Picture yourself in a rapid train and before your gaze, scenes waltz away, revealing mere snippets of the world outside. Falling into a trance, you attempt to get hold of your thoughts, reaching for the Rasa, yet it slips away like sand. This is exactly what Jon Olav Fosse reads like, similar to a mental battleground where thoughts fight for attention, guided by what he calls “Langsam Prosa” – a deliberate embrace of unhurried, slow prose. And in words which form an intimate and unique connection to the reader.

Picture yourself in a rapid train and before your gaze, scenes waltz away, revealing mere snippets of the world outside. Falling into a trance, you attempt to get hold of your thoughts, reaching for the Rasa, yet it slips away like sand. This is exactly what Jon Olav Fosse reads like, similar to a mental battleground where thoughts fight for attention, guided by what he calls “Langsam Prosa” – a deliberate embrace of unhurried, slow prose. And in words which form an intimate and unique connection to the reader.

“And I will give him a white stone, and on the stone a new name written, which no one knows except him who receives it.” — Revelation 2:17

Fosse, known for his avant-garde approach to literature, pushes the envelope even further with this ambitious work, the Septology series, with The Other Name – the first instalment of this seven-part trilogy deliberately devoid of any full stops. The Other Name invites readers into an introspective journey, where the boundaries between the self and the other, the tangible and intangible blur into a profound exploration of existence. The experimental form of the Septology series is both a triumph and a challenge as Fosse abandons the conventional linear narrative, opting instead for a mosaic of interconnected fragments that demand the reader’s active engagement.

The narrative of The Other Name unfolds the stories of two men residing in close proximity on the western coast of Norway. As the year draws to a close, Asle, an elderly painter and widower, reflects on his life. He resides in solitude, with his only companions being a single bachelor who is a traditional Norwegian fisherman-farmer, and an art gallery owner residing in Bjorgvin, a few hours’ drive south of Dylgja, where Asle lives. The middle-aged artist then goes to check on his friend, his namesake who, he suspects, is unwell and poisoned with drinking. A little over 24 hours of his life are covered in the book. The man contemplates. The man has memories. And that’s it.

Fosse’s writing, translated with exquisite sensitivity by Damion Searls, who said that he learned Norwegian specifically to be able to read, and ultimately translate Fosse, captures the essence of silence and the unspoken even when there are no periods after sentences. The novel challenges established concepts of subjectivity and self from the very first page. What shapes our essence, and why do we traverse a particular life path rather than an alternative one?

Asle the narrator reveals Asle, the other name, his doppelganger, a slightly foiled and darker version of who he is. A nemesis perhaps. The intimate knowledge the narrator possesses about the other Asle’s life suggests that Fosse might be portraying two contrasting facets of the same person: one relatively successful, and the other spiralling into nothingness. Unlike the conventional iceberg theory, where much lies beneath the surface, Septology exposes all there is to see.

Septology diverges from the exuberant prose of the twentieth century, opting for dreaminess and a stripped-down minimalism. Fosse, distinct from writers like László Krasznahorkai and Cormac McCarthy, disregards grammatical norms, relying on language alone to showcase its virtuosity. Repetition pervades the narrative but is never insistent, guiding readers toward the cyclical nature of existence. It is like having a discordant Hemingway placed on reverb with a constant echoing and cacophonous prose. But it doesn’t lull the reader. The Other Name exudes an atemporality, leaving readers uncertain about when events transpire, as the present intertwines seamlessly with the past from the novel’s outset.

There is a certain disquiet in Fosse’s poetic prose, manifested through its simplicity, devoid of unnecessary embellishments. Terrifying fragments emerge, such as instances when young Asle, still a child, and his sister, disobedient to their mother, walk farther and farther away from the house towards the treacherous sea and dangerous cliffs. Some moments may challenge the reader’s focus, as the stream of consciousness becomes erratic, with the narrator’s thoughts jostling for attention, occasionally breaking out in a trance-like fashion.

On ordinary days, crucible memories intrude upon Asle’s consciousness, revealing the origin of the man he has become – a reclusive painter and widower in rural Norway, residing outside a village, with only one friend, Asleik. The present contends with Asle’s memories, prompting a reflection on the reliability of memory and the lasting impact of our collective past on the present. It becomes evident that the scenes Asle describes are like paintings of the past etched in his mind.

Before anything else, Septology is a religious book. Austere but not grandiose. Seven parts represent days of creation. Asle is a deeply religious man; one who calls himself Christian and a Catholic. However, his concept of God differs from traditional church beliefs. He doesn’t see God as an existence but as a state of “is-ness”, inseparable from his own being. When asking himself if he believes that God exists, Asle answers no and says “Obviously God doesn’t exist, God ‘is. And if Asle himself were not, then God wouldn’t exist.” God in the novel resembles the very art Asle is creating. God is in a great silence. Looking at the colour black shine in his painting he proclaims – it is in the shiny darkness that God lives. More than religiosity, it is mysticism:

“...the other person you have and are, the other person you get when you’re born as a human being. I think, and all of them, all the different people, both the ones who lived in earlier times and the ones who are still alive, are just baptized inside themselves, not with water in a church, not by a priest, they’re baptized by the other person they’ve been given and have inside them, and maybe through their connection with other people, the connection of common understanding, of shared meaning...”

The narrative also engages in a profound exploration of Kant’s metaphysical trio: God, freedom of will, and immortality, prompting a scrutiny of art’s purpose from the creator’s standpoint. As Asle contemplates his art, akin to Plato’s cave allegory, it becomes a representation of something not entirely visible but to be eventually approached. The novel taps into universality, touching on timeless themes. Despite these profound themes, the novel is not an intellectual puzzle, more importantly, it delves into faith, loneliness, identity, memory, and the essence of art. Fosse’s writing deftly captures the immanence in artistic creation.

Pranavi Sharma writes on books and culture.