So this was the first book I was assigned for my ecology module and boy oh boy is it hard. Having read “Disgrace” by Coetzee, I was expecting a more distinct narrative with characters, issues and Coetzee’s classic controversial twists.

However, I was met with something different. Not that that’s a bad thing. The main body of the text follows Elizabeth Costello’s lecture while also maintaining a steady flow with her son, John, who is a professor of Physics.

It makes for some really interesting reading, I must say. There isn’t a massive dynamic placed between John and Elizabeth and there is little to no plot, but following these two lectures is genuinely amazing.

The first lecture, “The philosophers and the animals” almost takes a revolutionary stance on our position towards our fellow creatures, opting constantly to ask her audience to trust their heart more than their head. However, as mentioned before with Coetzee’s controversy, I found myself disagreeing with some (in my opinion) distasteful comparisons between the holocaust and the meat industry (feel free to disagree).

The second lecture, “The poets and the animals”, Costello discusses how anthropomorphism is a constant staple of environmental literature, focusing on human engagement with the animal rather than an analysis of the creature itself.

Honestly, this book was super super interesting. I unfortunately didn’t have time to read the 3 essays that followed the narrative (but I will be exploring these no doubt).

I do stand by that this is a 3 star book however. 3 stars isn’t bad! I like to imagine that that is the bench mark for an enjoyable read and that’s exactly what this is. There remained times where I lost my engagement slightly or even found myself disagreeing with Coetzee’s views on animals, but I still stand by this is a really interesting take on ecological philosophy. I can happily recommend if environmental literature is your thing, but for me, this isn’t particularly my cup of tea. Different strokes I suppose. Remains a very well crafted text and super informative.

My favorite contribution to this brief volume was Barbara Smuts' at the very end on relating to nonhuman subjects like Kenyan baboons or her dog Safi and "the possibility of voluntary, mutual surrender to the dictates of intersubjectivity". It gets at the heart of the concerns of Coetzee's fictional lecturer Elizabeth Costello better than she does herself, though maybe that is part of Coetzee's point: this sort of thing is tricky to impart, and reliance on refined literary theory or rare and exceptional encounters with animals (whether in the wild through research, or with "unusually sensitive" individuals) is not something every animal rights defender can successfully appeal to. Yet a lot has changed since this book was published and the lectures it contains were first delivered, and with the rise of social media and advancing research on consciousness (both within and outside of the human-nonhuman binary), we are more inundated with real-world stories and scientific reflections about the way nonhuman beings inhabit the world and relate to others. (This is to say nothing, by the way, of advances in nutritional science.)

In view of those changes and "what we know now", parts of this book feel a bit less than fulfilling. Some of Costello's fictional detractors are allowed to get away with really facile stuff, as when Thomas O'Hearne contends: "It is only among certain very imaginative human beings that one encounters a horror of dying so acute that they then project it onto other beings, including animals" -- as if thereby to lump all motives for objection to wrongful treatment of animals into one heap of psychical immaturity and be done with them. You could almost hope this were disingenuous. I think every character has moments and arguments like this, though, "both too vehement and too wishy-washy" (Marjorie Garber's observation of Costello's academic interlocutors), both saying and not saying very much, and that is part of what makes Coetzee's two lectures work on the level of fiction and their range of perspectives work as probing discourse too. I just found myself often craving the wholeness that Costello yearns for and Smuts distills in her response.

This is one of those eternally meta books, with references to the authors real life experiences (at the level of Inception), no clear interpretation, and imperfect people representing imperfect relationships, fields of study, and humanity as a whole.

Actual rating: 3,5

This is an odd, good book.

J. M. Coetzee was invited to give the Tanner Lectures at Princeton in 1997-98. Instead of giving actual lectures, he invented a fiction, a character named Elizabeth Costello who was invited to give lectures at fictional Appleton College. So his lectures are the story of her lectures.

And Elizabeth Costello throws her own curveball. Invited as a distinguished novelist, she doesn’t give a talk about writing or about literature, but one on animals and our relationships, how we understand or fail to understand them, how we treat them, how we ought to treat them, who or what they are to us and us to them.

The devices give Coetzee a chance to break himself into separate pieces, characters in a dialogue centered on Costello, each, in my reading anyway, voicing different perspectives that Coetzee finds himself moving among, never resolving the questions that come up in and after Costello’s lectures.

Two quandaries compel Costello’s lectures. And they do compel her lectures — she seems at a loss to know how to go forward in her thinking and in her life. She’s aging, and her mind is vulnerable. And she’s taking it for all it is.

One quandary is the direct one — how do we and should we treat animals? We are full of conflicts if not contradictions. We institutionally torture them, slaughter them for food, make rituals of preparing their corpses to be eaten, we employ them as willing or unwilling servants, we place them in exhibits for spectators, we study them (with more institutionalized torture), . . . And we make pets of them, we adore young born calves, we venerate them in books and movies, we can’t stand the sight (or smell) of that institutionalized torture, we idolize them at times even in ritual sacrifice , . . . We don’t know what to do with (or think about) them.

The question is a quandary because we can’t know, and apparently we can’t decide, the moral status of animals. They feel pain. Do they have conscious lives anything like our own? Which animals are we even talking about? Horses? Dogs? Cattle? Chickens? Do we have any way of knowing what the lives of animals are like?

And how do we get away with lumping them all together under the single category of “animals”? Everything from lions, chimpanzees, and pigeons, to mosquitoes and tardigrades. The act of separating us from all of them at once echoes our belief that we alone are created in the “image of God”.

Those questions about who exactly animals (and we) are lead to the second quandary, which is actually the combined title topics of Costello’s lectures — philosophers, animals, and poets. Philosophers are thinkers, reasoners above all. Poets create experiences, provoking feeling as much as knowing..

At Appleton College, like Princeton, the philosophers have center stage (okay, not philosophers per se, but intellectuals of the ultra-rational kind). Costello’s son, John, is an astrophysicist at Appleton, and his wife, Norma, a philosopher without an appointment of her own.

In speaking of poets, Elizabeth is calling on something lived and produced by living and experiencing, not by thought itself, something that may be covered over with the dead leaves of thought. The conversations and frustrations among Elizabeth, John, and Norma touch both sides, the intellectual side and the relationships they live out.

Is knowledge exclusively the product of reasoning and thought, like what John and Norma produce professionally? Or is it also, or if not exclusively maybe predominantly and at its foundations, a matter of direct experience? Not just sense experience of the empiricist kind, but also something like “lived experience” — the knowledge embedded in muscles, felt emotions, and seemingly automatic actions and responses. Philosophers or poets?

Costello’s lecture is not an answer to the question, but it is a plea to find the poets in ourselves, to not shut them down, especially with regard to the question of animals and who they are in our lives.

Her way of speaking, her manner, and the course of her lectures all embody the quandaries she raises. She rambles, she seems to find herself at a loss for words, or reasons, at points.

At a very particular point, (page 33 in my text) Elizabeth stops speaking philosophically and starts speaking poetically, a point at which she rejects Descartes’ separation of body and soul, with more than intellectual objections — she expresses a kind of alienation, not quite the disgust she experiences at even the thought of eating an animal, but getting there. In her own words, she enthusiastically proposes “fullness, embodiedness, the sensation of being” as opposed to a consciousness that stands back from it all and observes it.

“Sympathy” is the attitude, or maybe the comportment, she is recommending with respect to animals and other humans — placing ourselves in their place via our imaginations, feeling what they feel. Rather than thinking about what they must feel, feeling it ourselves.

Her lectures are followed by discussions among the eminent thinkers of Appleton, predominantly thinkers of the “philosopher” type, like John and Norma, but taking different angles — religious, biological, . . . All, to my reading again, are Coetzee, poking at the question from his own perspectives, settling on none of them but airing out all of them.

Appleton’s president, Garrard, sums up Elizabeth’s lecture and the discussion at dinner — “Much food for thought.” Coetzee’s little joke, I’m sure.

We get no resolution from the lectures and discussion. At least I don’t.

The text of Coetzee’s lecture/story/novel is followed by responses from invited speakers. These are “real” people, not conjured by Coetzee, but invited to comment on Coetzee’s Tanner Lectures. But they mirror the eminent thinkers of Appleton, gathered around the fictional lecturer. Some of them, especially Peter Singer the philosopher specializing in ethics and animal rights, are at a loss as to how to go about responding to lectures that aren’t lectures but fictions of other lectures (this whole thing is getting good).

One commentator, Marjorie Garber (a professor of English at Harvard), says that the comparison in Costello’s lecture between philosopher and poet “goes not to the advantage of the poet.” But my own reaction was on the side of the poet — cutting through the abstractions and the arguments to the heart of the matter, that direct, plain, feeling-infused experience of animals — the wonders, loves, horrors, . . . all of it, out of which some speaks to Costello’s disgust with how we treat animals. It also speaks to the fear of falling prey to the over-intellectualized life (which I may be practicing right now).

Different proposals for how to distinguish animal from human lives bubble up. Animals don’t think about or plan their futures. Or do they? How do we know? And in any case, is that sufficient to justify killing them (even painlessly) and eating them??

But unexamined, unassisted feelings and experiences are poor judges of morality — we can’t toss reflection and critical thinking out the window. That would open a lot of doors to ugly bias and prejudice (e.g., racism, homophobia, misogyny, . . . ).

The commentator that may have spoken most strongly to me was Barbara Smuts, a primatologist who has done field work with baboons, living with them, not just studying them. Correspondingly she emphasizes learning about animals by spending time with them and sharing a mutual world with them, as equals, not by just observing them.

Smuts is urging us to cross the line that Jane Goodall crossed when she gave names rather than numbers to the chimps she was studying, incurring the wrath of established research practice. It was more than a matter of giving the chimps names, it was methodological heresy. Goodall was learning about the chimps through intersubjectivity, not the objectivity that science prides itself on. And in doing that, she was bringing the two of us, humans and chimps, closer.

Many of us have some familiarity with what Smuts is talking about. We live with our pets -- I live with my dog. And in doing so, we break down the separation between us. I may be guilty of idealizing (or poetizing) a bit, but I don’t share my world with my dog, and he doesn’t share his with me. We live in a mutual world of our own making — an “intersubjective” world. A different way of “knowing.”

Once we cross that line, “animals” look very different to us.

4.25/5stars

this has SO much packed into it about animal rights and vegetarianism - literary theory, philosophical theory, etc. I love how Coetzee presents info but also tells a story in his works.

L’ultimo intervento è veramente commovente, a tratti.
Primo libro che leggo di Coetzee, non sarà l’ultimo. Mi ha incuriosito e mi ha spinto a prendere altro di suo. Tra un po’ leggerò, infatti, Nel cuore del paese. Vediamo come se la cava con un romanzo vero e proprio.

Dierenleven

De hoofdpersoon in ‘Dierenleven’ is de Australische romanschrijfster Elizabeth Costello, die op de universiteit van Appleton een lezing en een gastcollege komt geven over een door haar gekozen thema. Ze kiest voor de wijze waarop wij de rationele mens eenzijdig verheerlijken en het niet-rationele dier verachten. Dit leidt er haars inziens toe dat we het dier slecht behandelen. Scherp is haar vergelijking tussen de dood van joden in de concentratiekampen en de uitbuiting van dieren in de bioindustrie. Maar hoewel haar vergelijking totaal misplaatst is, is haar doel enkel om erop te wijzen, dat wij in beide situaties de toeschouwer zijn die niet ingrijpt. Ze wil ons bewustzijn verhogen voor het leed dat dieren wordt aangedaan.
Op Appleton geeft haar zoon John les als docent natuur- en sterrenkunde en hij schaamt zich voor zijn moeder, die als activiste steeds weer de weinig vruchtbare confrontatie zoekt. Haar schoondochter Norma bekritiseert als eminente filosofe openlijk de lacunes in het denken van haar schoonmoeder. Ook het publiek geeft tegengas. Het zwakke betoog van Elizabeth roept een zekere sympathie op bij de lezer. Aangezien er geen alomvattend antwoord komt, nodigt dit ons wel uit om zelf onze positie te bepalen over de slechte verhouding tussen mens en dier en uiteindelijk ook tussen mens en mens.

Adoro la facilidad con la que crea un buen texto; incluso con su personaje menos atractivo.

Stranissimo racconto - saggio: oggetto del racconto, svolto da interposta persona - il figlio di Elizabeth Costello - sono due conferenze tenute dalla scrittrice fittizia sul tema del nostro rapporto con gli animali e sul concetto di empatia e di capacità di immedesimarsi con l'altro (in questo caso il mondo animale).
Scrittura densa e pregnante con riferimenti letterari e filosofici che - per la concisione della forma scelta - rendono la lettura impegnativa e qualche volta anche frustrante. In chiusura quattro interventi (di studiosi veri) sull'argomento, che scompigliano ulteriormente qualsiasi visuale univoca su quest'opera tanto breve quanto complessa.
Al centro il concetto di "empatia", aspetto che paradossalmente riscontro particolarmente assente nella scrittura di Coetzee, sempre algido, elusivo a volte quasi anaffettivo. Che è anche l'aspetto per cui lo ammiro, ma che mi rende difficile entusiasmarmi.
Leggendo questo libro mi è sorta spontanea l'associazione con due letture recenti:
Il sussurro del mondo di Powers, tentativo (secondo me fallito) di raccontare il punto di vista delle piante ed Anima di Wajidi Mouawad, esperimento (spericolato e secondo me invece riuscitissimo) di far raccontare una storia (dis)umana proprio dagli animali in prima persona.

Herlezen omdat ik een essay moest schrijven over dierethiek. Nog steeds heel erg onder de indruk van de gigantische hoeveelheid literaire en filosofische intertekst die Coetzee hierin heeft weten te proppen, en de speelsheid waarmee hij de zware vraagstukken weet te behandelen (waaronder de uiterst controversiële ‘kan je de bio-industrie met de Holocaust te vergelijken?’). Maar misschien wel het grootste nieuwe inzicht is dat ik eindelijk begrijp welk genre de tekst heeft. Drie jaar geleden kon ik absoluut niet plaatsen of het nou een toespraak was (want voorgelezen op een Amerikaanse universiteit), of een novelle (want verteld vanuit fictionele personages), of gewoon een academisch artikel (want voetnoten en hoop genamedrop). Nu realiseerde ik me opeens tijdens het lezen dat dit gewoon een dialoog is! Dat klassieke tekstgenre dat ik het afgelopen jaar tot vervelens toe heb moeten analyseren voor mijn studie! En het beste is dat de keuze voor juist dit genre echt helemaal perfect werkt: door de constante afwisseling van stemmen kan je nergens helemaal bepalen welk standpunt Coetzee zelf aanhangt. Veel meer dan naar een definitief antwoord lijkt hij op zoek te zijn naar zelfreflectie, zowel voor de lezer als de maatschappij als geheel.

Questo libro mi ha irritata non poco. Irritanti i personaggi ha alternato sprazzi di saggezza a filosofeggiamenti pesanti ed inconcludenti. Senza contare la furbata di Coetzee che, narrando la conferenza non in prima persona ma attraverso un personaggio di fantasia, si è in qualche modo distaccato dal discorso prendendo posizione solo marginalmente. Come sostiene uno dei uno dei docenti in una riflessione a fine libro "La trovata narrativa di Coetzee gli permette di tenersi a distanza. E c'è questo personaggio, Norma, la nuora, che fa tutte le obiezioni ovvie a quello che dice la suocera. E' davvero una splendida trovata. Elizabeth Costello può criticare tranquillamente l'uso della ragione, o la necessità di avere chiari principi e divieti, senza che Coetzee si comprometta con le sue affermazioni. Magari in realtà lui condivide i dubbi molto legittimi di Norma in proposito." E' triste dirlo ma la parte che ho trovato più interessante non ha niente a che fare con Coetzee, è il racconto fatto da Barbara Smuts nella sua riflessione a fine libro. Barbara è una ricercatrice scientifica che ha trascorso anni vivendo fra gli altipiani del Kenia e le colline della Tanzania in un branco di babbuini per studiarne il comportamento e per farlo è diventata una di loro. Ecco, queste poche pagine da sole valgono l'intero libro.