‘But the mingled, mingling threads of life are woven by warp and woof: calms crossed by storms, a storm for every calm. There is no steady, unretracing progress in this life; we do not advance through fixed graduations, and at the last one pause…’
Monday, November 26, 2012
W.G. Sebald, Austerlitz
For an economical, sophisticated, self-reflexive meditation on language, biography, ideology and commodification after the Holocaust, see Geoffrey Hill's sonnet, 'September Song' (1968). Hill says more in 14 lines than Sebald manages in 400 pages.
