moving on from the dutch to the norwegian novelists: per petterson's out stealing horses and dag solstad's shyness and dignity are probably not to everybody's taste, but have both been saddening and penetrating to me.

similarly, or perhaps even more than the norwegians, two much older novels from the italians, dino buzzati's the tartar steppe and carlo levi's christ stopped at eboli have been intensely sharp and poignant to me, and at times read like reprimands.