Read mobi ä Die Ringe des Saturn

W.G. Sebald ☆ Eine englische Wallfahrt eBook

Read mobi ä Die Ringe des Saturn Ç Sedan jagberättaren i W G Sebalds ?Saturnus ringar? skrivits ut från en klinik där han vårdats för en depression vårdar han sig istället om sin melankoli genom att fotvandra genom Suffolk i östra England Allt han ser ? spåren av järnvägen och lokomotivet som var tänkt som en gåva till kejsaren av KinaSedan jagberättaren i W G Sebalds ?Saturnus ringar? skrivits ut från en klinik där han vårdats för en depression vårdar han sig istället om sin melankoli genom att fotvandra genom Suffolk i östra England Allt han ser ? spåren av järnvägen och lokomotivet som var tänkt som en gåva till kejsaren WG Sebald resides in the intellectual world so any event in his life brings up some literary cultural or historical reminiscencesSeveral times during the day I felt a desire to assure myself of a reality I feared had vanished forever by looking out of that hospital window which for some strange reason was draped with black netting and as dusk fell the wish became so strong that contriving to slip over the edge of the bed to the floor half on my belly and half sideways and then to reach the wall on all fours I dragged myself despite the pain up to the window sill In the tortured posture of a creature that has raised itself erect for the first time I stood leaning against the glass I could not help thinking of the scene in which poor Gregor Samsa his little legs trembling climbs the armchair and looks out of his room no longer remembering so Kafka’s narrative goes the sense of liberation that gazing out of the window had formerly given himConseuently the author tells the tale of his hiking along the eastern coast of England in the truly Borgesian traditions so the story of his journey becomes as picturesue and exotic as if he travelled about The Rings of SaturnThe denial of time so the tract on Orbius Tertius tells us is one of the key tenets of the philosophical schools of Tlön According to this principle the future exists only in the shape of our present apprehensions and hopes and the past merely as memory In a different view the world and everything now living in it was created only moments ago together with its complete but illusory pre history A third school of thought variously describes our earth as a cul de sac in the great city of God a dark cave crowded with incomprehensible images or a hazy aura surrounding a better sunThere are no greater calamities and no greater curios in the world than those suggested by history

doc ↠ Eine englische Wallfahrt ☆ W.G. Sebald

Av Kina Tyska havet i öster med det utdöende sillfisket almsjukans härjningar ruinerna efter anläggningar för hemliga brittiska massförstörelsevapen liksom de poeter författare och excentriska samlare som han i sin ensamhet formulerar sin dagbokstext kring ? uppträder i hundstjärnans Sirius eller This is the third travel memoir I've read where an author spends time walking around the British Isles and yet during their journey seems to spend the majority of their time thinking about somethings any things that are uite differentWhen this thought first occurred to me it made me laugh and think that perhaps Albion should be offended But given the books in uestion and what these literary rambles inspired I think there really is no choice but to be flatteredIn the early 1990s Sebald took his walk around the county of Suffolk Suffolk just to give you a rough idea is located in the area of East Anglia East Anglia is traditionally a somewhat lowly area of the United Kingdom sometimes used as a byword to indicate backwardness or dreariness full of flatlands fens and swamps Suffolk itself is in the southern half of the region with a fairly sizable coastal area It is under constant threat of coastal erosion with some towns having actually been lost to the sea many times over To give you some idea of orientation and general tone It is also a rather ancient area of human habitation It was colonized by the Angles in the reasonably recent Christian era about the fifth century but it is also full of archeological finds from the Stone Age Bronze Age and other eras up to the present This is where that famous Anglo Saxon burial ship with full regal regalia was found for instanceThis is in a way also what Sebald is up to His remembrance of his walk through Suffolk is essentially a series of mini essays digging up archeological memories from his own mind and the landscape he sees around him fading in and out of the present sometimes as often as he turns his head for a better view The subjects of these digressions range from a straightforward history of a formerly glorious manor home he comes across on his first walk a discussion of Joseph Conrad of Heart of Darkness fame inspired by the tragic case of Roger Casement the sad tale of formerly bustling repeatedly washed out Dunwich an isolated craftsman working on a famous minute replica of the Temple at Jerusalem a sketched portrait of Swinburne and tales of the last days of the Chinese empire The essay are sometimes analytical in tone sometimes they take the form of a New Yorker like story with commentary interspersed and occasionally we are even offered scenes of drama or fanciful feelingYet despite these different tacks Sebald's sensibility throughout is that of someone giving a eulogy for things long forgotten Without ever directly saying so he shows how the land he walks through is saturated with history with present and past memory layered loosely on top of each other Perhaps the best example of this is his exploration of Dunwich Dunwich in about the 12th century was a bustling port with fifty or churches and a large fleet of fishing and merchant vessels almost perpetually at anchor Windmills dotted the horizon and shipyards saw to the needs of the ships at anchor Sebald notes that a uarter of a large fleet heading to the Crusades with hundreds of knights and thousands of soldiers sailed from Dunwich in 1230 However the town was built for some reason best known to the locals on a cliff Erosion gradually ate away at the town taking first some of the churches and then the town in a series of vicious flash floods that began in 1285 and recurred over the course of the next few centuries every few decades or so The locals first tried to rebuild and then gradually moved their houses farther and farther away from the sea until the port town gradually faded away Sebald's wandering mind slides from the scenes of repeated utter disaster to a wide angle mention of an ongoing trend in human behavior that mirrors that of Dunwich if for different reasons Little by little the people of Dunwich abandoned their hopeless struggle and turned their backs on the sea Whenever their declining means allowed it they built to the westward in a protracted flight that went on for generations; the slowly dying town thus followed by reflex one might say one of the fundamental patterns of human behavior A strikingly large number of our settlements are oriented to the west and where circumstances permit relocate in a westward direction The east stands for lost causes Especially at the time when the continent of America was being colonized it was noticeable that the townships spread to the west even as their eastern districts were falling apart In Brazil to this day whole provinces die down like fires when the land is exhausted by overcropping and new areas to the west are opened up In North America too countless settlements of various kinds complete with gas stations motels and shopping malls move west along the turnpikes and along that axis affluence and sualor are unfailingly polarizedThis is indicative of the sort of stream of consciousness like musings that are typical of Sebald's writing in this volume Yet the stream as is often the case with the best writers is not one way There are tides that flow in and out as he returns to the particulars of Dunwich again taking the time to point out that he is not the first to arrive at the shores of Dunwich and sit down to dream houses and boats and history into being Dunwich with its towers and many thousand souls has dissolved into water sand and thin air If you look out from the cliff top across the sea towards where the town must one have been you can sense the immense power of emptiness Perhaps it was for this reason that Dunwich became a place of pilgrimage for melancholy poets in the Victorian ageThis becomes both a jumping off point for a descriptive essay on Swinburne one of these poets and I think perhaps a way for Sebald to analyze his own motives in undertaking a journey similar to men of a very different age with uite different priorities and sensibilities What is it that attracted them? stands in for Why am I here?Another odd and in its way even haunting version of this which was personally the most evocative for me is his encounter with the Ashbury family In contrast to Dunwich a place irrevocably battered and forced to change by time the Ashburys are an example of what happens with the leftovers of that change They are the remnants that somehow slipped through time's loopholes living a surreal existence that ought by rights to have ceased to be possible half a century or beforehand The Ashburys live near a chain of mountains in Ireland in a cottage like neglected and fading house that has seen better days The Ashburys took up the legacy of their current house just after the Second World War an unsaleable house formerly belonging to Ireland's ruling classes The family arrived after the initial Troubles period but the land was bathed in it and so were their prospects Much like the stagnant place itself the life of the Ashburys to Sebald's view had about it something aimless and meaningless and seemed not so much part of a daily routine as an expression of a deeply engrained distress Each member of the household has a tale to tell of some enterprise or skill that they have or once had some idea they once came up with in the era of life when you're supposed to be thinking about what you want to do with yourself but it seems to always end in but then nothing ever came of it They are like figures who have been captured out of time unable to move forward or due to financial means get out So they move in a kind of enchanted stasis repeating traditional motions for no reason at all I do not think that Mrs Ashbury had any idea what distant fields the seeds she collected might one day fall on any than Catherine and her two sisters Clarissa and Christina knew why they spent several hours every day in one of the north facing rooms where they had stored great uantities of remnant fabrics sewing multi colored pillowcases counterpanes and similar items Like giant children under an evil spell the three unmarried daughters much of an age sat on the floor amidst these mountains of material working away and only rarely breathing a word to each other The movement they made as they drew the thread sideways and upwards with every stitch reminded me of things that were so far back in the past that I felt my heart sink at the thought of how little time remainedIn Dunwich Sebald saw some remains of buildings rocks that may have indicated where settlements once were But in this case the remains were people And I think it is most poignant that this family's origins were not in this enchanted world Mrs Ashbury married into it long after the first battles were over her husband would tell her nothing about it so the little she and her children knew was picked up from legend rumor scraps Then while trying to work out how to live there and get by the family slowly turned into one of those scraps themselves How do we bathe ourselves in the past and not get caught by the spiderweb the way the Ashburys did?A few other essays follow these themes looking out into bare flatlands and seeing the ghosts of what has been exploring why it is no Yet he is careful not to let his sense of elegy and need to bear witness to a past that is still to some degree present slide fully into sentimentality for 'the past' as such He balances his visions of Dunwich port and decaying Victorian homes with fiery tales of figures like Roger Casement a shamefully disregarded civil servant of the imperial era who famously stood up for various native groups in areas the empire was occupying from Africa to Ireland His later description of the violence that accompanied the shift to Home Rule for Ireland is scarcely less fierce eyed and it doesn't once give any indication of being distracted by the mysticism that seems to often afflict writers approaching Irish historyBut he is not simply a storyteller or a detached analytic looking at people and locations under the microscope and connecting threads Sometimes Sebald is overwhelmed by what he is seeing as well and that is where the fanciful feeling I mentioned earlier comes out There are plenty of moments of stillness where Sebald weaves his imagination through what he sees embroidering what he experiences so it is lifted it out of uotidian worries like flies in the marshlands and cold in your feet and into the realm of dreams Time and again vast dust clouds drifted through Flaubert's dreams by day and by night raised over the arid plains of Africa and moving north across the Mediterranean and the Iberian peninsula till they settled like ash from a fire on the Tuileries gardens a suburb of Rouen or a country town in Normandy In a grain of sand in the hem of Emma Bovary's winter gown said Janine Flaubert saw the whole of the SaharaI watched the shadow of our plan hastening below us across hedges and fences rows of poplars and canals Along a line that seemed to have been drawn with a ruler a tractor crawled through a field of stubble dividing it into one lighter and one darker half Nowhere however was a single human being to be seen No matter whether one is flying over Newfoundland or the sea of lights that stretches from Boston to Philadelphia after nightfall over the Arabian deserts which gleam like mother of pearl over the Ruhr or the city of Frankfurt it is as though there were no people only the things they have made and in which they are hidingSebald I think possesses many of the ualities which I have come to think are essential for anyone writing a travel essaymemoir of this sort He has the capability to be a critic of what he sees the interest and determination to pursue further research of anything that seems worth it the sort of active minds that allows him to keep thinking and associating and being present even after walking a dozen or miles and the passion to convey the why of what he is doing His clearly extensive education international experience and perspective and his little circle of eually passionate interesting acuaintances add additional richness to the book and give its wandering nature clear purposeThe only faults I can really find with this book is that occasionally Sebald's prose can cross the line from beautiful and reflective into territory that was too schmaltzy and sentimental for me but that is really very occasionally and as would be the case with any set of essays that cover such widely disparate topics some stories struck my fancy much strongly than others I will always be ready to read fifty pages about melancholic Victorian poets than I will about exploring leftover Cold War paranoias at former bomb testing sites But I cannot emphasize enough that these were minor problems in what was otherwise one of the most pleasantly competent reflections on the inevitable nature of time and change and human idiosyncrasies in the face of that I can remember reading I've read that a number of the men and women considered the great minds of the last few centuries were famous walkers who were notorious for being unable to work out knotty problems while sitting down Count Sebald's work as another variation that proves the themeThe other two memoirs were Fermor's Time of Gifts and MacFarlane's The Old Ways I will grant you that Fermor spends little time in the British Isles itself but it is where he starts and in part inspires him to travel so I feel entitled to claim it In any case I highly recommend both

pdf Die Ringe des Saturn

Die Ringe des Saturn Eine englische WallfahrtSaturnus tecken dvs som den klassiska melankolins ikoner Gömda i texten som en särskild bonus till den som upptäcker dem återfinns Jorges Luis Borges med sin argentinska historia om det uppfunna landet Ubar och ? som i alla Sebalds böcker ? emigranten fjärilsamlaren och exilförfattaren Vladimir Nabok Now as I write and think once of our history which is but a long account of calamities Is it presumptuous I wonder to declare Sebald a favourite writer when this is the first book of his I've read? Possibly but there's that feeling that he might himself possibly endorse of feeling at home with a writer from the very first page Which is ironic since one of the themes of this book is precisely that sense of homelessness that confronts the many exiles nested hereI'd also say that while a kind of restless peregrination is evoked one which is mental and intellectual as well as physical this book is far unified cohesive and organic that it first appears From the dual epigraphs that preface the narrative we pick up motifs of destruction and fragmentation the rings of Saturn as well as struggle horror despair and loss Conrad's letter Saturn according to Cicero was associated with the concept of time something that Sebald returns to repeatedly and during the medieval period gave rise to the epithet 'saturnine' or melancholy certainly the prime emotion which suffuses this text What at first appears to be a meandering discursive journey is actually artfully composed The number of people who are exiles is striking from Ovid whose Metamorphoses is another text that plays on the edge between fragmentation and unity via the Huguenots displaced from France to East Anglia following the repeal of the Edict of Nantes to Chateaubriand Joseph Conrad and refugees from Nazi Germany It's the latter of course which haunts this book though often in subtle almost subliminal fashion there are portrayals of industrialised ruins that seem to shimmer into the death camps and then away again and accounts of sericulture silk farming that 'include extermination to preempt racial degeneration' and in which the caterpillars are killed not 'in a hot oven' It's only in the final chapter too that we learn that 'an old master dyer by the name of Seybolt' was Keeper of the Silkworms in 1822 and that silk farming was revived by Hitler's regime in an attempt to both make Germany self sufficient and with one eye on re armament It's fitting that Thomas Browne who both opens and closes this narrative was the son of a silk merchant The pieces fit together and look back at the section on China smoothly than we first thoughtSebald's prose manages to be both deceptively simple no elaborate similes and metaphors here and wonderfully dense time is flexed so that past present and a possible future interpenetrate each other The narrative 'I' is similarly complex and multiple not just does it represent Sebald the author and Sebald the narrator but due to the elision of uotation marks also morphs into other speakers who are not just uoted in the text but temporarily take over as narrators I've seen reviews that ponder whether this is fiction or non fiction how it might be placed by genre but for me those are needless uestions whose answers add nothing to the experience of reading this book Genre is itself merely a fluctuating series of historically inflected conditions think of the way 'romance' was once applied to say Don uixote or the novels of Alexandre Dumas versus what it means in today's literary market and can be kicked against as much as conformed to in books that situate themselves within its contours For contemporary readers accustomed to the auto fiction of Rachel Cusk or Juan Gabriel Vásuez Sebald's stance should seem familiar though this narrative hybridity was perhaps notable in 1995 when this was first published So overall this is an artful and very carefully composed text that captures a sense of both movement and stasis for all the progress that is captured in the stories that are told the over riding memory that remains is that of decay and ruination