Memory and Melancholy
W.G. Sebald is a unique writer - grappling with themes of melancholic belonging, the burden of Europe's history, and the search for knowledge and recovery of the past.
While many of these articles are from the early 2000s, I found these themes interesting in the context of Russia’s bombing of Ukraine and another active conflict in Europe.
Heir of a Dark History (NYRB, October 2002)
J.M. Coetzee
Conspiracy of Silence (NYRB, February 2003)
Charles Simic
When the Russians Came (NYRB, October 2005)
Gabriele Annan
The Solitary Notetaker (NYRB, August 2005)
Charles Simic
Luminous Memoir of a Lost World (NYRB, December 2008)
John Banville
The Real Woman in the Real Cupboard (LRB, June 2011)
In W.G. Sebald's The Emigrants and Jenny Erpenbeck's Visitation, two authors of German heritage examine the devastating effects of the Holocaust through different lenses. From Sebald's exploration of the silence of those affected by the events of the past to Erpenbeck's long view of modern German history, the two authors explore how the events of the 20th century can appear small in comparison to the landscape. Erpenbeck's writing style, inspired by Sebald, is characterized by long run-on sentences, a mixture of plot elements and insights, and an allegorical story of a foundling girl's struggles with childhood. Erpenbeck is interested in the menschlich aspects of life, while Heinrich Böll's short story serves as an allegory for the Third Reich. The article examines the sexual encounter between a German woman in hiding and a Red Army officer, and how the disruption of an emigrant's life can suggest the stripping of the personal from history.
Sebald is my husband (LRB, December 2012)
Christmas last year, I decided to take a risk and buy my husband a book - Die Ausgewanderten by Sebald - and the decision ended up unexpectedly connecting us to a deeper understanding of our family history. As I read, I noticed parallels between Sebald’s characters and my husband, from place names, to memories, to the way he dislikes tucked in bedding. Later, I found myself making connections between this book and other people and places, from my publisher Sara Bershtel and her excitement when I told her our children were committed to learning classical instruments, to Constanze Güthenke and Anthony Grafton in Princeton, to my job as director of the Arts and Humanities at Durham University. In the end, I realised that the value of the humanities lies in the connections between people and places, and in patience bordering on silence.