How we Spend Our Days
Sometimes it takes stopping time to wrestle with what it means to inhabit it.
Review by Matthew Pullar
If you Google the phrase “Danish Groundhog Day,” you will almost certainly be directed to the five-part novel series On the Calculation of Volume by Solvej Balle, the first three installments of which have been translated into English one at a time since 2024. The comparison to Bill Murray’s iconic ’90s comedy is apt but limited. Balle’s protagonist Tara Selter does relive the same day repeatedly, in her case the eighteenth of November. Like Murray’s character Phil, Tara’s day initially seems to be an exact repeat of the day before, her awareness of the situation triggered by seeing yesterday’s date on the papers in the hotel where she is staying, followed by the same hotel guest in the restaurant dropping the same piece of toast to the floor. But unlike Phil’s situation, the need to learn a clear moral lesson does not seem to be the reason Tara is stuck in time. Nor is Balle merely riffing off the movie’s idea; she first came up with hers more than thirty years ago, before Groundhog Day was released. Further, where the film is comedic and redemptive, Balle’s novels so far are slow and meditative, more inclined toward reflections on physics and history than keeping up the narrative pace.
Yet there is, reassuringly, a narrative. While it may be difficult to imagine how so many novels can be written about a single day on endless repeat (Balle intends to write two more, making the series a septology), the pace is brisker and more varied than you’d expect. As the series unfolds, Balle approaches her central conceit from a seemingly limitless number of angles. Tara often responds to her situation like a detective or an investigative journalist, examining the variety of combinations that her day can create. She observes which parts of her day reset—which people she sees at the same locations at the same times— and which do not. Some objects that she acquires in a day can remain with her if she sleeps with them. An antiquarian book dealer, Tara often finds Roman artifacts or beautiful art folios that she wants to bring back home, some of which continue with her into the next eighteenth of November, while some disappear and return to their point of origin. Food sources appear to deplete; Tara notices the items that she often purchases from grocery stories start to disappear from the aisles, and she must go further afield to less frequented shops in smaller villages to avoid becoming a “monster” starving the world of its food. The result of Balle’s approach is constant variety, even within seemingly endless repetition. Whenever Tara’s situation risks becoming stale, Balle reveals a new direction in the narrative, a new implication in the scenario she has constructed, and the momentum continues.
Indeed, Tara’s response to her situation takes on a new dynamic with each novel. Coming unstuck in time at first while in France purchasing antique books for the shop that she runs with her husband Thomas, she begins by investigating the reason why her November 18 keeps repeating, eventually returning home to Thomas to resume the same timeline as him. When that fails, Tara seeks other options, returning to France to the scene of the first rupture in time one year later in the hope of hopping back onto the moving year as the next one ticks over. When that also fails, she tries travelling in search of seasons within her ever-repeating November day, seeking out places where the climate feels for her like the winter, spring, and summer of her home. The second part finishes where the third—and latest to come out in English—begins: with Tara’s discovery of a new detail that dramatically changes how she engages with her November 18.
If we had the opportunity to live the same day over and over again, would simply gazing out of windows to take in life’s intricacies be the most responsible way to use it?
There is much in the third part of the series that should be left for the reader to discover themselves. Balle takes us in many surprising directions from the moment Tara wakes up to her 1144th November 18. But what is most striking about this latest installment is not so much the versatility that Balle has with plot—though it is remarkable how much she is able to vary the possibilities in what could, in less skilled hands, wear thin quickly. Rather, I was struck by her dexterity in shifting the focus of her narrative to take in all the possible ways we can encounter and experience time and place. The whole of Europe is Balle’s backdrop, and she uses both its variability and connectedness to great effect, moving effortlessly across the whole continent with the same deftness of detail.
Balle is equally comfortable exploring various philosophical and scientific conceptions of time and the minutiae of everyday experiences. Philosophy is never dry in her hands: a lecture that Tara attends, already vivid and engaging, is made even more so by the rich and intricate description of the lecturer awkwardly losing a tooth while speaking. This kind of attention to detail is one of the series’ greatest qualities, particularly the way that Balle draws on all the senses to capture the miniscule variations that exist within but are often neglected in the busyness of our days. Yet she does not settle either for a merely aesthetic engagement with her content. While she might delight her reader with Tara’s slow appreciation of sensory experience, she is also open to the moral questions it raises. If we had the opportunity to live the same day over and over again, would simply gazing out of windows to take in life’s intricacies be the most responsible way to use it?
It is these moral questions that occupy Balle most in the third part, which introduces the possibility that we might have a responsibility to leave a day the “best” version of that day that we can. Exploring a variety of answers to this question with equal depth and sympathy, Balle leaves us in a state of anticipation, longing for the answer but, like Tara, not yet sure of what it is.
The novel is reminiscent of other pieces of popular culture (in addition to Groundhog Day), echoing films like About Time and Fifty First Dates in its examination of romantic relationships broken by time. But Balle never settles for cliché, and the time-rift concept is more than a clever plot device. The way in which Balle delivers it is clearly the work of many decades, so thorough is she in how she examines the dynamics of her world and timeline, down to the question of what happens to the world’s resources when there is someone taking from the same day’s supply of things again and again. What, the title prompts us to ask, is the volume of a day? And when might that volume begin to be depleted?
Although entirely secular in her framework, the questions Balle asks are ultimately theological, concerning the nature and purpose of our days, and our relationship to time and eternity. The richness of Balle’s scope is so remarkable, her language (and Smith and Russell’s award-nominated translation) so subtle and immersive that the sci-fi scenario is entirely plausible and Tara’s moral and emotional quandaries are as credible and pressing for the reader as they are for her. It does not seem, three books in, as if Balle’s vision is likely to run out of richness any time soon. Indeed, it proves more and more voluminous with each installment, and promises further depths yet to be plumbed.
Matthew Pullar is a poet and teacher based in Melbourne, Australia. He received an honorable mention in the 2024 Fare Forward Poetry Competition for his poem “Some Day All This Will Be Yours.” His latest collection of poems, This Teeming Mess of Glory (Wipf & Stock, 2025), was shortlisted for 2025 Australian Christian Book of the Year.
The latest volume of On the Calculation of Volume was published by New Directions Press on November 18, 2025. You can purchase the first volume here.
