An ambigous, dissonant conclusion to W.G. Sebald's Austerlitz

W.G. Sebald's "Austerlitz" winds down toward a quiet, ambiguous, dissonant ending - it should be no surprise the Sebald eschews traditional literary forms and expectations right down the last page, he doesn't build toward a dramatic finish, in which A. dies or the narrator makes some amazing discovery about A.'s life, birth, or death - no, rather, toward the end, A. continues pursuing his research, now in search of information about the disappearance during WWII of his father, Maximillian. His research takes him into the new national library in Paris, where we get several pages describing the horrors of this new building, by this account a Kafkaesque structure whose main purpose seems to be to discourage research, typically Sebald touches, noting the imprisoned garden in the courtyard, the death of entrapped birds that fly against the glass panels - but in short, A.'s research goes nowhere, but he does learn from an official that the library itself is built on the grounds where the Nazi occupiers assembled and stored in warehouses all the materials seized from the Parisian Jewish families, another odd and typical Sebald touch, uncovering the forgotten or repressed artifacts of history. At this point, A. says his last good-bye to the narrator, inviting him to visit in London and noting that a Jewish cemetery exists just behind his house - strange that this would not have been apparent from earlier visits - and the Sebald-like narrator then returns to scene of first sections of the book, to Belgium, where he stays in hideous hotel and then goes on long trek through dull suburb to the prison he had visited earlier and sits and read a book that A. had given him, the very end of which provides a hint - but no more than a hint - that A.'s father had been imprisoned by the Nazis near the German border and had died along with thousands of others in the prison camp, scrawling his name and a last message on a wall. Only Sebald could do this, or would even try (well, Philip Roth did a similar thing in American Pastoral): bring us to the brink of a conclusion and leave the narrative hanging by a thread of possibility.