Winter

Winter, written to introduce his youngest daughter to the wonders of life, is one of the most profoundly moving and beautiful of Karl Ove Knausgaard's beloved works. While it stands alone for readers, it is also the exquisitely interwoven, the second volume of the Seasons quartet - his new landmark literary project: written by a father to his unborn child. It is strange that you exist, but that you don't know anything about what the world looks like. It's strange that there is a first time to see the sky, a first time to see the sun, a first time to feel the air against one's skin. It's strange that there is a first time to see a face, a tree, a lamp, pyjamas, a shoe. In my life that almost never happens anymore. But soon it will. In just a few months, I will see you for the first time. Winter is the continuation of Karl Ove Knausgaard's personal encyclopedia and record of the world that will soon make up the close reality of his yet unborn child. Comprising sixty short, surprising, and incredibly rich meditations on everything from the moon to fireworks to aquatic apes, Winter finds Karl Ove waxing philosophically and meaningfully on the big things that hide behind smaller things: the sublimity of bonfires, the strange mechanics of the inner ear, the evolution of our solar system, and the fearsome beauty of the Norse myths. Featuring gorgeous illustrations by award-winning watercolour artist Lars Lerin, with Winter, the Seasons quartet reaches new heights of meditative grandeur - an important and memorable gift for readers from one of the world's most important and beguiling literary artists. "Winter, written to introduce his youngest daughter to the wonders of life, is one of the most profoundly moving and beautiful of Karl Ove Knausgaard's beloved works. While it stands alone for readers, it is also the exquisitely interwoven, second volume of the Seasons quartet--his new landmark literary project: written by a father to his unborn child. "It is strange that you exist, but that you don't know anything about what the world looks like. It's strange that there is a first time to see the sky, a first time to see the sun, a first time to feel the air against one's skin. It's strange that there is a first time to see a face, a tree, a lamp, pajamas, a shoe. In my life that almost never happens anymore. But soon it will. In just a few months, I will see you for the first time." Winter is the continuation of Karl Ove Knausgaard's personal encyclopedia and record of the world that will soon make up the close reality of his yet unborn child. Comprising sixty short, surprising, and incredibly rich meditations on everything from the moon to fireworks to aquatic apes, Winter finds Karl Ove waxing philosophically and meaningfully on the big things that hide behind smaller things: the sublimity of bonfires, the strange mechanics of the inner ear, the evolution of our solar system, and the fearsome beauty of the Norse myths. Featuring gorgeous illustrations by award-winning watercolour artist Lars Lerin, with Winter, the Seasons quartet reaches new heights of meditative grandeur--an important and memorable gift for readers from one of the world's most important and beguiling literary artists."-- Provided by publisher The second volume in Knaugsaard's autobiographical quartet based on the seasons, an achingly beautiful collection of daily meditations and letters addressed directly to unborn daughter. In Winter , the second installment in this quartet, we rejoin Karl Ove Knausgaard as he waits for the birth of his daughter. In preparation for her arrival, he takes stock of the world, seeing it as if for the first time. Familiar objects and ideas fill with new meaning. New life is on the horizon, but the earth is also in hibernation, waiting for the warmer weather to return, and so a contradictory melancholy inflects his gaze. Startling, compassionate, and exquisitely beautiful, Knaus-gaard shows the world as it really is, at once mundane and sublime. With illustrations by Lars Lerin. “ Winter reaches at emotions and common experiences thatvlay dusty in all of us.” — Chicago Review of Books