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n. Philosophy
1. The theory that the self is the only thing that can be known and verified.
2. The theory or view that the self is the only reality.
The discussion last night bounced back and forth and back again a bit disjointedly but nonetheless helped do what book group does best...give readers insights that can not be gained through solitary reading and reflection. Some threads of discussion:
A memoir-like novel that is a many layered text. A work that leads readers to question reality. Memory. Time. And philosophy.
Book talk began with a discussion about the author's decision to include discarded, flea market postcards and unidentified photos. The sponsor stated that she valued and recommended the book because of the philosophical questions it raises: What is the reality of a photo, image, or experience? Is reality whatever an individual interprets it to be, as solipsism suggests. Is only what the self knows or believes real?
Most agreed that Sebald was able to brilliantly develop his out of focus, disconnected, deeply depressed character, Austerlitz, using scavenged, soft- focus photos and the device of a dispassionate narrator relaying Austerlitz's painful journey. Sebald's version of the found photos is authentic...a reality that he created that rings true. (The sponsor also wondered how the invention of photography and photos themselves affect the way we remember and construct our past reality. Members briefly mused about how long photos remain recognizable...three generations?...before they are meaningless.)
A work that tells a truth about the Holocaust. All done by Sebald without resorting to traditional plot lines and character exposition.
Conversation was diverted abruptly away from the philosophical towards the emotional impact of the story. (Mea culpa...but it eventually came back to philosophy.) One member said that this book, different from many of the novels we have read in the past, did not rely on enfolding of characters through straight-forward narrative and plot. My words follow, so I guess my reality, but it states the premise I think I heard: The Holocaust in Austerlitz is no operatic drama of death, but, instead, a slow, steady erosion of life. A quick sand that sucks you in despite or because of your struggle to free yourself. A Holocaust dependent upon things as mundane as a 1000 French movers earning their salary by clearing out 40,000 victims' apartments. A Holocaust that is so meticulous and thorough, rosin from violin cases is painstakingly collected and stacked in a warehouse. A Holocaust that masquerades a death camp as a place of culture. And a Holocaust that mangled Austerlitz's spirit or soul at the age of 4 and a half. (The Kinder Transport saved Austerlitz's life, but left him unable to get close to other human beings. And for most of his life, to face the mystery of his origin. Documentaries of Kinder Transport suggest that the feeling of abandonment never goes away.)
Sebald tells the truth about memory, the passage of time.
Austerlitz's suppressed memories are always lurking ready to appear through faces, an object in a flea market, through a glimpse at photo, by walking in a room. Austerlitz longs to find what he lost in the past in the corners of the world that seem never to change. Several members mentioned their early sensory memories of their world are their most vivid memories.
A work with sentences that run on for pages and meander on but that contain gems of thought and create a mood that matches the content.
Paraphrased comments: "Difficult to read. I had to reread each time I picked up the book before I could move on." Contrasting point of view: " I could read in snatches or long sections and still feel connected and satisfied." Members who stuck with it, were glad that they did.
BUT...
One reader just came to find out why she should have read or should have appreciated reading the book, when she didn't. Forgot to ask her if she found out. G? Care to comment? Another member stopped reading altogether and didn't come to meeting. The foreword we read from, left her even less interested in reading. After hearing my version of the discussion, she said she might pick the book/Kindle up again.
Austerlitz is a different kind of Holocaust novel. For one thing, the first paragraph ends on page 27 and there are sentences that go on for pages. The book’s sponsor, who is a film lover, thought this the most cinematic novel she’s ever read. (I like that insight!) The character Austerlitz tells stories within stories to a narrator. Austerlitz’s fragmented memories, however, are not sufficient for him to weave together his personal story.
ReplyDeleteAre we our memories only? What about our history—known to us or not? Is time disjoint like memory or cumulative in a way that only a God’s-eye view could capture?
Regarding solipsism: is the memory of our personal experience the only reality? I should hope not. Austerlitz is so caught up in his pursuit of identity that he never establishes the intimate, lasting relationships that take one outside oneself and into ongoing shared experience. This is not to blame the character. Sebold has written a beautiful account of the tragic effects of childhood trauma, brought on—as in our last book, Birds without Wings—by the murder and displacement of huge groups of people, and told through a glass darkly by a survivor whose life was scissored in two at the age of four and one half.
I read your commentary (from the blog) on the last meeting and on the book: "Austerlitz". I thought that it was complete, thoughtful and in depth. Well done!!
ReplyDeleteI agree with you that the blog comment is complete, thoughtful and in depth. It was so good I wish I'd written it, but actually the author was Barbara Taragon. I have sent her a short comment for her to post (because I still haven't figured out how to post my own) and I am cc'ing this so she can post your comment as well.
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