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Paul's Reviews > Extinction
Extinction
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But one day, I said, I'll set about recording all these things about Wolfsegg that obsess me and give me no peace... The fact is, Gambetti, that I've often started work on it, only to be defeated by the first sentence... The only thing I have fixed in my head is the title, Extinction, for the sole purpose of my account will be to extinguish what it describes, to extinguish everything that Wolfsegg means to me, everything that Wolfsegg is...
As is the way with Bernhard's novels, Extinction is a monologue, this one being divided into two parts and just two paragraphs across its 300-plus pages. "A must-read for everybody" opines Karl-Ove Knausgaard from the front cover. That judgement is about as sound as naming a six-volume autofictional project after Mein Kampf, Karl-Ove.
Our narrator-hero is Franz-Josef Murau, the second son of a landowning Austrian family, living in Rome and acting as German teacher to a younger man, Gambetti, to whom most of his recollected thoughts are addressed in the first part of the book ('The Telegram'). The text is supposedly Murau's memoir. He is both abominable and humane. It gives nothing away to say that in the second part ('The Will') he returns home to Austria, following the death in an accident of his parents and brother (announced in the telegram - remember those?), there to do battle with his two dreadful sisters. He is to assume the burden of Wolfsegg. But he has no wish to live the life of a farmer, preferring that of the mind. The resolution when it comes is a surprise.
After a fashion, Extinction is a great house novel. The house in question shares its name with the local village of Wolfsegg. And what a splendid name that is in English translation: a wolf's egg - now what would that be like? Murau describes the property in loving detail. But this is Bernhard and so what we get mostly is coruscating social critique. In his final work, Bernhard gives a metafictional nod to his technique. Murau tells us:
I wore Gambetti down with my tirade, which I delivered in an intolerably loud voice as we walked the full length of the flaminia...
Indeed, Thomas.
Not only is this a great house novel, in a way it's a Gothic one to boot - ghastly deaths, grotesque characters, an austere and permanently cold manor house. Then there are the two sisters, all but indistinguishable one from the other. I'm put in mind of Cora and Clarice in the Gormenghast trilogy. And Murau? He's Titus and Steerpike, combined in one person. Things turn sinister with the revelation that Murau's parents gave shelter after the war to two Nazis in the children's villa on the estate.
Much of the diatribe concerns Murau's condemnation of his parents and his upbringing. Is this autobiographical? Certainly not in the literal sense. Murau comes from a wealthy and traditional nuclear family with three siblings. Bernhard was raised by a single mother. His disreputable father had nothing to do with him. I say 'raised' - in fact, his mother sent him to live with his grandparents and then - via a spell in Nazi Germany and forced participation in the Hitler Youth - to a series of cruel boarding schools. Bernhard's childhood was also an unhappy one, then, and he too felt 'abandoned' by his parents. Can we read this as autobiographical allegory?
It's not just Wolfsegg that Murau wishes to destroy.
When I take Wolfsegg and my family apart, when I dissect, annihilate and extinguish them, I am actually taking myself apart, dissecting, annihilating and extinguishing myself.
How much of this cantankerousness is a provocative pose? A fair amount, one assumes. "Vöcklabruck - revolting. Gmunden - revolting" Murau says of towns not that far distant from Wolfsegg am Hausruck. And yet Bernhard lived in Gmunden for many years when he might easily have afforded to relocate to Rome or Lisbon as his narrator did. Here are those revolting locations, thanks to Wikipedia, in all their hideousness:
Returning to the title, there are further resonances. All three surviving siblings are childless and in their forties. Upon their deaths, there's a very real prospect that the family line will become extinct, ending its centuries-long association with Wolfsegg. Murau too dwells upon the imminence of his personal extinction. As it turns out, the title is most intimately tied to the resolution.
Is Extinction Bernhard's masterpiece? I suspect it might be.
As is the way with Bernhard's novels, Extinction is a monologue, this one being divided into two parts and just two paragraphs across its 300-plus pages. "A must-read for everybody" opines Karl-Ove Knausgaard from the front cover. That judgement is about as sound as naming a six-volume autofictional project after Mein Kampf, Karl-Ove.
Our narrator-hero is Franz-Josef Murau, the second son of a landowning Austrian family, living in Rome and acting as German teacher to a younger man, Gambetti, to whom most of his recollected thoughts are addressed in the first part of the book ('The Telegram'). The text is supposedly Murau's memoir. He is both abominable and humane. It gives nothing away to say that in the second part ('The Will') he returns home to Austria, following the death in an accident of his parents and brother (announced in the telegram - remember those?), there to do battle with his two dreadful sisters. He is to assume the burden of Wolfsegg. But he has no wish to live the life of a farmer, preferring that of the mind. The resolution when it comes is a surprise.
After a fashion, Extinction is a great house novel. The house in question shares its name with the local village of Wolfsegg. And what a splendid name that is in English translation: a wolf's egg - now what would that be like? Murau describes the property in loving detail. But this is Bernhard and so what we get mostly is coruscating social critique. In his final work, Bernhard gives a metafictional nod to his technique. Murau tells us:
I wore Gambetti down with my tirade, which I delivered in an intolerably loud voice as we walked the full length of the flaminia...
Indeed, Thomas.
Not only is this a great house novel, in a way it's a Gothic one to boot - ghastly deaths, grotesque characters, an austere and permanently cold manor house. Then there are the two sisters, all but indistinguishable one from the other. I'm put in mind of Cora and Clarice in the Gormenghast trilogy. And Murau? He's Titus and Steerpike, combined in one person. Things turn sinister with the revelation that Murau's parents gave shelter after the war to two Nazis in the children's villa on the estate.
Much of the diatribe concerns Murau's condemnation of his parents and his upbringing. Is this autobiographical? Certainly not in the literal sense. Murau comes from a wealthy and traditional nuclear family with three siblings. Bernhard was raised by a single mother. His disreputable father had nothing to do with him. I say 'raised' - in fact, his mother sent him to live with his grandparents and then - via a spell in Nazi Germany and forced participation in the Hitler Youth - to a series of cruel boarding schools. Bernhard's childhood was also an unhappy one, then, and he too felt 'abandoned' by his parents. Can we read this as autobiographical allegory?
It's not just Wolfsegg that Murau wishes to destroy.
When I take Wolfsegg and my family apart, when I dissect, annihilate and extinguish them, I am actually taking myself apart, dissecting, annihilating and extinguishing myself.
How much of this cantankerousness is a provocative pose? A fair amount, one assumes. "Vöcklabruck - revolting. Gmunden - revolting" Murau says of towns not that far distant from Wolfsegg am Hausruck. And yet Bernhard lived in Gmunden for many years when he might easily have afforded to relocate to Rome or Lisbon as his narrator did. Here are those revolting locations, thanks to Wikipedia, in all their hideousness:
Returning to the title, there are further resonances. All three surviving siblings are childless and in their forties. Upon their deaths, there's a very real prospect that the family line will become extinct, ending its centuries-long association with Wolfsegg. Murau too dwells upon the imminence of his personal extinction. As it turns out, the title is most intimately tied to the resolution.
Is Extinction Bernhard's masterpiece? I suspect it might be.
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Reading Progress
August 8, 2020
–
Started Reading
August 8, 2020
– Shelved
August 8, 2020
–
8.81%
"Slow reader that I am, this is going to take me forever... tiny print, lots of pages. Pretty good so far, though!"
page
31
August 9, 2020
–
19.89%
"An unrelenting, bilious assault on stupidity, sustained in a thus far 70-page long paragraph - great stuff!"
page
70
August 12, 2020
–
44.6%
"Half way through, on to the second part... Is it Bernhard's magnum opus? It's shaping up that way."
page
157
August 17, 2020
–
Finished Reading
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Fionnuala
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Aug 18, 2020 03:45AM
His masterpiece? Then I must read it—although I kind of feel I know the territory from the only Bernhard I've read, Correction, which while quite different to this one had a lot of the elements you've presented so well here, Paul. I must say liked reading it for the hypnotic way the words/rants worked on my mind, drawing me ever on and further in.
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Excellent, Paul. You catch the flavor and texture of Bernhard's masterpiece. The photos enhance. I haven't read but imagine it would be a GREAT house novel.
Fionnuala wrote: "His masterpiece? Then I must read it—although I kind of feel I know the territory from the only Bernhard I've read, Correction"Thanks, Fionnuala. This was certainly a totally immersive reading experience - the effect is hypnotic, as you say. Is it his masterpiece? Well, some critics say so, others not. It's neither as funny nor as short as the others I've read but it has more heft. I've seen comments to the effect that the rants/monologues don't work as well over an extended piece but this worked for me. I believe Correction is his other longer work. As I understand it, all of his novels apart from the first take this approach. If you enjoyed that one, I suspect you'd enjoy this. I've yet to read Correction but it may well be my next Bernhard. The excitement of an oeuvre to explore!
Glenn wrote: "Excellent, Paul. You catch the flavor and text of Bernhard's masterpiece. The photos enhance. I haven't read but imagine it would be a GREAT house novel."Thanks, Glenn. I'm pretty sure you'd enjoy this. Hopefully, I'll read your review of it one day...
Wine cork manufacturer
Andrew wrote: "Wine cork manufacturer"Ha ha, yes, Andrew! Disparaging...
Correction is more of a complete work, it would be a good choice. If you haven't read it already, Bernhard discovers his style in Lime Works, and goes nuts with it. Then he calms down. Extinction is perhaps the most calm Bernhard ever was (he wanted to publish it as his last great work (he delayed it's publication on purpose), although it's not the last to got written)
Thanks, Sahan. You're clearly more versed in Bernhard's works than I am. I've kind of been working my way backwards through the novels chronologically. I've read about all of his novels and the concept behind Correction seemed particularly appealing to me. I'm interested to know in which way you thought Extinction incomplete. It didn't feel any less so than others of his that I've read.
I mean as a unified work: Extinction works on 1: A calm and tamed Bernhard prose 2- Episodes (like an episode with the photographs in the beginning) and perhaps 3- sudden changes (in the first page, when he gets and reads the telegram, he looks out the windows and the topic changes immediately. Perhaps one should look for other instances).In Correction you get sort of an ideal (it's never ideal with Bernhard, although there are hints of perfection in The Loser.) form-substance unity: The story of the book is in harmony with the narrative-style (could it be better? of course)
Thanks for that explanation. Personally, I don't mind that Bernhard's narrators' reflections flip between one topic and another (this appears to be one of the ways in which he influenced Sebald). For me, it's a more authentic representation of the nature of our thoughts than standard fictional narrative. The diatribes in Extinction are tempered by moments of self-awareness on the narrator's part. I can see how that could be seen as a dilution of a pure aesthetic, but again, I feel it adds a further human dimension to Murau (and it's the author including his dedicated readership in the joke). From what I've learnt, the pursuit of perfection and its impossibility is a recurring theme in Bernhard's work.
It's very hard to see what he's doing. There are almost no structural templates. No hard evidence. Completely blank writing atmosphere. Lots of writing errors which are in editorial process corrected. And then the theatrical settings behind the passages. Lots to be learned.(For example in Immanuel Kant, my favorite play of his, turns out he makes very precise choice for the setting and names, maybe same thing goes for his prose as well?)
Yes, in such an apparently unstructured piece, it's nearly impossible to perceive the endoskeleton. I suspect his novels were all very precisely thought through. One doesn't get the feeling one is in the presence of an undisciplined mind - quite the reverse, I would say.
