{"product_id":"after-nature-isbn-9780375756580","title":"After Nature","description":"\u003cb\u003eAfter Nature\u003c\/b\u003e, W. G. Sebald’s first literary work, now translated into English by Michael Hamburger, explores the lives of three men connected by their restless questioning of humankind’s place in the natural world. From the efforts of each, “an order arises, in places beautiful and comforting, though more cruel, too, than the previous state of ignorance.” The first figure is the great German Re-naissance painter Matthias Grünewald. The second is the Enlightenment botanist-explorer Georg Steller, who accompanied Bering to the Arctic. The third is the author himself, who describes his wanderings among landscapes scarred by the wrecked certainties of previous ages.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eAfter Nature\u003c\/b\u003e introduces many of the themes that W. G. Sebald explored in his subsequent books. A haunting vision of the waxing and waning tides of birth and devastation that lie behind and before us, it confirms the author’s position as one of the most profound and original writers of our time.“A writer of almost unclassifiable originality, but whose voice we recognize as indispensable and central to our time.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The language of \u003ci\u003eAfter Nature\u003c\/i\u003e, as conveyed in Michael Hamburger’s flawlessly clear translation, is classically lucid. . . . It is [Sebald’s] ability to enter diverse inner landscapes, and evoke, with an impartial empathy, entire geographies of experience, that gives [his] writing . . . its gravitas and its somber beauty.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Accessible and moving . . . a wonderful introduction to this compelling and impressive writer, even for those who insist they do not like or understand poetry.” —\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Here, we find the contours or outlines of his singular vision, the interconnecting, often uninterpreted threads of association that constitute a life, and meditations on his great themes of exile, memory, and loss.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The verse retains the Sebaldian virtues of rhetorical elegance and clarity, and sits well in English, as indeed does virtually every word he wrote. . . . [\u003ci\u003eAfter Nature\u003c\/i\u003e] is a work of great power and seriousness, fully worthy to stand beside the prose works of Sebald’s last decade.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Review of Books\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eW. G. Sebald\u003c\/b\u003e was born in Wertach im Allgäu, Germany, in 1944. He studied German language and literature in Freiburg, Switzerland, and Manchester. He taught at the University of East Anglia in Norwich, England, for thirty years, becoming professor of European literature in 1987, and from 1989 to 1994 was the first director of the British Centre for Literary Translation. His previously translated books—\u003ci\u003eThe Rings of Saturn\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Emigrants\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eVertigo\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eAusterlitz\u003c\/i\u003e—have won a number of international awards, including the National Book Critics Circle Award, the \u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e Book Award, the Berlin Literature Prize, and the Literatur Nord Prize. He died in December 2001....I...\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhoever closes the wings\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eof the altar in the Lindenhardt\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eparish church and locks up\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe carved figures in their casing\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eon the lefthand panel\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewill be met by St. George.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eForemost at the picture's edge he stands\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eabove the world by a hand's breadth\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eand is about to step over the frame's\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethreshold. Georgius Miles,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eman with the iron torso, rounded chest\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eof ore, red-golden hair and silver\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efeminine features. The face of the unknown\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGrünewald emerges again and again\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ein his work as a witness\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eto the snow miracle, a hermit\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ein the desert, a commiserator\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ein the Munich Mocking of Christ.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLast of all, in the afternoon light\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ein the Erlangen library, it shines forth\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efrom a self-portrait, sketched out\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ein heightened white crayon, later destroyed\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eby an alien hand's pen and wash,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eas that of a painter aged forty\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eto fifty. Always the same\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003egentleness, the same burden of grief,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe same irregularity of the eyes, veiled\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eand sliding sideways down into loneliness.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGrünewald's face reappears, too,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ein a Basel painting by Holbein\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe Younger of a crowned female saint.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThese were strangely disguised\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003einstances of resemblance, wrote Fraenger\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewhose books were burned by the fascists.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIndeed it seemed as though in such works of art\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003emen had revered each other like brothers, and\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eoften made monuments in each other's\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eimage where their paths had crossed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHence too, at the centre of\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe Lindenhardt altar's right wing,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethat troubled gaze upon the youth\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eon the other side of the older man\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewhom, years ago now, on a grey\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJanuary morning I myself once\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eencountered in the railway station\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ein Bamberg. It is St. Dionysius,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehis cut-off head under one arm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo him, his chosen guardian\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewho in the midst of life carries\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehis death with him, Grünewald gives\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe appearance of Riemenschneider, whom\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003etwenty years later the Würzburg bishop\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003econdemned to the breaking of his hands\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ein the torture cell. Long before that time\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003epain had entered into the pictures.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat is the command, knows the painter\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewho on the altar aligns himself\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewith the scant company of the\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efourteen auxiliary saints. Each of these,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe blessed Blasius, Achaz and Eustace;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePanthaleon, Aegidius, Cyriax, Christopher and\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eErasmus and the truly beautiful\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSt. Vitus with the cockerel,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eeach look in different\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003edirections without knowing\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewhy. The three female saints\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBarbara, Catherine and Margaret on\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe other hand hide at the edge\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eof the left panel behind the back of\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSt. George putting together their\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003euniform oriental heads for\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ea conspiracy against the men.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe misfortune of saints\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eis their sex, is the terrible\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eseparation of the sexes which Grünewald\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003esuffered in his own person. The exorcised\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003edevil that Cyriax, not only because\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eof the narrow confines, holds raised\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehigh as an emblem in\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe air is a female being\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eand, as a grisaille of Grünewald's\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ein the Frankfurt Städel shows in\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe most drastic of fashions, derives from\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDiocletian's epileptic daughter,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe misshapen princess Artemia whom\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCyriax, as beside him she kneels on\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe ground, holds tightly leashed\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewith a maniple of his vestments\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003elike a dog. Spreading out\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eabove them is the branch work\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eof a fig tree with fruit, one of which\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eis entirely hollowed out by insects.[quote]--The New York Times Book Review","brand":"Modern Library","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":44886278701285,"sku":"NP9780375756580","price":22.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780375756580.jpg?v=1767721102","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/after-nature-isbn-9780375756580","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}