The Evenings: A Winter's Tale

Judging by the reviews below, there are two types of readers - those who see the "The Evenings" as some kind of miracle - a masterpiece coming to light after seventy years. And those who are puzzled/bored/annoyed at all the fuss. I'm among those shaking their heads in wonder. The book is hypnotic, a little weird, but human - and funny, if you tune into its subtle, ultra-brittle humor. "The Evenings" is a work of austere brilliance.

In a city in the Netherlands in the late 40's, a male twenty-something office worker lives with his parents in a modest apartment. The book covers his thoughts about, and conversations with, family and friends over several days during the Christmas and New Years holidays. He is intelligent, sarcastic, dark, cynical, insecure; perhaps an underachiever. It seems that his running commentary is a justification for his existence, or a way to avoid facing the banality of his life.Some have compared this to "Catcher in the Rye." It is not that good. I really never came to care for the character, and skimmed through some scenes to finish the book. But, as a literary device of sorts, it has some appeal.

"The Evenings" may or may not be the worst book I've ever read, but it is certainly in the running for that prize (my real rating is "zero stars" -- perhaps "minus five stars" for the waste of time and money). Always on the look-out for the all-too-rare translations of Dutch novelists (e.g., the fine but neglected Hermans, Mulisch, Multatuli, et al.), I pounced on this translation of Gerard Reve title as soon as I saw it. The Tim Parks and Lydia Davis jacket blurbs gave reassurance that I would be "breathless right through the grand finale" (Parks) and that this "important classic" would prove "funny" and "peculiar" (Davis). Peculiarly bad, perhaps? Maybe these blurbs were accommodations for fellow-translator Sam Garrett -- but they certainly cannot accurately describe this ghastly, boring, pointless book. On the basis of Parks's and Davis's recommendations, I kept reading to the end, imagining (hoping) that the numbing repetitiveness would lead somewhere . . . anywhere. Parks must have a very different sense of what makes for a "grand finale." What lapses of taste and judgment must have led two respected writer-reviewers to lend their names to this travesty of a novel, one can only wonder. I fear I must now take Parks's and Davis's reviews cum grano salis. As for Reve's book: what shapeless, repetitive, self-indulgent twaddle.

The novel gives a glimpse into fiction of the 1940's in the style and dialogue. The structure ending with a dream each night works well for me. I think the comments about this novel being one of the best European novel of the 20th century does a disservice to the reader. Comparisons with Salinger are exaggerated--I did find the situation of a young man still living with his parents to be timely. I was glad to find a Dutch novel as not many are translated. I did feel as if I were living 80 years ago as I read and forgot about time. Interesting literary experience.

I disagree with the negative reviews. I thought it was a good picture of what it's like living in Holland.....boring. It's a story of a young man, living with his parents where he is bored to death and a boring job so his life is with friends in the evenings. Night life there is great. I loved it.

When I learned that this novel, originally published in the Netherlands in 1947, had been voted the nation's favorite read, I was intrigued enough to order the new English translation. Now I wish that I some Dutch readers might explain how and why this book has sustained such popularity over the years. The novel tells of 10 December evenings (from a first-person narrator perspective) in this young man's life in strictly mundane, flat and ordinary terms. [Note: Karl Ove Knausgaard in his multi-novel "My Struggle" fashions a much more compelling narrative looking at the minutiae of his life.] Boredom is a key theme of Reve's novel, but the narrator has such a supercilious, snarky attitude about everyone and everything that the prevailing monotony is only heightened. The protagonist is mean-spirited and completely self-absorbed so as I say, I am at a loss as to why anyone should care about jerk and his life.

The descriptive detail was excellent. The reasons for the underpinning ennui were elusive. Lack of purpose after the war?

Don't fight the narrative. If you are waiting for something explosive to happen you will be disappointed, but this must be the original Seinfeld plot line - a book about nothing. Dark humor, obsession with baldness, passive aggressive squabbles with parents - I loved it.

A classic autobiographical book.Already a world renowned publication.

Bleak with a very individual, characteristic atmosphere throughout

Durante o dia, Frits van Egters trabalha. E isso não lhe importa muito. Também não nos importa muito – foi o que decidiu Gerard Reve, criador do personagem e autor do romance THE EVENINGS, por isso, conforme indica o título acompanharemos, na vida dele, as dez noites dos que antecedem a virada de 1946 para 1947. O rapaz tem 20 e poucos anos – a mesma idade do autor quando publicou o livro – e leva uma vida de classe média na Amsterdã do pós-Segunda Guerra.Frits não parece um sujeito de vontades, nem impulsos, é mais uma figura de inércia, acompanhando o fluxo da vida. Acorda, não quer sair da cama, mas sai, conversa com os pais, trabalha, volta para casa, janta, e sai com os amigo. Vai a um bar, a um cinema, anda pelas ruas. É Natal, e nada de muito diferente acontece na vida dele. É Ano Novo, e a vida segue a mesma – talvez pudesse mudar, mas não.Entre uma coisa e outra – sempre à noite – conta e ouve piadas ruins (algumas nem tanto), lida com seu medo de perder os cabelos (em torno dele, todos os amigos parecem estar passando por isso), tem pesadelos, brinca e ameaça seu coelho. Nada, nada, no entanto, aplaca o vazio que o consome.O vácuo interno de Frits parece coincidir com o buraco negro deixado no continente, na verdade, no mundo ocidental, com o fracasso de um projeto de civilização, e com os novos tempos que começavam a se definir na reta final da década de 1940. Há uma atmosfera sufocante – não só no apartamento entulhado dos pais, como até nas ruas. E é nas ruas que o romance acontece. The Evenings é uma narrativa sobre ocupação de espaços – exteriores e interiores. É preciso mais do que reconstruir a Europa: é necessário a redescobrir – os dois processos, na verdade, são coincidentes –, e as perambulações do protagonista pelas ruas, pelos locais públicos de sua cidade são uma maneira simbólica desse processo tomando a parte pelo todo.Considerado por muitos o Grande Romance Holandês – ao menos do século XX – o livro levou 70 anos para ser traduzido para o inglês (por Sam Garrett), mas, infelizmente, continua inédito no Brasil. Quem sabe com o sucesso de crítica e público dos últimos meses na Inglaterra e EUA alguma editora nacional se anime, e lance uma tradução direta por aqui. O livro merece.

Published in 1947 and given its first English translation in 2016. It has a distinctive voice which is true of all great coming of age books.The author's style of mixing dialogue to self while delivering dialogue with others, at first put me off, but as the novel progressed I learned to slow down and appreciate the nuances while reading. The cover art is beautifully adept - as it was on the 1947 version.It reminded me of Camus (Stranger) and Joyce (Portrait) and Percy ( Moviegoer) in its voice and precise attitude. Amazingly, it doesn't - except for a few passages about heat and food - seem at all dated or inaccessible. In Trilling terminology, Frits is authentic, not sincere. Just like Meursault and Dedalus and Binx.

I bought this based on the reviews and thinking it was going to be a good as Willem Frederik Hermans, but I wish I hadn't wasted my time with this thing. The writting is amateurish at best, more really like a draft. There's no plot to speak of, no sense of place or time (a post-war european masterpiece !!) which I found disappointing considering this was written in1946, and the characters are wooden and one dimensional, so there's nothing to make up for each and every shortcoming. It' s just a series of repetitive ridiculous meetings, pointless conversations and gratuitous animal cruelty, written in a totally interesting way which doesn't exactly compels you to keep reading. And I can't at the critics saying this is a "comic masterpiece" when it's totally unfunny and utterly boring. I am also puzzled at the comparisons to giants as Salinger or Kafka. Just awful.