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3.34 AVERAGE
3.34 AVERAGE
I know this author won a Nobel prize, but I just don't get this book. Done with analogy, it has a lot of redeeming value, however, there is so much willful disregard for any meaningful love or value in most of the book that I found it difficult to give it more than two stars.
The two stars is simply because Coetzee is an absolute perfect writer in his construction and style.
The two stars is simply because Coetzee is an absolute perfect writer in his construction and style.
There are a lot of things that make a book great, and this one somehow combines all of them in a perfect balance. Part philosophy, part parable, maybe mystical-realistic, maybe not, maybe commentary, maybe not...this is a book that it's very hard to put your finger on, in the best way. Reading it, you feel torn: Do I stop and ponder for a moment, or do I turn the page to let the action unfold? This is a very hard balance to pull off--the balance between making something very readable and plot-driven, yet slow and cerebral. Something like a perfect blend of Marquez and Murakami.
The prose is efficient, without being cold. The telling, to some extent, stays out of the way of the story. Which is good, because the story is really compelling. It works on you over time, and while defying concrete apprehension, hovers close enough to various possible meanings that it's a joy to think on, not a frustration.
And the title. Oh man. The title doesn't simply add to possible meanings--it multiplies, nay, exponentiates them.
~ ~ ~
I should note, post-actual-review, that the mixed reviews of this book are in and of themselves interesting, if not somewhat misleading. Most troubling, in reviews both good and bad, is the notion that this book is merely allegory (we might blame the jacket copy or other reviews for this), because that diminishes considerably what's going on. While the book's title makes it almost irresistible to read it as biblical allegory, rethinking or rewriting the story of the biblical childhood of Jesus, we might just as easily read it as a story for what Jesus must/might have been like as child. The kind of title that comes after the writing, as a sort of realization or eleventh hour connection. Within this understanding, we can think of the book less of an actual allegory, so much as a nod to allegory itself.
Even if we allow for it's pre-conceived connection, it's also possible to think of this as a commentary or inspection of the quotidian reality underlying messianic tradition (one that doesn't appeal to a specific tradition, but merely references it to bring to mind an example of one such tradition.
Underlying all of this, and perhaps beneath much of Coetzee's work, is a concerted effort to consider the everyday-ness of extraordinary circumstances. And, via the protagonist's wild flailing in the face of mundacity, to again turn this back on itself. Is this rejection appropriate or absurd? Is our own feeling that there must be something more also available to such scrutiny?
There is a complex web of relations here--between our, the readers', connection to the setting, the characters' connection to the setting, and our connection to the characters. Is this, indeed, a strange setting? For the readers, surely, but for the characters? It's difficult to say.
Mixed reviews might further appeal to various paeans to various philosophies and political ideologies, all somewhat half-formed, all as one character calls them "schoolboy philosophies". The characters espousing these philosophies aren't meant to be mouthpieces, however; I don't think the book itself is making philosophical claims, but rather examining how ordinary people subscribe to ideologies, examining the processes of belief and debate, love and faith.
If, finally, we still must accept this book as allegory, then it is not a spiritual or political allegory, but rather one about the unceasing humanity of a maybe/maybe-not messiah and those who would follow him.
The prose is efficient, without being cold. The telling, to some extent, stays out of the way of the story. Which is good, because the story is really compelling. It works on you over time, and while defying concrete apprehension, hovers close enough to various possible meanings that it's a joy to think on, not a frustration.
And the title. Oh man. The title doesn't simply add to possible meanings--it multiplies, nay, exponentiates them.
~ ~ ~
I should note, post-actual-review, that the mixed reviews of this book are in and of themselves interesting, if not somewhat misleading. Most troubling, in reviews both good and bad, is the notion that this book is merely allegory (we might blame the jacket copy or other reviews for this), because that diminishes considerably what's going on. While the book's title makes it almost irresistible to read it as biblical allegory, rethinking or rewriting the story of the biblical childhood of Jesus, we might just as easily read it as a story for what Jesus must/might have been like as child. The kind of title that comes after the writing, as a sort of realization or eleventh hour connection. Within this understanding, we can think of the book less of an actual allegory, so much as a nod to allegory itself.
Even if we allow for it's pre-conceived connection, it's also possible to think of this as a commentary or inspection of the quotidian reality underlying messianic tradition (one that doesn't appeal to a specific tradition, but merely references it to bring to mind an example of one such tradition.
Underlying all of this, and perhaps beneath much of Coetzee's work, is a concerted effort to consider the everyday-ness of extraordinary circumstances. And, via the protagonist's wild flailing in the face of mundacity, to again turn this back on itself. Is this rejection appropriate or absurd? Is our own feeling that there must be something more also available to such scrutiny?
There is a complex web of relations here--between our, the readers', connection to the setting, the characters' connection to the setting, and our connection to the characters. Is this, indeed, a strange setting? For the readers, surely, but for the characters? It's difficult to say.
Mixed reviews might further appeal to various paeans to various philosophies and political ideologies, all somewhat half-formed, all as one character calls them "schoolboy philosophies". The characters espousing these philosophies aren't meant to be mouthpieces, however; I don't think the book itself is making philosophical claims, but rather examining how ordinary people subscribe to ideologies, examining the processes of belief and debate, love and faith.
If, finally, we still must accept this book as allegory, then it is not a spiritual or political allegory, but rather one about the unceasing humanity of a maybe/maybe-not messiah and those who would follow him.
Couldn't even finish it. I tried but I had such a distaste for the characters that I dreaded opening the pages. Captivating in the moment but not enough meat and connection to make it worth finishing.
I just finished reading the novel and so far...it hasn't fallen into place for me. Perhaps a meaning will hit me later.
The philosophising was interesting to a degree.
This is a dialogue between Simòn and David (David is around 5, Simòn is his older guardian): [There is a tiny gap between everything in nature]. 'If everything were packed tightly together, everything in the universe, then there would be no you or me or Inés. You and I would not be talking to each other right now, there would just be silence - oneness and silence. So, on the whole, it is good that there should be gaps between things, that you and I should be two instead of one.'
'But we can fall. We can fall down the gap. Down the crack.'
'A gap is not the same thing as a crack, my boy. Gaps are part of nature, part of the way things are. You can't fall down a gap and disappear. It just doesn't happen. A crack is quite different. A crack is a break in the order of nature. It is like cutting yourself with a knife, or tearing a page in two.'
The philosophising was interesting to a degree.
This is a dialogue between Simòn and David (David is around 5, Simòn is his older guardian): [There is a tiny gap between everything in nature]. 'If everything were packed tightly together, everything in the universe, then there would be no you or me or Inés. You and I would not be talking to each other right now, there would just be silence - oneness and silence. So, on the whole, it is good that there should be gaps between things, that you and I should be two instead of one.'
'But we can fall. We can fall down the gap. Down the crack.'
'A gap is not the same thing as a crack, my boy. Gaps are part of nature, part of the way things are. You can't fall down a gap and disappear. It just doesn't happen. A crack is quite different. A crack is a break in the order of nature. It is like cutting yourself with a knife, or tearing a page in two.'
Intriguing but ultimately left me dissatisfied...I'm not much good with allegories.
3,5*
I don't quite know what to make of this very strange book. For example: no one talks in normal dialogue, everyone is uttering all kinds of philosophical ideas all the time, speaking effortlessly in beautiful sentences.
But it was thought-provoking and I it enjoyed a lot. You have to see the book for what it is, and what it's setting out to do. I don't exactly know what Coetzee was setting out to do with this novel, but I think he succeeded nevertheless :-)
I don't quite know what to make of this very strange book. For example: no one talks in normal dialogue, everyone is uttering all kinds of philosophical ideas all the time, speaking effortlessly in beautiful sentences.
But it was thought-provoking and I it enjoyed a lot. You have to see the book for what it is, and what it's setting out to do. I don't exactly know what Coetzee was setting out to do with this novel, but I think he succeeded nevertheless :-)
A hollow egg...
When I was young, Easter eggs were a double treat. There was milk chocolate on the outside and then, when the egg was opened, there was an extra something inside, a small packet of Maltesers, Chocolate Buttons or, for the really lucky, Smarties. (Of course, note well that the Easter egg was also an allusion to the story of Christ.) What Coetzee has given us here is a hollow egg – and one that is, like this introduction, candy-coated with a thick layer of contrived and unsubtle symbolism and allusion.
The book is set in an unnamed society, where immigrants arrive with all memory of their past wiped clean and with new names given to them by the authorities. So we start with the arrival of Simon and the child of an unknown father, David (yes, David. Jesus only puts in an appearance through our friend Allusion). The society is a simple one where money is plentiful but food is in short supply. In fact, for the first couple of weeks, Simon and David are forced to live by bread alone – a thing Simon really feels man cannot do. However, the people of this new society are full of goodwill towards each other and happy with their lot – along with the cricket-bat-over-the-head Christian symbolism, Coetzee’s society seems to draw heavily from Huxley’s Brave New World, with Simon playing a very civilised and philosophical John the Savage.
Simon has taken responsibility for finding David’s mother in this new world – a task that seems impossible since not only do they not know her name or what she looks like, they also don’t know David’s real name (symbolic, eh?). Nothing daunted, Simon decides that a woman he has just met is David’s real mother and persuades her to accept him as her son. She is, of course, a virgin. David, we are told repeatedly, is an exceptional child though in what way is unclear – those who love him accept his exceptionalism without question, one might say on faith, while the authorities soon come to believe he is disruptive and must be contained.
The real problem with the book is that the symbolism is crashingly unsubtle, crammed into every nook and cranny, and yet ultimately signifies nothing. By half way through I was actually beginning to count the references – bread, tick; fishes, tick; wine, tick; virgin mother, tick; raising from the dead, tick; resurrection after 3 days, tick. At one point, as David watches Mickey Mouse on TV, Mickey’s dog is referred to as Plato. By that stage, I no longer knew whether this was typo, error or mysterious allusion, but sadly I suspect the latter. There is also a real feeling of misogyny throughout the book, with the women being treated as not much more than walking wombs or repositories for Simon’s (largely unfulfilled) sexual urges; though since I haven’t read anything else by Coetzee, I couldn’t decide if this reflected the author’s own outlook, or whether it was again symbolic, perhaps of the male domination of the early Christian story.
Despite all of the above, Coetzee’s sparse writing style and use of language make the book a strangely compelling read and Simon in particular is an interesting character, if a little too caricatured as The Thinker. The possibility exists throughout that the book might turn into something wonderful, that the author might pull the mass of symbolism into something profound and meaningful in the end. But once the smooth and velvety chocolate of the prose has been savoured, there’s nothing inside and the hollowness of the egg left this reader feeling unsatisfied and somewhat cheated.
When I was young, Easter eggs were a double treat. There was milk chocolate on the outside and then, when the egg was opened, there was an extra something inside, a small packet of Maltesers, Chocolate Buttons or, for the really lucky, Smarties. (Of course, note well that the Easter egg was also an allusion to the story of Christ.) What Coetzee has given us here is a hollow egg – and one that is, like this introduction, candy-coated with a thick layer of contrived and unsubtle symbolism and allusion.
The book is set in an unnamed society, where immigrants arrive with all memory of their past wiped clean and with new names given to them by the authorities. So we start with the arrival of Simon and the child of an unknown father, David (yes, David. Jesus only puts in an appearance through our friend Allusion). The society is a simple one where money is plentiful but food is in short supply. In fact, for the first couple of weeks, Simon and David are forced to live by bread alone – a thing Simon really feels man cannot do. However, the people of this new society are full of goodwill towards each other and happy with their lot – along with the cricket-bat-over-the-head Christian symbolism, Coetzee’s society seems to draw heavily from Huxley’s Brave New World, with Simon playing a very civilised and philosophical John the Savage.
Simon has taken responsibility for finding David’s mother in this new world – a task that seems impossible since not only do they not know her name or what she looks like, they also don’t know David’s real name (symbolic, eh?). Nothing daunted, Simon decides that a woman he has just met is David’s real mother and persuades her to accept him as her son. She is, of course, a virgin. David, we are told repeatedly, is an exceptional child though in what way is unclear – those who love him accept his exceptionalism without question, one might say on faith, while the authorities soon come to believe he is disruptive and must be contained.
The real problem with the book is that the symbolism is crashingly unsubtle, crammed into every nook and cranny, and yet ultimately signifies nothing. By half way through I was actually beginning to count the references – bread, tick; fishes, tick; wine, tick; virgin mother, tick; raising from the dead, tick; resurrection after 3 days, tick. At one point, as David watches Mickey Mouse on TV, Mickey’s dog is referred to as Plato. By that stage, I no longer knew whether this was typo, error or mysterious allusion, but sadly I suspect the latter. There is also a real feeling of misogyny throughout the book, with the women being treated as not much more than walking wombs or repositories for Simon’s (largely unfulfilled) sexual urges; though since I haven’t read anything else by Coetzee, I couldn’t decide if this reflected the author’s own outlook, or whether it was again symbolic, perhaps of the male domination of the early Christian story.
Despite all of the above, Coetzee’s sparse writing style and use of language make the book a strangely compelling read and Simon in particular is an interesting character, if a little too caricatured as The Thinker. The possibility exists throughout that the book might turn into something wonderful, that the author might pull the mass of symbolism into something profound and meaningful in the end. But once the smooth and velvety chocolate of the prose has been savoured, there’s nothing inside and the hollowness of the egg left this reader feeling unsatisfied and somewhat cheated.
I can imagine that this novel is a metaphor of Jesus' life and so are Simòn and Inés some sort of new Joseph and Mary looking for a new life in a new world with "their" special kid; still it was soo slow that it was a struggle for me to get to the end, and I did it only because Netgalley sent me the sequel to review, which I'm not looking forward to read, but maybe I am wrong.
Posso immaginare che questo romanzo sia una metafora della vita di Gesú, cosí come Simòn d Inés siano dei nuovi Giuseppe e Maria, genitori putativi di questo bambino speciale con il quale cercano di trovare una nuova vita; ciononostante é stato un libro lento e pesante, a cui sono arrivata in fondo solo perché ora netgalley mi ha mandato il seguito da recensire, il che non mi riempie di gioia, ma magari mi sbaglio.
Posso immaginare che questo romanzo sia una metafora della vita di Gesú, cosí come Simòn d Inés siano dei nuovi Giuseppe e Maria, genitori putativi di questo bambino speciale con il quale cercano di trovare una nuova vita; ciononostante é stato un libro lento e pesante, a cui sono arrivata in fondo solo perché ora netgalley mi ha mandato il seguito da recensire, il che non mi riempie di gioia, ma magari mi sbaglio.