The Twin

Gerbrand Bakker's novel is endurable, just, because of its coolness. But I despair at his need, like Per Petterson's, to write in the first person and at his numbing catalog of activities: I milked the cows, I looked at the canal, I mended the fence, I made coffee, I tore up a letter, I took food to father, and so on, and on. The germ of the story, about a surviving twin, is interesting enough, but the canvas is stretched past the breaking point.