This division of forces weakened the allies, and Napoleon smashed through the center. The enemy retreated in confusion across ice-covered swamps.

For me, Austerlitz is the quintessence of my ideal book. An intellectual adventure and an emotional earthquake at the same time. I adore the author's sublime and unobtrusive use of symbols, especially water. The clarity and elegance of his writing style, particularly while discussing complex philosophical topics like the perception of time, were breathtaking also.

Il film “Austerlitz” è del 2015, con Denis Lavant nel ruolo del protagonista (l’attore feticcio di Leos Carax), diretto dal praghese Stan Neumann. Il film non ha circolato se non per qualche festival, il suo pubblico (ristretto) è stato confinato alla critica che lo ha definito U.M.O., nel senso di Unidentified Movie Object (gli U.F.O. sono unindentified Flying Object). mi imbattei in una fotografia di grande formato, raffigurante una stanza tutta caselle, dal pavimento al soffitto, in cui oggi vengono conservati i documenti dei prigionieri reclusi nella cosiddetta fortezza piccola di Terezín. [p.299-301] In this book, Claude Manceron recreates Austerlitz minute by minute, hour by hour. The reader becomes a privileged witness; we are in the headquarters of the Emperors as they prepare to trap the Grande Armee; in the bivouac of Napoleon where his plan, elaborated bit by bit, changes the trap into a countertrap. We stand on the hill with Soult; charge with the Imperial Guard.

This novel – it is also worth noting – is a work of great erudition that is almost encyclopaedic at times, reflecting Austerlitz and the narrator’s – therefore, Sebald’s – keen passion for knowledge and scholarly study. The pace certainly suffers from this, but the love and power instilled in these passages is such that they considerably enhance the reading experience, and Sebald no doubt intended for them to add substantial layering to his narrative. Terrain at the Battle of Austerlitz (December 2, 1805), map from the 13th edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica (1926). (more)None of the people Jacques will encounter is commonplace. Yet, all who have a wealth of knowledge are passionate about a place, a city, or a fortification. They have a story, a life to tell. They are almost obsessed with each in their corner with insects or butterflies, parrots, the history of cities, railway stations, cemeteries, and quiet buildings today, which have been places of torture and deportation. La narración se construye a partir de relatos aparentemente inconexos, como viejas fotografías tomadas al azar―un fragmento de cielo, una puerta en un edificio abandonado, un rostro desenfocado, un par de árboles en la distancia―encontradas en un cajón olvidado. Sebald coge una foto del cajón y habla sobre ella sin prisa, conectando distintos recuerdos, deteniéndose en cada detalle. En unas ocasiones muestra su erudición, en otras, un gran conocimiento de la naturaleza humana; siempre, un agudo sentido de la observación. De repente, deja caer la foto de su mano y toma la siguiente para continuar la conversación en el mismo punto. Nada parece ceñirse a un plan concreto, pero en cuanto Sebald de detiene y se hace el silencio cae uno en la cuenta que todas esas fotografías esparcidas sin orden ni sentido por el suelo han formado una imagen completa, precisa, detallada: el mapa de la Historia reciente de Europa, el de la barbarie y la crueldad de los últimos doscientos años, desde el colonialismo belga al Holocausto. Son los planos de una red de locura y aniquilación―fortalezas decimonónicas transformadas en campos de concentración; estaciones de tren abarrotadas de deportados; inmensos almacenes repletos de objetos requisados en los pogromos, meticulosamente catalogados; modernas bibliotecas nacionales, diseñadas para ocultar celosamente la información que deberían transmitir―que cubrió Europa durante el siglo XX, construida sobre las ruinas de otras anteriores, empleadas en guerras y pogromos ya olvidados. Una red habitada con la presencia de los fantasmas de los que han pasado, como si pudieran regresar para juzgarnos por no haber sido capaces de salvarles o, al menos, de recordarles como merecían. On the face of it, it’s not an easy sell; the narrator (who may or may not be Sebald himself) embarks on a walk along the Suffolk coast “in the hope of dispelling the emptiness” brought on after completing a “a long stint of work”. Part travelogue, part ramble through the narrator’s vast, troubled and troubling thoughtscape, it is also, as Robert McCrum put it, “ a strange and deep response to the atrocities of history”. The meandering prose takes in topics as peculiar and diverse as “The natural history of the herring,” “The battle of Sole Bay” and “The Dowager Empress Tz’u-hsi.” Not least I would recommend reading Austerlitz's account of trying to find out what happened to his father in the new Bibliothèque Nationale and failing to do so because its design appears calculated to frustrate the aspirations of its readers, such that one realises that the mentality which led to the concentration camp at Terezen is perfectly capable of designing comparable buildings in the present.