And this brings us to the meta-fictional layer of this book: to me, it is essentially about time, and how we as individuals are in or out of time, are struggling with time, not getting a grip on it and also not able to get away from it. That, in a nutshell is the tragedy of the story of Jacques Austerlitz: this isolated, hyper introverted man, the observer of the outside of things (in the beginning of the book he talks incessantly about the architecture and construction history of what he sees around him), this man initially seems to live outside of time; but through his prolonged narrative he shows that – to his horror – he has discovered that he is inextricably linked to a very grave episode of human history, namely the Holocaust. This discovery is recounted through a process of slowly scraping his memory, like an archaeologist does, until he comes to the point where he is confronted with what he apparently has suppressed all his life (so there is quite a lot of Freud in this book too). McTague, Carl. "Escaping the Flood of Time: Noah's Ark in W.G. Sebald's Austerlitz". Archived from the original on 14 March 2017 . Retrieved 16 April 2004. no one in his right mind could truthfully say that he liked a vast edifice such as the Palace of Justice in the old Gallows Hill in Brussels. At the most we gaze at it in wonder, a kind of wonder which itself is a form of dawning horror, for somehow we know by instinct that outsize buildings cast the shadow of their own destruction before them, and are designed from the first with an eye to their later existence as ruins.”

No one can explain exactly what happens within us when the doors behind which our childhood terrors lurk are flung open. " Io sono stato rapito da subito, dalle descrizioni e divagazioni architettoniche, che con me trovano terreno fertile e lettore interessato, pronto a riconoscere la bellezza delle parole e dei mattoni, delle fortezze militari e delle stazioni e delle banche, di tutte le 'cattedrali' che il capitalismo ha dedicato alla propria glorificazione. Sometimes you foist newly beloved books upon friends because of characters they’ll identify with, or a plot twist that leaves you reeling. The urge to share The Rings of Saturn is every bit as strong, but it’s hard to explain exactly why they should read it. At first sight, Austerlitz is a story of a man who looks for traces of his lost family and struggles to reconstruct his past. I think it would be easier to enumerate the things this book is not than enlist what it is: a Holocaust testimony, a philosophical treaty on time, an essay on architecture, language, photography, nature and travelling, a fictional biography, a psychological study, a Bildungsroman, a historical fiction, an adoption story, to name just a few. The way the photos converse with the text is astonishing and the fact that they are fictional makes me admire W.G. Sebald’s creativity even more.Readers of historical fiction and good literary fiction that stands the test of time – or rather, immortalises the fading contours of our very own history or historical consciousness – must read this novel. At the end of which – mark my words – you will be a different person to the one you thought you were, before reading this. With long, winding sentences and reported speech, it is written (and translated into English by the revered Anthea Bell) with a poetry and sensitivity that earn Sebald’s prose adjectives such as meditative, dreamlike and contemplative.

After ninety seconds in which to defend yourself to a judge you could be condemned to death for a trifle, some offense barely worth mentioning, the merest contravention of the regulations in force, and then you would be hanged immediately in the execution room next to the law court, where there was an iron rail running along the ceiling down where the lifeless bodies where pushed a little further as required." As I said in my first pre-review, I believe Sebald to be one of the most important writers of the latter half of the 20th century. It saddens me greatly that he only managed to write four novels before his death at the age of 57, after suffering a brain aneurysm whilst driving; he died before his car swerved out of control and collided with an oncoming lorry, severely injuring his daughter, though thankfully she survived the crash. There is a brilliant interview that took place, if I remember rightly, just over a week before his death, with Michael Silverblatt which I highly recommend. In fact, Silverblatt is perhaps one of the best interviewers out there for writers and has many fantastic ones, especially his ones with David Foster Wallace. There are so many wonderfully written passages to quote, but the ones that are lingering in my memories this morning are the ones that involve loss. ”I remember, said Austerlitz, how Alphonso once told his great-nephew and me that everything was fading before our eyes, and that many of the loveliest of colors had already disappeared, or existed only where no one saw them, in the submarine gardens fathoms deep below the surface of the sea.” There is certainly a nostalgia for the past being felt by Alphonso, but to even think about the loss of colors from the modern age that will never be seen again is a disconcerting thought. We’ll never see the world the same way as Alphonso did, and neither will our children see the same world we did. Maybe the color isn’t gone though, maybe it has just faded from his own eyes? Napoleon’s great counterstroke was to be delivered against the Pratzen Heights by the French center. This was composed of Soult’s corps, with Bernadotte’s in second line. On the left, around a fortified hill that the French had dubbed the Santon, was Jean Lannes’s corps, supported by the cavalry reserve under Joachim Murat. The general reserve consisted of the Imperial Guard and Nicolas Oudinot’s grenadiers. Battle of the Three Emperors This book received the National Book Critics Circle Award. In 2019, it was ranked 5th on The Guardian's list of the 100 best books of the 21st century.*****

Opera ardita, che si spinge in alto, come la torre di Babele: e forse proprio questo ha determinato il caos e l’inconcludenza di questo mio commento. Austerlitz by Claude Manceron is a lively, dramatic narrative history which relates the story of Napoleon’s 1805 campaign and, in particular, its climatic conclusion at the battle of Austerlitz on December 2nd. What distinguishes this book from other histories of this campaign is the author’s style of narrative. Manceron writes as though he is telling a story. He does this by developing the historical personalities, bringing them to life through his selection and sequence of scenes and by delving into the dialogue, thoughts, and feelings of some of the principal figures. Di fronte a pagine monolitiche, prive di interruzioni e a capo, con periodi lunghi, ricerca del dettaglio e frequenti digressioni, ci si può perdere: ma non qui. Austerlitz will transport you to the depths of human soul. This is a compelling narrative into time and reality that brilliantly encapsulates the depths of the ephemera and the apogee of the eternal in postmodern fiction. Memory and presence converge into an abstract reality. The scintillating photographs spread throughout the novel give a harrowing approach to the emotionally charged storyline. Sebald’s writing is fresh and seductive, with a unique attitude to immerse you into the limelight of humanity and deconstruct your deepest fears into simple factual realities. A song that never ends… As I sit here at my computer writing this review, contemplating my reading experience, I have the strong urge to reread it. This time I will be completely zoned in, impervious to distractions, and grasp the nuance of every sentence the moment I read it (I do beguile myself). I want to brush away the feeling that I failed the book in some way. With that feeling, I also feel euphoric, like I’ve ventured into something unknown and came away a better person. New vistas may have opened up in my mind. What else can I deduce from all this other than that the book is a masterpiece?