Written by Dutch author Gerard Reve in 1946 and translated in 2016, The Evenings has been called a postwar masterpiece, a cornerstone of modern European literature - Herman Koch called it the funniest novel about boredom ever written. I was intrigued by the cover, always by the era, and that it was displayed in the LGBT section of the store, thinking it was perhaps a gay novel of the period. It wasn't, and I found it just ok.
Frits van Etgers is 23 and working at a nowhere job, filing cards. He lives in suburban Amsterdam with his mother and father, whom he goads and complains with. Mostly aimless, he goes out with friends for the evenings, mostly to other friends houses to drink and talk, frustrated with having no girlfriend but doing nothing about it, hostile at impending middle age. He judges and criticizes everyone in a morose way, people unsure if he is joking. The nights go on like this without highs or lows, one night blending into another. There is Christmas to get through and then New Years with his parents. A bit of a slog to finish, I found.
For the time it must have been extremely unusual, a novel so close to the end of the war yet making no mention of it except for Frits being slightly inconvenienced. I can't see why it's a masterpiece, I wouldn't recommend it, and I didn't find his droll internal monologue very entertaining. It's humour has been compared with Waiting For Godot, which I don't find too funny.
You will find more complimentary reviews online, by people who find this remarkable.
1946 (translated 2016) / Tradeback / 317 pages
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