Coetzee is sort of grinding multiple axes here so it is tempting to break down by chapter, each of which tends to be representatives of a certain point of view making speeches to one another.

1) Academic life, special awards and the speeches and dinners that accompany them - not presented so extremely as to seem like satire on the order of Lucky Jim - perhaps a bit sad if we identify the author himself with the main character. He seems a bit tired and disillusioned with it all.

2) His pent-up frustration with African black nationalist writers, channeled through a particularly pompous example.

3) and 4) The crux of the book, perhaps. Animal rights and vegetarianism, examined from all points of view. Uncertainty again about whether Costello is Coetzee - she seems at times muddled and inconsistent in her thinking but that is probably the point; absolute certainty tends to be equated with tyranny throughout.

5) The problem of religious missionaries and colonialism and the problem of religion generally as Costello is never sure whether she's a believer and how that relates to "The Problem of Evil" (title of next chapter).

And so on - nice and unexpected Kafka-esque closing chapter rescues it a bit from didacticism.

An interesting book. An amalgamation of fiction and nonfiction. Eight lessons of lectures about belief. Whether that is animal rights, religion or Africa. All the chapters are thought provoking. The last one which as Elizabeth Costello says is very Kafkaesque.

What is literature? What is belief or perhaps a better word is faith. Elizabeth is an elderly Australian writer who has spent a lifetime of studying other people and now finds she still does not understand herself. That scrutiny of herself she is finding disturbing.

The last chapter could be purgatory or a waiting room where a panel of judges determines whether she goes further on her journey. Perhaps the gatekeeper of the outpost sums it up best ‘We see people like you all the time’.

Mėgstu Coetzee, bet ši knyga - viena silpniausių. Daug kalbų, filosofijos, bet pats siužetas - baltais siūlais siūtas...

I've come to one of those rare moments when finishing a novel when I know that I'm about to deeply offend somebody with my review. To those individuals I appologise, please except that it is probably in ignorance that I do so. However, this is my review.
I feel this book should be great, especially as I read it because it is on the 1000 books to read before you die lists (or something similiar). I took to the book as a novel however, and do not feel it fits this role. Perhaps it should have a pretext saying 'only read if you have great stamina for philosophy and essay type texts'.
I felt that the main character herself had little or no true interaction with others. Playing the role of a lady, obviously of some former genius, her theorys on life's big questions go back and forth very rapidly as if she's almost arguing with herself. The true meaning of the book being (I think!) that none of us really know what we feel or believe, every argument can be rationally countered, and is not without truth.
That is to say I get the cleverness of the book, I just wish that it wasn't portrayed in such a monologue manner. I felt like I was reading a series of essays than a novel. Given that, the essays/arguments were well written and extremely thought provoking!

Elizabeth Costello deve sempre lottare con le conferenze. Il primo incontro che ho avuto con la scrittrice è stato in La vita degli animali, guarda caso anche il primo libro che ho letto di Coetzee. La donna usa parole forti, è cupa, è critica, è puntigliosa, anche se leggendone i pensieri ritroviamo in lei una certa insicurezza che la rende umana. Non le piace parlare di cose strettamente intime, come il proprio credo o la propria visione del mondo. Una delle poche cose su cui parla a lungo è il massacro degli animali, un massacro di cui nessuno si accorge: questo argomento le ha tirato dietro commenti e critiche, ed è per questo che preferisce non parlare di altri temi spinosi. I giornali cambiano le sue parole, mistificano i suoi concetti. C’è un baratro tra quello che pensa e quello che riesce a dire durante le conferenze: i minuti sono limitati, e tutto ciò che esprime nel suo intimo deve essere ristretto in dieci-quindici frasi, che risultano così nette, troppo drastiche. In così poco tempo non riesce ad esprimere le connessioni logiche, i salti di pensiero, le dinamiche del discorso, in modo completo.

Questo libro non è un romanzo, è molto più vicino ad un saggio tipo La vita degli animali. In effetti, ritroviamo la stessa *protagonista* alle prese con delle conferenze, come in quel testo. Non la vediamo mai alla sua scrivania, a scrivere, a creare quei personaggi e quelle storie che la rendono famosa. La conosciamo attraverso i suoi giri di pensieri durante questi incontri con gli autori, che sono tanto inutili quanti spinosi. Troviamo Elizabeth sempre tesa, stanca, un po’ indisposta ed indisponente. Dalla storia degli animali ha capito che è meglio attenersi ad un copione, anche se spesso alla fine amplia i suoi discorsi e cade nelle critiche altrui. Vediamo il suo ragionamento dall’interno, ed è un ragionamento che, per molti versi, potrebbe far parte del processo di creazione dei suoi libri (si fa domande, si dà risposte, si incarta nei propri busillis). Quindi, sebbene non li leggiamo, possiamo capire più o meno i temi che affronta nei romanzi: la donna, l’impegno sociale, la realtà come è o come viene percepita, l’eros, la bellezza, l’arte. Tanti argomenti, presenti nelle sue opere e presenti nei suoi discorsi, quei discorsi che si trovano in questo libro. Anche se non è lei sul piedistallo, a parlare davanti al pubblico, i suoi pensieri si stagliano sulla pagina, come delle domande (a volte mute, altre volte no) a chi sta parlando ed al lettore.
Ecco, quello che voglio dire è che Coetzee è capace, attraverso la visione di Elizabeth, di parlare e fare saggio su tanti argomenti della letteratura. A questo punto, si può dire che Coetzee gira continuamente su questo argomento, ed è un argomento così affascinante che sarei capace di leggerne in continuazione, se fosse questo autore a parlarmene.

Ammetto, comunque, che il Coetzee romanziere è migliore del Coetzee saggiatore: crea personaggi a tutto tondo, con una propria volumetria, una propria personalità, una propria schiettezza. Li mette in situazioni particolari, riesce a formare storie interessanti ed intriganti. Leggerò sicuramente altro di suo, si sta rivelando sempre più come un ottimo scrittore.

3.5

Οχτώ μαθήματα πάνω σε θέματα που όλους μας αφορούν μα που ελάχιστους έχουν προβληματίσει. Απόψεις με τις οποίες δεν συμφωνώ απαραίτητα, αλλά που διάβασα με απίστευτο ενδιαφέρον και που μου άνοιξαν ορίζοντες και νέες προοπτικές.

Dico subito che preferisco Coetzee romanziere piuttosto che Coetzee saggista. Pur essendo in fin dei conti senza importanza fare una classificazione letteraria, Elizabeth Costello può definirsi un saggio romanzato in cui lo scrittore costruisce una trama esile grazie a un personaggio, la scrittrice australiana Elizabeth Costello, che già era presente in una sua precedente opera, la quale tiene una serie di conferenze in giro per il mondo, su argomenti vari, più o meno interessanti, più o meno difficili. Non è quindi la storia del personaggio, una anziana donna che ha scritto un famoso romanzo la cui protagonista è la moglie di Leopold Bloom dell’Ulisse di Joyce, ad avermi colpito, quanto il contenuto eclettico delle conferenze-saggi; non sono le azioni che prevalgono –in generale nelle opere di Coetzee è così, per lo meno in questo libro e in Aspettando i barbari, finora unico suo romanzo che ho letto- bensì le idee; in ognuna delle conferenze della Costello, sia quando si parla del problema del male, sia quando si parla delle discipline umanistiche in Africa –per citare le due che ho preferito-, dietro le parole di Elizabeth si capisce che c’è Coetzee, il suo pensiero e le sue convinzioni. C’è una mente razionale, discendente del razionalismo illuministico, che si scontra con una mente sorella che è invece irrazionale e passionale, c’è il realismo definito ormai morente che nell’ultimo capitolo, che non è una vera e propria conferenza ma una specie di autobiografia delle idee della scrittrice Costello/Coetzee, “segretaria dell’invisibile”, cede il passo al surreale, al racconto kafkiano in cui ogni certezza svanisce di fronte al mistero che sta oltre la porta chiusa presidiata da un guardiano e alle prove da superare per essere ammessi a passare dall’altra parte.
Ho dato tre stelle perchè la lettura non è stata facile: i discorsi sulla letteratura di Elizabeth Costello sono per lo più allegorici, a volte oscuri, spesso richiedono conoscenze letterarie che non ho (ad esempio, nel finale c’è una lettera di Elizabeth, lady Chandos, a Francis Bacon, che ho letto senza capire, non conoscendo La lettera di Lord Chandos di Von Hofmannsthal su cui è basata). Nonostante ciò non intendo abbandonare la lettura di Coetzee, con la speranza che conoscerlo meglio mi aiuterà a capire più a fondo le conferenze di Elizabeth Costello.

Do I define this as fictional non-fiction or as non-non fiction? Either way it's a novel that required all of my concentrated attention. Very early on I understood that if I really wanted to immerse myself in the novel I needed a pencil, post-its and an available browser in order to get all the references, cross references, and personages that make an appearance. I found my self re-reading Kafka's "Red Peter" after the relevant chapter, and flipping through "The Castle" once again in order to be sure that I am not imagining the intertextuality. And that is only a small part of the challenge of this dazzling novel.
Coetzee is a rare master, and the more complex he gets, the more I enjoy his writing. I certainly enjoyed Elizabeth Costello.
I think that it is now time to undertake (and I'm sure it's an undertaking and not just a read) his Jesus Trilogy. I think I'm ready.

S'ha de reconèixer el mèrit i la originalitat d'intentar fusionar dos estils (novel·la i assaig) en una única obra. Un intent, des del meu parer, frustrat, que no acaba de transmetre el més gloriós de l'art de crear ficcions i la capacitat de argumentar i raonar determinats temes. Em quedo amb algunes idees si més no originals que en cap moment es qüestionen fins al final i fins les darreres conseqüències.
Recordaré l'interessant visió del veganisme, capítols 1-3-4, sobretot aquests dos últims.
En canvi, la última lliçó (o lecture) nº8 sobrepassa el plagi a l'obra indispensable de Kafka, "El procés". No convenç i no acaba de fer el pes, Kafka infinitament superior en el relat davant les portes i el guardià.
S'agraeix l'originalitat en l'estructura del llibre i l'ús d'una bona prosa, és fàcil entreveure que estem davant d'un gran escriptor.

Coetzee abusa un poco de aquel recurso cinematográfico tarantiniano de colocar a su protagonista alrededor de una mesa con varias personas filosofando sesudamente antes de ponerse a matar, sólo que aquí en los entretantos no se mata sino que todo son menudencias: Elisabeth Costello cierra una conferencia, visita a una hermana, recibe a un hijo, hace un crucero como en aquel libro de Foster Wallace...aburridos pretextos para no más que encadenar digresiones varias. Le doy una estrella más de las debidas por el cuento del capítulo final, Costello a las puertas del cielo, que es bastante cómico.

For a writer to crouch behind a fictional alter ego is nothing new—Roth has been peeking over Zukerman’s shoulder for decades as has Updike with Bech—but for a man to choose an alter ego—his anima?—who’s a woman is, I suspect, a rarity. That said there’s little doubt that that is the role Elizabeth Costello serves in the writings of J.M. Coetzee. Elizabeth is some twelve years older than Coetzee. She reimagined Molly Bloom; he, Robinson Crusoe (see my review of Foe here) and Dostoevsky in The Master of Petersburg. In some ways, gender aside, they are similar: neither, for example, eats meat; both live in Australia. There are differences, however, and probably the main one is when it comes to precision: Coetzee is habitually precise about linguistic matters; Elizabeth not so much.

Elizabeth Costello consists of eight chapters or lessons—mostly consisting of monologues (lectures) and dialogues (debates and conversations)—followed by a postscript in the form of a letter. There really is no story, not in the traditional sense, rather a series of Socratic dialogues.

There’s a lot of ugliness in this book—a woman boasting about her lampshade (“Yes, it's nice, isn't it? Polish-Jewish skin it's made of, we find that's best, the skins of young Polish-Jewish virgins.”); a film about a Hollywood star who ends up in a mental hospital being repeatedly beaten and abused (“orderlies sell tickets for ten minutes a time with her. 'I wanna fuck a movie star!' pants one of their customers, shoving his dollars at them”; the man who assaulted and tried to rape Elizabeth (when she was a young art student)—and it doesn’t provide many (if any) answers. The pointlessness and hopelessness of it all drag Elizabeth down; that plus the fact she finds herself alone at the end of her life and not entirely convinced it’s all been worthwhile. Is this partly why she wanted “to visit Antarctica—not just to see with her own eyes those vast horizons, that barren waste, but to set foot on the seventh and last continent, feel what it is like to be a living, breathing creature in spaces of inhuman cold.”? This doesn’t mean the book is not without its touching moments but even they’re infused with sadness.

Ultimately I see this book as being about a woman—coincidentally a writer but being a writer myself I can add unequivocally that being one does propel one further down the road—a woman heading towards, if not already in the process of going through, an existential crisis. What does it all mean?

Meaning can be a bugger. This appears on the surface as a handful of lectures being palmed off as a novel. We might feel cheated even despite the fact it’s unlikely any have attended all the lectures although some may well possess and have read all the subsequently published texts. But, no. We have it wrong. These were always works of fiction presented in place of speeches. Whether Coetzee ever intended to amalgamate them as he has done only he knows although my guess would be that certainly in the beginning he harboured no such plans. Why he chose to do it and how he gets away with it are other matters to consider but it’s clearly a distancing mechanism.

I liked this book. It’s not an easy read, far from it—I mean, it’s book of lectures, for God’s sake, no matter what you call it—and they take time to digest and there’s a lot I’ve not had time to talk about. I, of course, approached the book thinking it was and treating it as a novel—I was looking for connections and to make sense of it as a whole—and that attitude is a good place to start and I wouldn’t concern yourself too much with the origins of the texts.

You can read my full review here.

بعد أن أنهيت الرواية شعرت بالحيرة و الارتباك... إذ شعرت بأنه أسقط في يدي و لا أدري ما أقول أو بم خرجت من الرواية من فكرة! هذا التشتت الذي انتابني ليس جراء البراعة الأدبية و الحبكة المذهلة و إنما نتيجة تشتت أفكار البطلة أو بالأحرى الراوي كوتزي من ورائها الذي ينفث عبرها حيرته و تشتته لتصيب بها قارئها... و الكتابة قبض، و أنى لي القبض على التشتت! 0
إليزابيث كستلو روائية استرالية في خريف العمر "ليس بحال من الأحوال كاتبة مريحة. ربما حتى تكون قاسية، بالطريقة التي قد تكون عليها امرأة من النادر أن يحتملها الرجال. أي نوع من الكائنات، حقا؟ ليست فقمة؛ ليست لطيفة بما يكفي لذلك. لكنها أيضا ليست سمكة قرش. قطة. إحدى القطط الضخمة التي تتوقف و هي تنزع أحشاء ضحيتها و ترمقك، عبر البطن الممزق المفتوح، بنظرة صفراء باردة." 0
تسافر إليزابيث في أصقاع العالم لتلقي محاضرة هنا و تشارك في مؤتمر هناك و ربما يعرض لها نقاش بين هنا و هناك فتدلي بدلوها فيه... و كثير من التنظير و السفسطة و التجريد... و كثير من الكلمات و الأفكار و الحجج و الحوم و الحوم و الحوم حول اللاشيء!!! فإليزابيث لا تؤمن حقيقة بشيء، و نجد شعورها هذا دائما يظهر بعد أي نقاش أو محاضرة، فهي رغم منافحتها الشديدة عن بعض الأفكار حد التطرف أحيانا إلا أنها في قرارة نفسها ليست واثقة مما تؤمن به أو حتى تنافح لأجله، بل حتى أنها لا تدري لم تفعل ذلك أصلا!!! 0
ثم أتت الخاتمة المبهمة التي بدت لي بمثابة التلخيص لكل هذه النقاشات و ظهرت فلسفة كوتزي من الرواية برمتها... فنرى إليزابيث عالقة في عالم ما، تريد أن تعبر بوابة و عليها أن تقر قبلا بما تؤمن به لتمر... أهو كابوس، أهو موت، أهو منزلة بين الحياة و الموت، بل هل هو عقاب كوتزي لمصنوعته إليزابيث و تركها معلقة هكذا!؟ لا يدري القارئ... كل ما يراه هو خلاصة كل الرواية... الحيرة و عدم وجود ما تؤمن به لتعبر البوابة...0
الرواية فكرية بالمقام الأول، خالية من الأحداث تقريبا، مسحوبة التشويق، محشوة تنظيرا و تفلسفا و نقاشات مطولة... و إنما هي متعة ذهنية لمن يحب السفسطة... و لكن العبقرية في رأيي كانت في الفكرة بحد ذاتها... في تبيان هذا الصراع الداخلي في الذهن... أن ينتزع كوتزي شخصية من نفسه، فيصنع جسما _هو إليزابيث_ يحوي حيرته و تناقضاته ثم ينظر إليها تتعذب و هي عالقة... فكوتزي الذي يعرف عنه أنه لا يحاضر _كما كـُـتب على غلاف الرواية_ جعل اليزابيث تلف العالم محاضرة و هي تشعر بالغثيان و العبث و اللاجدوى من كل هذا الهراء... و كوتزي الذي قرأت له رواية في انتظار البرابرة و جعلتني أشطبه من قائمتي نظرا للمعاناة التي أذاقنيها في روايته و هو يصف قبح و فظاعة البشري و ظلمه، هذا الـ كوتزي يجعل بطلته إليزابيث تهاجم بشدة الروائي الذي يكتب عن الشر و الظلم و يصفه بدقة، و كأنه يفتح قارورة للجن فينتشروا في الأرض و يفسدوا فيها، أو يفتح جرحا منتنا فينتشر القيح و الصديد في الجو و ينشر الوباء... إليزابيث تنتقد ذاك الروائي الذي كتب عن الشر بأن الشيطان مسه و لا سبيل لشفائه... و لكن لحظة، ألا تكتب هي شيء كهذا لو أتيح لها؟ _هكذا فكرت هي و ربما كوتزي من ورائها_ فلماذا تعترض!؟ نعود لنقطة البداية من أنها تتحدث عن ما لا تدري ماذا... 0
و هكذا تركها المؤلف عالقة في النهاية فلا هي مرت من تلك البوابة لأنها لا تدري ما تؤمن به و لا هي قادرة على البقاء... لا يوجد ما تقف عليه، الأرض الصلبة مختفية... ربما تجد ما تؤمن به... نفحات ربما تأتيها لا تدري ما هي... بيد أنها سرعان ما تبهت، و يعود كل شيء مهتز و عائم و غير موثوق به... 0
برأيي قد نجح كوتزي في نقل هذه الحيرة و الصراع الذهني و الابهام للمثقف المحتار... و إن كانت الترجمة ليست على مستوى الرواية... إنها تلك الترجمة التي تجد فيها كلمة "مرمطون"... و لكنها توصل المعنى بأية حال...0

يا إلهي ما أصعب أن يضطر المرء لأن يلقي لعقله _هذه العضلة الرهيبة، هذا الحيوان المفترس_ أي قضية ليؤمن بها و يشاغله و ليتغذى عليها حتى لا يجن و يفترسه هو... و كأني بإليزابيث طوال الرواية تقول: هاكم هذه أية قضية أمسك بها و أعض عليها بالنواجذ و أصدق الوهم و المسرحية التي أمثلها... 0
يا إلهي ما أصعب أن يؤتى المرء كل هذا العقل، ثم يصل خريف العمر و لا يجد ما يؤمن به أو يقف عليه! و يظل عقله يدور و يدور من دون جدوى...0

إنما هي رواية يكتبها الروائي كطوق نجاة يسعفه من مصح نفسي أو انتحار...0
هذه الرواية مثل رواية جزيرة اليوم السابق _و إن كانت أقل تشويقا منها بكثير_، ينبغي أن أحتفظ بهما أبدا و أجعلهما ماكثتين أمامي دائما لأرى الدوامة التي كان من الممكن أن أكون عالقة فيها _و أنا التي لديها تلك النزعة المخبولة بالدوران بلا نهاية مثل "الخنفسة بالطاسة" بأفكار ذهنها_ لولا أن الله يتداركني برحمته و يشعرني بالإيمان... عساه لا يحرمنيه أبدا...0

نيسان 2012