His novels could be rather not like fiction, and more like a strange diary. Descriptive in some cases: descriptions of stories, states of being. I’ll be in a city, suddenly, in an unknown city, not feeling any sensational effects but some very strange, small effects, and it feels like a book by Sebald: I am unsure, I am uncertain, this uncertainty moves in my soul, it remains there forever. And this is wonderful. It’s not only scary. It’s wonderful too, because the unknown was perhaps the most important element of Max’s [Sebald's] life. The unknown in things.