This book describes itself as 'The postwar masterpiece' but it was definitely not a masterpiece for me.
I rarely don't finish books. With this one, however, I got to one quarter of the way through and didn't want to waste any more of my life on it

An engaging and entertaining mystery - I really liked this book.

I understand how this would appeal to many readers but for me, the unrelentingly uninteresting description of unending mundanity failed to carry me through. Unfortunately in the end a DNF.

A very strange, slow novel, but so well written as to make out feel the frustrations and boredom of the main character.

First published in Holland in 1947 and now translated into English for the first time, this unremittingly bleak tale of a young man who finds that his life has no meaning is both compelling and blackly humorous. Frits has a mundane job and leads a monotonous existence. Still living at home with his parents – who are actually quite likeable but who are slowly driving him mad with irritation – Frits is a difficult person to feel any sympathy for at all. Even if we feel empathy with his ennui and existential angst he certainly doesn’t come across as in any way someone the reader could care about. And that surely is the point. Boredom and futility make up his daily existence and in this short novel we get to spend 10 evenings with him as he goes around being generally unpleasant to his long-suffering friends. I loved this book and can quite understand why it is considered a classic of Dutch literature. I can also see why many readers haven’t enjoyed it. The book has little point, just as his life has little point. But I found it quite mesmerising in its atmosphere and the portrait it paints of immediate post-war Holland. A small gem of European literature.

The Evenings by Gerard Reve focuses on something we’ve all experienced – wasted days. They’re the ones where you get up buzzing with plans to make the most of the day. But you can’t get going until you’ve had breakfast and at least one cup of tea/coffee, and a thorough read of the newspaper. Maybe even an attempt at the crossword. Meanwhile your mobile phone keeps pinging to let you know emails or text messages are awaiting your attention. Better deal with those first you think, they might be urgent. What’s happening on Facebook you wonder? An hour later having exhausted the stock of cute cat photos and pithy sayings, you migrate to Twitter and post a few of your own witticisms. Time to shower and get ready to face the world. Except everything you pull out of the wardrobe just looks naff. By the time you’ve sorted something that will pass muster it’s almost lunchtime; not really worth starting anything now. And so the pattern is established that will mean by bedtime, not a single thing from your list will have been completed. And you wonder what happened to all that time…..

For Frits van Egters, the central character in Gerard Reve’s debut novel The Evenings, most of his days disappear into this kind of nothingness. In the final days of 1946 he wakes one Sunday morning determined that this day will be different; that this “will be a day well spent. This will be no wasted and profitless Sunday.” But what happens? Nothing much. He drifts through the day, one minute listening to the radio and the next taking books from his shelves and flicking through them without reading a word. In between he looks out of the window, idly observing the passers by and ducks waddling on the canal, and makes a minute examination of his mouth in the mirror. By then it is afternoon and “all is lost, everything is ruined. But the evening can still make up for a great deal.” Except his visit that evening to a friend also turns out to be a waste of time. And so one day turns into the next and the next. His life in fact is an endless cycle of monotonous days.

The Evenings follows Frits as he wanders aimlessly through the house he shares with his parents and out into the streets of Amsterdam. By day he is at work – what he does exactly we never really discover except that it too involves repetition: “I take cards out of a file,” he responds to a friend’s question. “Once I have taken them out, I put them back in again.” It’s the evenings that hang heaviest on his mind. How to get through them without descending into a black hole of despair? For the 10 consecutive evenings upon which the book is based, we observe the stultifying mundanity of his life.

Frits is ever conscious of time and how to make best use of it. During visits to ‘friends’ and even when he is at home with his parents, he is forever looking at his watch, calculating how long before he can move on without seeming impolite. How to avoid long pauses in conversation is his constant dilemma. One strategy he adopts is peppering his conversation with disturbing jokes and anecdotes about death. Another is to ask questions. The questions he asks at home are ones to which he already knows the answer because he’s heard his father’s stories many times over. He likes to think the questions he asks of his friends are philosophically deep and meaningful though it doesn’t matter if they are not because for Frits “Even if a question is entirely pointless it is better than no question at all.“. His questions often baffle people or are inappropriate to the occasion. A night out with Frits is not one to relish. He’s hard work. “Do you people believe that it is right for one to live in moderation?”, he throws at his companions on a night out at a dance hall. They barely have time to respond before he casts another question into the ring: “Are you not of the opinion that eating meat, if not a sin, should in any case be denounced as being unhealthy? ”

He’s also very direct, not hesitating to point out signs of their ill health or their advancing age.

"Oh but you are becoming quite bald,” he tells one man. Listen Joop, without meaning to be nasty your scalp is really almost bare. It will not be long before you can count your hairs on the fingers of one hand… Do you count the hairs in your comb each morning? If you did you would see that there are more of them each day. Slowly but surely. I would be horrified to know that I was going bald. I would lose all desire to live. But please don’t misunderstand me, I don’t mean to discourage you."

With such low levels of interpersonal skills it’s not surprising Frits doesn’t have many friends. His sole true companion is a stuffed rabbit.

Most of this humdrum life takes place in a small quarter of Amsterdam. It’s here that Frits shares an apartment with his half-deaf father and his well-meaning mother. He disdains their eating and hygiene habits (his father comes in for particular contempt for his tendency to walk around the flat half-dressed and slurp his food) and scorns the tedious predictability of their conversation. But he also demonstrates some grudging affection towards them. On New Year’s Eve his mother is distraught to find she was duped into buying not wine for a celebratory drink, but apple-berry juice. To salvage the occasion, Frits dutifully drinks his quota, making encouraging noises about how much nicer it is than wine.

If this sounds dreadful let me assure you that The Evenings is – at times – highly comic. It’s impossible to read Gerard Reve’s portrayal of the battles between father and son for control of the radio or Frits’ paranoia about is body, without laughing out loud. Impossible too not to find some vestiges of sympathy for this hapless, down-trodden specimen of a man. My one difficulty was that a novel about the mediocrity and tediousness of a life did, after a time become rather tedious. The joke wore itself out for me in the middle of the novel. Fortunately I pressed on to the masterful finale where Frits, having failed to find anything remarkable to do to celebrate the new year, invokes a prayer for divine mercy on behalf of his parents, seeking understanding for all their faults. And then contemplates his own situation:

"I am alive. I breathe and I move, so I live. Is that clear? What ordeals are yet to come, I am alive."

It sounds as if he is reconciled to his life but what kind of a life is that exactly. Reve doesn’t give us an answer but leaves us to wonder.

I haven’t read enough Dutch literature to know whether The Evenings deserves the accolade given by the Society of Dutch Literature of “the best Dutch novel of all time.” It’s different and memorable but I expect a stand-out novel to maintain quality throughout whereas this one sags in the middle.

Slightly reminiscent of Graham Greene, The Evenings tells of the events taking place over ten consecutive evenings. I enjoyed the beginning and the way the author was able to find the extraordinary in the every day, but I lost interest after that. With all the hype about this book, my hopes were very high.

I think that I'll definite;y buy this for my class. i know that Fritz has been a little bit of a divisive character, but i adored him. His thought process is captured and conveyed brilliantly by Reve and I can see why it's so beloved in the Netherlands and why it's held such cult status for such a long time. Fritz is a character that you leave the novel feeling like you've 'met' - which is a different thing from feeling like you 'know'
I loved the way that every time I closed this novel, I'd end up thinking about one of Fritz's thoughts or experiences and examining my own ideas and responses. THis is why I think it would make such a fantastic novel to study as it truly makes you reflect on your own prejudices, moral certainties and perspectives. His relationship with his family is also brilliantly conveyed and is something that will definitely stay with me long after reading the novel. five stars for Reve - I wish I'd read it years ago. An amazing portrayal of the Dutch Holden Caulfield as he's sometimes described. For me, Fritz has an appeal that's wholly his own. Utterly recommend!

I found this book boring. It seemed like a diary recording mundane events with almost sinister but philosophical undertones. It was not something that I found pleasurable to read and eventually gave up about half way through.