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I’ve been told that I’m a laconic interlocutor and in this Knausgaard was more than my match; on the recording of our conversation, the long pauses are filled with Sinatra songs playing from the bar’s speakers.
What follows has been edited and condensed, omitting our discussion of Houellebecq and Lars von Trier (he gently scolded me for not having seen The Idiots); of his eldest daughter, who hasn’t read his books but is beginning to write herself (“She doesn’t yet know that it’s difficult”); of his recent trip to Albania and my Albanian heritage (“You must go back to Albania; it is Europe but it is not Europe”); and of the Boston bands I grew up listening to (about which he was curious — “Great bands,” he said).
(Our meeting occurred before the attacks in Paris.) We walked east a few blocks and up to 44th Street for a drink at the Blue Bar of the Algonquin Hotel.
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