Tenenkrommend. Tragisch-humoristisch. Je zíet het gewoon foutgaan. De hoofdpersoon lijkt niet veranderd aan het eind van het boek en dat maakt me verdrietig.
Goed boek? Ja. Leuk om te lezen? Nou, nee, tenzij je van hele wrange humor houdt. ( )

A very succinct tragi-comedy; quick to read and enjoyable. ( )

The long-serving office-worker Frans Laarmans suddenly gets the chance to set up in business on his own account as a cheese importer. He's essentially a Flemish Mr Pooter, a kindly, mild-mannered husband and father who achieved his maximum promotion level in the shipyard office many years ago, but who can't resist this one last chance to bite off more than he can chew. Laarmans has a lot of fun picking a name for his business, ordering headed notepaper and setting up an office, but then the first batch of twenty tons of Edammer arrives and it becomes all too clear that he is not psychologically equipped to go into grocers' shops and persuade them to order his cheese, even after a session with an expert motivator.

A gentle little social comedy, no real fireworks, but an engaging central character and a lot of charming period detail about commercial life in the thirties. ( )

Enigszins flauw, maar toch een hilarisch verhaal over een man en zijn kaastragedie. Aanrader. ( )

Laarmans, a rather unassuming office clerk in the harbor of Antwerpen, is via an influential friend suddenly getting the opportunity to become general agent for a dutch cheese manufacturer. Despite hating cheese, Laarmans is swept away by the prospect of becoming an entrepenuer – and not least what such a label does to his self-image – and faking an illness, takes a sick leave from his job to start this new, prosperous venture. The future is so bright it’s blinding, despite what nay-sayers like his wife and brother think of it. However, finding the right desk takes time, finding the right type-writer and letter paper does too, and before he is even set up there are twenty tons of edamer delivered to him. How does one even sell cheese?

This is a deceptively light-handed, slender book about being in love with who you think you should be, and the inability to say no. It’s a fine example of early modernist writing, a little bit like a gentler Kafka. But the style and the awkwardness of Laarmans also reminds me a little of Magnus Mills, which is high praise. I also have to admit to blushing at times – there’s definitely a little Laarmans in me. ( )