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I didn't review this one at the time but it's certainly stuck with me since. Having recently tackled a lot of McCarthy I've found myself coming back to Coetzee's desolate veld as a comparison to McCarthy's bleak landscapes. In another life I'd love to do a thesis on the textual violence in these two authors' environments. Coetzee presents such a sparse style here, really all interiority as far as narrative, giving the environment, by contrast, more ominous weight. Of course brutality has often been explored in terms of externalities - the elements, raw landscapes, forces of nature - so it's quite a feat to give so much space to an interior monologue, especially through the muddied voice of fantasy, in exploring malice and cruelty. It's not always clear where our narrator is in her own narrative, whether we are being asked to understand something that really happened or whether we are abetting a deceit. And of course the whole thing is fiction so does it matter anyway? Coetzee's great skill here and in much of his work is that he goes beyond the unreliable narrator and makes the text itself problematic (something he gets into more deeply in Foe). Definitely one of his strongest works, but also one of the most enjoyable to read.