Agree with you the Idiot is flawed. And the last part is derivative of Poe (
Of whom FD was a great fan). But I don't hate it. BK is a masterpiece.

I was!

Agree with your point about the zeitgeist. Eventually I have to say enough though.

I liked Infinite Jest better than I thought I would. There's rubbish but also some powerful humanist vignettes. There's even plenty of rubbish in Dostoevsky. The Russian chauvinism and antisemitic suggestions. But enough greatness to make masterpieces.

I keep reading the banalities out of gratitude to my friend LiteratureSupporter. Because of him I have also read In Search of Lost Time, Magic Mountain (twice), ten volumes of Anthony Powell, Anna Karenina (twice), Infinite Jest. Can't say I would otherwise have. Cusk and Knausgard keep us in touch.

What bothers me isn’t the banality itself but the presumption that repetition of the mundane equals insight. Cusk seems to believe that stripping away plot and drama will reveal some hidden truth of experience, but too often it just exposes the flatness of her subjects.

Setting it alongside something equally commonplace—a writing seminar—made the whole thing feel unbearably dull. 3/

Is there a spine of tension that sustains all successful relationships?

Doctor Faustus yesterday: “I don’t want to call it beautiful; the word ‘beauty’ has always half-disgusted me, it has such a stupid face, and when they say it, people feel lewd and lazy.” Exactly. Not trying to depict beauty is lazy.

Seems to me this is always true to a degree. Ultimately, everyone is a mystery and we are all alone. Dark, I know. But fascinating.

What wounds her isn’t only what he says, but the collapse of that self-image—the realization that she’s peripheral to his story.

What’s interesting is how the scene reveals vanity disguised as love. Elena wants Konstantin’s affection to confirm her own worth; she wants to be seen through his eyes, and through Yanna’s envy.

Rivalry curdles into humiliation.

Why do you say you mistakenly read the interview?

It’s not just that I get bored; it’s the conceit that bothers me—the idea that this is somehow innovative or daring. That’s why Cusk’s remark that she doesn’t believe in characters grated.

I want to inhabit a consciousness more compelling—better or worse—to be reminded what oppression and suffering look like, to learn, to see vistas open. I like ideas in fiction; if it can make me laugh, all the better.

I think you’ve put your finger on why I’m not a fan of much autofiction or memoir. I don’t read novels to vicariously relive someone’s bourgeois life no more interesting than my own.

It would have been less predictable had narrator fallen for the guy. He's depicted as very unattractive, and just talked about himself. Never asked about her. His domestic tales and marital failures are commonplace.