'DISGRACE' by J.M. COETZEE
Whilst 'normal' art-loving people seem to be existing within higher states of bemusement every year once entries for 'The Turner Prize' are unveiled with exalted controversy, lovers of literary needn't worry when it comes to the equivalent prize that celebrates the finest writing talent around. For 'Disgrace' to have won 1999's 'Booker Prize' was no fluke - no, no. J. M Coetzee has long been a highly acclaimed author for the novels he sets in South Africa, born as he was back in 1940 in Cape Town.
Hell, a writer for the 'Sunday Times' goes so far as to gush that he's 'One of the best novelists alive' - though such an extravagant claim surely cannot be backed up by the possibility that whoever wrote that knows for sure. Hey, there are millions of novelists out there and - as with art - how can their work really be compared against other work? Not to say that J.M.'s work isn't some of the finest writing around�
Though very little action occurs in 'Disgrace,' what story there is merry-goes-around the fact that the main character in teacher David Lurie has an affair with one of his Uni.-students and resigns - under pressure - from his post in Cape Town. Absconding, in a sense, and to get his head around matters, he heads for his daughter Lucy's incey-wincey farm in the country. And there begins another strand of the story which skirts around how the country is governed there and how white people are seen as somewhat inferior to the natives, as David witnesses his daughter being taken advantage of. Both the strands of story, first set in the city and then the country, never meet - and the one bout of action comes when he and his daughter are violently attacked by the locals at the farm. The quality of the writing, however, is consistently compelling and David's character is fleetingly reminiscent of the good man at heart featured in Larry Watson's epic, small-town 'White Crosses' marvel - a man who ultimately give in to accept that 'Que sera sera': whatever will be has to be�
Highlighting the distinct contrasts between city and country life with exquisite talent, the routine of the quiet life far away from the city's distractions edge forth: 'Evening falls. They are not hungry, but they eat. Eating is a ritual, and rituals make things easier.' Far from dipping too deep into paranoid sub-consciousness, Coetzee handles a few essential moments with detailed skill, particularly as David 'has a vision of himself stretched out on an operating table. A scalpel flashes: from throat to groin he is laid open; he sees it all yet feels no pain. A surgeon, bearded, bends over him, frowning. What is all this stuff? Growls the surgeon. He pokes at the gall bladder. What is this? He cuts it out, tosses it aside. He pokes at the heart. What is this?'
After a while staying and working with Lucy in and around the farm, David's feet itch too much (perhaps from so much desert dust) and he decides to return to the city to see if the dust has indeed settled there - and because he wants to so desperately see the girl with whom he had the affair (which is a bad idea), making perfect allowance for Coetzee to show off his knowledge of the city: 'He re-enters Cape Town on the N2. He has been away less than three months, yet in that time the shanty settlements have crossed the highway and spread east of the airport. The stream of cars has to slow down while a child with a stick herds a stray cow off the road. Inexorably, he thinks, the country is coming to the city.'
Coetzee's talent lies in his ability to paint such vivid landscapes so you feel as though you know exactly where the story is set intimately, yet none of his descriptions of the places fall at the expense of thoughtful character development.
Throughout, the main man David remains openly optimistic about his and his daughter's life in general, though harsh reality always has different plans. Still, you can't deny him at least one moment of wistful bliss when 'He is too restful to sleep. At dawn he heads for the mountainside and sets off on a long walk. It has rained, the streams are in spate. He breathes in the heady scent of pine. As of today he is a free man, with duties to no one but himself. Time lies before him to spend as he wishes. The feeling is unsettling, but he presumes he will get to used it.
Though he should really know better�
(Steve Rudd)
ISBN 0-099-28952-0 (VINTAGE)
www.randomhouse.co.uk