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Fichtenau, Heinrich. Der Junge Maximilian — Munich: Oldenbourg, Vienna: Amalthea, The author never explains why she ends some chapters with pictures taken from a horoscope that the emperor had cast for himself. Absent a link to the preceding text, they seem to be there for aesthetic effect alone. Hollegger, Manfred. Maximilian I. Herrscher und Mensch einer Zeitenwende.

Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, An excellent bibliography concentrates on scholarship done since It also has a separate category for doctoral dissertations that have been the basis for larger work on Maximilian.


Schreiber, Hermann. Ritter, Tod und Teufel. Kaiser Maximilian I. Gernsbach, Germany: Casimir Katz, A self-consciously idiosyncratic account, written by a man who wants to tell a story about an emperor with whom he shared a hometown—Wiener Neustadt in Lower Austria. Ulmann, Heinrich. Vienna: Geyer, Originally published in Wies, Ernst W.

Ein Charakterbild. Munich: Bechtle, A breezy popular history that respects few conventions of scholarship. There are neither footnotes nor endnotes. The overwhelming bulk of the forty-two entries for secondary literature consists of material published before Wiesflecker, Hermann. Die Fundamente des habsburgischen Weltreiches.

Vienna: Oldenbourg, Though not as detailed as its predecessor, it still is very informative for readers who have to know something about Maximilian quickly. There is a good timeline as well. Users without a subscription are not able to see the full content on this page. Please subscribe or login. IV — , Journal Q, September 14, , [p. IV, ch. See p. Eric A. Read Part I here. Onto the plains [of west Texas] you issue as onto a lighted stage, and with that sudden sense of isolation and exposure.

The farther behind you leave [central Texas] the now-familiar prairie, the fewer people you see, the stronger grows the sensation of being watched. The silence sharpens the ear, the emptiness the eye.

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An ambiguous, double sensation comes over you: you feel at once taller, a very tall man, and smaller, a very small creature …. Most of what follows was told to me upon their return. And where any gaps in the narrative happen to appear, my muse has instructed me to turn to my books about Texas and conjecture the story accordingly. The next day, after the late supper Cosimo and Chiara had prepared for us Tuesday night, our guests drove to Houston to meet an old friend.

They returned to Austin on Wednesday evening and said they had eaten some great barbecue somewhere in that city. Later that night they visited our friend fbom and worked on music. Because Wednesday was the official start of the music portion of the South by Southwest SXSW festival, after work I went to my neighborhood bar [ K]nomad and saw two performances. The first was a local gal named Kat Allison, who sang solo and played an acoustic guitar; her style reminded me a lot of Jewel.

She looked pretty but her music was plain. The second act was a two-man band called Domico. They came all the way from Tokyo. I learned later that this was their first time to play in the States. Before they went on, one member approached the bar to order a soda. It appeared the bar had given the band a fixed number of drink tickets not uncommon at some venues for SXSW shows , but——because the guy only wanted a soda he looked under eighteen and bars make their money selling alcohol, not soda——the bartender was nice enough tell him to keep his ticket and gave the guy a complementary coke.

That may sound like a pretty mundane moment in the history of SXSW, but as soon as the Japanese patron learned that his soda was free, his eyes bugged out of his head in such an unexpected burst of excitement and gratitude that it was as if I were watching a hand-drawn anime from his homeland.

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After their set, I ended up purchasing one of their CDs as well as a t-shirt. The changeable winds [of west Texas] pass and repass over the dry grass with a sound like shifting sands, and running before the wind, the grass turns its nap, first this way then that way, like velvet pile when a hand is run idly back and forth over it. Flat as a marble floor, the land stretches away empty and endless as the bar boundless sky above.

The eye strains ahead for a landmark, a rooftop, a spire, a tree, anything vertical, anything that thrusts above the brown level monotony …. Looked at long enough—and once embarked upon it, you look for a long, long time—the land [in west Texas] will seem to exhibit that phenomenon called seiche, [1] to rock slowly from side to side like the wallowing of a lake. That, and the absence of objects to relate yourself to, bring on land-sickness.

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Even the sun gives no direction, but hangs straight overhead all day, as if uncertain of the way. Under moonlight the plain whitens like an arctic snowfield…. That evening they drove to Alpine, which over miles directly west of Fredericksburg, and checked into some motel rooms. After unloading their bags, the gang drove to Marfa, only 25 miles farther west, to see the Marfa lights. I saw them once as a child, and all my adult friends said they saw them that night. As I remember them, the lights were not eerie like an alleged extraterrestrial encounter might be described.

No, there is something so apparent about those lights that they lack mystery. In other words, they seem naturally perplexing, not artificially ambiguous. After seeing the lights, the crew headed back to their rooms at the Value Lodge in Alpine. Along the way they saw many jackrabbits in the night but no chupacabras.

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Just before they got to the park, they stopped at the ghost town of Terlingua and explored its grounds. When you do see a man you first see him at such a distance that he is like a fly crawling on a tabletop. There is no horizon [in west Texas]. Rather, there is horizon everywhere. The horizon is created whenever something or somebody stands up somewhere in the landscape. Then where a rooftop rises, the barren eye eagerly draws all lines towards it. You see clouds underneath the belly of a cow, see the sky winking between the legs of a walking man. It is a place without perspective, and things thrust themselves up isolated, unsurrounded by any of the close familiar objects by which one judges distances and size; and so the eye, as if out of focus, cannot judge, cannot relate it: is that a child nearby or a man far off, a haystack or a hummock, an insect or a bird—or nothing at all, a mirage?

At Big Bend they saw its splendid scenery, the Rio Grande and Old Mexico on the other side , as well as several coyotes the canine kind, not traffickers of human beings. It was almost dark as they were leaving the park.

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On the long journey home, they stopped at a Sonic in Fort Stockton. It was almost midnight, but they managed to get some food before the place closed for the evening.

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  • Then they got back on the road, aiming for Austin. But both the desert and the darkness were starting to drag on everyone, so they got some motel rooms in Ozona about miles east of Fort Stockton around a. There they rested for a while. And yet when you finally reach the place no time has elapsed, for across that unarched plain of a sky the sun inches along and it is noon all day.

    Across the plain west from Fort Worth the road runs straight as a line left when a woman pulls out a thread to cut a piece of cloth along….