Vertigo

Vertigo by W. G. Sebald is the first in a series of strange, beautiful works by a true original. Like The Emigrants and Rings of Saturn, other Sebald novels I've enjoyed, Vertigo is a plotless, meandering exploration of the European past. Driven by theme (in this case, titular) and containing hazy, mostly related photographs, the novel sets the template for Sebald's later works, the greatest of which, by my estimation, is Rings of Saturn. Sebald is weird and dense and singular. I'll reread him.

I actually finished Vertigo a few weeks ago, but didn't update this important blog immediately because I received a heavy package in the mail: my wife had ordered Volume 6 of My Struggle! Karl Ove Knausgaard's final installment is fantastic. I've been reading it at night and in school when I get the chance. I'm about 300 pages deep, with only 900 to go. Life, right now, is vivid and meaningful.