Metamorphosis

W. G. Sebald, who is referred to as the Einstein of memory, devoted himself to the exploration of loss, exile, and emigration in the twentieth century. In Austerlitz, he captures the Holocaust as an indirect witness, a non-Jewish survivior, and a descendant of the German in shame.

In addition to his verbal mastery, I am particularly fascinated by the elusive genre of Austerlitz. It seems that both the narrator and the protagonist Austerlitz are easily transported by images they see, and that their past experiences are not "illuminated"--if you may call their vague recollections illuminations--until they later come across some specific passages or photographs. 

For example, Austerlitz did not recall the "white pall over the manse" until he read "the reminiscences of his childhood and youth by a Russian writer who describes a similar mania for powder in his grandmother" (62). The association here resembles the Joycean epiphany, but only in an attenuated sense; it is mediated through a childhood recollection of a Russian writer. While I expect to see how Austerlitz interprets the "white pall," he nevertheless compares the affective differences between the powder of his foster mother (Gwendolyn) and that in the Russian writer's book. Even though he later further compares the "white pall" to "the ectoplasm" that "clairvoyants can produce from their mouths in great bubbles which then fall to the ground, where they soon dry and fall to dust" (62-63), the penetration is only skin-deep.  In other words, Austerlitz almost grasps some meaning, but the idea aborts prematurely. As Austerlitz and readers are still in the dark, the narrative then glides to another literary association: Austerlitz finds in another book the "enlightening term 'arsenical horror'" (63), but again the association proves futile insofar as it evokes more of doubt than assurance.

Isn't that how our recollection work? Or perhaps "dysfunction" is more apposite here.

The memory of Austerlitz seems to be composed of myriad points of reference, but they only barely connect to each other. Even though such elusive associations baffle me sometimes, they are beautifully written. This reminds me--now it is my point of reference--of the "architectural monstrosity" of the Palace of Justice in Brussels: "this huge pile of over seven hundred thousand cubic meters contains corridors and stairways leading nowhere [...]"(29). Perhaps while we (Austerlitz/the narrator/readers) try to grasp meanings through recollections, what we are eventually led to are cul-de-sacs. Yet, despite the futile pursuit of truth, what counts is the representation of such experiences.

There are other questions for discussion. Please go to The Modern Library: http://www.randomhouse.com/modernlibrary/catalog/display.pperl?isbn=9780375756566&view=rg