Following his death in a car crash last year, sweeping critical acclaim for his final novel (Austerlitz) and now the release of his last work, a 128 page poem (After Nature), mean that WG Sebald joins the ranks of countless other writers by achieving fame posthumously. Not that he ever courted it in life. His writer’s voice, though significant, was always quiet and modest. Noted for his cultural insights on contemporary Europe, and heralded as an important figure in its changing aspect, Sebald was a serious writer for serious readers; they spoke of his immense literary stature, and so naturally few people actually bought his books.
Paradoxically, with After Nature now hogging the intellectual spotlight, a new appreciation of his earlier, more accessible works has come about.
The Emigrants was written in German (Die Ausgerwanderten) and first published in Germany (1993), although Sebald had lived in England for a long time (he taught at the UEA in Norwich right up until his demise). Highly poetic in style, expertly combining great melancholy with flashes of warmth and gentle humour, the novel was released in Britain and North America in 1996. That the English translation allegedly retains all the power and nuance of the original is a credit to its translator, Michael Hulse (himself a poet of renown), who worked very closely with Sebald to ensure a perfect rendering. Hemingway aside, I don’t think I’ve ever read a novel that is so poetically driven, even down to the level of individual sentence structure.
Divided into four unequal parts, the novel introduces four German Jews, refugees from the rise of the Third Reich who never returned after its fall. The characters never meet, and on the face of it the book is a few short and unconnected biographies – snapshots from the twilight of four lives. Only after the book is finished does the reader feel the full force of a shared cultural displacement that binds them together; a feeling of something lost, events that should never have come to pass.
The "exile" status of Henry Selwyn (doctor), Paul Bereyter (teacher), Ambros Adelwarth (gentleman’s private gentleman – sort of a serious version of Jeeves) and Max Ferber (artist) is palpable throughout, not in the least because none of them voice their own story. The episodes are written in first person, but always by someone else, someone who knew them – but never too well or too deeply. In this way, each man remains isolated to a certain extent, reinforcing the notion of displacement and wordlessly echoing the "conspiracy of silence" by which Sebald characterised his own Jewish father's unwillingness to talk openly of his experiences in Nazi Germany.
The text is dense in places, flowing with anecdotal detail like a letter home to the family. Single paragraphs span two or three pages, sometimes more. Here and there appear actual photographs, silver or sepia, dimmed with age. All this lends powerful realism to the imaginary lives of those concerned. It is often hard to remember that The Emigrants is a work of fiction.
Profoundly moving and emotionally resonant, The Emigrants is an absorbing work that dares its reader to experience a unique blend of feelings that is revelatory if not wholly comfortable. Sadness and regret tempered with appreciation for life’s comedy (this is particularly true of the last and longest segment), enable a vivid understanding of how nothing is certain except that we shall all certainly find out in The End.
Tobytook
Note for users reading this review before 9.30pm (GMT) on Sunday 14th July 2002:
Coincidentally, BBC Radio 3 is transmitting an extended dramatisation, at the time specifed, of the episode featuring Ambros Adelwarth. That character, based on one of Sebald's own realtives, travelled extensively with his employer (an eccentric fellow Jew from a rich family) and bore witness to the rise of Nazism from various parts of the world. Should make for interesting listening.
Paradoxically, with After Nature now hogging the intellectual spotlight, a new appreciation of his earlier, more accessible works has come about.
The Emigrants was written in German (Die Ausgerwanderten) and first published in Germany (1993), although Sebald had lived in England for a long time (he taught at the UEA in Norwich right up until his demise). Highly poetic in style, expertly combining great melancholy with flashes of warmth and gentle humour, the novel was released in Britain and North America in 1996. That the English translation allegedly retains all the power and nuance of the original is a credit to its translator, Michael Hulse (himself a poet of renown), who worked very closely with Sebald to ensure a perfect rendering. Hemingway aside, I don’t think I’ve ever read a novel that is so poetically driven, even down to the level of individual sentence structure.
Divided into four unequal parts, the novel introduces four German Jews, refugees from the rise of the Third Reich who never returned after its fall. The characters never meet, and on the face of it the book is a few short and unconnected biographies – snapshots from the twilight of four lives. Only after the book is finished does the reader feel the full force of a shared cultural displacement that binds them together; a feeling of something lost, events that should never have come to pass.
The "exile" status of Henry Selwyn (doctor), Paul Bereyter (teacher), Ambros Adelwarth (gentleman’s private gentleman – sort of a serious version of Jeeves) and Max Ferber (artist) is palpable throughout, not in the least because none of them voice their own story. The episodes are written in first person, but always by someone else, someone who knew them – but never too well or too deeply. In this way, each man remains isolated to a certain extent, reinforcing the notion of displacement and wordlessly echoing the "conspiracy of silence" by which Sebald characterised his own Jewish father's unwillingness to talk openly of his experiences in Nazi Germany.
The text is dense in places, flowing with anecdotal detail like a letter home to the family. Single paragraphs span two or three pages, sometimes more. Here and there appear actual photographs, silver or sepia, dimmed with age. All this lends powerful realism to the imaginary lives of those concerned. It is often hard to remember that The Emigrants is a work of fiction.
Profoundly moving and emotionally resonant, The Emigrants is an absorbing work that dares its reader to experience a unique blend of feelings that is revelatory if not wholly comfortable. Sadness and regret tempered with appreciation for life’s comedy (this is particularly true of the last and longest segment), enable a vivid understanding of how nothing is certain except that we shall all certainly find out in The End.
Tobytook
Note for users reading this review before 9.30pm (GMT) on Sunday 14th July 2002:
Coincidentally, BBC Radio 3 is transmitting an extended dramatisation, at the time specifed, of the episode featuring Ambros Adelwarth. That character, based on one of Sebald's own realtives, travelled extensively with his employer (an eccentric fellow Jew from a rich family) and bore witness to the rise of Nazism from various parts of the world. Should make for interesting listening.