An unnamed narrator, beset by nervous ailments, journeys across Europe -- to Vienna, Venice, Verona, Riva, and finally his childhood home in a small Bavarian village. He is also journeying into the past. Traveling in the footsteps of Stendhal, Casanova, and then Kafka, the narrator draws the reader line by line into a dizzying web of history, memories, and coincidences. Sebald weaves together teetery lines of literature, biography, and autobiography; slanted travelogs and legends; and -- most perilously -- memories. Everywhere, he plucks the string of the unreliability of memory: "what it is that undoes a writer."
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但他根本无法抗拒自己在每天的这个时间点的阅读需求。下班后,萨尔瓦托雷说,我在散文中寻求庇护,就像在一座岛上。一整天我都被编辑室里的噪音包围着,但到了傍晚,我会横渡到一座岛上。每当我开始阅读第一个句子,就会感觉自己划到了很远的水面上。只是因为每晚的阅读时间,我今天才不至于完全丧失理智。
确实,每当我稍加注意饮食,休息得当,我都有一种短暂恢复正常的感觉。在这种被少许信心鼓舞着的痊愈感中,有时我认为自己可以用一通电话轻松地结束已持续数日的失语。
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