Disgrace (1999)

This is all very quixotic, Professor Lurie, but can you afford it?We've started going over the terms of tragedy in one of my classes, working through the definition before setting off on our reading of Othello. One of these delineations uttered by my professor went along the lines of the difference between 'unfortunate accident' and 'tragedy', the death of the main character's lover and said main character's succumbing to a fatal flaw, respectively. I say, if that is indeed the linguistic case, one must put more effort into identifying when a tragedy is not ineptly fueled by too many flippantly composed unfortunate accidents. Women in Refrigerators Syndrome, a particularly rampant example of the old adages of esteemed literature working themselves out in unacceptably lazy fashions.

As much as I love literature, I know better than to look to the pasts calcified in both deed and color for a lifelong methodology. The past is a different country, and this disgraced David Lurie is a dinosaur of the worst sensibilities. Despicable, and yet quiet, riding the degraded rails of an older world in a passable sort of grace so long as his mum's the word, exemplifying one of my main tenets for the freedom of speech: there is no change without communication. Communication isn't moral or immoral. Humanity is, and will not learn the difference between the two if interchange is in any way restricted.

Lurie is restricted. The use of the phrase 'political correctness' in the summary, right there at the forefront of what countless use to determine whether they will read this book or not, says that plainly. If that doesn't prove it, his later actions confirm without a doubt. Hypocrisy, double standard, bigotry. The same old words, the same old story, the only difference being in how Coetzee handles this fallen hero of his, this old geezer who spends people as easily as money, especially women. For there is no sympathy here for any of that, and woe to any fed full on the public bursting of that usual single souled rot who have come here expecting more of the same. If you find yourself in concurrence with this David Lurie, well. You said it, not me.

In that manner, Disgrace fails to be a tragedy. The main character is dislikeable on an instinctive level, enough that his supposed fall from grace appears as obviously very much his fault and his alone. Appears, as it is true by technicality that he is "overcome by a combination of social and psychological circumstances". Appears, as this is my personal reception of this piece, and if you've been reading me long enough you know where my biases lie, and how I feel the need to express them. So, perhaps not so much a failure of a tragedy after all, but one that snips away at the base of ancient definition and shreds the decrepit ways of black and white to pieces. For there is black and white here as well, but in a sense that is constantly straining to escape the usual context, never offering the same meaning twice to both reads and rereads. A favorite facet of mine.

Much as the idea of ending the review with only Lurie having been discussed to any extent annoys me, I don't have much to say in terms of the other characters. Then again, I usually don't have much to say about characters in general, so it is most likely an inevitable side effect of the single standpoint of narration. Be sure, though, that the refrigerated women will have their say.

Also, the tragedy. All that hamminess in the limelight that never extended the fault outside of the characters and into the author. Despite the cloying ease with which the text spools out, it remains clear at every instant that Coetzee is not writing himself out in some pleading exercise of explanation. A breath of fresh air, in a convoluted, reflexive sense of the phrase.

Redemption, you ask? Mm. Depends on your predilection for happy endings, as well the structure of the story itself. If you wish to redeem any of them, you would needs deliver Lurie first and foremost. It's only fitting in the linguistic sense of this tale. Whether 'tis fair or just or correct is another matter entirely. ( )

Written well enough, but what an awful, awful story. ( )

The father never saw the connection between what he did and what happened to his daughter. This book is set in Africa but felt like it could by anywhere. There was no transportation into another culture or world. ( )

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Throughout its entirety there is always a measure of wrestling, and therefore impossibly hard to pin down in the order of boxing this novel Disgrace into a neat and manageable package. I am afraid the book insists on speaking for itself. But I shall hazard a guess that many who have not read it yet have not for the same reasons I did. If someone earlier had told me in a review or in conversation that Disgrace would surprise me with a continuous or repeating sucker punch, and consistently knock me out, I may have taken a look before now. But all I knew about the book before was it having something or other to do with an aging twice-divorced professor engaging in an illicit affair with a student more than thirty years his junior, and I have already read all about that stuff enough to last the rest of my lifetime. To discount the book in this manner is not only wrong it is stupid.

The language Coetzee uses in this novel is simple and direct. The story is straight-forward and runs at a smooth and quickened pace though never seeming rushed. What does occur almost spontaneously in the relaxed reading is a series of constant surprises in the plot, plot being something that interests me on occasion but never a necessary requirement to my reading. But I never could get comfortable for very long as it constantly thickened, evolved, or disintegrated. Of course, Coetzee would eventually return responsibly to the text until he had made a complete circle that did nothing on the order of making your head spin but instead cautioned one to engage in even deeper thought.

There was no whining social agenda in the book, nothing pathetically irritating and predictable, but relevant societal issues were always at the forefront. Throughout the novel some form of adultery, lewd sexual behavior, marriage, rape, relationship, abortion, homosexuality, racism, bigotry, intolerance, larceny, parenting, and love was always present but never made the issue or the main reason for the text. In other words, the reader was left to consider everything individually as they occurred and decide on which side to stand on or to ignore, but with haste as the turns came quick and cutting. It wasn't until the very end of the novel that I realized the extent of Coetzee's simple message and the rewarding pleasure I received in discovering it.

I have a tendency to take my time while reading anything, and typically enjoy a stack of six to eight books I read concurrently. However, this novel possessed me to such a degree I finished it quickly as it took precedence over all my other required readings of the day. I could not recommend a novel more to anyone desiring a sophisticated read with a good story that provides the reader with a great deal to think about regarding ones own life and how to proceed in the living of it. ( )

I was surprised and stunned to read a late twentieth century novel about an older man's sexual misadventures, and the crushing of them by a foolish society for the first time, but once I reached the eight gazillionth novel involving this 'plot' it got kind of tired. Thankfully there's something else going on in Disgrace; Lurie isn't so much guilty of having a sex drive as he is of being on the wrong end of history's stick. It's not that he gets what he deserves by being beaten up, set on fire, and having his daughter raped. It's just an it is what it is situation, for which he tries to atone by caring for dogs. If that sounds fatuous, it's much better in the book. His daughter atones in other ways.

Readers may be shocked to learn that poor people are resentful of the rich people who've been bitch-slapping them for a generation; that the rich people don't just lie down and take it; and so on. Who would've thought? Good on JMC for making it clear.

(slight digression on Coetzee's naming his characters. They're all ridiculous, like 19th century novels, but without the satirical intent as far as I can see. 'Costello,' for those who don't know Australian politics, is the beloved/reviled ex-treasurer. In Slow Man, 'Hansen' runs over the old man. Pauline Hansen is the straight out reviled far-right nutbag of our country, like Sarah Palin but far, far less intelligent. Academics get named 'Marx', for instance. Here, a 'disciple' of Wordsworth has called his daughter Lucy; someone thinks Lucy's girlfriend, who abandons Lucy, is called 'Grace.' Honestly? Honestly?)

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