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You’ve probably read lots of books that are separated into chapters, into paragraphs. OK, probably most books you’ve read have some sort of visible structure. Not Thomas Bernhard’s novels. Do you know any other author who repeats himself constantly, who takes words and phrases, sets them in italics, and has them crop up again and again? He takes a phrase, for instance "piano radicalism", and hammers it into you until you can only repeat it after him like a mantra. He starts out in a high gear of vituperative stream-of-consciousness and never lets up. Bernhard’s novels are just as much about wound-up, repetitive language itself as about the dead-ended frustration a thinking person can feel dealing with life’s conundrums.