Like you, the first question I had when I heard that Jon Fosse won the 2023 Nobel Prize in Literature was: who the fuck is Jon Fosse?
He’s a writer, obviously, and he’s Norwegian, but I’ve never heard of this guy before – the overwhelming majority of people on this planet haven’t. I swear, they couldn’t have picked a more obscure author if their life depended on it.
I’m told that this Jon Fosse is big in Norway; and writes in Nynorsk, the other official written version of the horrendous Norwegian language used by just 10% of the population; and his final volume in a 7-novel exploration of life, death, and whatever the fuck, contains – get this – no sentence breaks.
Wow.
That’s amazing.
But was this nobody the one who really deserved to win? They couldn’t find a more eligible author?
Michel Houellebecq, for example.
He’s at the top of his game, his books sell like hotcakes, other writers envy him and his success, and he’s liked by both readers and critics – where’s his fucking Nobel Prize?
And don’t tell me that Jon Fosse is a better writer than Michel Houellebecq.
