Rings of Saturn
W.G. Sebald
"The Rings of Saturn" chronicles a tour across epochs as well as the East Anglian countryside. On his way, the narrator meets lonely eccentrics inhabiting tumble-down mansions, and links them to the natural history of the herring, and a matchstick model of the Temple of Jerusalem.






So this is my favourite book.
Nothing happens. The narrator, a ghost-like version of the author, is interminably melancholic. He wanders along the suffolk coast, letting the landscape spark his musings on history, the passing of time and the universe.
The genius of the book, for me, is in the tone. Sebald manages to draw out connections between seemingly disparate areas of interest, imbuing everything with a kind of grandfatherly wisdom. The wisdom here is never signposted. There is no ego. Sebald uses photos within the text - they are often rather plain, grubby, amateurish pictures of arcitectural details or places of interest. The creates a sense that the book is just a travelogue which, in my opinion, is another way in which Sebald disarms the reader from noticing his more high-flown intentions.
The cumulative effect of this book, for me, was a quiet revelation. The slow build up of information, anecdote, observation and thought led me to feel - cliche impending - that I had understood the world around me in a fresh way. This is rare. I can imagine lots of people finding this book dull (this might be part of its appeal to me) but I advise everyone to give it a go. Sebald's work is genuinely original.
Joe

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I've read all of Pauline Rowson's books... said tego