A characteristically dark Coetzee work, it is a sort of historical fiction that takes Dostoevsky as its central character (though the narrative unfolds such that we don't find that out until the fifth chapter). His son has died somewhat mysteriously in his early 20s (this did not actually happen to Dostoevsky but did to Coetzee) and his landlady says the police confiscated some of his papers.
His son appears to have been entangled with a violent nihilist group (the one referenced in the book was real) and after quite a convoluted plot, things do not end well.

4 for the quality of writing, 3 for my enjoyment level. This brought back memories of reading Crime and Punishment many years ago, in its excellent capture of Dostoevsky’s style. The inner dialogues and claustrophobic atmosphere were pretty overwhelming, and propelled me toward a desire to be finished and somewhere else.

Fascinating read. His syntax reveals a clarity and credibility so elevated in its integrity that one lives the POV of the narrator in this case the existential, genius novelist Dostoevsky. It is a daunting bit of narrative ambition, bordering on hubris, to assume the POV of Dostoevsky and yet Coetzee is compelling, skilled and possibly even on the brink of masterful in this rendition. He writes a great deal about the relationship between fathers and sons -- very Turgenev. What does it mean to suffer as a Russian writer ("History is made in the streets." | "I was sent to live a Russian life.") In this point-of-view of the Russian writer, Coetzee purposely ends his sentences dozens of times with prepositions and neglects the comma after an initial dependent clause. A Nobel Prize winner may do as he will and be forgiven. Not sure whether Fyodor Mikhailovich, the eponymous Master of Petersburg, would forgive Coetzee these grammatical lapses in his persona. Perhaps, they are not deemed lapses in South Africa and Australia where he writes. Coetzee dives deeply and boldly into Dostoevsky's battle with epilepsy by deeming his seizures of "the falling sickness" as "possessions," which color and shade his body of work over a lifetime. Intriguing quotes on his relationship with God and gambling: "He said to God: if you love me, save me... I will wager my life that you will save me... And he threw down his wager. And God did not appear. God did not intervene... Perhaps God does not hear very well. Perhaps he is hard of hearing and weak of vision too, like any old man." In a moment of self reflection he says: "I am I... manacled to myself till the day I die... What am I to do? he thinks. If I were only in touch with my heart, might it be given to me to know?... He is waiting for a sign, and he is betting... that the dog is not the sign, is not a sign at all, is just a dog among many dogs howling in the night." All good stuff. The character portrait work is deep, idiosyncratic and realistic. The story arc moves along briskly in its development but, as I have said of this author in a review of "Disgrace," he seems to vault heedlessly over the top in his plot point concerning the protagonist's relationship with Matryona, the seductive landlord's young daughter. I really don't see the point of this sacrilege assigned to the immortal and epic suffering of Dostoevsky -- a sacred figure in the Pantheon of true literary geniuses. If he actually did commit such a moral lapse, I fail to see its symbolic contribution, a la his fathers and sons theme, to this otherwise great novel. To me it steals from the integrity of the author and the protagonist in whose name he has written as it has the effect to diminish the verisimilitude and grandeur of an already sufficiently cruel, Godless and Russian naturalism. Bottom line: master craftsmanship by Coetzee in the strength of character development, story arc and memorably written narrative. But like "Disgrace" I end the reading in feeling manipulated and disappointed by a sense of hopelessness, which so infuses the bleak worldview of Coetzee.

Coetzee is in fine form with this lacerating, lyrical, perverse descent into grief and art.

Neprisijaukinau. Esu jau skaitęs kelias Coetzee knygas ir žinau, kad ne visos jos skaitosi lengvai. Bet kitos anksčiau ar vėliau prilipdavo. O šita niekaip.
Lyg ir aplinka įdomi, lyg ir Dostojevskis, kaip veikėjas, domina. Bet tematika visiškai nepatraukė niekuo. Jausminė pusė irgi nepalietė. Tikėjausi iki galo, kad kažkuriuo metu įvyks proveržis, bet ne šį kartą.

Cheguei a "O Mestre de Petersburgo" (1994) quando procurava livros sobre São Petersburgo, tendo-me surpreendendo imenso com a descoberta, pois um livro sobre um dos maiores expoentes da literatura escrito por outro grande escritor, entretanto nobilizado, só poderia ser uma grande obra. Não posso dizer que tenha ido além do que conhecia de ambos, mas também não desiludiu propriamente. Senti mais Dostoiévski, apesar de escrito por Coetzee em jeito expiatório, mas isso provavelmente deve-se mais ao facto de conhecer melhor a obra de Dostoiévski.

O texto fala-nos de um Dostoiévski que volta a São Petersburgo, estando a viver em Dresden, para dar conta do funeral do seu enteado, Pavel (enteado verdadeiro). A morte do enteado acaba por estar ligada (imaginado por Coetzee) a alguns personagens revolucionários reais (Sergey Nechayev), conhecidos da história da Rússia e dos livros de Dostoiévski (principalmente "Demónios"). Passamos assim algumas semanas na companhia do escritor enquanto este deambula pela cidade na tentativa de compreender o que terá acontecido ao seu enteado ao mesmo tempo que vai lidando com os seus demónios internos.

Este resumo da trama torna-se imensamente relevante já que ele responde à resposta porque Coetzee (1940) escreveu este livro. O seu filho Nicholas, morreu com 23 anos (1989), aproximadamente a idade do enteado (no livro) de Dostoiévski, 5 anos antes da publicação deste livro. Ou seja, temos Coetzee claramente à procura de respostas dentro de si mesmo, a escrutinar-se, a tentar compreender o que sente, porque sente, como responder a tão grave tragédia, aquela porque nenhum pai deveria passar. Por outro lado, Dostoiévski (1821-1881) não perdeu o enteado, mas perdeu dois filhos, Sonya à nascença (1868), e Alexey com 3 anos (1878) que muito o fez sofrer e o fez mesmo passar algum tempo num convento em busca de respostas. Mais razões pelas quais Coetzee se interessaria por Dostoiévki não são fáceis de descortinar, até porque Coetzee raramente fala, e menos ainda explica as suas obras, mas existe uma nota de uma entrevista que é central para compreender este livro:

“Toda autobiografia é um contar de histórias, toda a escrita é autobiografia. [A escrita autobiográfica é] um tipo de auto-escrita em que nos sentimos obrigados a respeitar os factos da nossa história. Mas quais factos? Todos os factos? Não ... Escolhemos os factos na medida em que eles se encaixam no nosso propósito evolutivo.” (Coetzee, 1992)

Por outro lado, a razão porque Coetzee escolhe para pano de fundo o cerne da obra "Demónios" é bastante menos clara, e menos ainda a razão porque se foca no capítulo censurado da obra, que podemos ler na edição portuguesa, da Editorial Presença, ainda que como anexo. Para mim resulta claro que Coetzee está a tentar entrar na mente do maior psicólogo da literatura em busca de algum tipo de autoterapia, mas pergunto: porquê de forma desviante? Existirá uma sede de mal quando o mal nos bate a porta?


Publicado com links no VI: https://virtual-illusion.blogspot.com...

This book, it seems to me, is more about Coetzee than Dostoyevsky. As a psychological study of Dostoyesky, I was very disappointed. But luckily I did not approach it with those expectations -- I approached it like I approach every Coetzee book: here is one miserable son of a bitch who can sometimes tell good stories but oftentimes gets caught up in ideas or psycho-sexual theorizing. He is, it seems to me, the grandson (literarily speaking) of Dostoyevskian style -- an inner psychologically tormented depth of searching, in a non-rational (not to say irrational) way. You might even call it mystical, although that word would not be the first I would use to describe Coetzee. There is certainly a taste here, if only a taste, of 19th century Russia, and some of the characters are characters that I begin caring about. There is also the deep turmoil that I´m sure Dostoyevsky experienced--hence, I give it 4 stars. But spiritually, Coetzee misses the heart and soul of Dostoyevsky´s power, like many contemporary readers might as well.

https://wordpress.com/post/shuhanrizw...

Alacaklılarından kaçtığı için Dresden'de yaşayan Dostoyevski 'ye bir telgrafla üvey oğlu Pavel'in ölüm haberi gelir. Dostoyevski bunun üzerine sahte bir pasaportla, gizlice Petersburg'a gider, Pavel'in kiracı olarak kaldığı odaya yerleşir. Oğlunun aslında intihar etmediğini, polis tarafından öldürüldüğünü öğrenir. Baba oğul çatışması, pişmanlıklar, bir daha gelemeyecek olana duyulan özlem... okurken insanı bir ruh halinden diğerine sürüklüyor. Kimi zaman babaya acıyıp üzülüyor, kimi zaman da kızıyor insan. Gerçekten ölen oğlu için mi yoksa kendisi için mi yas tutuyor bu baba?J.M.Coetze'nin okuduğum ilk kitabı . Kişilik tahlilleri çok güzel ve başarılı. İyi bir yazar.

I loved reading this book. It is not only about Dostoevsky, but is also written in Dostoevsky's style. It's dark and fast. It's about death, punishment and inner battle.



The character Dostoevsky has some of the attributes of his own characters Svidrigailov, Stavroghin, Raskolnikov, with the distinction of a man fighting with his age and not having his nobility and superiority of the "master" as we expected. He looses his strength and ability to see things clearly and the only way to show his virility is the erotic one.



The most strange character is by far Matryosha, Anna's daughter, a mixture between vulnerability and maturity. She is caught in the game of jealousy and revenge. And it seems she had a bizarre relationship with Pavel.



The relationship father-son is very strange and strong described. The father ends up in the same situation of his stepson. He is also a weak man which is manipulated by the same Sergey Nechayev, without even knowing. Also, between Feodor and Pavel appears this writing rivalry. The dead son leaves behind some manuscripts which are rated as compromising by the police, this also happened in real life with Dostoevsky. (although you can not compare the quality)



I appreciate Coetzee's research and it made me believe that this story really happened in Dostoevsky's life.



It's my first Coetzee novel, can't hardly wait to read more of his work.

There’s not really a lot of room for silliness in this review, not that Coetzee tends to lend himself to anything other than seriousness in general. Noted nepotistic asshole Martin Amis famously said that Coetzee’s entire corpus was "predicated on transmitting absolutely no pleasure." Sorry, Marty, but there is a distinct difference between you and JM: he can actually fucking write, and you have been reduced to a sound bite (and a footnote to literature that is already in the process of being forgotten). Should one feel that all books need necessarily provide ‘pleasure’ by whatever litmus Amis chose to define the parameters, count me out. I don't have enough fingers or toes to even provide a reasonable estimate of the number of books that I love that provided, oh, I don’t know, intellectual fucking stimulation before pleasure. Call me kooky.

The only thing I want to add here is a bit of context for this loveliest of books. In case anyone decides to read or revisit based on this review, it gives enormous dimensionality to bear in mind that Coetzee’s own son died not long before he wrote it. Thus, Dostoyevsky’s fictional dealing with his son’s death is very much a cathartic experience for the writer (FMD’s own son outlived him). The repeated motif of the son falling is excruciating when you bear in mind that JMC’s son fell to his own death in an accident. (Hey, I just realized that JM Coetzee initialized looks like the Jesus & Mary Chain.) I found all this out between the first and second times I read the book, and knowing the context just makes it all the more withering.

One last thing: for all you good friends of mine who worship Demons, here is a plumb opportunity to read a fictional account of Dostoyevsky interacting with that book’s inspiration—yet another asshole, Sergey Gennadiyevich Nechayev. And yes, this book will make you want to reread Demons. So do both and boogie on the disco ‘round.

stunning 'what-if' fiction imagines Dostoevsky returning to Petersburg from exile in Dresden on the death of his stepson, Pavel, and getting entangled with his landlady, her daughter and the revolutionary cadre Pavel got involved with. Thought provoking in its debates about revolution and death and its legacy, plus whip sharp in its descriptions of the city and its poverty, it also delves deep into writing/art. Electric.