Austerlitz

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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. Translated from the French into English, with a very well done translation that can make or break a good book, this was an incredibly readable, if not entirely scholarly, look at the War of the Third Coalition. Although Claude Manceron is indeed quite French, he is not a Bonapartist, nor a Republican over much, but an honest, largely unbiased observer, which is what a historian should be. (Admittedly, I was expecting a bit of Bonapartism going into this one, silly American expectations and all). Austerlitz is in many ways so close to being a literary tour-de-force, using the language of extended and ostensibly inconsequential melancholy to describe the life of Jacques Austerlitz whom he (Sebald we presume) first meets in the railway station in Antwerp studying the architecture of its waiting room. It is hard to tell just how much of the narrative, if any, is true, although it reads precisely like it was. Regardless, it's remarkably done. Added throughout are grey out-of-focus photographs of people and places, which lend it veracity. The hero of the book, or more properly the anti-hero since he essentially does nothing especially useful with his life, was born in Prague, the son of a moderately successful opera singer and the manager of a small slipper-making factory who was also active in left-wing politics. The rise of the Nazi party in Germany and the subsequent German invasion of Czechoslovakia meant that his father had to flee to Paris, never to be seen or heard from again, his letters to his family confiscated by the German authorities. His mother managed to arrange for her son to be sent on a Kindertransport to London. He was adopted by a Nonconformist preacher and his wife, near Bala in North Wales. By way of long, gloomy, maundering accounts of his life which sometimes have the character of shaggy dog stories, the narrator builds up a sense of his persona which is essentially a deeply melancholy one, bereft of any friendships, or a sense that he truly belongs in this world. Il film “Austerlitz” è del 2015, con Denis Lavant nel ruolo del protagonista (l’attore feticcio di Leos Carax), diretto dal praghese Stan Neumann. Il film non ha circolato se non per qualche festival, il suo pubblico (ristretto) è stato confinato alla critica che lo ha definito U.M.O., nel senso di Unidentified Movie Object (gli U.F.O. sono unindentified Flying Object).

None of the people Jacques will encounter is commonplace. Yet, all who have a wealth of knowledge are passionate about a place, a city, or a fortification. They have a story, a life to tell. They are almost obsessed with each in their corner with insects or butterflies, parrots, the history of cities, railway stations, cemeteries, and quiet buildings today, which have been places of torture and deportation. Austerlitz is, in many ways, another literary tour de force, using the same language of extended and ostensibly inconsequential melancholy to describe the life of someone whom he first meets in the railway station in Antwerp studying the architecture of its waiting room.No one can explain exactly what happens within us when the doors behind which our childhood terrors lurk are flung open.” mi imbattei in una fotografia di grande formato, raffigurante una stanza tutta caselle, dal pavimento al soffitto, in cui oggi vengono conservati i documenti dei prigionieri reclusi nella cosiddetta fortezza piccola di Terezín. [p.299-301] E.G.Sebald her eserinde beni şaşırtmaya devam ediyor. Asla kendini tekrarlamıyor. Bu kez 4 paragraflık bir kurgu ile birbirine son derece yumuşak geçiş yapan upuzun cümlelerle öykülerini bir anlatıcı (kendisi ?) ağzından, bir romana ismini veren kahramanımız Austerlitz’in ağzından anlatıyor. Tabii kendi tanımıyla hiçbir hayvanlar ansiklopedisinde anlatılmayan özel bir hayvan türü olan “insanı” odağına alarak. Yazarın çocukluk travması olan savaşın yıkımını bu kez Austerlitz’in gözünden okuyoruz. Así comienza una conversación sobre Arquitectura e Historia, jalonada por lúcidas observaciones acerca de la identidad, la decadencia, el poder o la memoria que, en contra de toda lógica y gracias a una serie de encuentros tan casuales como el primero, se va a prolongar durante casi tres décadas. Durante estos años, a medida que Austerlitz habla, la Historia—así, con mayúsculas—se va transformando en historia, la suya: su infancia carente de alegría con sus padres de adopción, en una miserable aldea galesa en los años 40; el descubrimiento, siendo ya adolescente, de que no había nacido en el Reino Unido, sino en algún país de Centroeuropa, que su verdadero nombre es Austerlitz y que probablemente sus padres eran judíos; o su vida universitaria en Oxford, donde se hizo evidente que tenía problemas para relacionarse con los demás y que prefería la compañía de libros o vagar visitando esos monumentales edificios que tanto le fascinaban. The scenes of the Battle of Austerlitz itself are some of the best written on the Battle, and this is nearly a 60 year old book. Manceron's description of the climactic Cavalry duel between the French and Russian Imperial Guard horse made for genuinely exciting reading.

Jacques Austerlitz yıllarca bastırmış olduğu, ama artık içinde tutamadığı ve çıkmasına izin verdiği “reddedilmişlik ve yok edilmişlik” duygusuyla baş edeme­mesini anlatırken, geçirdiği ruhsal bunalımın hastanede sonlanması hiç şaşırtıcı olmadı benim için, bunca yük nasıl taşınır ki ? Bazen bir müze, bazen bir hastane veya kütüphan Though this style makes the book quite engaging and easy to read, it also makes the reader doubt the accuracy of that personal detail and dialogue. There were more than a few instances where I read through a passage of dialogue and thought ‘there is no way that was actually spoken—it is too convenient in terms of the story Manceron is writing.’ In the bibliography, Manceron writes that he consulted a number of memoirs from these historical figures, and as such it seems likely that most of the dialogue featured in the book was taken from those sources. However, there are no citations in the text and thus no way to determine what source he was using for a particular conversation. As a result, I treated the dialogue with a good deal of skepticism, considering much of it true in spirit, if not in actuality. Nevertheless, I still think this book is valuable. In my opinion, Manceron gave a balanced and reliable account of the campaign, though it should be considered that he used many more French sources than Allied sources. Although he was outnumbered by the Russian and Austrian allies of the Third Coalition, the French Emperor forced them to do battle on his own terms. While he uses excellent sources, listed in his bibliography, he fails to cite them throughout the text. This issue would be more egregious were it not for the fact that some of the stories he relates are related numerous times elsewhere, in properly sourced monographs. The real problem is when it seems that the author may, or may not, have fabricated conversations or pieces of them for dramatic effect. Though the plethora of memoirs and diaries in his bibliography asserts that, likely, he drew from those, just couldn't be bothered to source them. Jacques Austerlitz, the main character of this WG Sebald book, is one of those scholars, a passionate philosopher, a man in search of his past, that of his family. What was his life like before the age of 4 and a half? Has he always called Austerlitz? Has he still lived in Wales, in a pastor's family?

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La narración se construye a partir de relatos aparentemente inconexos, como viejas fotografías tomadas al azar―un fragmento de cielo, una puerta en un edificio abandonado, un rostro desenfocado, un par de árboles en la distancia―encontradas en un cajón olvidado. Sebald coge una foto del cajón y habla sobre ella sin prisa, conectando distintos recuerdos, deteniéndose en cada detalle. En unas ocasiones muestra su erudición, en otras, un gran conocimiento de la naturaleza humana; siempre, un agudo sentido de la observación. De repente, deja caer la foto de su mano y toma la siguiente para continuar la conversación en el mismo punto. Nada parece ceñirse a un plan concreto, pero en cuanto Sebald de detiene y se hace el silencio cae uno en la cuenta que todas esas fotografías esparcidas sin orden ni sentido por el suelo han formado una imagen completa, precisa, detallada: el mapa de la Historia reciente de Europa, el de la barbarie y la crueldad de los últimos doscientos años, desde el colonialismo belga al Holocausto. Son los planos de una red de locura y aniquilación―fortalezas decimonónicas transformadas en campos de concentración; estaciones de tren abarrotadas de deportados; inmensos almacenes repletos de objetos requisados en los pogromos, meticulosamente catalogados; modernas bibliotecas nacionales, diseñadas para ocultar celosamente la información que deberían transmitir―que cubrió Europa durante el siglo XX, construida sobre las ruinas de otras anteriores, empleadas en guerras y pogromos ya olvidados. Una red habitada con la presencia de los fantasmas de los que han pasado, como si pudieran regresar para juzgarnos por no haber sido capaces de salvarles o, al menos, de recordarles como merecían. Is literary greatness still possible? What would a noble literary enterprise look like? One of the few answers available to English-speaking readers is the work of W.G. Sebald.” But really, this “review” is simply an excuse to provide some links to a few Lieder ohne Worte- throughout my reading of Austerlitz this was the music floating through mind: People with an extraordinary destiny, probably. It would be difficult to understand that such people remain in the shadows.