by W.G. Sebald.
Weird but enjoyable travelogue-meets-stream-of-consciousness.
Nope, I know what you’re thinking, this isn’t a science fiction book; it’s a… well, that’s just it, I’m not entirely sure what it is. Imagine what would have happened if Virginia Woolf had ever written a travelogue about East Anglia, and you’ll be getting somewhere near. Sebald gives you a couple of paragraphs describing the next desolate place in his East Anglian odyssey (yes, they’re all desolate), then the next thing you know, he’s writing page after page about Joseph Conrad, Roger Casement, the Emperor of China, Sir Thomas Browne, silkworms, some chap who’s making a model of the Temple of Solomon, etc. I never rightly understood what all that stream of consciousness stuff actually was, but this seemed pretty damn close to me. Oh yes, and despite all that, it’s really quite enjoyable.
Postscript, May 2011: The above words were written in 2003, after I first read Rings of Saturn. Since then, I have become a huge Sebald fan—although I have no idea why. I don’t get what Sebald did, but he did it very well. Which is why I have been back to re-read Rings of Saturn, having now read most of Sebald’s other books.
I am still none the wiser. Sebald is as enigmatic as ever. But I am still hooked.