Blue Mondays     by Arnon Grunberg, Translated by Arnold and Erica Pomerans Original title: Blauwe maandagen Original language: Dutch Original year: 1994 Published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux Pub. Date: 1996 Format: Hardcover Dimensions: (in inches): 8.65 x 1.05 x 5.92 ISBN: 0374114854 List Price: $22.00 Not available for ordering Published by Secker & Warburg, London Pub. Date: 1997 Not available for ordering Published by Vintage/Random House, London etc. Pub. Date: 1998 Not available for ordering Published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York Pub. Date: 1997 Not available for ordering

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This is one of the most hilarious books to have come out of Holland in recent decades. A first novel, written for a dare by a twenty-two year old, it is not simply a carefree comedy but, if anything, a tragicomedy.


The story traces the exploits and misadventures of one Arnon Grunberg as he struggles through adolescence and early adult-hood in late 1980s and early 1990s Amsterdam. School offers little of interest to him. He feels no compunction to attend and sells his schoolbooks so as to be able to spend time with his great first love Rosie. On an otherwise disastrous weekend trip to Antwerp he has his first, still rather innocent sexual experiences with her. When Arnon is eventually kicked out of school altogether and Rosie has moved on to other boyfriends, his parents urge him to make decisions about a job, a career, the future. Arnon has no idea, and no ideals either. The parents hardly serve as role models in any case. The mother, highly strung, keeps going on about the death camps, screaming and smashing the crockery when she is at her wits’ end, which she is very often. The father drinks heavily and, following a stroke, becomes incapacitated. The family scenes with Arnon propping up an incontinent father who is being rude to the visiting nurse while the mother is jabbering away in the background are horrendous and slapstick at the same time. The father eventually dies, choking on his own food and vomit.


The novel’s second part picks up the story two years after Arnon’s leaving school. He is now nineteen and has had a couple of dead-end jobs. He spends his energy, and most of his money, on visiting prostitutes. The addresses he selects at random, and he rarely returns to the same brothel. Exactly what drives him remains unclear — one of the book’s deeper mysteries. It may be his way of escaping from an oppressive family atmosphere, or it may be the memory of Rosie which haunts him. Although there is never any emotional involvement with the prostitutes, they are described with gentle, almost tender care. The sex scenes on the contrary are deadpan and incongruous; the humour has a wry, absurd touch. At the end Arnon decides — he finally makes a decision! — on a decidedly off-beat career: he becomes a male prostitute, working for an escort agency called Blue Moon, whence the book’s title.

I didn’t want anything at all. I just wanted to go on sitting on that sofa and talking about this and that until the hour was up, but I was too scared to say so.

‘Let’s get undressed then.’

‘Right, let’s do that.’

She took her clothes off very quickly, but I was pretty quick too. I was surprised to find that I didn’t feel embarrassed in the slightest, which I generally do if I get undressed in front of other people. We stood there at the foot of the bed and for a little while there was silence, and eventually I asked, ‘Do you have any pets?’

‘We’ll go and wash now,’ she said.

I looked at her wrinkled belly and at her breasts, which drooped like wilting flowers, and I followed her to the washbasin. She washed herself with the blue washcloth, first her pussy, then her ass. That didn’t seem all that promising. I was about to pick op the other washcloth to wash myself but she said, ‘No, let me do it.’

I put the cloth down again. ‘That’s nice,’ I said, ‘I haven’t been washed since I was seven.’

‘But you’ve been under the shower since then, I hope.’

‘Of course. What I meant was that I’ve washed myself since then.’

She washed me very thoroughly, just the way my mother used to.

‘Now a quick wash of your hands too,’ she said, seizing my left hand and squirting liquid soap into in, while the music went on twanging away.

‘Go lie down,’ she said. (p. 135-6, tr. Arnold & Erica Pomerans)

This is one of the most hilarious books to have come out of Holland in recent decades. A first novel, written for a dare by a twenty-two year old, it is not simply a carefree comedy but, if anything, a tragicomedy.

The story traces the exploits and misadventures of one Arnon Grunberg as he struggles through adolescence and early adulthood in late 1980s and early 90s Amsterdam. School offers little of interest to him. He feels no compunction to attend and sells his schoolbooks so as to be able to spend time with his great first love, Rosie. On an otherwise disastrous weekend trip to Antwerp he has his first, still rather innocent sexual experiences with her. When Arnon is eventually kicked out of school altogether and Rosie has moved on to other boyfriends, his parents urge him to make decisions about a job, a career, the future. Arnon has no idea, and no ideals either. The parents hardly serve as role models in any case. The mother, highly strung, keeps going on about the death camps, screams and smashes the crockery when she is at her wits’ end, which she is very often. The father drinks heavily and, following a stroke, becomes incapacitated. The family scenes with Arnon propping up an incontinent father who is being rude to the visiting nurse while the mother is jabbering away in the background are horrendous and slapstick at the same time. The father eventually dies, choking on his own food.

The novel’s second part picks up the story two years after Arnon’s leaving school. He is now nineteen and has had a couple of dead-end jobs. But he spends his energy, and most of his money, on visiting prostitutes. The addresses he selects at random, and he rarely returns to the same brothel. Exactly what drives him remains unclear — one of the book’s deeper mysteries. It may be his way of escaping from an oppressive family atmosphere, or it may be the memory of Rosie which haunts him. Although there is never any emotional involvement with the prostitutes, they are described with gentle, almost tender care. The sex scenes on the contrary are deadpan and incongruous; the humour has a wry, absurd touch. At the end Arnon decides — he finally makes a decision! — on a decidedly off-beat career: he becomes a male prostitute, working for an escort agency called Blue Moon, whence the book’s title.

’I didn’t want anything at all. I just wanted to go on sitting on that sofa and talking about this and that until the hour was up, but I was too scared to say so.

"Let’s get undressed then."

"Right, let’s do that."

She took her clothes off very quickly, but I was pretty quick too. I was surprised to find that I didn’t feel embarrassed in the slightest, which I generally do if I get undressed in front of other people. We stood there at the foot of the bed and for a little while there was silence, and eventually I asked, ’Do you have any pets?’

"We’ll go and wash now," she said.

I looked at her wrinkled belly and at her breasts, which drooped like wilting flowers, and I followed her to the washbasin. She washed herself with the blue washcloth, first her pussy, then her ass. That didn’t seem all that promising. I was about to pick up the other washcloth to wash myself but she said, "No, let me do it."

I put the cloth down again. "That’s nice," I said, "I haven’t been washed since I was seven."

"But you’ve been under the shower since then, I hope."

"Of course. What I meant was that I’ve washed myself since then."

She washed me very thoroughly, just the way my mother used to.

"Now a quick wash of your hands too," she said, seizing my left hand and squirting liquid soap into in, while the music went on twanging away.

"Go lie down," she said.’ p135-136