Emerging from the dissident calibrations of literary voices joined together in the culture of protest against the apartheid regime, the distinctive writing of novelist, critic and academic J M Coetzee has become identified as one of the most finely tuned among contemporary Southern African writers. From the local recognition accorded his earliest novel Dusklands to the international acclaim with which his rewriting of Defoe's Robinson Crusoe story, Foe was received, Coetzee has dedicated himself to transforming South African writing from a blunt weapon of struggle to a delicate and incisive instrument of reflective liberation.

Disgrace takes as its complex central character 52-year-old English professor David Lurie whose preoccupation with Romantic poetry--and romancing his students--threatens to turn him into a "a moral dinosaur". Called to account by the University for a passionate but brief affair with a student who is ambivalent about his embraces, David refuses to apologise, drawing on poetry before what he regards as political correctness in his claim that his "case rests on the rights of desire." Seeking refuge with his quietly progressive daughter Lucie on her isolated small holding, David finds that the violent dilemmas of the new South Africa are inescapable when the tentative emotional truce between errant father and daughter is ripped apart by a traumatic event that forces Lucie to an appalling disgrace. Pitching the moral code of political correctness against the values of Romantic poetry in its evocation of personal relationships, this novel is skillful--almost cunning--in its exploration of David's refusal to be accountable and his daughter's determination to make her entire life a process of accountability. Their personal dilemmas cast increasingly foreshortened shadows against the rising concerns of the emancipated community, and become a subtle metaphor for the historical unaccountability of one culture to another.

The ecstatic critical reception with which Disgrace has been received has insisted that its excellence lies in its ability to encompass the universality of the human condition. Nothing could be farther from the truth, or do the novel--and its author--a greater disservice. The real brilliance of this stylish book lies in its ability to capture and render accountable--without preaching--the specific universality of the condition of whiteness and white consciousness. Disgrace is foremost a confrontation with history that few writers would have the resources to sustain. Coetzee's vision is unforgiving--but not bleak. Against the self-piteous complaints of all declining cultures and communities who bemoan the loss of privileges that were never theirs to take, Coetzee's vision of an unredeemed white consciousness holds out--to those who reach towards an understanding of their position in history by starting again, with nothing--the possibility of "a moderate bliss." --Rachel Holmes

Brave and contextual writing., 13 Nov 2008
J.M. Coetzee has managed, as many good authors do, to completely immerse the reader in what goes on in the book and its often uncomfortable surroundings. The characters have depth and are well described and the main character, although potentially unlikeable, seemed to grow ever dearer to my heart the more I read.

Set in a time of unrest and uncertainty, the book deals with many themes that may often not be the most easy to explore. We go deep into David Lurie's (the main character) sense of self and intimate thoughts, and true to life, they are not always easy to accept.

I was both interested and moved by this novel, as one always should be. The writing style, although eloquent, is not over-complicated and therefore will appeal to a wider audience. The settings are atmospheric and lucid, which serves to create a reality in which the reader is ensconced.

Impressive and haunting - shame about the opera, 21 Oct 2008
This is an impressive book, although not an easy read - it tackles uncomfortable subjects, contains some disturbing scenes and the characters are frustrating.
Coetzee portrays the problems of a changing south Africa, where blacks and whites are supposedly equal but clearly still very much divided, living respectively in poverty and fear, with little faith in the government or justice system to put things right. The rules have changed and no one is quite sure where they stand.
The central character, David Lurie, is a frustrated academic seeking satisfaction in the arms of a string of younger women, having failed to find it in his lecturing career. Now, disgraced, friendless and out of a job, he is starting to come to terms with his own ageing and the associated fears of loneliness, weakness and death. Coetzee also explores the tensions of father-daughter relationships - Lurie can no longer ignore his 'little girl''s sexuality knowing that she has been raped, and after himself sleeping with students younger than her - and the difficulty of letting go of your children even when you don't agree with their choices. Although the characters themselves can be hard to relate to, their behaviour often selfish and unreasonable, the relationships between them are intriguing, and elegantly captured in Coetzee's spare, ruthless prose.
This is definitely a book that will stay with me. I would have given it five stars were it not for the passages towards the end describing Lurie's (Coetzee's?) self-indulgent opera about Byron - I had no interest in this and the book began to lose its momentum.

Thought-provoking study of accountability and blame, 13 Jul 2008
Not an uplifting book, this one. But one that hits deep, and makes you think hard. In the end, I suppose it's all about accountability and blame - not comfortable things to think about at any time, but in post-apartheid South Africa, particularly difficult. How does one define and/or justify exploitation? I don't know. I shall have to read the book again, now that I know the questions I want to ask.

Thought provoking but largely frustrating, 27 May 2008
I have just finished reading Disgrace and I am in two minds about whether or not I liked it. The style of writing is undoubtedly superb and the author clearly scholarly. However, like the previous reviewer, I found myself increasingly irritated with Lurie's daughter and her unfathomable refusal to deal with her horrifying ordeal. She would neither lay down and die or get up and walk, which, after any life changing trauma, one ultimately has to do. Her perpetual inertia became wearing and in fact, in the end, really quite boring. Having said this, the interplay between Lucy and Petrus was very thought-provoking. Although Petrus was a shadowy character, his inexorable rise to dominance over Lucy was marked and profound. Perhaps a typical post-apartheid role reversal? However, what did the affair between Lurie and the student have to do with anything, other than perhaps be a weak attempt to force Lurie to look at himself. Also, why did Lurie sleep with Bev Shaw? I didn't think it made much sense (but then I'm not a man)! My overall impression was that this novel was interesting, beautifully written and thought-provoking, which are all good things of course, but I found it stumbled over the obstacles of tedium and a distinct lack of apparent adequate motivating factors in the characters.

Limited sympathies, 23 May 2008
Lurie is a hard character to like or to sympathise with, who often acts willfuly without seeming to care for or consider the consequences of his actions. Nor does he have the humour or self effacement to let him get away with it. And yet there is something there that means he is not wholly repellent. He cares for his daughter, who is determined to shut him out emotionally.

The characters are complex and it is not always easy to follow what is driving them. The relationship, if there is one, between Lurie's daughter and Petrus is ambiguous.

I enjoyed reading the book and the writing is pacy, but I was left confused by the ending and unsure of what it all meant.

Brave and contextual writing., 13 Nov 2008
J.M. Coetzee has managed, as many good authors do, to completely immerse the reader in what goes on in the book and its often uncomfortable surroundings. The characters have depth and are well described and the main character, although potentially unlikeable, seemed to grow ever dearer to my heart the more I read.

Set in a time of unrest and uncertainty, the book deals with many themes that may often not be the most easy to explore. We go deep into David Lurie's (the main character) sense of self and intimate thoughts, and true to life, they are not always easy to accept.

I was both interested and moved by this novel, as one always should be. The writing style, although eloquent, is not over-complicated and therefore will appeal to a wider audience. The settings are atmospheric and lucid, which serves to create a reality in which the reader is ensconced.

Impressive and haunting - shame about the opera, 21 Oct 2008
This is an impressive book, although not an easy read - it tackles uncomfortable subjects, contains some disturbing scenes and the characters are frustrating.
Coetzee portrays the problems of a changing south Africa, where blacks and whites are supposedly equal but clearly still very much divided, living respectively in poverty and fear, with little faith in the government or justice system to put things right. The rules have changed and no one is quite sure where they stand.
The central character, David Lurie, is a frustrated academic seeking satisfaction in the arms of a string of younger women, having failed to find it in his lecturing career. Now, disgraced, friendless and out of a job, he is starting to come to terms with his own ageing and the associated fears of loneliness, weakness and death. Coetzee also explores the tensions of father-daughter relationships - Lurie can no longer ignore his 'little girl''s sexuality knowing that she has been raped, and after himself sleeping with students younger than her - and the difficulty of letting go of your children even when you don't agree with their choices. Although the characters themselves can be hard to relate to, their behaviour often selfish and unreasonable, the relationships between them are intriguing, and elegantly captured in Coetzee's spare, ruthless prose.
This is definitely a book that will stay with me. I would have given it five stars were it not for the passages towards the end describing Lurie's (Coetzee's?) self-indulgent opera about Byron - I had no interest in this and the book began to lose its momentum.

Thought-provoking study of accountability and blame, 13 Jul 2008
Not an uplifting book, this one. But one that hits deep, and makes you think hard. In the end, I suppose it's all about accountability and blame - not comfortable things to think about at any time, but in post-apartheid South Africa, particularly difficult. How does one define and/or justify exploitation? I don't know. I shall have to read the book again, now that I know the questions I want to ask.

Thought provoking but largely frustrating, 27 May 2008
I have just finished reading Disgrace and I am in two minds about whether or not I liked it. The style of writing is undoubtedly superb and the author clearly scholarly. However, like the previous reviewer, I found myself increasingly irritated with Lurie's daughter and her unfathomable refusal to deal with her horrifying ordeal. She would neither lay down and die or get up and walk, which, after any life changing trauma, one ultimately has to do. Her perpetual inertia became wearing and in fact, in the end, really quite boring. Having said this, the interplay between Lucy and Petrus was very thought-provoking. Although Petrus was a shadowy character, his inexorable rise to dominance over Lucy was marked and profound. Perhaps a typical post-apartheid role reversal? However, what did the affair between Lurie and the student have to do with anything, other than perhaps be a weak attempt to force Lurie to look at himself. Also, why did Lurie sleep with Bev Shaw? I didn't think it made much sense (but then I'm not a man)! My overall impression was that this novel was interesting, beautifully written and thought-provoking, which are all good things of course, but I found it stumbled over the obstacles of tedium and a distinct lack of apparent adequate motivating factors in the characters.

Limited sympathies, 23 May 2008
Lurie is a hard character to like or to sympathise with, who often acts willfuly without seeming to care for or consider the consequences of his actions. Nor does he have the humour or self effacement to let him get away with it. And yet there is something there that means he is not wholly repellent. He cares for his daughter, who is determined to shut him out emotionally.

The characters are complex and it is not always easy to follow what is driving them. The relationship, if there is one, between Lurie's daughter and Petrus is ambiguous.

I enjoyed reading the book and the writing is pacy, but I was left confused by the ending and unsure of what it all meant.

Odiously intellectual, although a good story, 01 Apr 2008
Some books are just made to be studied in the classroom, where pupils and teachers treat them as a giant puzzle to be solved. Brighton Rock is one of them. The first half of the book shows a good turn of plot but then the book dissolves into thematic development and precious little else. Thus we're created to countless personal morality and catholic references that batter the reader about the head. Theme and plot should work together, with one strengthening the other. What we get with this book is odious intellectualising that clutters up the page.

There are other issues for a contemporary audience. The pre-war Brighton is summarised very effectively, but it's a very alien world to 21st century people -- as alien to us as any world Shakespeare might have dreamed up. I also had trouble believing in Pinkie, the child gangster. Once described as terrifying and cruel, he seemed awfully tame. As they say, "he didn't work" for me and I wasn't able to conjure-up the necessary poetic license for him to do so. I see a traumatised and messed-up kid who needs counselling. I don't see an evil person. End of argument. No more tortuous thematic development needed, thanks. Maybe science killed the philosopher. I don't know.

Greene is a good writer. The characters are fleshy (literally, in the case of Ida), and Greene often has a superb turn of phrase. The plot, such as it is, is a good one. But it just feels that this book is trying too hard to get its point across (and that point feels rather contrived, to be honest). If themes of mortal sin and personal morality turn you on then there's a lot to be enjoyed here (bear in mind they turn me on normally, but failed to do so here).

If you enjoy trying to decipher a book's message then this book is for you. But if you just want a good read, and a good story, then give this book a miss. Greene's other books are far better in this regard.

Brighton Rock, 20 Jan 2008
Hi, erm i'm not going to give a huge review about its history and everything im just going to say what i thought of it.
Im 16, in college, my teacher recommened this book to me and i have to say it is absolutley fantastic. I loved it from start to finish and i had never experieced the saying 'I couldn't put it down' like i did with this book. It's so individual and i recommend it to both adults and young adults, as i think it has alot to say and you can learn alot from it.
Anyway the end result is I LOVED IT!!

An unhappy slog, 19 Jan 2008
I'm afraid I'm one of the minority who found this book highly put-downable. Only one character is at all likeable (Prewitt) and he only has a very small part to play. The rest are two-dimensional and in some cases (Ida, Rose) scarcely credible.

Very little actually happens. Most of the time the author explains once again what a nasty person Pinkie is. So dispiriting I had to read another novel concurrently just to keep going. In short, depressing, tawdry, melodramatic, even boring. I just didn't get it. Apologies to all Greene fans.

What is the Point?!, 06 Jan 2008
My problem with this novel is exactly what I've written in the title - what is the point? I don't get this story, I don't understand what Graham Greene's aim was when he sat down and decided to write the story of a 17 year old boy who committed a murder and now had to work hard to stop the police from finding out. Is this a novel with a moral message, because if so, what was it? That believing the best in people and loving freely is stupid because you'll end up like Rose, a pregnant widow with a message full of hate left as a reminder of her husband? It can't have been written as an entertaining, enjoyable read because - it just wasn't. The blurb sounds exciting, the story line sounds thrilling, yet when it comes to the actual story, it's dull, and there's no denying it. It's an awkward novel more than anything in which the reader doesn't seem to gain much by the end except a feeling of utter despair at the darkness of the human race - if the aim was to send the reader into a state of mild depression and thought's of `I never want to read that novel again' then Greene succeeded.

None of the characters were particularly likeable or interesting. I've heard people describe Pinkie's character as truly terrifying, but I didn't think so. Cruel, ambitious, clever, yes. Terrifying? Not really. The few characters that did come across as intriguing were killed off pretty quickly as Pinkie's initial murder led to more in order to cover up the tracks (Macbeth anyone?). If this sounds interesting, it wasn't really. The only time I felt involved with the novel was right near the end, where Pinkie is trying to encourage Rose to kill herself, destroying the last of the evidence. Greene's writing here was very powerful and atmospheric, the reader becomes absorbed in the chapter, racing through the pages, excited to see what happens. But then it feels like a bit of an anti-climax, a let down. Maybe this is the type of story that should have been told as a film, I don't know, but something was lacking.

I know it seems like I hate this book and refuse to acknowledge the greatness that is Graham Greene's writing, but that isn't the case. I wouldn't have read this book if my sole aim was to rip it apart, I don't have time in my life to waste reading books that I know I won`t enjoy. But this novel really disappointed me. I've heard so much about Greene and what a fantastic, exciting writer he was, but that must have all swept past me and all I was left with was the disbelief that anyone could make such an exciting plot into such a dull read. I think what was really lacking, apart from action, was more developed characters. As much as I would have liked to see a more humane side to Pinkie, and perhaps an internal battle between good and evil, I know it would have taken away from what Greene was trying to create in Pinkie. But then at least, other characters could have been developed, but instead they seemed to play fixed roles with fixed emotions and qualities that left the novel feeling a bit flat and lifeless. Ida Arnold had major potential as one of the main characters in the novel, yet was once more let down into playing a fixed role, and even her undying desire of avenging Halle comes across as rather fake and unbelievable.

I think it was W.H. Auden that said, `Some books are undeservedly forgotten. None are undeservedly remembered'. But in this case, I'd sadly say otherwise.

A gripping study of an utterly amoral character, 07 Nov 2007
A very good novel. The Boy is one of the most chilling characters in 20th century English literature, a terrifyingly amoral youngster. Rose, the leading female, is rather wet and difficult to sympathise with from a modern viewpoint because of her extreme naivety. There are some contemporary cultural references that are difficult to follow, but the plot is gripping enough and the ending quite shocking.

Brave and contextual writing., 13 Nov 2008
J.M. Coetzee has managed, as many good authors do, to completely immerse the reader in what goes on in the book and its often uncomfortable surroundings. The characters have depth and are well described and the main character, although potentially unlikeable, seemed to grow ever dearer to my heart the more I read.

Set in a time of unrest and uncertainty, the book deals with many themes that may often not be the most easy to explore. We go deep into David Lurie's (the main character) sense of self and intimate thoughts, and true to life, they are not always easy to accept.

I was both interested and moved by this novel, as one always should be. The writing style, although eloquent, is not over-complicated and therefore will appeal to a wider audience. The settings are atmospheric and lucid, which serves to create a reality in which the reader is ensconced.

Impressive and haunting - shame about the opera, 21 Oct 2008
This is an impressive book, although not an easy read - it tackles uncomfortable subjects, contains some disturbing scenes and the characters are frustrating.
Coetzee portrays the problems of a changing south Africa, where blacks and whites are supposedly equal but clearly still very much divided, living respectively in poverty and fear, with little faith in the government or justice system to put things right. The rules have changed and no one is quite sure where they stand.
The central character, David Lurie, is a frustrated academic seeking satisfaction in the arms of a string of younger women, having failed to find it in his lecturing career. Now, disgraced, friendless and out of a job, he is starting to come to terms with his own ageing and the associated fears of loneliness, weakness and death. Coetzee also explores the tensions of father-daughter relationships - Lurie can no longer ignore his 'little girl''s sexuality knowing that she has been raped, and after himself sleeping with students younger than her - and the difficulty of letting go of your children even when you don't agree with their choices. Although the characters themselves can be hard to relate to, their behaviour often selfish and unreasonable, the relationships between them are intriguing, and elegantly captured in Coetzee's spare, ruthless prose.
This is definitely a book that will stay with me. I would have given it five stars were it not for the passages towards the end describing Lurie's (Coetzee's?) self-indulgent opera about Byron - I had no interest in this and the book began to lose its momentum.

Thought-provoking study of accountability and blame, 13 Jul 2008
Not an uplifting book, this one. But one that hits deep, and makes you think hard. In the end, I suppose it's all about accountability and blame - not comfortable things to think about at any time, but in post-apartheid South Africa, particularly difficult. How does one define and/or justify exploitation? I don't know. I shall have to read the book again, now that I know the questions I want to ask.

Thought provoking but largely frustrating, 27 May 2008
I have just finished reading Disgrace and I am in two minds about whether or not I liked it. The style of writing is undoubtedly superb and the author clearly scholarly. However, like the previous reviewer, I found myself increasingly irritated with Lurie's daughter and her unfathomable refusal to deal with her horrifying ordeal. She would neither lay down and die or get up and walk, which, after any life changing trauma, one ultimately has to do. Her perpetual inertia became wearing and in fact, in the end, really quite boring. Having said this, the interplay between Lucy and Petrus was very thought-provoking. Although Petrus was a shadowy character, his inexorable rise to dominance over Lucy was marked and profound. Perhaps a typical post-apartheid role reversal? However, what did the affair between Lurie and the student have to do with anything, other than perhaps be a weak attempt to force Lurie to look at himself. Also, why did Lurie sleep with Bev Shaw? I didn't think it made much sense (but then I'm not a man)! My overall impression was that this novel was interesting, beautifully written and thought-provoking, which are all good things of course, but I found it stumbled over the obstacles of tedium and a distinct lack of apparent adequate motivating factors in the characters.

Limited sympathies, 23 May 2008
Lurie is a hard character to like or to sympathise with, who often acts willfuly without seeming to care for or consider the consequences of his actions. Nor does he have the humour or self effacement to let him get away with it. And yet there is something there that means he is not wholly repellent. He cares for his daughter, who is determined to shut him out emotionally.

The characters are complex and it is not always easy to follow what is driving them. The relationship, if there is one, between Lurie's daughter and Petrus is ambiguous.

I enjoyed reading the book and the writing is pacy, but I was left confused by the ending and unsure of what it all meant.

Odiously intellectual, although a good story, 01 Apr 2008
Some books are just made to be studied in the classroom, where pupils and teachers treat them as a giant puzzle to be solved. Brighton Rock is one of them. The first half of the book shows a good turn of plot but then the book dissolves into thematic development and precious little else. Thus we're created to countless personal morality and catholic references that batter the reader about the head. Theme and plot should work together, with one strengthening the other. What we get with this book is odious intellectualising that clutters up the page.

There are other issues for a contemporary audience. The pre-war Brighton is summarised very effectively, but it's a very alien world to 21st century people -- as alien to us as any world Shakespeare might have dreamed up. I also had trouble believing in Pinkie, the child gangster. Once described as terrifying and cruel, he seemed awfully tame. As they say, "he didn't work" for me and I wasn't able to conjure-up the necessary poetic license for him to do so. I see a traumatised and messed-up kid who needs counselling. I don't see an evil person. End of argument. No more tortuous thematic development needed, thanks. Maybe science killed the philosopher. I don't know.

Greene is a good writer. The characters are fleshy (literally, in the case of Ida), and Greene often has a superb turn of phrase. The plot, such as it is, is a good one. But it just feels that this book is trying too hard to get its point across (and that point feels rather contrived, to be honest). If themes of mortal sin and personal morality turn you on then there's a lot to be enjoyed here (bear in mind they turn me on normally, but failed to do so here).

If you enjoy trying to decipher a book's message then this book is for you. But if you just want a good read, and a good story, then give this book a miss. Greene's other books are far better in this regard.

Brighton Rock, 20 Jan 2008
Hi, erm i'm not going to give a huge review about its history and everything im just going to say what i thought of it.
Im 16, in college, my teacher recommened this book to me and i have to say it is absolutley fantastic. I loved it from start to finish and i had never experieced the saying 'I couldn't put it down' like i did with this book. It's so individual and i recommend it to both adults and young adults, as i think it has alot to say and you can learn alot from it.
Anyway the end result is I LOVED IT!!

An unhappy slog, 19 Jan 2008
I'm afraid I'm one of the minority who found this book highly put-downable. Only one character is at all likeable (Prewitt) and he only has a very small part to play. The rest are two-dimensional and in some cases (Ida, Rose) scarcely credible.

Very little actually happens. Most of the time the author explains once again what a nasty person Pinkie is. So dispiriting I had to read another novel concurrently just to keep going. In short, depressing, tawdry, melodramatic, even boring. I just didn't get it. Apologies to all Greene fans.

What is the Point?!, 06 Jan 2008
My problem with this novel is exactly what I've written in the title - what is the point? I don't get this story, I don't understand what Graham Greene's aim was when he sat down and decided to write the story of a 17 year old boy who committed a murder and now had to work hard to stop the police from finding out. Is this a novel with a moral message, because if so, what was it? That believing the best in people and loving freely is stupid because you'll end up like Rose, a pregnant widow with a message full of hate left as a reminder of her husband? It can't have been written as an entertaining, enjoyable read because - it just wasn't. The blurb sounds exciting, the story line sounds thrilling, yet when it comes to the actual story, it's dull, and there's no denying it. It's an awkward novel more than anything in which the reader doesn't seem to gain much by the end except a feeling of utter despair at the darkness of the human race - if the aim was to send the reader into a state of mild depression and thought's of `I never want to read that novel again' then Greene succeeded.

None of the characters were particularly likeable or interesting. I've heard people describe Pinkie's character as truly terrifying, but I didn't think so. Cruel, ambitious, clever, yes. Terrifying? Not really. The few characters that did come across as intriguing were killed off pretty quickly as Pinkie's initial murder led to more in order to cover up the tracks (Macbeth anyone?). If this sounds interesting, it wasn't really. The only time I felt involved with the novel was right near the end, where Pinkie is trying to encourage Rose to kill herself, destroying the last of the evidence. Greene's writing here was very powerful and atmospheric, the reader becomes absorbed in the chapter, racing through the pages, excited to see what happens. But then it feels like a bit of an anti-climax, a let down. Maybe this is the type of story that should have been told as a film, I don't know, but something was lacking.

I know it seems like I hate this book and refuse to acknowledge the greatness that is Graham Greene's writing, but that isn't the case. I wouldn't have read this book if my sole aim was to rip it apart, I don't have time in my life to waste reading books that I know I won`t enjoy. But this novel really disappointed me. I've heard so much about Greene and what a fantastic, exciting writer he was, but that must have all swept past me and all I was left with was the disbelief that anyone could make such an exciting plot into such a dull read. I think what was really lacking, apart from action, was more developed characters. As much as I would have liked to see a more humane side to Pinkie, and perhaps an internal battle between good and evil, I know it would have taken away from what Greene was trying to create in Pinkie. But then at least, other characters could have been developed, but instead they seemed to play fixed roles with fixed emotions and qualities that left the novel feeling a bit flat and lifeless. Ida Arnold had major potential as one of the main characters in the novel, yet was once more let down into playing a fixed role, and even her undying desire of avenging Halle comes across as rather fake and unbelievable.

I think it was W.H. Auden that said, `Some books are undeservedly forgotten. None are undeservedly remembered'. But in this case, I'd sadly say otherwise.

A gripping study of an utterly amoral character, 07 Nov 2007
A very good novel. The Boy is one of the most chilling characters in 20th century English literature, a terrifyingly amoral youngster. Rose, the leading female, is rather wet and difficult to sympathise with from a modern viewpoint because of her extreme naivety. There are some contemporary cultural references that are difficult to follow, but the plot is gripping enough and the ending quite shocking.

A Diary Like No Other, 26 Jan 2008
Some random observations on the book and reviews of it:

1. Not sure why some people criticise this for not being a proper novel. I don't see where Coetzee ever claimed this to be a novel. Although it's fiction, it's in the form of a diary (which the title makes clear) plus what the auther calls a "miscellany" (the essays grouped as "Strong Opinions" and "Second Diary"). So you're getting two brilliant literary creations for the price of one.

2. I never noticed how many "blank spaces" there were in the book. I was too busy enjoying the content of the non-blank spaces. Criticism that the project is "too short" imply that value for money in literature is quantitative rather than qualitative. Surely you jest. These criticisms bring to mind diners at a Michellen-starred restaurant complaining that the portions are smaller than at their local greasy spoon.

3. The most satisfying aspect of the book for me is Coetzee's incisive analysis of so many subjects in the essays. Just simple things like pointing out that fire is unique because the more it is fed, the more it consumes, insatiably, without end. "If water burned, too, the world would long ago have been consumed by fire" (I paraphrase).

4. The only disappointment in the book for me is when Coetzee/Senor C. turns to the subject of US foreign policy, he inevitably (and, sadly, predictably) works himself up into a Pinter-esque lather that spirals into hysterical absurdities (e.g., the suggestion that morally upright Americans might consider topping themselves due to the shame of Guantanamo prison conditions...steady on, JM...)

But, I also realise that Coetzee may be intentionally heightening the intensity of the opinions expressed, as they are supposed to be as strong as possible, based on the request of the publisher of the fictional miscellany. Also, Coetzee/Senor C. admonishes his typist/muse Anya that he is not necessarily revealing his true opinions in the essays.

5. The bottom line: this man is a brilliant thinker and author. The form of this book is totally unique and the challenge of how to read the various parallel sections is richly rewarded by the extraordinary insights within. Read it.

Encompasses much of the contemporary ache, 21 Sep 2007
Coetzee, as he approaches old age, and the dark backing of what lies beyond, seems to share with that other great contemporary of his, Philip Roth, an obsession with eros, and thanatos, and the metaphysical wistfulness and ache of the heart this creates - in other words, the longing of old men who can't shag attractive young women any more.

Roth is the jazzier of the two stylists, Coetzee the more philosophical, the more willing to stare deep into the hard essence of things, but both men these days are producing short, magnificent metafictions that encompass so much of the great poetic wisdom they have accumulated over their writing lives.

Diary of a Bad Year has echoes of Disgrace (which now looks like it will be Coetzee's last 'conventional' novel), in that an elderly writer develops an infatuation with a young, beautiful woman - this time, Anya, a half Phillipino woman acutely aware of her sexual magnetism and the power it holds over men. The writer, Juan Coetzee, who is a sort of fictional projection of the real JC, is commissioned to write a series of cultural and political essays for a German anthology entitled 'Strong Opinions' (clear Nabokovian echoes). The book is set out in a curious manner - divided horizontally by ruled lines in three sections. The top section contains the essays Coetzee writes - on a vast number of subjects: the state, democracy, terrorism, music, Tony Blair, the kiss, animal rights (but nothing, curiously, on global warming, probably the definining issue of the era - I would be interested to read Coetzee's views on the subject). The middle and bottom sections are the novel proper parts of the book - contrapuntal voices of Coetzee's telling of the story as he commissions Anya to become his typist for his manuscript, and her version of events as she becomes more involved in the life of this curious, melancholy, solitary old writer and the suspicious attentions of her boyfriend, Alan, an investment consultant whose world view and male jealousies are predictably at loggerheads with Coetzee.

How to read such a novel? Unclear. You can read the strong opinions first in each chapter, then turn your attention to the thin slivers of story; or you can do what I did - alternate between them, sometimes hunkering down to engage with the ficto-factual opinions of Coetzee, sometimes (more likely) spooling a way along the fictional rope and turning back to pick up the essays.

Some reviewers have criticized this book as offering thin fare, not a proper novel with meat to bite into, but I found the book, with its curious playfulness with form, built up a compelling picture of contemporary clashes in world view, politics, lifestyle, masculinity, and generational change that stiches an uneasy and formidably perceptive seam close to the surface of the anxieties of millions of people living in relative democratic security at this time.

Diary of a Bad Year - J.M. Coetzee, 06 Sep 2007
I'm a J.M. Coetzee fan -- one of the biggest, probably. But even I have to admit a tinge of frustration with his output since his last conventional novel, Disgrace, appeared in 1999. He's given us autobiography (Youth), philosophical stories (Elizabeth Costello), essays (Inner Workings) and a metaliterary oddball (Slow Man), but nothing resembling the towering oeuvre of fiction that made him one of the 20th Century's greatest novelists. So what, then, is his latest book, Diary of a Bad Year? None of the above -- again.

Each page is divided into three unequal parts. The top part is given over to essays, mainly political in character but increasingly personal as the novel progresses. In the middle part: a diary, by the fictionalised author of the essays, JC (an elderly man who bears no small resemblance to Coetzee). JC records how he recruits a secretary, Anya, to type his essays, while fending off the interference of her boyfriend, Alan. In the bottom part, Anya presents her diary: her side of the story. All three sections run continuously from one page to the next, leaving the reader with a tricky choice: does one read all the essays at once (then go back and read all the accompanying "diaries") or read all three parts in the chopped-up bitesize chunks in which they appear on the page?

It's a fascinating experiment. But be warned: in practice, the essay part occupies at least two thirds of the space, while the diaries amount to little more than short stories. And there is as much empty space in this book as there is fiction. I'm not exaggerating. In this 231pp volume there are 35 blank pages, and huge gaps between the three sections on each page. In real money this is a 150pp novella, containing two 25pp diaries. Thin fare.

The two diaries, though lightweight, are at least very good for what they are. Coetzee fictionalises himself as JC, a grumpy, lonely old man who stumbles his way through a series of awkward scenarios: the "diary" almost invites comparison to HBO staple Curb Your Enthusiasm. Funny, thoughtful and diverting, they are vital in holding the reader's attention (and I personally, therefore, recommend reading the diary entries as they appear -- intertwined with the essays).

Ultimately, the primary function of the diaries is to offer counterpoints to the essays. Diary of a Bad Year displays with excruciating comedy the impotence of the columnist: the stupid, meaningless everyday frustrations that underpin ostensibly political anger. Behind every ferocious argument (from Swift to yesterday's Guardian) lies a sorry JC-esque figure, venting spleen with no real reward to justify the exertion.

But how good are those political essays? So much of the book is given over to them that one assumes that, even while he masochistically portrays JC as a deluded loser, the real J. Coetzee still hopes (against hope) that they will persuade his reader. At times, they succeed. Some of the longer essays, ranging across South African politics, anarchism, mathematics and more, are feats of sustained brilliance. There's no word wastage, no rambling: it's all wonderfully readable. The political issues will be strangely familiar to lovers of Coetzee's postcolonial fiction, but, pleasingly, more writerly topics (notably Tolstoy and Dostoevsky) creep in among the tirades during the novel's second half.

In short, Diary of a Bad Year serves as a superb companion piece to Coetzee's fiction. The leftist postcolonial concerns that lie implicit in the novels of past decades are brought to the fore here, and Coetzee emerges as (in JC's words) the "pessimistic anarchistic quietist" you always suspected he was.

And yet many of the essays are just 200-300 word nuggets, rumps of columns that would never be published by a newspaper. So much of the book is given over to single-page chapters and half-baked ideas. On terrorism and Guantanamo Bay, for example, Coetzee could be quoting the Independent leader for all I know -- he has very little new to say.

Short, thought-provoking, intermittently brilliant and strangely captivating, Diary of a Bad Year is one of the most bizarre novels (if you can even call it a novel) I've ever read. But it's also a little irritating -- for its brevity and for its staccato rhythm, as Coetzee hops from one political bugbear to the next. At one point JC, commenting on Tolstoy, argues that, as authors age, their interest in plot and character wanes, to be replaced by an ability to address the "big questions" more clearly. He may be right, but I fear I'm just one of those naive young people who'd prefer a novel a bit less oblique than this, with a bit more of a story between its covers.

Barely fiction, 31 Aug 2007
Literary heavyweight J.M. Coetzee returns with... well I'm not exactly sure. Is it a fictionalised excuse for Coetzee to air his thoughts on the world we are living in? Is it a subtle critique of the idea that everyone should have `strong opinions'? Is it a biography of an aging man thinly veiled under the guise of fiction?
The plot revolves around a seventy year old writer (who happens to be Coetzee himself) who is asked to contribute to a book entitled `Strong Opinions'. He uses the opportunity to air his views on the world, writing essays on the nature of the state, Al Quaida, Tony Blair, and music. But he is losing muscle control in his arms and cannot type up his notes so he hires a beautiful young woman to act as his secretary come surreptitious muse. What ensues is typical old man fiction: slightly perverted, slightly pathetic. Familiar in a sense to the plots of both Disgrace and Slow Man but scaled down. It is a very short book.
Does that sound simple? I can assure you it anything but. Each page is separated into three separate sections: one the essays he is writing; one with his voice on what is happening; and one in the voice of his graceful young Philippino secretary. I am not sure if you are meant to read it page by page, or as three separate stories one after the other.
Overall it is billed as "a thoroughly contemporary novel" and in a way it is. It is post-modern in structure and airs views on the complex world we are living in. The essays are interesting, at times controversial and deeply philosophical. At one point he laments that no one reads political discourses anymore and you get the impression that this is really what he is trying to accomplish - but in a format that will reach a wider audience. If so that is a shame.
I enjoyed reading this but I fear it is a novel that will not live long in my mind. There are some really interesting topics discussed and as a work of non fiction it is intensely interesting, but as a novel, either I missed something, or it doesn't really quite work.

Brave and contextual writing., 13 Nov 2008
J.M. Coetzee has managed, as many good authors do, to completely immerse the reader in what goes on in the book and its often uncomfortable surroundings. The characters have depth and are well described and the main character, although potentially unlikeable, seemed to grow ever dearer to my heart the more I read.

Set in a time of unrest and uncertainty, the book deals with many themes that may often not be the most easy to explore. We go deep into David Lurie's (the main character) sense of self and intimate thoughts, and true to life, they are not always easy to accept.

I was both interested and moved by this novel, as one always should be. The writing style, although eloquent, is not over-complicated and therefore will appeal to a wider audience. The settings are atmospheric and lucid, which serves to create a reality in which the reader is ensconced.

Impressive and haunting - shame about the opera, 21 Oct 2008
This is an impressive book, although not an easy read - it tackles uncomfortable subjects, contains some disturbing scenes and the characters are frustrating.
Coetzee portrays the problems of a changing south Africa, where blacks and whites are supposedly equal but clearly still very much divided, living respectively in poverty and fear, with little faith in the government or justice system to put things right. The rules have changed and no one is quite sure where they stand.
The central character, David Lurie, is a frustrated academic seeking satisfaction in the arms of a string of younger women, having failed to find it in his lecturing career. Now, disgraced, friendless and out of a job, he is starting to come to terms with his own ageing and the associated fears of loneliness, weakness and death. Coetzee also explores the tensions of father-daughter relationships - Lurie can no longer ignore his 'little girl''s sexuality knowing that she has been raped, and after himself sleeping with students younger than her - and the difficulty of letting go of your children even when you don't agree with their choices. Although the characters themselves can be hard to relate to, their behaviour often selfish and unreasonable, the relationships between them are intriguing, and elegantly captured in Coetzee's spare, ruthless prose.
This is definitely a book that will stay with me. I would have given it five stars were it not for the passages towards the end describing Lurie's (Coetzee's?) self-indulgent opera about Byron - I had no interest in this and the book began to lose its momentum.

Thought-provoking study of accountability and blame, 13 Jul 2008
Not an uplifting book, this one. But one that hits deep, and makes you think hard. In the end, I suppose it's all about accountability and blame - not comfortable things to think about at any time, but in post-apartheid South Africa, particularly difficult. How does one define and/or justify exploitation? I don't know. I shall have to read the book again, now that I know the questions I want to ask.

Thought provoking but largely frustrating, 27 May 2008
I have just finished reading Disgrace and I am in two minds about whether or not I liked it. The style of writing is undoubtedly superb and the author clearly scholarly. However, like the previous reviewer, I found myself increasingly irritated with Lurie's daughter and her unfathomable refusal to deal with her horrifying ordeal. She would neither lay down and die or get up and walk, which, after any life changing trauma, one ultimately has to do. Her perpetual inertia became wearing and in fact, in the end, really quite boring. Having said this, the interplay between Lucy and Petrus was very thought-provoking. Although Petrus was a shadowy character, his inexorable rise to dominance over Lucy was marked and profound. Perhaps a typical post-apartheid role reversal? However, what did the affair between Lurie and the student have to do with anything, other than perhaps be a weak attempt to force Lurie to look at himself. Also, why did Lurie sleep with Bev Shaw? I didn't think it made much sense (but then I'm not a man)! My overall impression was that this novel was interesting, beautifully written and thought-provoking, which are all good things of course, but I found it stumbled over the obstacles of tedium and a distinct lack of apparent adequate motivating factors in the characters.

Limited sympathies, 23 May 2008
Lurie is a hard character to like or to sympathise with, who often acts willfuly without seeming to care for or consider the consequences of his actions. Nor does he have the humour or self effacement to let him get away with it. And yet there is something there that means he is not wholly repellent. He cares for his daughter, who is determined to shut him out emotionally.

The characters are complex and it is not always easy to follow what is driving them. The relationship, if there is one, between Lurie's daughter and Petrus is ambiguous.

I enjoyed reading the book and the writing is pacy, but I was left confused by the ending and unsure of what it all meant.

Odiously intellectual, although a good story, 01 Apr 2008
Some books are just made to be studied in the classroom, where pupils and teachers treat them as a giant puzzle to be solved. Brighton Rock is one of them. The first half of the book shows a good turn of plot but then the book dissolves into thematic development and precious little else. Thus we're created to countless personal morality and catholic references that batter the reader about the head. Theme and plot should work together, with one strengthening the other. What we get with this book is odious intellectualising that clutters up the page.

There are other issues for a contemporary audience. The pre-war Brighton is summarised very effectively, but it's a very alien world to 21st century people -- as alien to us as any world Shakespeare might have dreamed up. I also had trouble believing in Pinkie, the child gangster. Once described as terrifying and cruel, he seemed awfully tame. As they say, "he didn't work" for me and I wasn't able to conjure-up the necessary poetic license for him to do so. I see a traumatised and messed-up kid who needs counselling. I don't see an evil person. End of argument. No more tortuous thematic development needed, thanks. Maybe science killed the philosopher. I don't know.

Greene is a good writer. The characters are fleshy (literally, in the case of Ida), and Greene often has a superb turn of phrase. The plot, such as it is, is a good one. But it just feels that this book is trying too hard to get its point across (and that point feels rather contrived, to be honest). If themes of mortal sin and personal morality turn you on then there's a lot to be enjoyed here (bear in mind they turn me on normally, but failed to do so here).

If you enjoy trying to decipher a book's message then this book is for you. But if you just want a good read, and a good story, then give this book a miss. Greene's other books are far better in this regard.

Brighton Rock, 20 Jan 2008
Hi, erm i'm not going to give a huge review about its history and everything im just going to say what i thought of it.
Im 16, in college, my teacher recommened this book to me and i have to say it is absolutley fantastic. I loved it from start to finish and i had never experieced the saying 'I couldn't put it down' like i did with this book. It's so individual and i recommend it to both adults and young adults, as i think it has alot to say and you can learn alot from it.
Anyway the end result is I LOVED IT!!

An unhappy slog, 19 Jan 2008
I'm afraid I'm one of the minority who found this book highly put-downable. Only one character is at all likeable (Prewitt) and he only has a very small part to play. The rest are two-dimensional and in some cases (Ida, Rose) scarcely credible.

Very little actually happens. Most of the time the author explains once again what a nasty person Pinkie is. So dispiriting I had to read another novel concurrently just to keep going. In short, depressing, tawdry, melodramatic, even boring. I just didn't get it. Apologies to all Greene fans.

What is the Point?!, 06 Jan 2008
My problem with this novel is exactly what I've written in the title - what is the point? I don't get this story, I don't understand what Graham Greene's aim was when he sat down and decided to write the story of a 17 year old boy who committed a murder and now had to work hard to stop the police from finding out. Is this a novel with a moral message, because if so, what was it? That believing the best in people and loving freely is stupid because you'll end up like Rose, a pregnant widow with a message full of hate left as a reminder of her husband? It can't have been written as an entertaining, enjoyable read because - it just wasn't. The blurb sounds exciting, the story line sounds thrilling, yet when it comes to the actual story, it's dull, and there's no denying it. It's an awkward novel more than anything in which the reader doesn't seem to gain much by the end except a feeling of utter despair at the darkness of the human race - if the aim was to send the reader into a state of mild depression and thought's of `I never want to read that novel again' then Greene succeeded.

None of the characters were particularly likeable or interesting. I've heard people describe Pinkie's character as truly terrifying, but I didn't think so. Cruel, ambitious, clever, yes. Terrifying? Not really. The few characters that did come across as intriguing were killed off pretty quickly as Pinkie's initial murder led to more in order to cover up the tracks (Macbeth anyone?). If this sounds interesting, it wasn't really. The only time I felt involved with the novel was right near the end, where Pinkie is trying to encourage Rose to kill herself, destroying the last of the evidence. Greene's writing here was very powerful and atmospheric, the reader becomes absorbed in the chapter, racing through the pages, excited to see what happens. But then it feels like a bit of an anti-climax, a let down. Maybe this is the type of story that should have been told as a film, I don't know, but something was lacking.

I know it seems like I hate this book and refuse to acknowledge the greatness that is Graham Greene's writing, but that isn't the case. I wouldn't have read this book if my sole aim was to rip it apart, I don't have time in my life to waste reading books that I know I won`t enjoy. But this novel really disappointed me. I've heard so much about Greene and what a fantastic, exciting writer he was, but that must have all swept past me and all I was left with was the disbelief that anyone could make such an exciting plot into such a dull read. I think what was really lacking, apart from action, was more developed characters. As much as I would have liked to see a more humane side to Pinkie, and perhaps an internal battle between good and evil, I know it would have taken away from what Greene was trying to create in Pinkie. But then at least, other characters could have been developed, but instead they seemed to play fixed roles with fixed emotions and qualities that left the novel feeling a bit flat and lifeless. Ida Arnold had major potential as one of the main characters in the novel, yet was once more let down into playing a fixed role, and even her undying desire of avenging Halle comes across as rather fake and unbelievable.

I think it was W.H. Auden that said, `Some books are undeservedly forgotten. None are undeservedly remembered'. But in this case, I'd sadly say otherwise.

A gripping study of an utterly amoral character, 07 Nov 2007
A very good novel. The Boy is one of the most chilling characters in 20th century English literature, a terrifyingly amoral youngster. Rose, the leading female, is rather wet and difficult to sympathise with from a modern viewpoint because of her extreme naivety. There are some contemporary cultural references that are difficult to follow, but the plot is gripping enough and the ending quite shocking.

A Diary Like No Other, 26 Jan 2008
Some random observations on the book and reviews of it:

1. Not sure why some people criticise this for not being a proper novel. I don't see where Coetzee ever claimed this to be a novel. Although it's fiction, it's in the form of a diary (which the title makes clear) plus what the auther calls a "miscellany" (the essays grouped as "Strong Opinions" and "Second Diary"). So you're getting two brilliant literary creations for the price of one.

2. I never noticed how many "blank spaces" there were in the book. I was too busy enjoying the content of the non-blank spaces. Criticism that the project is "too short" imply that value for money in literature is quantitative rather than qualitative. Surely you jest. These criticisms bring to mind diners at a Michellen-starred restaurant complaining that the portions are smaller than at their local greasy spoon.

3. The most satisfying aspect of the book for me is Coetzee's incisive analysis of so many subjects in the essays. Just simple things like pointing out that fire is unique because the more it is fed, the more it consumes, insatiably, without end. "If water burned, too, the world would long ago have been consumed by fire" (I paraphrase).

4. The only disappointment in the book for me is when Coetzee/Senor C. turns to the subject of US foreign policy, he inevitably (and, sadly, predictably) works himself up into a Pinter-esque lather that spirals into hysterical absurdities (e.g., the suggestion that morally upright Americans might consider topping themselves due to the shame of Guantanamo prison conditions...steady on, JM...)

But, I also realise that Coetzee may be intentionally heightening the intensity of the opinions expressed, as they are supposed to be as strong as possible, based on the request of the publisher of the fictional miscellany. Also, Coetzee/Senor C. admonishes his typist/muse Anya that he is not necessarily revealing his true opinions in the essays.

5. The bottom line: this man is a brilliant thinker and author. The form of this book is totally unique and the challenge of how to read the various parallel sections is richly rewarded by the extraordinary insights within. Read it.

Encompasses much of the contemporary ache, 21 Sep 2007
Coetzee, as he approaches old age, and the dark backing of what lies beyond, seems to share with that other great contemporary of his, Philip Roth, an obsession with eros, and thanatos, and the metaphysical wistfulness and ache of the heart this creates - in other words, the longing of old men who can't shag attractive young women any more.

Roth is the jazzier of the two stylists, Coetzee the more philosophical, the more willing to stare deep into the hard essence of things, but both men these days are producing short, magnificent metafictions that encompass so much of the great poetic wisdom they have accumulated over their writing lives.

Diary of a Bad Year has echoes of Disgrace (which now looks like it will be Coetzee's last 'conventional' novel), in that an elderly writer develops an infatuation with a young, beautiful woman - this time, Anya, a half Phillipino woman acutely aware of her sexual magnetism and the power it holds over men. The writer, Juan Coetzee, who is a sort of fictional projection of the real JC, is commissioned to write a series of cultural and political essays for a German anthology entitled 'Strong Opinions' (clear Nabokovian echoes). The book is set out in a curious manner - divided horizontally by ruled lines in three sections. The top section contains the essays Coetzee writes - on a vast number of subjects: the state, democracy, terrorism, music, Tony Blair, the kiss, animal rights (but nothing, curiously, on global warming, probably the definining issue of the era - I would be interested to read Coetzee's views on the subject). The middle and bottom sections are the novel proper parts of the book - contrapuntal voices of Coetzee's telling of the story as he commissions Anya to become his typist for his manuscript, and her version of events as she becomes more involved in the life of this curious, melancholy, solitary old writer and the suspicious attentions of her boyfriend, Alan, an investment consultant whose world view and male jealousies are predictably at loggerheads with Coetzee.

How to read such a novel? Unclear. You can read the strong opinions first in each chapter, then turn your attention to the thin slivers of story; or you can do what I did - alternate between them, sometimes hunkering down to engage with the ficto-factual opinions of Coetzee, sometimes (more likely) spooling a way along the fictional rope and turning back to pick up the essays.

Some reviewers have criticized this book as offering thin fare, not a proper novel with meat to bite into, but I found the book, with its curious playfulness with form, built up a compelling picture of contemporary clashes in world view, politics, lifestyle, masculinity, and generational change that stiches an uneasy and formidably perceptive seam close to the surface of the anxieties of millions of people living in relative democratic security at this time.

Diary of a Bad Year - J.M. Coetzee, 06 Sep 2007
I'm a J.M. Coetzee fan -- one of the biggest, probably. But even I have to admit a tinge of frustration with his output since his last conventional novel, Disgrace, appeared in 1999. He's given us autobiography (Youth), philosophical stories (Elizabeth Costello), essays (Inner Workings) and a metaliterary oddball (Slow Man), but nothing resembling the towering oeuvre of fiction that made him one of the 20th Century's greatest novelists. So what, then, is his latest book, Diary of a Bad Year? None of the above -- again.

Each page is divided into three unequal parts. The top part is given over to essays, mainly political in character but increasingly personal as the novel progresses. In the middle part: a diary, by the fictionalised author of the essays, JC (an elderly man who bears no small resemblance to Coetzee). JC records how he recruits a secretary, Anya, to type his essays, while fending off the interference of her boyfriend, Alan. In the bottom part, Anya presents her diary: her side of the story. All three sections run continuously from one page to the next, leaving the reader with a tricky choice: does one read all the essays at once (then go back and read all the accompanying "diaries") or read all three parts in the chopped-up bitesize chunks in which they appear on the page?

It's a fascinating experiment. But be warned: in practice, the essay part occupies at least two thirds of the space, while the diaries amount to little more than short stories. And there is as much empty space in this book as there is fiction. I'm not exaggerating. In this 231pp volume there are 35 blank pages, and huge gaps between the three sections on each page. In real money this is a 150pp novella, containing two 25pp diaries. Thin fare.

The two diaries, though lightweight, are at least very good for what they are. Coetzee fictionalises himself as JC, a grumpy, lonely old man who stumbles his way through a series of awkward scenarios: the "diary" almost invites comparison to HBO staple Curb Your Enthusiasm. Funny, thoughtful and diverting, they are vital in holding the reader's attention (and I personally, therefore, recommend reading the diary entries as they appear -- intertwined with the essays).

Ultimately, the primary function of the diaries is to offer counterpoints to the essays. Diary of a Bad Year displays with excruciating comedy the impotence of the columnist: the stupid, meaningless everyday frustrations that underpin ostensibly political anger. Behind every ferocious argument (from Swift to yesterday's Guardian) lies a sorry JC-esque figure, venting spleen with no real reward to justify the exertion.

But how good are those political essays? So much of the book is given over to them that one assumes that, even while he masochistically portrays JC as a deluded loser, the real J. Coetzee still hopes (against hope) that they will persuade his reader. At times, they succeed. Some of the longer essays, ranging across South African politics, anarchism, mathematics and more, are feats of sustained brilliance. There's no word wastage, no rambling: it's all wonderfully readable. The political issues will be strangely familiar to lovers of Coetzee's postcolonial fiction, but, pleasingly, more writerly topics (notably Tolstoy and Dostoevsky) creep in among the tirades during the novel's second half.

In short, Diary of a Bad Year serves as a superb companion piece to Coetzee's fiction. The leftist postcolonial concerns that lie implicit in the novels of past decades are brought to the fore here, and Coetzee emerges as (in JC's words) the "pessimistic anarchistic quietist" you always suspected he was.

And yet many of the essays are just 200-300 word nuggets, rumps of columns that would never be published by a newspaper. So much of the book is given over to single-page chapters and half-baked ideas. On terrorism and Guantanamo Bay, for example, Coetzee could be quoting the Independent leader for all I know -- he has very little new to say.

Short, thought-provoking, intermittently brilliant and strangely captivating, Diary of a Bad Year is one of the most bizarre novels (if you can even call it a novel) I've ever read. But it's also a little irritating -- for its brevity and for its staccato rhythm, as Coetzee hops from one political bugbear to the next. At one point JC, commenting on Tolstoy, argues that, as authors age, their interest in plot and character wanes, to be replaced by an ability to address the "big questions" more clearly. He may be right, but I fear I'm just one of those naive young people who'd prefer a novel a bit less oblique than this, with a bit more of a story between its covers.

Barely fiction, 31 Aug 2007
Literary heavyweight J.M. Coetzee returns with... well I'm not exactly sure. Is it a fictionalised excuse for Coetzee to air his thoughts on the world we are living in? Is it a subtle critique of the idea that everyone should have `strong opinions'? Is it a biography of an aging man thinly veiled under the guise of fiction?
The plot revolves around a seventy year old writer (who happens to be Coetzee himself) who is asked to contribute to a book entitled `Strong Opinions'. He uses the opportunity to air his views on the world, writing essays on the nature of the state, Al Quaida, Tony Blair, and music. But he is losing muscle control in his arms and cannot type up his notes so he hires a beautiful young woman to act as his secretary come surreptitious muse. What ensues is typical old man fiction: slightly perverted, slightly pathetic. Familiar in a sense to the plots of both Disgrace and Slow Man but scaled down. It is a very short book.
Does that sound simple? I can assure you it anything but. Each page is separated into three separate sections: one the essays he is writing; one with his voice on what is happening; and one in the voice of his graceful young Philippino secretary. I am not sure if you are meant to read it page by page, or as three separate stories one after the other.
Overall it is billed as "a thoroughly contemporary novel" and in a way it is. It is post-modern in structure and airs views on the complex world we are living in. The essays are interesting, at times controversial and deeply philosophical. At one point he laments that no one reads political discourses anymore and you get the impression that this is really what he is trying to accomplish - but in a format that will reach a wider audience. If so that is a shame.
I enjoyed reading this but I fear it is a novel that will not live long in my mind. There are some really interesting topics discussed and as a work of non fiction it is intensely interesting, but as a novel, either I missed something, or it doesn't really quite work.


Universal allegory, 22 Sep 2008
The setting for this outstanding book remains without reference to a specific time and place, with only the knowledge of a distant city and the surrounding desert, and items such as sunglasses, stagecoaches and ancient muskets to steer us one way or another. The result is that the story becomes beautifully universal. I read in other reviews that people related it to (apart from the obvious South Africa) the current situation in Iraq, and it is hard to deny that the picture fits. The fact is that this story has been acted out the world over so many times during history that on reading you get a horrible feeling of familiarity. There is no doubt where the idea has its roots, but refraining from making the story specific to South Africa, Coetzee made it much easier for the reader to feel the universality. I think that is what makes this a very special book. Overall, apart from the obvious theme of oppression, the main aspect of the book that struck me was the theme of the 'other'. By the end we are left with no attack from the barbarians (which has been promised all along by the Empire), and the only other encounters have been peaceful on the barbarians behalf. In fact the only meetings with them are initiated by the Empire which, on most occasions, end in aggression from the Empire. So when the magistrate gazes into the blind eyes of the barbarian girl he befriends, he is not met with reciprocality, but only with his own reflection. I feel that is the most important point. The relationship the Empire, and especially the town, has with the barbarians has nothing to do with anyone but the Empire and the town. When the magistrate searches the girl's eyes, he is really searching his soul and the soul of the town. The barbarians are nothing but the unknown and any opinions of them stem from the towns uneducated fears. These fears are a very useful tool for the Empire. I find it very fitting that a tribute to Edward W. Said has the same title.

All tyrannies thrive on a diet of rumour, propaganda and lies, and eventually lose touch with reality and fall, 25 Feb 2008
J M Coetzee's 1980 allegorical gem is heavily influenced by Dino Buzzati's Tartar Steppe, perhaps the most existentially melancholic novel of the twentieth century. Both are set in remote outposts in vast empty wildernesses where man and his constructions are literally just dots on the horizon. In each book there is an enemy, undefined except by rumour and by name: the northerners in Buzzati, the barbarians in Coetzee (though he does once refer to them as northerners, thus signifying his debt to Buzzati). However, the other worldliness of the Tartar Steppe is given a definite point of reference in Waiting for the Barbarians; that of a repressive imperial state resembling in theme, if not environment, Vorster's apartheid South Africa.
The narrator is a lonely magistrate in a frontier town who, though far from the centre of the oppressive state security apparatus, is complicit in its existence by administering its laws (and abusing his position by frequent sexual dalliances with vulnerable women). It doesn't take participation, just indifference, a blind eye. Although always uneasy about his role in the system, he continues as benignly as possible in order to lead a quiet life. It is only on the arrival of a group of interrogators, and having witnessed their arbitrary and brutal methods, that he instinctively rebels. At one point a girl is invited to pick up a rod and beat a prisoner in the yard. `You are depraving these people!' he shouts. He is thus branded an enemy of the state and a `barbarian lover' and committed to prison and subjected to a regime of humiliation and degradation. The breathless tension that follows is extraordinary at times.
All tyrannies survive on a diet of rumour, propaganda and lies, and eventually lose touch with reality and fall. It is true that there have been many regimes that have ruthlessly persecuted one section of the community, but what made South Africa unique was that the persecution was sanctioned by, and enshrined in, its national law. It was this that made the apartheid regime especially paranoid and nasty, and it cost them one of the world's finest writers. For Coetzee is that. There is nobody alive who can write in such taut, crystal clear, elegant English and yet exude such creative and emotional energy as this quiet, private intellectual. His books are so concise and so eloquent and so powerful that it is a mystery how he achieves the effect that he does. No wonder that the hypocritical apartheid regime was so scared of him. This and Disgrace are considered his finest works.


Dull, 04 Dec 2007
Like the hero of this tale, I am going to swim against the tide of opinion, and say that I was seriously unimpressed with this book. The theme is what? That men act from mixed motives? That terrible acts can be committed in the name of 'civilization'? That what unites us as human beings is more important than what divides us? That finding meaning to life is elusive? That torture is bad? These are all propositions it is hard to disagree with.

For me Coetze fails to make any of these issues fresh or compelling, and even though life in a frontier town on the 'edge of empire' is imaginatively (and in places beautifully) brought to life, the conceit of a timeless, placeless setting for the novel ultimately grates on the reader. More serious defects are the author's lengthy and repepetitive descriptions of the Magistrate's sexual meanderings and of sadistic torture meted out by the sinister Third Bureau. Does Coetze think, that by dwelling on sex and violence he will show us what a 'serious' writer he is? Such 'shocking' (ie. dull and rather embarassing) content merely seems slightly dated - a product of the 1960's or 70's when Coetze was no doubt learning his craft (he was born in 1940).

Overall, an unsatisfy and enigmatic book, which if it does have an important message has either hidden it far too well or not at all.

Is there a better man of letters in the World?, 04 Dec 2007
The more I read of Coetzee the more I appreciate his work. This book is a slim volume, but contains so much. The narrative reflects the dicotomy of one mans life. The main character, a Magistrate in an outpost town, is a flawed human, trying to do the right thing as often as he can. As with so much of Coetzees work this novel reaches out and asks much of the reader, it will bring things to the surface, make you consider yourself and your actions. We are all the Magistrate of the novel in one way or another.
The style of the novel is so sparse and yet incredibly dense, this is not a book you will read quickly, it needs your full attention, to absorb the cahracters and their motives. While I read it I kept comparing it to the current state of our World and the indiviuals place in it. I'm certain this was Coetzees aim and he affects it brilliantly.
You will not do better then JM Coetzee.

A classic story, 04 Apr 2005
Waiting for the Barbarians is a fascinating story about a magistrate working for a dysfunctional and corrupt colonial empire that borders on the outskirts of the modern world.. With deep political undertones Coetzee's tale of man against a corrupting society where rebellion and personal redemption are inevitable is what makes this story so full of enlightenment and secured its place as one of the greatest classic stories of the twentieth century. Not easy to relate to, this story nevertheless succinctly confronts the conflicts of positive and negative traits which we all have to confront to become really human in life . This conflict in our souls which are man's unavoidable dilemmas has perhaps been best exposed Coetzee and Dostoyevsky. A highly recommended book.

Also recommended are DISCIPLES OF FORTUNE, THE UNION MOUJIK, THE IDIOT, TRIPLE AGENT DOUBLE CROSS and THE USURPER AND OTHER STORIES

Brave and contextual writing., 13 Nov 2008
J.M. Coetzee has managed, as many good authors do, to completely immerse the reader in what goes on in the book and its often uncomfortable surroundings. The characters have depth and are well described and the main character, although potentially unlikeable, seemed to grow ever dearer to my heart the more I read.

Set in a time of unrest and uncertainty, the book deals with many themes that may often not be the most easy to explore. We go deep into David Lurie's (the main character) sense of self and intimate thoughts, and true to life, they are not always easy to accept.

I was both interested and moved by this novel, as one always should be. The writing style, although eloquent, is not over-complicated and therefore will appeal to a wider audience. The settings are atmospheric and lucid, which serves to create a reality in which the reader is ensconced.

Impressive and haunting - shame about the opera, 21 Oct 2008
This is an impressive book, although not an easy read - it tackles uncomfortable subjects, contains some disturbing scenes and the characters are frustrating.
Coetzee portrays the problems of a changing south Africa, where blacks and whites are supposedly equal but clearly still very much divided, living respectively in poverty and fear, with little faith in the government or justice system to put things right. The rules have changed and no one is quite sure where they stand.
The central character, David Lurie, is a frustrated academic seeking satisfaction in the arms of a string of younger women, having failed to find it in his lecturing career. Now, disgraced, friendless and out of a job, he is starting to come to terms with his own ageing and the associated fears of loneliness, weakness and death. Coetzee also explores the tensions of father-daughter relationships - Lurie can no longer ignore his 'little girl''s sexuality knowing that she has been raped, and after himself sleeping with students younger than her - and the difficulty of letting go of your children even when you don't agree with their choices. Although the characters themselves can be hard to relate to, their behaviour often selfish and unreasonable, the relationships between them are intriguing, and elegantly captured in Coetzee's spare, ruthless prose.
This is definitely a book that will stay with me. I would have given it five stars were it not for the passages towards the end describing Lurie's (Coetzee's?) self-indulgent opera about Byron - I had no interest in this and the book began to lose its momentum.

Thought-provoking study of accountability and blame, 13 Jul 2008
Not an uplifting book, this one. But one that hits deep, and makes you think hard. In the end, I suppose it's all about accountability and blame - not comfortable things to think about at any time, but in post-apartheid South Africa, particularly difficult. How does one define and/or justify exploitation? I don't know. I shall have to read the book again, now that I know the questions I want to ask.

Thought provoking but largely frustrating, 27 May 2008
I have just finished reading Disgrace and I am in two minds about whether or not I liked it. The style of writing is undoubtedly superb and the author clearly scholarly. However, like the previous reviewer, I found myself increasingly irritated with Lurie's daughter and her unfathomable refusal to deal with her horrifying ordeal. She would neither lay down and die or get up and walk, which, after any life changing trauma, one ultimately has to do. Her perpetual inertia became wearing and in fact, in the end, really quite boring. Having said this, the interplay between Lucy and Petrus was very thought-provoking. Although Petrus was a shadowy character, his inexorable rise to dominance over Lucy was marked and profound. Perhaps a typical post-apartheid role reversal? However, what did the affair between Lurie and the student have to do with anything, other than perhaps be a weak attempt to force Lurie to look at himself. Also, why did Lurie sleep with Bev Shaw? I didn't think it made much sense (but then I'm not a man)! My overall impression was that this novel was interesting, beautifully written and thought-provoking, which are all good things of course, but I found it stumbled over the obstacles of tedium and a distinct lack of apparent adequate motivating factors in the characters.

Limited sympathies, 23 May 2008
Lurie is a hard character to like or to sympathise with, who often acts willfuly without seeming to care for or consider the consequences of his actions. Nor does he have the humour or self effacement to let him get away with it. And yet there is something there that means he is not wholly repellent. He cares for his daughter, who is determined to shut him out emotionally.

The characters are complex and it is not always easy to follow what is driving them. The relationship, if there is one, between Lurie's daughter and Petrus is ambiguous.

I enjoyed reading the book and the writing is pacy, but I was left confused by the ending and unsure of what it all meant.

Odiously intellectual, although a good story, 01 Apr 2008
Some books are just made to be studied in the classroom, where pupils and teachers treat them as a giant puzzle to be solved. Brighton Rock is one of them. The first half of the book shows a good turn of plot but then the book dissolves into thematic development and precious little else. Thus we're created to countless personal morality and catholic references that batter the reader about the head. Theme and plot should work together, with one strengthening the other. What we get with this book is odious intellectualising that clutters up the page.

There are other issues for a contemporary audience. The pre-war Brighton is summarised very effectively, but it's a very alien world to 21st century people -- as alien to us as any world Shakespeare might have dreamed up. I also had trouble believing in Pinkie, the child gangster. Once described as terrifying and cruel, he seemed awfully tame. As they say, "he didn't work" for me and I wasn't able to conjure-up the necessary poetic license for him to do so. I see a traumatised and messed-up kid who needs counselling. I don't see an evil person. End of argument. No more tortuous thematic development needed, thanks. Maybe science killed the philosopher. I don't know.

Greene is a good writer. The characters are fleshy (literally, in the case of Ida), and Greene often has a superb turn of phrase. The plot, such as it is, is a good one. But it just feels that this book is trying too hard to get its point across (and that point feels rather contrived, to be honest). If themes of mortal sin and personal morality turn you on then there's a lot to be enjoyed here (bear in mind they turn me on normally, but failed to do so here).

If you enjoy trying to decipher a book's message then this book is for you. But if you just want a good read, and a good story, then give this book a miss. Greene's other books are far better in this regard.

Brighton Rock, 20 Jan 2008
Hi, erm i'm not going to give a huge review about its history and everything im just going to say what i thought of it.
Im 16, in college, my teacher recommened this book to me and i have to say it is absolutley fantastic. I loved it from start to finish and i had never experieced the saying 'I couldn't put it down' like i did with this book. It's so individual and i recommend it to both adults and young adults, as i think it has alot to say and you can learn alot from it.
Anyway the end result is I LOVED IT!!

An unhappy slog, 19 Jan 2008
I'm afraid I'm one of the minority who found this book highly put-downable. Only one character is at all likeable (Prewitt) and he only has a very small part to play. The rest are two-dimensional and in some cases (Ida, Rose) scarcely credible.

Very little actually happens. Most of the time the author explains once again what a nasty person Pinkie is. So dispiriting I had to read another novel concurrently just to keep going. In short, depressing, tawdry, melodramatic, even boring. I just didn't get it. Apologies to all Greene fans.

What is the Point?!, 06 Jan 2008
My problem with this novel is exactly what I've written in the title - what is the point? I don't get this story, I don't understand what Graham Greene's aim was when he sat down and decided to write the story of a 17 year old boy who committed a murder and now had to work hard to stop the police from finding out. Is this a novel with a moral message, because if so, what was it? That believing the best in people and loving freely is stupid because you'll end up like Rose, a pregnant widow with a message full of hate left as a reminder of her husband? It can't have been written as an entertaining, enjoyable read because - it just wasn't. The blurb sounds exciting, the story line sounds thrilling, yet when it comes to the actual story, it's dull, and there's no denying it. It's an awkward novel more than anything in which the reader doesn't seem to gain much by the end except a feeling of utter despair at the darkness of the human race - if the aim was to send the reader into a state of mild depression and thought's of `I never want to read that novel again' then Greene succeeded.

None of the characters were particularly likeable or interesting. I've heard people describe Pinkie's character as truly terrifying, but I didn't think so. Cruel, ambitious, clever, yes. Terrifying? Not really. The few characters that did come across as intriguing were killed off pretty quickly as Pinkie's initial murder led to more in order to cover up the tracks (Macbeth anyone?). If this sounds interesting, it wasn't really. The only time I felt involved with the novel was right near the end, where Pinkie is trying to encourage Rose to kill herself, destroying the last of the evidence. Greene's writing here was very powerful and atmospheric, the reader becomes absorbed in the chapter, racing through the pages, excited to see what happens. But then it feels like a bit of an anti-climax, a let down. Maybe this is the type of story that should have been told as a film, I don't know, but something was lacking.

I know it seems like I hate this book and refuse to acknowledge the greatness that is Graham Greene's writing, but that isn't the case. I wouldn't have read this book if my sole aim was to rip it apart, I don't have time in my life to waste reading books that I know I won`t enjoy. But this novel really disappointed me. I've heard so much about Greene and what a fantastic, exciting writer he was, but that must have all swept past me and all I was left with was the disbelief that anyone could make such an exciting plot into such a dull read. I think what was really lacking, apart from action, was more developed characters. As much as I would have liked to see a more humane side to Pinkie, and perhaps an internal battle between good and evil, I know it would have taken away from what Greene was trying to create in Pinkie. But then at least, other characters could have been developed, but instead they seemed to play fixed roles with fixed emotions and qualities that left the novel feeling a bit flat and lifeless. Ida Arnold had major potential as one of the main characters in the novel, yet was once more let down into playing a fixed role, and even her undying desire of avenging Halle comes across as rather fake and unbelievable.

I think it was W.H. Auden that said, `Some books are undeservedly forgotten. None are undeservedly remembered'. But in this case, I'd sadly say otherwise.

A gripping study of an utterly amoral character, 07 Nov 2007
A very good novel. The Boy is one of the most chilling characters in 20th century English literature, a terrifyingly amoral youngster. Rose, the leading female, is rather wet and difficult to sympathise with from a modern viewpoint because of her extreme naivety. There are some contemporary cultural references that are difficult to follow, but the plot is gripping enough and the ending quite shocking.

A Diary Like No Other, 26 Jan 2008
Some random observations on the book and reviews of it:

1. Not sure why some people criticise this for not being a proper novel. I don't see where Coetzee ever claimed this to be a novel. Although it's fiction, it's in the form of a diary (which the title makes clear) plus what the auther calls a "miscellany" (the essays grouped as "Strong Opinions" and "Second Diary"). So you're getting two brilliant literary creations for the price of one.

2. I never noticed how many "blank spaces" there were in the book. I was too busy enjoying the content of the non-blank spaces. Criticism that the project is "too short" imply that value for money in literature is quantitative rather than qualitative. Surely you jest. These criticisms bring to mind diners at a Michellen-starred restaurant complaining that the portions are smaller than at their local greasy spoon.

3. The most satisfying aspect of the book for me is Coetzee's incisive analysis of so many subjects in the essays. Just simple things like pointing out that fire is unique because the more it is fed, the more it consumes, insatiably, without end. "If water burned, too, the world would long ago have been consumed by fire" (I paraphrase).

4. The only disappointment in the book for me is when Coetzee/Senor C. turns to the subject of US foreign policy, he inevitably (and, sadly, predictably) works himself up into a Pinter-esque lather that spirals into hysterical absurdities (e.g., the suggestion that morally upright Americans might consider topping themselves due to the shame of Guantanamo prison conditions...steady on, JM...)

But, I also realise that Coetzee may be intentionally heightening the intensity of the opinions expressed, as they are supposed to be as strong as possible, based on the request of the publisher of the fictional miscellany. Also, Coetzee/Senor C. admonishes his typist/muse Anya that he is not necessarily revealing his true opinions in the essays.

5. The bottom line: this man is a brilliant thinker and author. The form of this book is totally unique and the challenge of how to read the various parallel sections is richly rewarded by the extraordinary insights within. Read it.

Encompasses much of the contemporary ache, 21 Sep 2007
Coetzee, as he approaches old age, and the dark backing of what lies beyond, seems to share with that other great contemporary of his, Philip Roth, an obsession with eros, and thanatos, and the metaphysical wistfulness and ache of the heart this creates - in other words, the longing of old men who can't shag attractive young women any more.

Roth is the jazzier of the two stylists, Coetzee the more philosophical, the more willing to stare deep into the hard essence of things, but both men these days are producing short, magnificent metafictions that encompass so much of the great poetic wisdom they have accumulated over their writing lives.

Diary of a Bad Year has echoes of Disgrace (which now looks like it will be Coetzee's last 'conventional' novel), in that an elderly writer develops an infatuation with a young, beautiful woman - this time, Anya, a half Phillipino woman acutely aware of her sexual magnetism and the power it holds over men. The writer, Juan Coetzee, who is a sort of fictional projection of the real JC, is commissioned to write a series of cultural and political essays for a German anthology entitled 'Strong Opinions' (clear Nabokovian echoes). The book is set out in a curious manner - divided horizontally by ruled lines in three sections. The top section contains the essays Coetzee writes - on a vast number of subjects: the state, democracy, terrorism, music, Tony Blair, the kiss, animal rights (but nothing, curiously, on global warming, probably the definining issue of the era - I would be interested to read Coetzee's views on the subject). The middle and bottom sections are the novel proper parts of the book - contrapuntal voices of Coetzee's telling of the story as he commissions Anya to become his typist for his manuscript, and her version of events as she becomes more involved in the life of this curious, melancholy, solitary old writer and the suspicious attentions of her boyfriend, Alan, an investment consultant whose world view and male jealousies are predictably at loggerheads with Coetzee.

How to read such a novel? Unclear. You can read the strong opinions first in each chapter, then turn your attention to the thin slivers of story; or you can do what I did - alternate between them, sometimes hunkering down to engage with the ficto-factual opinions of Coetzee, sometimes (more likely) spooling a way along the fictional rope and turning back to pick up the essays.

Some reviewers have criticized this book as offering thin fare, not a proper novel with meat to bite into, but I found the book, with its curious playfulness with form, built up a compelling picture of contemporary clashes in world view, politics, lifestyle, masculinity, and generational change that stiches an uneasy and formidably perceptive seam close to the surface of the anxieties of millions of people living in relative democratic security at this time.

Diary of a Bad Year - J.M. Coetzee, 06 Sep 2007
I'm a J.M. Coetzee fan -- one of the biggest, probably. But even I have to admit a tinge of frustration with his output since his last conventional novel, Disgrace, appeared in 1999. He's given us autobiography (Youth), philosophical stories (Elizabeth Costello), essays (Inner Workings) and a metaliterary oddball (Slow Man), but nothing resembling the towering oeuvre of fiction that made him one of the 20th Century's greatest novelists. So what, then, is his latest book, Diary of a Bad Year? None of the above -- again.

Each page is divided into three unequal parts. The top part is given over to essays, mainly political in character but increasingly personal as the novel progresses. In the middle part: a diary, by the fictionalised author of the essays, JC (an elderly man who bears no small resemblance to Coetzee). JC records how he recruits a secretary, Anya, to type his essays, while fending off the interference of her boyfriend, Alan. In the bottom part, Anya presents her diary: her side of the story. All three sections run continuously from one page to the next, leaving the reader with a tricky choice: does one read all the essays at once (then go back and read all the accompanying "diaries") or read all three parts in the chopped-up bitesize chunks in which they appear on the page?

It's a fascinating experiment. But be warned: in practice, the essay part occupies at least two thirds of the space, while the diaries amount to little more than short stories. And there is as much empty space in this book as there is fiction. I'm not exaggerating. In this 231pp volume there are 35 blank pages, and huge gaps between the three sections on each page. In real money this is a 150pp novella, containing two 25pp diaries. Thin fare.

The two diaries, though lightweight, are at least very good for what they are. Coetzee fictionalises himself as JC, a grumpy, lonely old man who stumbles his way through a series of awkward scenarios: the "diary" almost invites comparison to HBO staple Curb Your Enthusiasm. Funny, thoughtful and diverting, they are vital in holding the reader's attention (and I personally, therefore, recommend reading the diary entries as they appear -- intertwined with the essays).

Ultimately, the primary function of the diaries is to offer counterpoints to the essays. Diary of a Bad Year displays with excruciating comedy the impotence of the columnist: the stupid, meaningless everyday frustrations that underpin ostensibly political anger. Behind every ferocious argument (from Swift to yesterday's Guardian) lies a sorry JC-esque figure, venting spleen with no real reward to justify the exertion.

But how good are those political essays? So much of the book is given over to them that one assumes that, even while he masochistically portrays JC as a deluded loser, the real J. Coetzee still hopes (against hope) that they will persuade his reader. At times, they succeed. Some of the longer essays, ranging across South African politics, anarchism, mathematics and more, are feats of sustained brilliance. There's no word wastage, no rambling: it's all wonderfully readable. The political issues will be strangely familiar to lovers of Coetzee's postcolonial fiction, but, pleasingly, more writerly topics (notably Tolstoy and Dostoevsky) creep in among the tirades during the novel's second half.

In short, Diary of a Bad Year serves as a superb companion piece to Coetzee's fiction. The leftist postcolonial concerns that lie implicit in the novels of past decades are brought to the fore here, and Coetzee emerges as (in JC's words) the "pessimistic anarchistic quietist" you always suspected he was.

And yet many of the essays are just 200-300 word nuggets, rumps of columns that would never be published by a newspaper. So much of the book is given over to single-page chapters and half-baked ideas. On terrorism and Guantanamo Bay, for example, Coetzee could be quoting the Independent leader for all I know -- he has very little new to say.

Short, thought-provoking, intermittently brilliant and strangely captivating, Diary of a Bad Year is one of the most bizarre novels (if you can even call it a novel) I've ever read. But it's also a little irritating -- for its brevity and for its staccato rhythm, as Coetzee hops from one political bugbear to the next. At one point JC, commenting on Tolstoy, argues that, as authors age, their interest in plot and character wanes, to be replaced by an ability to address the "big questions" more clearly. He may be right, but I fear I'm just one of those naive young people who'd prefer a novel a bit less oblique than this, with a bit more of a story between its covers.

Barely fiction, 31 Aug 2007
Literary heavyweight J.M. Coetzee returns with... well I'm not exactly sure. Is it a fictionalised excuse for Coetzee to air his thoughts on the world we are living in? Is it a subtle critique of the idea that everyone should have `strong opinions'? Is it a biography of an aging man thinly veiled under the guise of fiction?
The plot revolves around a seventy year old writer (who happens to be Coetzee himself) who is asked to contribute to a book entitled `Strong Opinions'. He uses the opportunity to air his views on the world, writing essays on the nature of the state, Al Quaida, Tony Blair, and music. But he is losing muscle control in his arms and cannot type up his notes so he hires a beautiful young woman to act as his secretary come surreptitious muse. What ensues is typical old man fiction: slightly perverted, slightly pathetic. Familiar in a sense to the plots of both Disgrace and Slow Man but scaled down. It is a very short book.
Does that sound simple? I can assure you it anything but. Each page is separated into three separate sections: one the essays he is writing; one with his voice on what is happening; and one in the voice of his graceful young Philippino secretary. I am not sure if you are meant to read it page by page, or as three separate stories one after the other.
Overall it is billed as "a thoroughly contemporary novel" and in a way it is. It is post-modern in structure and airs views on the complex world we are living in. The essays are interesting, at times controversial and deeply philosophical. At one point he laments that no one reads political discourses anymore and you get the impression that this is really what he is trying to accomplish - but in a format that will reach a wider audience. If so that is a shame.
I enjoyed reading this but I fear it is a novel that will not live long in my mind. There are some really interesting topics discussed and as a work of non fiction it is intensely interesting, but as a novel, either I missed something, or it doesn't really quite work.


Universal allegory, 22 Sep 2008
The setting for this outstanding book remains without reference to a specific time and place, with only the knowledge of a distant city and the surrounding desert, and items such as sunglasses, stagecoaches and ancient muskets to steer us one way or another. The result is that the story becomes beautifully universal. I read in other reviews that people related it to (apart from the obvious South Africa) the current situation in Iraq, and it is hard to deny that the picture fits. The fact is that this story has been acted out the world over so many times during history that on reading you get a horrible feeling of familiarity. There is no doubt where the idea has its roots, but refraining from making the story specific to South Africa, Coetzee made it much easier for the reader to feel the universality. I think that is what makes this a very special book. Overall, apart from the obvious theme of oppression, the main aspect of the book that struck me was the theme of the 'other'. By the end we are left with no attack from the barbarians (which has been promised all along by the Empire), and the only other encounters have been peaceful on the barbarians behalf. In fact the only meetings with them are initiated by the Empire which, on most occasions, end in aggression from the Empire. So when the magistrate gazes into the blind eyes of the barbarian girl he befriends, he is not met with reciprocality, but only with his own reflection. I feel that is the most important point. The relationship the Empire, and especially the town, has with the barbarians has nothing to do with anyone but the Empire and the town. When the magistrate searches the girl's eyes, he is really searching his soul and the soul of the town. The barbarians are nothing but the unknown and any opinions of them stem from the towns uneducated fears. These fears are a very useful tool for the Empire. I find it very fitting that a tribute to Edward W. Said has the same title.

All tyrannies thrive on a diet of rumour, propaganda and lies, and eventually lose touch with reality and fall, 25 Feb 2008
J M Coetzee's 1980 allegorical gem is heavily influenced by Dino Buzzati's Tartar Steppe, perhaps the most existentially melancholic novel of the twentieth century. Both are set in remote outposts in vast empty wildernesses where man and his constructions are literally just dots on the horizon. In each book there is an enemy, undefined except by rumour and by name: the northerners in Buzzati, the barbarians in Coetzee (though he does once refer to them as northerners, thus signifying his debt to Buzzati). However