A Sabbatical In Leipzig

by Adrian Duncan

Michael, a retired bridge engineer, has lived away from Ireland for most of his life and now resides alone in Bilbao after the death of his girlfriend, Catherine. Each day he listens to two versions of the same piece of music before walking the same route to visit Richard Serra’s enormous permanent installation, The Matter of Time, in the Guggenheim Museum. Over the course of an hour before he leaves his apartment, Michael reflects on past projects, the landscapes of his adolescence, and his relationship with Catherine, which acts as the marker by which he judges the passing of time. Over the course of the narrative, certain fascinations electricity, porcelain, the bogland of his youth, a short story by Robert Walser, and a five-year period of prolonged mental agitation experienced while living with Catherine in Leipzig. This ‘sabbatical’, brought on by the suicide of a former colleague, splits his career as an engineer into two distinct parts. A Sabbatical in Leipzig is intensely realistic. With a clear voice and precise, structured thoughts, we move between memories of vast empty landscapes and memories of the failed and successful edifices and bridges Michael designed throughout Europe and India.. This narrator has left the void of his world in rural Ireland to build new environments elsewhere, yet remains connected to his homeland. Duncan’s second novel stands alone as a substantial and compelling work of literary fiction

Genres: Fiction

144 pages, Paperback

Published April 1, 2021

Reviews

[Marky C · Rating 5 out of 5]

At the start of the book we meet Michael a retired Irish man in Bilbao who has been left alone by the death of his partner. It is morning, and what follows is the systematic way he goes through his day listening to Schubert, drinking his coffee, practicing his German and visiting the bridges of Bilbao. Interspersed with this routine is a collection of memories of his childhood in Ireland, his partner Catherine, his life with her in Leipzig and his career as an engineer.

Over the course of the morning Michael recounts how his life has come to this point, and reflects on his work, love and his all all pervasive loneliness. He muses over people he has come across and projects he's worked on. Whilst often terse and seemingly cold, there is a joy to his recollections. There is a comforting melancholy of a man who has lived with a focus, engineering, and in odd places where important things have happened. Yet he remains grounded by the simple everyday: a picture, a cup, a book.

Although short (I read it in a weekend) there is a richness and depth to this book that I think will draw me back. The reminiscing isn't contrived, and as he gradually becomes more present, the meaning and significance he gives to everyday actions around him refreshing.

This book is pensive and poignant but also engaging and comforting. A rare mix wand it should be treasured.

[Barbara · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is the second novel I have read less than a year by this writer. He is trained as a structural engineer, and a sculptor. His books closely reflect both these professions. They are reflections on structure - reflected in the protagonist's fascination with bridges, and sculpture. Part of the novel is set in Bilbao, and the Guggenheim museum features prominently, as well as the sculpture of Richard Serra.
If you allow yourself to revel in the meandering thoughts of the protagonist, you will love this book. He thinks deeply about the meaning of structure and what the beauty and function of structures, particularly bridges, mean in the everyday existence of those who use them. The protagonist is himself a structural engineer, and his partner is a PhD level expert in porcelain. This is a love story - the love between these two characters, the love of the engineer for his work, for bridges, for serving society with his work, and for sculpture.

4.5 stars

[Nadine · Rating 3 out of 5]

Thought I’d try something out of my comfort zone as well as increasing my reading of Irish writers. A very quiet novel, no strong plot and i did find it a struggle to commit to finishing at times. I found the engineering references hard to stick with and felt my mind wandering, but there were many lovely soft moments in the novel, with the underlying, throbbing grief that surfaces every now and then. I enjoyed the exploration of the specific sense of foreigness you feel in cities. Overall glad I read, and the themes make me think I should give Duncan’s other writings a go!

[Frazer · Rating 5 out of 5]

I did not expect to be so moved by a retired engineer’s memories of the mid-century industrialisation of rural Ireland! Or his very obsessive morning routine. Aren’t books good.

[Robert Wechsler · Rating 4 out of 5]

I used to publish a Czech author who had been an engineer (Vladimír Páral) and whose books (which often took place in and around factories) were so masterfully structured that when the translator and I, with the author’s permission, tried to cut 50 pages from what seemed like a sprawling novel, we couldn’t cut a page. Everything was essential.

Adrian Duncan also trained as an engineer, as did the narrator in this novel, whose precision is beautiful. There are extended descriptions that could have gone on even longer, as far as I’m concerned. One could argue what it means when a man is focused so much on the details of things, especially structures. But that doesn’t take away from the descriptions themselves; it only makes them important in multiple ways.

In other words, the minds of engineers, as shown in aspects of the fiction they write, can be awe-inspiring. It’s great to see a narrator’s professional thought processes providing such fresh, sometimes extreme viewpoints. Too often, profession is just window dressing. A great discovery!

[Austin]

interesting

[Jolie Chen · Rating 4 out of 5]

"A book such as W.G. Sebald might have written, had he been an Irish engineer."
- Vona Groarke

Gently devastating and written in poised, magnetic prose. One of the more unusual books I have read recently: the narrative is structured through the lens of technical drawings and descriptive geometry. And yet, despite the emotional sparseness of Duncan's writing, the protagonist is touched with a raw humanity that is deeply compelling. A book that forces you to read differently, to think differently - as the protagonist does - to make sense of the world.

[Tin Wegel · Rating 4 out of 5]

A quiet novel of memory/memories and life, told by a narrator, Michael, who appears ageless, even though we learn early on in the novel that his partner of forty years, Catherine, has died. (“Then, over the forty years or so we spent together as boyfriend and girlfriend, I began to accumulate things again.” p. 25)

An engineer by training and profession, Michael attempts to make sense of the life he lived, reflecting on a collection of moments that have led him down his life’s path.

Towards the end of the book, this sentence sums up his reflections: “I consider what it is I have not been told and what I can’t remember and what I will not ever know about this period in Leipzig, and it amounts to near void.” (p. 162)

[نیکزاد نورپناه · Rating 2 out of 5]

کتاب درباره مردی‌ست که پا به سن می‌گذارد. او یک مهندس سازه‌ی ایرلندی‌ست اما خیلی زود ایرلند را ترک کرده. از ایرلند فقط خاطرات بچگی‌اش باقی مانده. در حال حاضر او ساکن بیلبائو است. اسپانیا. در یک بیمارستان آن اطراف هم تشکیل پرونده می‌دهد چون حدس می‌زند در این سن و سال بهرحال روزی به چنین خدماتی نیاز خواهد داشت. اسپانیایی هم حرف نمی‌زند. یکی دو جمله به زبان باسک یاد گرفته که بسش است تا روزها که می‌رود گردش در شهر بتواند قهوه‌ای سفارش دهد. گردش‌های روزانه‌اش هم مقصد مشخصی دارند. می‌رود به دیدن مجسمه‌ی عظیم «ماده‌ی زمان» ساخته‌ی ریچارد سِرا در موزه‌ی گوگنهایم بیلبائو. هر روز به تماشای آن ورق‌های فولادی پیچ‌خورده می‌رود. توصیفات امضای وسواس‌گونه‌ی یک مهندس سازه را دارند. مجسمه گویا شامل هشت ورق است و او هر روز به ترتیب متفاوتی این هشت ورق را تماشا می‌کند. یک روز ورق اول بعد سوم. روز دیگر ورق هشتم بعد ورق پنجم. چند صفحه‌ای هم توضیح داده در مورد ترتیباتش که زود گذر کردم.

نکته‌ی کلی کتاب این است که راوی حالش میزان نیست و اعمال نسبتا عجیب و غریبش اشاره به احوالی بیمار و افسرده دارد. او در آپارتمانش در بیلبائو تنهاست. اما زیاد از دوست دخترِ متوفایش کاترین حرف می‌زند. راستش بهترین بخشهای کتاب همین جاهاست که کم هستند. ما زیاد از داستان مهندس و کاترین چیزی نمی‌دانیم. می‌دانیم چند سالی در لایپسیگ زندگی می‌کردند. قبلترش هر دو در لندن زندگی می‌کردند. اما کاترین شغلی می‌گیرد در موزه‌ای در لایپسیگ و می‌رود. مردِ مهندسِ افسرده‌حال شغلش را بعد از ۱۵ سال توفیق در طراحی پل‌های گوناگون ول می‌کند و می‌رود لایپسیگ پیش کاترین. می‌رود به این مرخصی طولانی، به این ساباتیکال در لایپسیگ. بچه هم ندارند. روزها کاترین می‌رود موزه و مرد سرِ خودش را گرم می‌کند. با دو صفحه از «کویینتت قزل‌آلا»ی شوبرت. دو اجرای متفاوت. بعد از مدتی هم در همان آپارتمان لایپسیگ دورکاری می‌کند. همان شغل سابقش: طراحی پل.

کل متن با دقت و وسواس یک مهندس خبره نوشته شده. یا حداقل وانمود شده با چنین نگاهی می‌نویسد. مهندسی که علاوه بر مهندسی، مختصر ذوق ادبی هم دارد، کتابی از والزر دم دستش است و شوبرت‌ها را هم که گفتم و به مجسمه‌ی «ماده‌ی زمان» هم که اشاره شد. در همین سال‌های لایپسیگ کاترین زیرزیرکی مشغول تیمارِ مهندس هم هست. حواسش به روانِ نژند پارتنرش هست. آخر هفته‌ها می‌روند پارک شهر پینگ‌پونگ می‌زنند (اضافه کنید چندین صفحه توضیحات ادبی-مهندسی درباره‌ی این میز پونگ‌پونگ‌های بتنی). جالب است که چیز زیادی از خود شهر لایپسیگ نمی‌گوید. راستی، کاترین در همین لایپسیگ سرطان می‌گیرد و می‌میرد و بعدش مهندس تنها می‌رود بیلبائو رحل اقامت می‌افکند و هر روز—بیمارگونه—به دیدن اینستالیشن «ماده‌ی زمان» می‌رود. مشابه لایپسیگ، از بیلبائو نیز چیز زیادی نمی‌گوید. بیشتر مشاهدات یک مسافر است که دو هفته‌ای آنجا بوده و اسم دوتا خیابان و کافه و موزه می‌پراند و لابلایش اندک خاطراتی از پارتنر مرحومش می‌گوید. و افسرده هم هست و توصیفاتش وسواس‌گونه‌اش یک پیغام مشخص دارند: من افسرده‌ام، من سالمندم و زنم مرده، من قفلی فقط به یک قطعه‌ی شوبرت گوش می‌دهم و قفلی فقط یک داستان کوتاه والزر می‌خوانم و فقط به تماشای یک اینستالیشن به‌خصوص می‌روم. کل کتاب همین است.

تا اواسط کتاب صداقتی در روایت حس می‌کردم اما هرچه گذشت بیشتر حس می‌کردم با یک داستان ساختگی، یک داستانِ تحقیق‌شده طرفم. ظنم هم درست بود. نویسنده را گوگل کردم دیدم مهندسی‌ست ایرلندی که بعد از ده سال نویسندگی پیشه کرده (این تکه‌اش بی‌شباهت به خودم نیست). پیرمرد و محتاج خدمات بیمارستان هم نیست، بنظر چهل ساله میامد و قبراق. آخر کتاب از بنیاد هنرهای ایرلند هم تشکر کرده که پولی داده برای سفرهای تحقیقی لازم برای نوشتن این رمان. نویسنده را تجسم کردم چند هفته‌ای در مهمانخانه‌های لایپسیگ و بیلبائو ول گشته و این کتاب هم محصول تحقیقش بوده. کمی دلزده شدم، اما کتاب را تمام کردم. چیزی که خوانده بودم یک مموار ساختگی، یک مموار کاذب بود. حس می‌کردم نویسنده‌ی ایرلندی به اصطلاح «قاشق خالی» دهانم گذاشته. بعد یاد جمله‌ی آغازین «خورشید سیاه» جولیا کریستوا افتادم. می‌نویسد: «برای آنهایی که دهشتِ سودازدگی و ملانکولی را تجربه می‌کنند، هر نوشته‌ای در این باره تنها در صورتی معنی دارد که از خودِ آن ملانکولی برخاسته باشد.» گمانم خلاصه‌ی مشکلم با این کتاب هم همین بود، همین ساختگی و کاذب بودنش. اگر واقعا مهندس سالمندی که زنش مرده کتابی نوشته بود، حتی گ��ریم به صیقل‌خوردگی کتاب حاضر نبود، مطمئنم برایم جالبتر بود. با «تحقیق» نمی‌شود احوال چنین آدمی را دریافت و روایت کرد. باید زیست و بعد اگر رمقی و عنایتی بود چیزی از آن را نوشت.

[Tom M (London) · Rating 3 out of 5]

A strangely obsessive first novel written in flat, unemotional language in which, one might say, Adrian Duncan was trying out some of his techniques; techniques that subsequently moved on to become much more well-controlled in his subsequent novels. Here we find "him" (the protagonist), who tells his story in the first person singular, becoming maniacally obsessive about personal inner experiences that could not possibly interest anyone else but may be intended to describe unimplemented works of conceptual art, or performance art. The kind of art that says nothing, cannot be thought about, and is simply "there".

Thus we have detailed descriptions to read: of the way in which the sun moves across the window of an apartment on the other side of the courtyard; superimpositions of acetate transparencies placed over photographs, and lines he draws to connect various parts of those photographs; going through the action of setting up two separate hi-fi systems placed side-by-side so that two different recordings of the same musical composition can be listened to simultaneously, accompanied by his description, in maniacal detail, of the dissonances that result; speculative reflections about the structural engineering of a particular bridge in Bilbao. And so on.

Most of the book is taken up with these mad, navel-gazing inner ruminations that lead nowhere, and mean nothing. Each rumination has its own internal structure and logic, and has meaning within its own world; but these worlds are like remote planets, uninhabited, unknown, never discovered. Duncan beckons, inviting us to follow him into these remote worlds. We feel disinclined to go with him on these pointless, obsessive, fantastically detailed inquisitions into the workings of his mind: a mind that seems to be at the end of its tether. Some sort of obsessive compulsive disorder seems to be at work here, and is being written about as a way to lure the reader in. There comes a point indeed, about halfway through this bewildering novel, when one wonders whether the author is actually writing out of a condition of mental illness, as his story becomes more and more painful to read. And it ends nowhere.

But in between the ruminations, there are short snippets of the beautiful descriptive writing that then becomes predominant in his subsequent novels. I think of "A Sabbatical in Leipzig" as the forgettable trial run of some themes and languages that were much better handled later. Incidentally: the two main cities in this book, Leipzig and Bilbao, are of almost no importance other than as backdrops for the "ruminations".

[Kriegslok · Rating 3 out of 5]

"I don't want to die in my apartment circling myself; I want to fall over here in the city, slump to the ground, expire among the shivering trees and be carried away by strangers."

This is the second book by Adrian Duncan I have read (the first being the excellent The Geometer Lobachevsky). This one did not grip mne quite as much, but perhaps that is not a criticism of the book. The book is the reflections of a lonely retired bridge engineer. The overwhelming feeling is of observing a life that has been frustrated by unfulfillment and disappointment yet has been lived as best as possible in the circumstances. As with The Geometer Lobachevsky, Duncan is descriptively meticulous, we are in the mind of an engineer who sees and interprets the world around him with an engineer's eyes, this extends to his personal interactions. I was attracted to the setting of a part of the novel in Leipzig initially in the then DDR. Michael relocates to Leipzig to join his partner there after a traumatic period in his career leaves him unable to work. It is in Leipzig that he slowly reassembles his mind with the support of his partner, although much of this remains unspoken and is referred to reflectively.

The book is short of laughs although one paragraph made me smile "I reckon a part of every German Zimmerei believes that when his or her soul leaves this life what they can best leave behind is a multitude of functioning objects - particularly well-installed doors that quietly whoosh air through the spaces these doors help carve out.".

It is perhaps the realism in Duncan's writing that can make it uncomfortable and challenging, which is no bad thing, good writing should provoke emotions and a process of reflection in the reader. This rather sad novel, about (in my reading) relationships and loneliness and the banality of life, might not be ideal for someone looking for a feelgood read.

[Sara Budarz · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a hard book to review. It is a very slow, pensive novel that doesn't have a plot, but to be fair, I love these sorts of books that are just thoughts and reflections on a life lived. So that aspect rates high for me. But the mains characters are odd, in that they seem to be the love of each other's lives and yet never really talk about anything - ranging from big things to the small (you don't want me to come along to the observatory, but I am allowed to meet you later? Hmmm... why, the normal person would ask and not have to ponder decades later.)

But overall, I both loved the writing and at the same time can't decide if it feels really pretentious. Somehow there is strong I-think-myself-brilliant energy going on here. But also, I did like most of it.

So, somewhere between three and four stars? I do think I will give him Berlin novel a go and decide on the lovely to pompous meter after that.

[Tyrone Bellew · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book, is surprisingly one of the best I have ever read. Although a relatively short novel, the level of depth this book goes into is fantastic as the narrator tries to examine the structure to life, love and loneliness through a fascinating recollection of his memories from his childhood in Ireland, his career as a bridge engineer before and after his time in Leipzig and the life he lived with his partner Catherine and the loneliness that came after her death.

[Gary Homewood · Rating 5 out of 5]

An engineer reflects on his life, designing bridges, and love. The analytic, organised mind of an engineer with a poetic sensibility, drawing connections and seeing correspondances in music, light, scuplture. WG Sebald, psychogeography, a bit of "nouvelle roman".

Many passages, as if from nowhere, took my breathe away. Utterly brilliant.

[Kamran Sehgal · Rating 3 out of 5]

Purchased this book purely because I currently live in Leipzig. Wonderful to have such a vivid description of places I am familiar with in the city. The novel itself is structured and written in a very unique style and the author deserves recognition for such. Sometimes the plot was a little hard to follow.

[Annabel Steen · Rating 4 out of 5]

the plot wasn’t so strong, and i did read 3/4 of it in february and only finished it now, but there was something so beautiful about the way it was written and the slow-ness of the words and slow pace of the whole book
some really interesting observations and thoughts in the book too

[Jonathan Hollis · Rating 2 out of 5]

A perfectly well written book but with little life.

[Che · Rating 3 out of 5]

i fell off w this fr

[Ben Attwood · Rating 4 out of 5]

Validation for how I mourn.

[Ralf Papendick · Rating 1 out of 5]

Das Beste an diesem Buch ist der Titel.

[Three Orange Whips · Rating 4 out of 5]

gorgeous. the kind of book you should bring out with you and every little bit makes you cherish being alive and also so sad that every moment that passes will never be again

[Kasia Lelonek · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was surprised that this was not a mémoire, the picture Duncan paints is so vivid, honest, and human.

[Henry Crabtree · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5

[Yoyo · Rating 3 out of 5]

The fluid interplay between the protagonist’s inner world and his external surroundings lends ‘A Sabbatical in Leipzig’ the quiet intimacy of a shared walk. Through his reflections, tangents, and seemingly peculiar observations, the prose offers an immersive and candid lens into the narrator’s consciousness.

The writing style leans into the experimental - occasionally uneven in execution that leaves more to be desired, but a foundation that (in my humble reader’s opinion) could evolve into something quite remarkable.

That said, the intensely introspective, non-dialogic monologue of a man who has lost his lover reminded me of a novel I recently read - a novel whose male protagonist I quite strongly disliked. An unfortunate parallel that lowered my (very subjective) rating from a potential 4 to a high 3.