Since January, I have been making a concerted effort to read books about Austria–history books, travel books, and the nebulous “general interest” books, all together in a somewhat indiscriminate jumble of Austrian-ness. Now, because my inner scholar/librarian is pushing at me, I’m organizing that jumble into a casual annotated bibliography.
If you are interested in Austrian history and culture, or if you’re thinking about making a trip–here are some books you might want to look at (and a couple you might want to skip).
HISTORY/BIOGRAPHY
The Reluctant Empress: A Biography of Empress Elisabeth of Austria, Brigitte Hamann, trans. Ruth Hein (1986)
Yes, I’ll admit it: I have Sisi fever. If Austria was a novel, Sisi would be my favorite character. She is provoking, even infuriating, but her intelligence and independence make her a fascinating figure. This biography does an excellent job of presenting a balanced portrait of the empress, neither…
I’d like to thank Caroline of Beauty is A Sleeping Cat for picking The Heat of the Day for March’s War and Literature Readalong. Now only has she brought me to London to coincide with a visit IRL but she has also restarted my 20th century challenge. (100 years, 100 books, 100 authors. Full list and progress report here.)
The book is set in war-time London – primarily in 1942, in the quiet time following the Blitz of 1940 and the smaller one of 1944. Stella, a well-heeled lady has been enjoying her love affair with Robert for two years. They are comfortable; they have not married and are happy to live separate lives outside the time they spend together. Stella’s piece-of-mind is disturbed, however, with the appearance of Harrison and his claims that Robert is a spy. He lets Stella know that, for a price, he won’t turn…
Bientôt nous plongerons dans les froides ténèbres;
Adieu, vive clarté de nos étés trop courts!
J’entends déjà tomber avec des chocs funèbres
Le bois retentissant sur le pavé des cours.
Tout l’hiver va rentrer dans mon être: colère,
Haine, frissons, horreur, labeur dur et forcé,
Et, comme le soleil dans son enfer polaire,
Mon coeur ne sera plus qu’un bloc rouge et glacé.
J’écoute en frémissant chaque bûche qui tombe
L’échafaud qu’on bâtit n’a pas d’écho plus sourd.
Mon esprit est pareil à la tour qui succombe
Sous les coups du bélier infatigable et lourd.
II me semble, bercé par ce choc monotone,
Qu’on cloue en grande hâte un cercueil quelque part.
Pour qui? — C’était hier l’été; voici l’automne!
Ce bruit mystérieux sonne comme un départ.
II
J’aime de vos longs yeux la lumière verdâtre,
Douce beauté, mais tout aujourd’hui m’est amer,
Et rien, ni votre amour, ni le boudoir, ni l’âtre,
Ne me vaut le soleil rayonnant sur la mer.
Et pourtant aimez-moi, tendre coeur! soyez mère,
Même pour un ingrat, même pour un méchant;
Amante ou soeur, soyez la douceur éphémère
D’un glorieux automne ou d’un soleil couchant.
Courte tâche! La tombe attend; elle est avide!
Ah! laissez-moi, mon front posé sur vos genoux,
Goûter, en regrettant l’été blanc et torride,
De l’arrière-saison le rayon jaune et doux!
— Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire_ by_Piccola Braci
I
Soon shall we plunge ‘neath winter’s icy pall;
farewell, bright fires of too-brief July!
even now I hear the knell funereal
of falling fire-logs in the court close by.
once more on me shall winter all unroll:
wrath, hatred, shivering dread, Toil’s cursèd vise,
and like the sun in his far hell, the pole,
my heart shall be a block of crimson ice.
I wait aghast each loud impending log;
thus, criminals ‘neath rising gibbets cower.
o dreadful battering-ram! my soul, agog,
quivers and totters like a crumbling tower,
till to my dream the cradling echoes drum
like hammers madly finishing a bier.
— for whom? — June yesterday; now fall is come!
mysterious dirge, who has departed here?
II
I love your long green eyes of slumberous fire,
my sweet, but now all things are gall to me,
and naught, your room, your hearth nor your desire
is worth the sunlight shimmering on the sea.
yet love me, tender heart! a mother be
even to an ingrate, or a wicked one;
mistress or sister, be as sweet to me
as some brief autumn or a setting sun.
’twill not be long! the hungering tomb awaits!
ah! let me — brow at peace upon your knees —
savour, regretful of June’s parching heats,
this balmy soft October, ere it flees!
— Lewis Piaget Shanks, Flowers of Evil (New York: Ives Washburn, 1931)
Bald wird man uns ins kalte dunkel flössen ·
Fort! schöner sommer der so kurz nur währt!
Schon hör ich wie mit unheilvollen stössen
Das holz erdröhnend auf das pflaster fährt.
5
Der ganze winter dringt in mich: bedrängnis
Hass zorn und schauder und erzwungner fleiss.
Der sonne gleicht im nordischen gefängnis
Mein herz · ein roter block und starr wie eis.
Ich höre zitternd jeden ast der schüttelt –
10
Ein grabgerüst giebt keinen dumpfern hall –
Und an dem turme meines geistes rüttelt
Des unermüdlich harten widders prall.
Es scheint mir von dem hohlen lärm umgeben
Dass man in einen sarg die nägel haut …
15
Für wen? gestern war sommer · herbst ist eben ·
Wie abschied klingt der rätselhafte laut.
Ich liebe deiner augen grünen schimmer ·
Du sanfte · doch nur bittres fühl ich heut ·
Nicht deine liebe nicht kamin und zimmer
20
Ersezt das sonnenlicht aufs meer verstreut.
Und dennoch · zarte seele · lieb und hüte
Auch den der undankbar mit bösem drang ·
Geliebte · schwester! sei die flüchtge güte
Von herbstesglanz und sonnenuntergang!
25
Ein kurzes werk … das grab ist gierig lauernd.
Ach ich will knieend dir zu füssen sein ·
Des weissen dürren sommers flucht bedauernd
In “Bismarck: A Life,” Jonathan Steinberg has produced a masterful biography of a mercurial figure, Otto Eduard Leopold von Bismarck, almost certainly the most important diplomatic figure of the second half of the 19th century. Steinberg shows how Bismarck went from a “shallow country squire” (p.2) to the man who, between 1862 and 1890, unified the disparate German kingdoms, duchies and fiefdoms into the most powerful country on the European continent. In stitching together modern Germany, Bismarck put the pieces in place for the new powerhouse to lead Europe into two murderous 20th century wars, then transform itself late in the century into what Timothy Garton Ash recently termed “about as solid a liberal bourgeois democracy as you can find on earth. . . civilized, free, prosperous, law abiding, moderate and cautious” (“The New German Question,” New York Review of Books…
I am reading Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain, and I came across this:
Quite a bit of reading went on at the International Sanatorium Berghof, both in the common lounging areas and on private balconies – this was particularly true of newcomers and short-termers, since residents of many months or even years had long since learned how to ravage time without diverting or employing their minds, had become virtuosi at putting time behind them, and declared openly that only clumsy bunglers in the art needed a book to hang on to. At most they might leave a book lying on their lap or within reach on a table – that sufficed for them to find their reading needs taken care of. The sanatorium library was a polyglot affair with many illustrated works – an expanded version of the sort of thing that serves to entertain patients in a dentist’s…
I am reading Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain, and I came across this:
penwithlit 