Knausgaard's My Struggle: why should I go on to Book 2?

My Struggle, Book 1, by Karl Ove Knausgaard. Farrar, Straus, and Giroux edition 2013 (originally published in Norway, 2009).

Knausgaard himself is the narrator of this book, and is often referred to within the narrative by his name. The events are frankly autobiographical, though I've read that Knausgaard modified sections and characters so as not to painfully offend some family members. This strikes me as perfectly legitimate for a work of fiction. Even autobiography is, in a profound sense, a work of fiction -- an autobiography is not a recording, but a work of the imagination. The work -- six volumes -- is an international sensation, having sold millions of copies. I finally got down to reading Book 1.

Book 1 bounces from present-day scenes of the author living in Stockholm and writing his novel, this novel. The events of his life gathered here mostly involve his teenage years and his relationships with his parents and other school-age people. We see him worrying about girls, getting drunk with acquaintances at parties, imagining himself as a rock and roll guitar player, playing in a band -- a boyhood that many suburban American boys and girls would recognize. A major theme, repeated many times, is his relationship to his father, a selfish, sometimes detached, and cruel man, whom Karl Ove nonetheless tries hard to impress, and whom he obviously loves.

The writing is very "plain". Knausgaard doesn't strive to carefully depict events and characters, or the  surroundings. There's little insight into people and their motivations. Here is a random paragraph:

I got up and went into the kitchen, put a plate of meatballs and  spaghetti into the microwave, because I hadn't eaten since lunch the day before, went into the bathroom and showered, mostly to pass the minutes it took for the food to heat, dressed,, found myself a kife and fork, poured a glass of water, fetched the plate, sat down to eat.

There's a lot of that. The narrator seems compelled to relate undramatic daily events from periods of his life as if these were bits from a journal. It's important to him because...I'm not sure why. Despite this prosaic quality, the work is absorbing. I was interested in Karl Ove's fumblings and adventures as a teenager. He reminded me of myself. This feels like an honest, unsparing work -- he doesn't shy away from depicting himself in an unflattering or selfish light. He does the same to his friends and family members (something not appreciated by some family members; I've read that his wife was deeply depressed by his exposure of her and their family life in the novel). How much of the plainness Knausgaard's  style, and  how much is contributed by the translation from the Norwegian (by Don Bartlett) is impossible to say.

Will I go on to Book 2? I don't know. I recognize that this is a literary accomplishment. It's absorbing, in the way that reading the diary or journal of close friend might be absorbing. It feels like an accurate psychological recreation of a life, of a journal. But I don't know if I really want to read much more. It's also quite boring at times. What about this has drawn so many millions to buy the books?