on 6/1/04 6:57 AM, Stephen Straker at straker@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx wrote: > Sorry to be so negative ... > > To make up for this, allow me to recommend the indescribably > wonderful *Austerlitz* by the recently departed WG Sebald. > (Among other possibilities, you could count it as a serious > study of consciousness.) I'm reading this. I wonder whether others are? So far I'm experiencing a tension: I'm both engaged and put off simultaneously. I like some of the book's eccentricities, suggesting that, for example, a fortresses amounted to signals to the enemy re. what you consider to be the weakest point in your defences (tell that to the Crusaders) but the narrator's voice points me towards *unconsciousness* rather than consciousness. Sometimes it drones on and on: I looked out at the flat, almost treeless landscape, the vast brown expanse of the plowed fields, the railway stations where I would never get out, the flock of gulls which makes a habit of gathering on the football pitch on the outskirts of Ipswich, the allotments, the crippled bushes overgrown with dead traveler's joy on the embankments, the quicksilver mudflats and channels at Manningtree, the boats capsized on their sides, the Colchester water tower, the Marconi factory in Chelmsford, the empty greyhound track at Romford, the ugly backs of the terraced houses past which the railway line runs in the suburbs of the metropolis, the Manor Park cemetery and the tower blocks of flats in Hackney, sights which are always the same and flit past me whenever I go to London, yet remain alien and incomprehensible in spite of all the years that have passed since my arrival in England. I'm reminded of the way in which Monty Python characters would give laborious instructions on how to take the B351 past Basingstoke and then the A99 through the roundabout... Sebald captures the dullness of grey days in Belgium and Britain just perfectly. Snore. But I'm going to carry on; when was the last time Stephen recommended a book this highly? Will anyone join me? Finally, I have a silly question, one of those things that nags if you don't put it to bed: can those German speakers amongst you imagine this as something a German speaker who is fluent in English would say, "died of the disease of cancer"? The reference is to Wittgenstein, but that makes no difference. You'll find me, and the phrase, on page forty. David Ritchie Portland, Oregon ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html