Did you ever get around to reading the first volume of Karl Ove Knausgaard’s My Struggle like I suggested you do last summer? Probably not. Life is full of choices, most of them bad, and in between our trying — on the days we try — and mostly failing, a few hundred pages of intensely detailed Norwegian memoir are probably too much to bear even conceptually. I’m not judging you. Lord knows there are plenty of things I don’t want to do either. But I am telling you that you are missing out. In any event, the second volume is arriving on these shores and there’s an excerpt in the New Yorker and another one here that should give you a pretty good indication of whether or not this is something you’d like to pursue. No pressure, I just want you to have options.