Convoluted is the name of the game tonight.
Valentine’s day is tricky for me. Not because I’m lonely or because I’m jaded or what not. Because 2 years ago on Valentine’s day myself and a whole team of awesome people were let go from a job that I really thought was going to be My Job, the long haul job. It was a messy break up. There’s a post in my archives called Rocks in the Field if you care to read about it.
Anyway, Valentine’s makes me think about everything I accomplished during the years I worked for that company and how I do miss it and unfortunately how bitter I still am about the way it ended. But like any relationship I appreciate everything it allowed me to do and I wouldn’t take it back if given the option.
So happy Valentine’s to those who are On To Something Better, however you want to define what that is for you.
The roads in Ireland are so shiny when they’re wet that it is almost impossible to drive in the glare.
I have too many polygons.
Ten years after his death, however, Sebald’s work remains more or less entirely sui generis. Reading him is a wonderfully disorienting experience, not least because of the odd, invigorating uncertainty as to what it is, precisely, we are reading. His books occupy an unsettled, disputed territory on the border of fiction and fact, and this generic ambivalence is mirrored in the protean movements of his prose.
Just found this article written 3 years ago about one of my favorite authors, WG Sebald. I discovered his books as I often find most of my favorites: randomly selected at the library because I was captivated by the jacket, a fairly simple and nondescript white cover with a sepia photograph of a blond boy in a cape and regalia.
Sebald’s writing is unique and mysterious and sometimes difficult to get through, but the challenge of reading his book “Austerlitz” was satisfying enough to move me on to his other novels, “The Emigrates” and “The Rings of Saturn”.
Sebald is practically unknown in the US, like the article points out. And it’s really a shame, because while we were all exclaiming how amazing and different “A Visit from the Goon Squad” was, back in 2011, 10 years earlier “Austerlitz” had been published, and is, I think, the contemporary original chronological mind-melt of prose. The words “figurative”, “rambling” and “documentary fiction” are all used in this article to describe Sebald’s writing, and isn’t that what we kind of found so interesting about “A Visit From the Good Squad”?
Although, I suppose Sebald didn’t write entire chapters in Powerpoint.