Autobiographical memories of Zweig’s youth in Austrian empire Vienna, as an intellectual jew. Balancing on the line between “elegant” and “overly flowery”, late-life Zweig had surprisingly turned into a fan of the monarchy. He’s busy romanticising the past, but he does it so well that I can’t be mad at him.
When I read it the first time, I was absolutely enchanted with the prose. I had never experienced this level of emotion as response to prose. It’s still a special memory, realising that this level of literatur existed, and what it could do to me.