love without understanding

on not quite getting Sebald but reading him anyway

I have been reading short, weird things about memory because I am trying to write a short, weird thing about memory. On a recent Sunday, I finished the triplet of prose poems that comprises After Nature by W. G. Sebald. I must confess that, as often happens with me and Sebald, it took a while to fully fall under his spell; it was not until the last, semi-autobiographical poem that I thought, god, this guy’s good. Sebald writes these blended fiction-memoir-history books about loss, destruction, memory, walking, repressed gay men…. But what I like about Sebald is not necessarily the aboutness of his books, but the experience of reading them, which is that under this cover of even-handed prose this is a current of terrible dread or longing, and that feeling accumulates in me without me really being aware of where it comes from. I read After Nature (which is not the Sebald I’d rec for first-timers, fwiw. I think The Emigrants is a better gateway drug) because I want to understand why I am attracted to his work despite feeling often that I do not fully understand it. Seeking a Sebald thought partner, if anyone wants to join me in re-reading The Rings of Saturn.

I also read Battles in the Desert by José Emilio Pacheco twice in the last two weeks because it is so quick and easy and perfect. I mean, really perfect. Tiny scenes chiseled to their most necessary lines. It’s about a young boy who falls in love with his best friend’s mom (classic), post-World War II Mexico City under the presidency of Miguel Alemán, class & corruption, how cities change, and how we preserve the past imperfectly & impressionistically in our minds. It’s also a novella, which suits me right now in a time where I keep being not quite sure what I want to read. If anyone has favorite novellas, please send them to me.