Knausgaard, again

Is it worth reading Knausgaard from beginning to end? Why would it be worth it?

What doesn't change is the tediousness of his account of his life--which is the tediousness of everyone's life, I suppose, the ups and downs, the trivial along with the momentous. Taking out the garbage, watching his wife give birth, shitty diapers, a suicide attempt. Of course, not everyone could report these things is such obsessive detail and still have people read past the first chapter, so this in itself is an accomplishment. If I have nothing else to do I am not discontent to plough through these daily details, because of the chutzpah of even thinking about writing all that down, and his puritanical honesty about his feelings, no matter how they may reflect on him. 

What does change, and give the book an "arc" are his developing reflections on how meaningful or meaningless all this is. Meaningful, I guess, because his success as a writer, this is in the background, in the interview requests, that confers meaning on his life, and that means everything to him too. It's not something he's going to sacrifice to a marriage and children.