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3.36 AVERAGE
3.36 AVERAGE
challenging
mysterious
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I have no idea what this book was about - completely baffled.
I don't really know how to dance, either. Obtuse but clear.
mysterious
reflective
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
mysterious
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
I am rather ambivalent about this series. Though I appreciate the author's sparse writing style, the story seems to be a bit too sparse, even empty. Perhaps the third and final work in this series will tie everything together?
I read this book unaware it was a sequel to The Childhood of Jesus, which I’ve not read. It was a strange and elusive read. Parts of the story echoed Biblical scenes, but were certainly not directly referencing Biblical themes. Presumably David, the 6yr old boy is the Jesus of the title, although similarities to the story of Jesus are quite absent. Eerie and strange, I found it easy to read and captivating. I really don’t know what it was all about though......
There are books that you need to read twice to penetrate beneath the surface. This is the case with "The Schooldays of Jesus", which I read for the first time five years ago and promptly forgot, as I do with books I don't like. I reread it by chance and this time, although I was not entirely satisfied with it, I received a different impression. The obvious parallel with the Christian Holy Family deviates more and more as the story goes on. Characters blur, morph into the background of the parable of the growth of St. Joseph/Simon, who eventually becomes the only one able to connect with the stars.
(Old review)
I'll be honest: I didn't understand anything. I didn't understand who are Simon, David and Ines, although I suppose, given the title of the novel, the fact that they say that those are not their real names, and being Simon a foster father, that there is a bland recall of the Holy Family. Then a Spanish speaking country like Egypt? Maybe. Sure that as a reincarnation of Child Jesus David is intolerable and very little iconographical. Even Ines as Holy Virgin leaves much to be desired, while Simon is more in character. So that history don't work, the characters are fake as a three euro coin, and it is unclear why Coetzee has felt the need to tell it. The tragedy is that it is written beautifully.
Thank Random House UK, Vintage Publishing and Netgalley for giving me a free copy in exchange for an honest review.
(Old review)
I'll be honest: I didn't understand anything. I didn't understand who are Simon, David and Ines, although I suppose, given the title of the novel, the fact that they say that those are not their real names, and being Simon a foster father, that there is a bland recall of the Holy Family. Then a Spanish speaking country like Egypt? Maybe. Sure that as a reincarnation of Child Jesus David is intolerable and very little iconographical. Even Ines as Holy Virgin leaves much to be desired, while Simon is more in character. So that history don't work, the characters are fake as a three euro coin, and it is unclear why Coetzee has felt the need to tell it. The tragedy is that it is written beautifully.
Thank Random House UK, Vintage Publishing and Netgalley for giving me a free copy in exchange for an honest review.
Pig in a poke...
After fleeing from Novilla at the end of the last book, Simón, Davíd and Inés arrive in Estrella. While there, Simón will agonise endlessly over how to get a decent education for Davíd, Inés will get a job in a dress shop, and Davíd will become even more obnoxious than he was in The Childhood of Jesus. The pseudo-religious symbolism will be replaced by a load of pseudo-mumbo-jumbo about numbers. And the hollowness of book 1 will turn into a vacuous vacuum in this one.
When I slated [b:The Childhood of Jesus|15799416|The Childhood of Jesus|J.M. Coetzee|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1353033238s/15799416.jpg|21522388] for being essentially empty of all meaning, many Coetzee fans told me not to give up on him – they assured me that really he was a wonderful, intelligent writer with plenty to say. So I gave him a second chance. I find it hard to believe, but this book is actually even more meaningless and shallow than the previous one. If ever there were a case of the emperor's new clothes, this is it – Mr Coetzee is running naked through the streets, hoping people will still think he's dressed in robes of gold and purple. Ironic really, since if this book does have a point, it is that the people of this strange country in which our tedious trio have washed up seem willing to worship Davíd despite him being an obnoxious and rather unintelligent spoiled little brat, who frankly should have been sent to bed with no supper at the end of chapter 1, book 1, and not allowed out till he apologised for existing.
Since this is a sequel, the following paragraphs will contain some mild spoilers for the first book.
At the end of The Childhood, it was left with Davíd and his surrogate parents fleeing Novilla because the authorities there wanted to put Davíd in some kind of institution, considering his behaviour disruptive. The suggestion, subtly given in the title, was that Davíd was some kind of Messiah, perhaps even actually Jesus, and as he fled he began to pick up followers who recognised his frequently touted but never shown exceptionality. This second book promptly drops all that, and drops other “important” symbolism from book 1 too, such as Inés, the virgin mother in The Childhood, now apparently being a sexually experienced woman (without having had sex in the interim I might add – miraculous!).
Simón, devoted to Davíd and convinced of his exceptionalism in book 1, is now finding that the child is simply difficult – something I feel the rest of us had worked out long before. Davíd shows no affection for these adults who have cared for him and promptly demands to become a boarder at his new school, where they are teaching the children how to call down numbers from the stars via dance. (That sentence alone should surely be enough of a warning to avoid the book at all costs.) Davíd instead gives his love to a weird caretaker, whose main attraction seems to be that he shows the schoolboys lewd pictures of women. But things all go horribly wrong and we have some jejune philosophising on justice and rehabilitation. After avoiding the overt but silly religious symbolism of the first book throughout nearly all of this one, Coetzee then reverts to what must surely be mockery by having Davíd offering redemption if only people would believe in him.
It is readable because Coetzee is a good storyteller. He manages to create a constant impression that he's just about to say something meaningful, which keeps the reader turning the pages in hope. But sadly he has nothing meaningful to say, so he fills the space with a lot of pseudo-philosophical absurdity, occasionally humorous but always with a kind of supercilious sneer hidden not very thoroughly between the lines. When discussing book 1 with a fellow reviewer, I joked that Coetzee was probably having a good laugh at all the thousands of people vainly trying to find a coherent meaning in the novel – the joke's on me for being daft enough to read book 2! Ugh! Needless to say, it was longlisted for the 2016 Booker... an institution always willing to see gorgeous robes where none exist, so long as the emperor has a well-known name. 1½ stars for me, so rounded up.
NB This book was provided for review by the publisher, Random House Vintage.
www.fictionfanblog.wordpress.com
After fleeing from Novilla at the end of the last book, Simón, Davíd and Inés arrive in Estrella. While there, Simón will agonise endlessly over how to get a decent education for Davíd, Inés will get a job in a dress shop, and Davíd will become even more obnoxious than he was in The Childhood of Jesus. The pseudo-religious symbolism will be replaced by a load of pseudo-mumbo-jumbo about numbers. And the hollowness of book 1 will turn into a vacuous vacuum in this one.
When I slated [b:The Childhood of Jesus|15799416|The Childhood of Jesus|J.M. Coetzee|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1353033238s/15799416.jpg|21522388] for being essentially empty of all meaning, many Coetzee fans told me not to give up on him – they assured me that really he was a wonderful, intelligent writer with plenty to say. So I gave him a second chance. I find it hard to believe, but this book is actually even more meaningless and shallow than the previous one. If ever there were a case of the emperor's new clothes, this is it – Mr Coetzee is running naked through the streets, hoping people will still think he's dressed in robes of gold and purple. Ironic really, since if this book does have a point, it is that the people of this strange country in which our tedious trio have washed up seem willing to worship Davíd despite him being an obnoxious and rather unintelligent spoiled little brat, who frankly should have been sent to bed with no supper at the end of chapter 1, book 1, and not allowed out till he apologised for existing.
Since this is a sequel, the following paragraphs will contain some mild spoilers for the first book.
At the end of The Childhood, it was left with Davíd and his surrogate parents fleeing Novilla because the authorities there wanted to put Davíd in some kind of institution, considering his behaviour disruptive. The suggestion, subtly given in the title, was that Davíd was some kind of Messiah, perhaps even actually Jesus, and as he fled he began to pick up followers who recognised his frequently touted but never shown exceptionality. This second book promptly drops all that, and drops other “important” symbolism from book 1 too, such as Inés, the virgin mother in The Childhood, now apparently being a sexually experienced woman (without having had sex in the interim I might add – miraculous!).
Simón, devoted to Davíd and convinced of his exceptionalism in book 1, is now finding that the child is simply difficult – something I feel the rest of us had worked out long before. Davíd shows no affection for these adults who have cared for him and promptly demands to become a boarder at his new school, where they are teaching the children how to call down numbers from the stars via dance. (That sentence alone should surely be enough of a warning to avoid the book at all costs.) Davíd instead gives his love to a weird caretaker, whose main attraction seems to be that he shows the schoolboys lewd pictures of women. But things all go horribly wrong and we have some jejune philosophising on justice and rehabilitation. After avoiding the overt but silly religious symbolism of the first book throughout nearly all of this one, Coetzee then reverts to what must surely be mockery by having Davíd offering redemption if only people would believe in him.
It is readable because Coetzee is a good storyteller. He manages to create a constant impression that he's just about to say something meaningful, which keeps the reader turning the pages in hope. But sadly he has nothing meaningful to say, so he fills the space with a lot of pseudo-philosophical absurdity, occasionally humorous but always with a kind of supercilious sneer hidden not very thoroughly between the lines. When discussing book 1 with a fellow reviewer, I joked that Coetzee was probably having a good laugh at all the thousands of people vainly trying to find a coherent meaning in the novel – the joke's on me for being daft enough to read book 2! Ugh! Needless to say, it was longlisted for the 2016 Booker... an institution always willing to see gorgeous robes where none exist, so long as the emperor has a well-known name. 1½ stars for me, so rounded up.
NB This book was provided for review by the publisher, Random House Vintage.
www.fictionfanblog.wordpress.com
The agony goes on, even on this part, that I sadly have to consider not even the last one; David keeps on being insufferable, Ines hysteric and Simon doesn't even know what is he going to do from one minute to the other. As far as the metaphor goes, I'm still thinking who is Dimitri supposed to represent.
L'agonia prosegue anche in questo secondo libro, che devo tristemente ritenere non sia nemmeno l'ultimo; David continua ad essere insopportabile, Ines isterica e Simon brancola nel buio. Per quanto riguarda la metafora con la vita di Gesú, mi sto ancora chiedendo chi dovrebbe rappresentare Dimitri.
THANKS TO NETGALLEY FOR THE PREVIEW!
L'agonia prosegue anche in questo secondo libro, che devo tristemente ritenere non sia nemmeno l'ultimo; David continua ad essere insopportabile, Ines isterica e Simon brancola nel buio. Per quanto riguarda la metafora con la vita di Gesú, mi sto ancora chiedendo chi dovrebbe rappresentare Dimitri.
THANKS TO NETGALLEY FOR THE PREVIEW!
A very long time ago, in what seems like another life, in some sort of writing class, the professor singled out one of my answers on a test. She had me stand in front of the class and read it out loud. She said my answer "filled the cup"; I had poured in just the right amount of tea (these last are my words now, not hers then). Not too little, not too much. I think that Coetzee is a master at this. All of his novels are about 250 pages long, with just the right amount of chapters, just the right amount of sentences, just the right amount of words, with just the right amount of suspense, and with just the right amount of mystery.
In my review of The Childhood of Jesus, I wondered what exactly I had just read, indeed about the very nature of the book. The answer now (after having read the rest of Coetzee's oeuvre in the meantime) seems obvious: it is simply a book, within which live imagined characters. And behind that simple answer there hides a whole universe: the universe created by the book.
On the surface, we are talking about the education of a young boy, a young boy who refuses to see things the way his teachers (and other "normal" people) see things, a young boy who refuses to count properly (I had completely forgotten the question of numbers from The Childhood of Jesus; it has been 9 years). And so he goes to an Academy of Dance, where numbers can be danced, indeed whole ideas can be danced; where the stars are not just faraway light-emitting objects, but something much more mysterious; and so he has found his non-measurable mojo. But under the surface of any Coetzee book is violence, violence that rips holes in the world. And how do you foresee that; how do you measure that; how do you forgive that?
But it's also about the education of a man (a character in a book?) who wants to know why he is here (in this book?), who perhaps starts to get the idea he is made of words, and so is "learning to write" (176), who only sees "what is before my eyes" (253), who lacks passion, who lacks imagination, who wants to shake but can't be shook, and finally decides, perhaps, yes, "I will behold the world as it really is" (257).
In my review of The Childhood of Jesus, I wondered what exactly I had just read, indeed about the very nature of the book. The answer now (after having read the rest of Coetzee's oeuvre in the meantime) seems obvious: it is simply a book, within which live imagined characters. And behind that simple answer there hides a whole universe: the universe created by the book.
On the surface, we are talking about the education of a young boy, a young boy who refuses to see things the way his teachers (and other "normal" people) see things, a young boy who refuses to count properly (I had completely forgotten the question of numbers from The Childhood of Jesus; it has been 9 years). And so he goes to an Academy of Dance, where numbers can be danced, indeed whole ideas can be danced; where the stars are not just faraway light-emitting objects, but something much more mysterious; and so he has found his non-measurable mojo. But under the surface of any Coetzee book is violence, violence that rips holes in the world. And how do you foresee that; how do you measure that; how do you forgive that?
But it's also about the education of a man (a character in a book?) who wants to know why he is here (in this book?), who perhaps starts to get the idea he is made of words, and so is "learning to write" (176), who only sees "what is before my eyes" (253), who lacks passion, who lacks imagination, who wants to shake but can't be shook, and finally decides, perhaps, yes, "I will behold the world as it really is" (257).