（I used a translator, so I apologize if anything sounds awkward.）
Although I really wanted to write extensive thoughts on every single part of this book, I've been incredibly lazy lately and feel like I have zero sustained motivation for anything. So, I'll just write a simple summary of my overall feelings.
I was immediately drawn to this book from the start because I really love Sebald's long sentences. I don't know if studying German for so long influenced this, but I don't recall having such a distinct preference before. Sebald's language has a slow, heavy cadence. Sometimes, certain sentences give me the feeling of someone who has been tormented by psychological/mental issues for a long time, struggling to articulate their feelings to others (friends, family, doctors). They rack their brains, painstakingly turning vague, abstract pain into language. They might use metaphors, or it might involve personal associations and deep thoughts, often vivid and hitting the nail on the head. At other times, those sentences are just sorrowful memories, hazy places you can never return to. Although at times the text isn't exactly advancing the plot, but merely describing what "I" or Austerlitz or other narrators see—plants, animals, architecture, museums, etc.—I feel these things are a crucial part of the book's atmosphere. But I also wonder, if this were any other book, I might find it long-winded. Right now, my attitude toward Austerlitz is one of indulgence because I've already fallen in love with it ().
Regarding the narrative, the overlapping structure is rare and I really like it. Although at the beginning I genuinely couldn't tell whether the "I" speaking was Austerlitz or the narrator, which made me think the two had some mysterious connection. Later I realized it was just because Sebald doesn't like using quotation marks. Regarding this, referring to a passage I wrote earlier in my review of The Emigrants:
「This complete surrender of trust also appears in the story of Austerlitz and the narrator "I", and it is precisely why Austerlitz's story can be heard. Sebald's works are almost always like this: "I" meet someone and listen to them tell their story; or the protagonist is already dead, and "I" learn about that person's life from someone else's mouth, and it can even be a retelling within a retelling. Regardless, telling someone about yourself in spoken or written form, or keeping them company in person, is a way to keep these people alive in more memories. Memory is another dimension of life; it is truly elusive. Although those "narrators"—especially the first-person "I"—are like containers drifting around this earth, seemingly playing the role of "NPCs", in reality they also fully possess their own lives and meanings, grounding the main characters' stories with gravity. All of this proclaims the importance of connections between human individuals. This leads to an interesting point—if someone reads this excerpt, they'll find many "I"s, and in reality, although these "I"s appear in the same (very long) short story, they don't always refer to the same person. This is Sebald's signature; he doesn't like using quotation marks for characters' speech (the only time I can recall him doing so is in Austerlitz when Vera excitedly shouts his name upon seeing him). So unknowingly, the "I" shifts to another person. It's like a life drama composed of countless individual monologues; every "I" has walked to the center of the stage to narrate to the audience—even if there aren't many people there. This gives the reader the feeling that we have truly gotten close to each of these "I"s and patiently listened to them, and that we genuinely care about them; it feels like we are living in the twentieth century, and as we listen to the "I"s' words, something flows into our bodies, trying to make us stay here. This writing seems to tell us that the experiences and memories of all people on the ruins of history are fused together—creating those "understatements" that appear in history textbooks, while the things behind them are so real, intimate, and painful. The tide of history sweeps everyone away; individuals are too small, insignificant in the face of it. The only thing that makes "I" feel real are the people and things in their own life. If that's the case, how do we fight loneliness? Since it's inevitable?」
The third point is the relationships between the characters. "I" and Austerlitz, Austerlitz and Gerald, Austerlitz and Marie, Vera and Agata. Also Austerlitz's teacher, and the person working in the French library at the very end of the book (if I remember correctly). The most captivating part is that there's no emphasis on any traditional romantic relationships; it dawned on me later that this is a very queer book. Actually, I could talk a lot about every single pairing, but I think the most mysterious one is "I" and Austerlitz. While reading, the reader is rarely reminded of the "I"'s presence or thoughts. Indeed, from a narrative perspective, the "I" is just a window, a tool for transitions. However, there are still a few places in the book that narrate the "I"'s attitude toward Austerlitz, and Austerlitz's trust in me—for example, the aforementioned giving "me" the keys to his house, and the most explicit yet belatedly realized thing: the entire narrative itself! Even if Austerlitz went to see a psychologist, he might not say this much—of course, I know the "I" as a narrative window has to write it this way—but just thinking about Austerlitz pouring his heart out and completely opening himself up for the narrator to see makes me feel this is so deep and mysterious. The "I" rarely expresses opinions in the story, but listening itself is already immense support. I think this is a relationship I really like... maybe it's my ideal QPR (queerplatonic relationship), where we can talk openly and honestly about anything, but without creating emotional burdens for each other, and we don't even need to be together all the time... The distance is very comfortable; it sounds too ideal. Also, regarding Austerlitz and Marie, although it's the closest thing to a romantic relationship in the whole book (not considering all the married people), I'm very relieved it didn't head in that narrative direction. In my mind, Marie has long, red, wavy hair and wears a black coat. She is very kind; after all, few people are willing to spend time and energy on someone with mental health issues, hoping to help them get better. Her line "Tomorrow is your birthday, I will wish you happiness, which is like praying for a broken machine to start working again" (roughly) left a deep impression on me. And Austerlitz's own desire for her is exactly the manifestation of how, despite being so withdrawn and unapproachable, he still desperately needs intimate connection—otherwise, he wouldn't have accepted "my" approach at Antwerp Central Station, otherwise Gerald's death wouldn't have been the beginning of his entire life going downhill (that part also left a deep impression on me). And the fact that Marie didn't just keep sacrificing herself and left him at that time was also what I expected. I kind of prefer seeing someone like Austerlitz, living in torment, encounter some warmth but not be able to possess it permanently, because in a sense, he is pitiful but genuinely difficult to get along with. In short, I feel this book is about people with similar temperaments attracting each other, making one feel less lonely, but in the end, no one can stay by your side for long—the ending where Austerlitz leaves for Paris wasn't what I expected. I thought he and "I" would become more closely connected, which would at least offer some comfort. But well, that's just how it ended.
I feel this book has a massive aftertaste, not only reflecting on the issues of history, individual existence, memory, and massacre in the story, but also the blank spaces in the character relationships. Sebald's narration is very restrained, yet he always writes things that make you think deeply. When applied to character relationships, I can't help but imagine the things not written in the book. After all, if the things that are written are like that, how much closer must they be in their everyday lives? How did they get along? I've thought about Austerlitz and Gerald's days at school, imagined Agata and Vera's companionship at home, imagined Vera waking up from a nightmare one midnight after Agata left, walking alone to Agata's favorite park (Agata's farewell part is very painful and tear-jerking, but I absolutely loved it), imagined Marie facing the gloom in Austerlitz's heart, and whether she would meet Austerlitz who was looking for her. Although these imaginations are purely my own fantasies based on personal preferences, they made me happy anyway.
A few more points. First, regarding the characters' speech. On one hand, most of the time it's reported speech, one layer, or two. I really like that somewhat calm, melancholic feeling. On the other hand, the rare times when quotation marks are directly used for dialogue always provide a strong emotional impact. For example, when Vera sees "Austerlitz", and in Vera's retelling when Agata shouts "I—don't—un-der-stand—". This mixed technique is very dynamic and better highlights certain emotions when needed. Second, the entire book doesn't emphasize any gender and doesn't sexualize any character, which makes me very comfortable. In contrast is Kafka—I bought his short story collection because Sebald greatly admired him, but after reading the third story, A Country Doctor, I couldn't continue. It was too symbolic, the story was too violent, and the narrator's language was too disgusting; even the profound metaphors were completely uncomfortable. Third, Austerlitz's aromanticism (and I've recently finally found this label for myself), although his tendency stems more from historical trauma rather than identity exploration as often discussed, the atmosphere is something I like. Plus, it's so rare in novels that it makes me cherish it even more.
Overall, I love this book for its memories and reflections on history, its detailed observations of nature and humanities, its narrative that deviates from mainstream society, and its narrative structure, language style, and queerness. That's pretty much it, hehe.
2026/08/02
