Sebald’s The Emigrants is the only book, fiction or nonfiction, that I’ve managed to read from beginning to end in recent months. His books always grip me like thrillers, though ostensibly they meander in the most leisurely way, and it’s hard to classify them as either fiction or nonfiction. I suppose they are a kind of artful rendering of the real world.. i know nothing of literary genres, but surely his style is unique.
Sebald's early death was such a cruel tragedy, but somehow reminds me of the stories and anecdotes he writes about:
“Sebald [aged 57] died while driving near Norwich in December 2001. The coroner’s report, released some six months later, stated that Sebald had suffered an aneurysm and had died of this condition before his car swerved across the road and collided with an oncoming lorry.” (Wikipedia)