A self-portrait from one of the great authors of the twentieth century. It includes essays on some of the writers and artist who influenced Sebald's life and career as a writer. ( )

My favorite parts of A PLACE IN THE COUNTRY revolve around W.G. Sebald's questions about understanding meaning and the universe,
as well as Rousseau's use of cards, echoed in Roscoe Mitchell's composition "Cards."

Memorable quotes include: "the brink of the abyss" (Hello, January 6th) and "the pathological aspect of thought."

Erudite and inspiring, yes; also reverberates with a depressing focus on death...
a connecting theme, aside from - and with the exception of J.J. Rousseau - rescue from the oblivion
of old and not popular writers - is madness and to honor the beauty that inspired him.

Jean Jacques Rousseau - philosopher and author banished to refuge on Ile Saint Pierre
Johann Peter Hebel - writer of nature and Cosmological Almanac - speaks of "madness of war"
Gottfried Keller - Swiss critic of Germany
Edward Morike - poor, sick, and depressed poet
Robert Walser - mysterious author in asylum writes constantly of emotions - "night-bird shyness"
Jan Peter Tripps - hyper-realistic painter, also in asylum ( )

The mistake we always make as listeners is to imagine that these miracles of composition, language and music are drawing directly upon their natural heritage, whereas in fact they are the most artificial thing about it.

Measured and strange. I felt an unexpected peace when reading these essays. There was a shadowed forbearance at play---if only within myself. The careful apprehension in each essay is a point of contemplation, despite the assurances from the author that these are "glosses" from alleged "margins". Aside from the looks at Rousseau and Walser Sebald walks in some strange territory, though with signature estrangement.

There's parenthetical charm in books of authors on other authors, I was exclaiming my joy in such when in the essay on Walser, Sebald notes the similarity of Walser with the Gogol studied by Nabokov. He stole my thunder, I screeched with a bootless cry. I am actually barefoot, its hot as hell outside. ( )

Questo non è un libro da leggere se non si conoscono gli autori di cui Sebald si occupa. Si perde troppo delle sue riflessioni e del suo pellegrinaggio mentale. Ho potuto accompagnarlo veramente solo nelle pagine su Rousseau. Il limite, ovviamente, è solo mio e non di Sebald che resta uno dei miei autori prediletti, uno dei grandi del '900, con 'Gli anelli di Satuno' al vertice delle mie preferenze.

Vijf sprankelende schrijversportretten (Hebel, Rousseau, Mörike, Keller en Walser) en één panegyrisch kunstenaarsportret (over de mij onbekende Jan Peter Tripp). De heerlijke langoureus-suggestieve en anekdotische stijl van Sebald maakt dat je van begin tot eind aan zijn lippen hangt. Hoogtepunt was voor mij het mooie stuk over Robert Walser, 'Le promeneur solitaire', dat eerder vorig jaar al als nawoord van Lebowski's nieuwe uitgave van 'De wandeling' was verschenen. ( )