by W.G. Sebald(1995)
“In August 1992, when the dog days were drawing to an end, I set off to walk the county of Suffolk, in the hope of dispelling the emptiness that takes hold of me whenever I have completed a long stint of work.”
W.G. Sebald(1995)
A solitary walker moves along the Suffolk coast, and what begins as a record of landscapes and fatigue becomes an encyclopedic meditation on destruction, silk cultivation, herring fisheries, the Congo, and the orbital decay of everything human beings build. W.G. Sebald published this sui generis work in 1995, weaving history, memoir, and elegy into a form that resembles nothing so much as the melancholy investigations of a mind that cannot stop noticing connections between distant catastrophes. The grainy photographs scattered through the text refuse to illustrate; they haunt. Every chapter circles the same realization: that what we call civilization is a pattern briefly visible in the dust before the wind resumes.
Pessoa walks the same melancholy corridors, but never leaves Lisbon where Sebald never stops walking.
Proust builds the same architecture of memory and digression, but Sebald's ruins are literal.
Thoreau walks the same landscape with the same attention, but finds transcendence where Sebald finds entropy.