A quick literary note.
I'm surprised that I've never heard of W.G. Sebald before.
Talking with one of that patrons at a local bar I frequent, he and I have discussed various authors and have had generally pleasant discussions. He brought Sebald's name up, and I promised to check him out. I looked for him on Amazon and was fascinated by what the reviewers said about his work. Today, I went back to the bar for a beer before work, and my friend was there again. He told me that he would lend me his copy of Sebald's Vertigo, and he came to the Turtle to hand me the book. I picked it up and began to read about twenty minutes ago; it's been a long time since I was so engrossed in a book that I read quickly on my first read, and still retained the premise so vividly.
His use of language (even in this translation by Michael Hulse) is masterful. I've only read the first story, Beyle, or Love is a Madness Most Discreet, and I'm invigorated! It follows Henri Beyle in his syphilis induced fantasy journey to discover someone who understands love as he does. Like any tragic hero in this type of tale, he dies before his quest comes to an end, but Sebald's use of such vivid language makes even the most banal details interesting to read.
Then add in his seemingly random interjection of pictures and drawings (used in this form to either emphasize a detail (such as a picture of eyes to help explain why Beyle was referred to as Le Chinois) or to help set the stage of a Napoleonic battle) and I find my senses overwhelmed with the vast story of this man's trials in--and about--life, told in such a manner that I'm surprised I can put the book down long enough to type this.
I was going to go to bed. Instead, I'm going to lie down on the couch and keep reading for just a couple more minutes.
Really, just a couple more. Then to bed. I mean it...maybe...
Talking with one of that patrons at a local bar I frequent, he and I have discussed various authors and have had generally pleasant discussions. He brought Sebald's name up, and I promised to check him out. I looked for him on Amazon and was fascinated by what the reviewers said about his work. Today, I went back to the bar for a beer before work, and my friend was there again. He told me that he would lend me his copy of Sebald's Vertigo, and he came to the Turtle to hand me the book. I picked it up and began to read about twenty minutes ago; it's been a long time since I was so engrossed in a book that I read quickly on my first read, and still retained the premise so vividly.
His use of language (even in this translation by Michael Hulse) is masterful. I've only read the first story, Beyle, or Love is a Madness Most Discreet, and I'm invigorated! It follows Henri Beyle in his syphilis induced fantasy journey to discover someone who understands love as he does. Like any tragic hero in this type of tale, he dies before his quest comes to an end, but Sebald's use of such vivid language makes even the most banal details interesting to read.
Then add in his seemingly random interjection of pictures and drawings (used in this form to either emphasize a detail (such as a picture of eyes to help explain why Beyle was referred to as Le Chinois) or to help set the stage of a Napoleonic battle) and I find my senses overwhelmed with the vast story of this man's trials in--and about--life, told in such a manner that I'm surprised I can put the book down long enough to type this.
I was going to go to bed. Instead, I'm going to lie down on the couch and keep reading for just a couple more minutes.
Really, just a couple more. Then to bed. I mean it...maybe...