By W. G. Sebald
After Nature, W. G. Sebald’s first literary paintings, now translated into English via Michael Hamburger, explores the lives of 3 males hooked up through their stressed wondering of humankind’s position within the flora and fauna. From the efforts of every, “an order arises, in locations attractive and comforting, although extra merciless, too, than the former country of ignorance.” the 1st determine is the nice German Re-naissance painter Matthias Grünewald. the second one is the Enlightenment botanist-explorer Georg Steller, who followed Bering to the Arctic. The 3rd is the writer himself, who describes his wanderings between landscapes scarred by way of the wrecked certainties of earlier ages.
After Nature introduces a number of the subject matters that W. G. Sebald explored in his next books. A haunting imaginative and prescient of the waxing and waning tides of beginning and devastation that lie in the back of and sooner than us, it confirms the author’s place as probably the most profound and unique writers of our time.
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Extra resources for After Nature (Modern Library Paperbacks)
Get in the car on collaborative ankles. We're rowing like Greeks before those trees turn to treason, erased of all their writing.
THE SKIRT OF NICHT A painted tree shadows the river. In a compound eye, nature leans away from struggle, the name is implied. See how he is taken by one hand, or by his leg, a starry gas beating overhead. From the eastern balcony, horizon blinks like a bug. The paradox of counting spreads its ink across the page, a signature more built than drafted. To see or not see. Do you read or hear it? As if by hunger, earth empties its mind. OF WHICH OCCASION I SHAM, TO SI'KAK HAVK AIÏAIN Look at the base, asking to be stolen.
The paradox of counting spreads its ink across the page, a signature more built than drafted. To see or not see. Do you read or hear it? As if by hunger, earth empties its mind. OF WHICH OCCASION I SHAM, TO SI'KAK HAVK AIÏAIN Look at the base, asking to be stolen. Someone in the cash family, staining our hands. Who thought in this idyll we'd be lying on needles? Like what's-her-name in the movie about the doctor, so unlike a shepherd. A loosely valid enterprise, god and his pair of dice. This meadow, I swear, cashes in on leaflessness.