet. Ik heb daarna er wat in gebladerd en de laatste pagina’s gelezen. Wat een vreemd boek is dit.
In het begin heb ik sommige stukjes geïnteresseerd gelezen, maar het grootste gedeelte kostte me erg veel moeite om doorheen te komen.
Alles berust op toeval, er zit geen logica in en je krijgt nergens een verklaring voor. Het hoofdpersonage pleegt moorden, vaak uit het niets en gaat daarna weer verder met zijn dagelijkse leven alsof er niks gebeurd is.
Misschien typisch voor een postmoderne roman, maar deze roman was niet mijn ding.
Wat wil de (postmodernistische)schrijver met deze roman zeggen? Ik heb geen idee. -
Langt fra min favoritt av Kjærstad. Noe av tematikken som fascinerer i f eks Wergeland-triologien er hentet herfra (orgler, EDB, tepper/veving) som fjernet noe av gleden min over å ha blitt så fascinert. Samtidig skriver han vanvittig godt og har noen helt corny sekvenser som er gøy.
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Vol zinloze toevalligheid en hoe mensen door moord tot leven komen.
Dit is een werkelijke literaire thriller. -
Rand / Jan Kjaerstad
I give no spoiler warnings as the mysteries revealed here are those less obvious.
There was a time when I was very fond of fountain pens. This was despite the fact that ballpoint pens were much more functional, easier to use and less prone to leakage and/or drying out. I first got the habit in India at a time – the early 1970's when fountain pens were very common, as was ink. Official documents had to be signed with a fountain pen. I possessed several over the years, one of my favourites - and one of the few I still own is a Montblanc. It has a small six-sided star on the top of the cap. I mention this because the chief investigator of the murders perpetuated by the narrator of Rand also uses one. I recognized it immediately. Zakariassen jots down endless notes which he may or may not refer to later. He also doodles with the pen.
I don't know if Jan Kjaerstad also has used a Montblanc fountain pen – or any other fountain pen – or if he put it in Zakariassens hands solely on the basis of the leitmotif mont which runs throughout the novel. There are other recurring themes. At one point I began to jot them down – using a pencil. I got these Tigers, Montevideo, Trees, Count Basie, Monblanc pen, American football, Montana at which point I noticed the spate of "mont"s. And having done so I quickly came up with Monteverdi and Montaigne and Montesque. There are probably others. I found the book hugely soporific though and I ain't gonna go back and look for them.
So what does mont mean? What does any of it mean? I have no idea.
Early on I thought we were going to get a view of an alternate reality when our protagonist noticed a "crack" in the world:
"While he was talking I kept looking down into the ground. It must have been just then when I saw it. Or perceived it. A dim light through a gap. A slit that should not have been there. Or . . . I cannot explain. It resembled . . . As if someone unexpectedly tore a curtain and revealed that you were in fact standing on the edge of a cliff. That is to say: it was not this with the precipice that was captivating but the view, the sudden view of something you hadn't a suspicion of. This one. . . dilation." (p.16)*
And a little later on:
"... As if the wall you have been sitting and staring into all of your life reveals a sudden crack. For a short while you can see something amazing, completely indescribable... noticeably as something potential or perhaps hypothetically - in the form of light, a glow, a shine - through this crack. Then it's gone." (p.46-7)*
Both of these "episodes" are triggered by words or phrases he hears from people – strangers – who have struck up a conversation with him. And words and language and thoughts on them and on using them and on communication take up a large part of the ruminations of our narrator, which take up a too large a part of the book – in my humble opinion. And the slits in reality cloud over.
This is a very detailed book set in a very certain time when the Oslo City complex was being built; the Oslo Spectrum arena and the Radisson Blu Plaza Hotel. This was between 1987 and 1989. I tracked our narrator on Google maps and found nearly everything he describes. A highway has contorted certain areas, a restaurant has changed their style but otherwise things are pretty much now as they were then. And we take an interesting tour of Oslo, from tourist sites such as Bygdøy with it's Folk-museum, and the ferry across to the pier below the City Hall, to the less well known columns at the Deichmanske Library, the unremarkable Stensparken north of Bislet stadium, Ankerbrua bridge with it's stone sculptures, the Grönland central police station and especially the Botanical Garden, the Palm House.
We don't move as much through time - though our narrator is frightened and made despondent by seeing that the hundred year old houses taken from the neighbourhood where he is living, Enerhaugen, are now in a museum. And that the writing bureau where he puts down his ponderings has a twin in one of these houses.
Through the window of old Enerhaugen I had seen an old writing bureau. Precisely like the one I had at home in the apartment. In the (new?) Enerhaugen. As if the old museum Enerhaugen was still standing. In my apartment. And even worse: as if what I did (what I sit and do now), wrote (writing), belonged to the past. Another world. (p.205-6)*
The book is not without humour though the laughs are few and far between, there are considerably more smiles. The unreliability of witnesses is, for example, a recurring gag.
Finally, there is the Science Fiction element which first drew me to the book. Sadly this was made of less import than the element in Fight Club. A few censured lines of the narrative very near the end and a couple of pages of writing in an alien script do not Sense of Wonder make.
This is a book loaded with enough weirdness and comedy and strange coincidences – and sex – to make it worth studying; unfortunately I found it weighted down by the dross of brooding. Still it was worth reading.
* Translations from the Swedish by Google and me. -
Har lest den på norsk, men fant ikke norsk utgave her på goodreads.
Omtale av Rand, roman av Jan Kjærstad, 1990
Noen ganger leser jeg bøker om igjen, særlig av forfattere jeg liker godt. Da denne boka kom ut, i 1990, var jeg russ og på høsten starta jeg på Høgskolen i Telemark, Bø. På årsstudiet i norsk hadde jeg samtidsnoveller (1980-1989) som fordypning, og på eksamen kom «Tirsdag i kirken» av Jan Kjærstad. Fra da av har jeg lest nesten alt han har skrevet. Den første romanen jeg leste var Rand, og jeg innrømmer at jeg ikke forstod den helt, ung som jeg var. Jeg har tenkt mange ganger at jeg skulle ha lest den igjen. Om jeg ikke husker feil, har han sagt at det kanskje er hans beste roman. Den er ubehagelig å lese, men veldig god.
En slags omvendt krim. Vi vet hvem morderen er, vi har svaret. Men han gir oss alle de andre spørsmålene.
I denne romanen følger vi en jeg-person som tidlig avslører seg som en forbryter. Det skjer så tilforlatelig, at man nesten kan tru at man leser feil. Man identifiserer seg jo som regel med jeg-personen, og da er det ubehagelig å oppdage at det er en morder. Han lytter til Nitimen og har en kjæreste. Virker normal i starten.
Han går rundt i Oslo, møter tilfeldige mennesker, begynner å prate med dem, eller de begynner å prate med ham. Er samtalen inspirerende, og han kjenner at det pirrer ham, ender det flere ganger opp som mord. Mord som aldri blir oppklart. Han venter i spenning på avisdekning, slik at han får vite mer om personen. Så lever han seg inn i deres liv og lar deres interesser bli hans egne. Han er en slags snylter, en parasitt som tar til seg andres egenskaper.
Ofrene har interesse og yrke innenfor arkitektur, sosialantropologi, typografi, mat, musikk med mer. Romanen har med mange detaljer fra disse områdene.
Vi får også se hvordan politiet og journalister leiter etter sammenhenger, og at teoriene er mange. Jeg-personen og leseren vet mer enn dem. Han er så opphengt i det som skjer rundt saken, at han virker gal. Samtidig er han rasjonell. Vi får ikke vite hvordan han klarer å unngå å bli oppdaga. Det stussa jeg litt på. Men vi har jo bare hans blikk og det han oppfatter.
Språket er spesielt. Jeg-personen sitter og skriver fortellinga si, ved et skatoll med låste skuffer (symbolsk) og mange steder leiter han etter ord. Det er mange parenteser og spørsmål og hvilket ord som passer. Etter hvert er det ufullstendige setninger og til slutt er det sorte felt der teksten skulle ha vært.
Romanen ble utgitt i 1990, og jeg-personen jobber i politiets datatjeneste. Det var et forholdsvis nytt område da, og det setter et sterkt preg på teksten. Alle mulighetene for å leite etter meningen i det meningsløse, alt man kan søke opp og finne. At man kan legge inn bug. Han ender jo med å etterforske si egen sak. Akkurat det er det viktigste i boka. At han hele tida er tett på de som etterforsker, at han nesten sier sannheten og at de IKKE forstår det. Det er mange filosofiske samtaler og tankerekker. Han befinner seg i en mental randsone, i en kile i logikken. Han er opptatt av imaginasjon og forestillingsevne. Av ordenes grense, av det enkle og komplekse. -
Svårt att sammanfatta alla trådar. Postmodern genreblandning, påverkad av 1980-talets kvantfysik, holografiska paradigm, och New Age som söker 'mening' i det meningslösa. Centrerad kring en seriemördare, som tycks agera helt utan mening, som också är berättaren och dataexpert, som får samarbeta med polisutredningen, och samlar alla fakta han kan, och då hittar mängder av samband, via datafiler. Tills han tycks finna 'Gud' bakom helheten. Men censureras av någon typ av ET-existens. Vi får aldrig veta mer. Poliseutredningen är helt klart påverkad av allt som hände efter mordet på Olof Palme 1986 och den vettlösa gigantiska polisjakten, med anklagelser åt olika vettlösa håll.
En av behållningarna för mig är Oslo, roligt att känna igen sig, var där på resa för ett drygt år sedan. Boken verkar tilldra sig från sommar 1989 till Påsk 1990. Vintern omtalas som den varmaste och snöfattigaste i mannaminne. Jag minns den än. Inte ett snökorn på hela vintern - här i Stockholm.
Annars vill jag främst kalla det en 'metaroman' eftersom berättaren/serimördaren arbetar med att teckna ner sina upplevelser, men finner att han saknar språk för detta. Språk och sinnen tycks befinna sig helt åtskillda. Jag tröttnar fort på alla ...-pauser och mängden parenteser. Visserligen handlar det om berättarens oförmåga att hitta 'rött ord', men också om berättarens oförmåga att se sig själv, förstå sig själv. Han har inga ord för sitt eget agerande och sina ega upplevelser. Men det finns betydligt fler 'tre-punkts-pauser' än så. Texten känns därmed ofärdig. Men det kan vara ett sofistikerat drag som författaren valt.
Jan Kjaerstad (f. 1953-) började enligt med att utbilda sig som Teolog, vilket inte tynger boken i sig, förutom att man anar sig till ett djupare filosofiskt synsätt. Vilket gör att detta är definitivt inte någon polisroman i vanlig mening. Detta är en postmodern bland-skapelse. -
Elendig og pretensiøs. Meningsløs.
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Ekte menn går rundt i Oslo og dreper folk med murstein
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Underholdende:) Fem stjerner fram til det gjensto ti sider…
