I recently finished reading "Schwindel. Gefühle", translated in English as "Vertigo", by W. G. Sebald. Original title is an interesting play of words. Put together, as in "Schwindelgefühle", it means "vertigo", but standing for themselves the first word also means "vertigo" while "Gefühle" means "emotions". I found it important to note because the book is filled with emotions, as was I reading it. It took me two tries at reading it to get to the end. At first I couldn't get over the first chapter. The one which tells the story of Henri Beyle, soldier and writer from the beginning of the 19th century. I have a habit of reading books late at night in my bed, before I go to sleep, and trust me when I say this book isn't meant for that kind of reading. It took me from five to ten sentences to fall asleep, and I found it nonsensical and unclear. Still, something that I can't put my finger on told me I should read it. Two or three months passed and, a few days ago, I decided to give Sebald a second chance. And I'm glad I did.
It's hard to summarize the story of "Schwindel. Gefühle". Mostly because there isn't one in a usual sense. The book is made of four chapters, two of them written as author's reminiscence of his past travels and emotions, and his childhood, and the other two telling stories of other characters, namely: already mentioned Henry Beyle, and Dr. K, who, we're led to believe, is non other than Franz Kafka. All four chapters are written in an unusual way, with the describing events suddenly interrupted with some digression which just as suddenly disappears. Those kind of digressions mostly feel caused by a trigger of some hidden memory.
Hidden memories are the very things that take the central place of the book. It's based on memories, true and false, so we never know what we're reading, truth or fiction. It also talks a lot about those same memories, showing how they are formed and reformed and how often they are far from the truth, as much as they are intact. The book also awakened my memories. As the author told of his travels, I began remembering my own, putting pictures from my memory over the author's description of the places we both visited, and even some I never saw. It helped me realize the power and complexity of memory, and not just in theoretical way. Throughout the book there are years, characters, and even whole scenes which I thought I read about just a few pages before. That made me browse through the book and re-read much of it like I've never done before. The results were varying. Sometimes the years matched, sometimes it turned out the scene was similar but not the same, and sometimes I just couldn't find it although I could've sworn it was there.
All of that could easily make no sense to somebody, and be the cause of vertigo for a lot of people, but that's their loss. This book isn't an easy read, it doesn't have a story in a traditional sense, with the clear beginning and the end. It doesn't keep you guessing what's going to happen, but keeps you guessing what just happened, which is equally intriguing and more demanding, because it forces you to think, unlike the other case in which most of the people don't think too hard because it'll all be revealed to them in the end anyway. But that's not all. "Schwindel. Gefühle" does something very few books, or any other works of art, do. If you concentrate and read it carefully, really carefully, it tells you something about yourself.
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