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Jesus Trilogy #2
The Schooldays of Jesus
LONGLISTED FOR THE MAN BOOKER PRIZE 2016
When you travel across the ocean on a boat, all your memories are washed away and you start a completely new life. That is how it is. There is no before. There is no history. The boat docks at the harbour and we climb down the gangplank and we are plunged into the here and now. Time begins.
Davíd is the small boy who is always asking questions. Simón and Inés take care of him in their new town Estrella. He is learning the language; he has begun to make friends. He has the big dog Bolívar to watch over him. But he'll be seven soon and he should be at school. And so, Davíd is enrolled in the Academy of Dance. It's here, in his new golden dancing slippers, that he learns how to call down the numbers from the sky. But it's here too that he will make troubling discoveries about what grown-ups are capable of.
In this mesmerising allegorical tale, Coetzee deftly grapples with the big questions of growing up, of what it means to be a parent, the constant battle between intellect and emotion, and how we choose to live our lives.
When you travel across the ocean on a boat, all your memories are washed away and you start a completely new life. That is how it is. There is no before. There is no history. The boat docks at the harbour and we climb down the gangplank and we are plunged into the here and now. Time begins.
Davíd is the small boy who is always asking questions. Simón and Inés take care of him in their new town Estrella. He is learning the language; he has begun to make friends. He has the big dog Bolívar to watch over him. But he'll be seven soon and he should be at school. And so, Davíd is enrolled in the Academy of Dance. It's here, in his new golden dancing slippers, that he learns how to call down the numbers from the sky. But it's here too that he will make troubling discoveries about what grown-ups are capable of.
In this mesmerising allegorical tale, Coetzee deftly grapples with the big questions of growing up, of what it means to be a parent, the constant battle between intellect and emotion, and how we choose to live our lives.
260 pages, Paperback
First published August 1, 2016
About the author
J.M. Coetzee
167 books4,906 followersJohn Maxwell Coetzee is an author and academic from South Africa. He became an Australian citizen in 2006 after relocating there in 2002. A novelist and literary critic as well as a translator, Coetzee has won the Booker Prize twice and was awarded the 2003 Nobel Prize in Literature.
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December 28, 2020
Asking the Proper Questions
The relationship among the three protagonists in Coetzee’s story is mysterious. All three come from somewhere else. They are intimately connected and dependent upon one another; but their origins and histories are obscure. Although they comprise a family, it appears that each is genetically distinct. They are on the run, possibly for breaking a minor civil regulation. Although poor, they are sustained by the benevolence of community members. Among these is an apparent homicidal maniac who also may be a paedophile.
Like Coetzee’s Waiting for the Barbarians , relevant background and motivations are left unsaid. Vagueness about purpose is purposefully part of the narrative. Consequently there are many ways to interpret the the interactions among Simon and Ines, the parental figures, and David, the young boy whom they care for. The title and biblical allusions to the Flight to Egypt and several figures from the Old Testament suggest a religious reading. Alternatively, the tale can be taken as a commentary on a fundamentally corrupt society that honours convention more than authentic morality. These interpretations may certainly be valid but I find them unsatisfying.
Coetzee hints at a different sort of interpretation entirely through his early reference to numbers and the relation between numbers and life in a sort of kabbalistic, speculative parable. His point seems to be deeply philosophical, perhaps spiritual, but not a matter of religion or political sociology. In this reading, the boy David is the number One, a singular, and singularly unique entity. As this fundamental number, he exists independently of his purported parents. In fact, he is the source of their existence, although they do not recognise him as such. David is elemental and will not be forced into some presumed role. According to his teacher, David is “integral,” that is: a self-sufficient whole. In fact, of course, he is the first integer from which all others emanate.
Ines, David’s purported mother, is the number Two. She contains David within her but she is not he (1+1=2). In fact she is the first prime number, that which is only evenly divisible by itself or by the number One. During the story, Ines becomes progressively distant from David. She has her own family life of siblings, other relatives, and friends. Although One might claim an affinity with Two, he cannot assert any rights as a prime number, and therefore as part of her family.*
Simon is the number Three. He is the protector of the One and the Two. He includes them in his life (1+2=3). But he too is unique and independent as the second prime number. Two is increasingly concerned to maintain her distance in terms of intimacy from Three. In a sense she is threatened by both One and Three - One because he might claim to be her progenitor (2 x 1=2); And Three because if he is stripped of One, he might become her (3-1=2).
These are not numbers as we typically know them, namely as signs for conducting practical tasks like counting or making change in the market. Those pedestrian numbers are part of “ant arithmetic.” They are sterile ciphers without life and which, therefore, have fixed meanings as if they were ordinary things. These ant-numbers make it appear that all numbers have a prosaically easy relationship with things, that in fact numbers are merely sets of things.** This is a misunderstanding. Real numbers come from elsewhere, from the stars, or heaven if you like. They are virtually mystical entities which can only be expressed adequately through activities like Sufi-esque dance.
One of Coetzee’s characters divides numbers into “noble ” and “auxiliary.” It seems likely that the noble numbers are primes (2,3,5,7,11,13,17...); auxiliaries are all the rest. All non-prime numbers are the sum of two primes, hence their priority (4=2+2, 6=3+3, 10=7+3...). They are the building blocks of the mathematical universe. Prime numbers are the general answer to the question ‘what should we ask about?’ in mathematics. The answer to all mathematical questions lie, in a sense at least, among the primes since they generate all other numbers.
Two and Three, as primes, lead on to the entire universe, and to an infinity of enormous families of numbers which have strange and intriguing relationships with each other (there is no highest prime number; more are always being discovered). All primes are odd; not only unique but also strange. During the story, David turns Seven, the fourth prime, a sign of maturity as well as superiority to his parents who even together only sum to Five, the third prime number. He also ‘dances down’ Seven in front of his father (and offers to dance the next prime of Eleven, but is told to stop). He can generate all the primes, and therefore all the numbers from within himself. They are all ultimately expressions of him. Neither his father nor mother can understand this, trapped as they are in their isolated noble/prime positions.
In short, numbers have a life of their own, each with its own characteristics, origins, and even temperaments. Numbers are very much like human beings; perhaps humans are a form of number (Or, conversely, number is a self-projection of what being human is). This could explain their odd behaviour. Some are intimately, even passionately, connected. Passions, like numbers, have a life of their own as well. These passions have unexpected, sometimes apparently irrational, consequences. No one knows how or why they exist; and, like prime numbers, we are likely to stumble upon them by accident.
Non-prime numbers lack something; they are defective in that they have more fundamental components. Non-primes are mundane in contrast to the primordial simplicity of the passionless primes. They are the ones that cause problems in the world. They passionately and constantly look for their prime components for completion. This passion for completion can’t be denied or derailed. It is inevitable. And it can be awkward. Then there is always the possibility that during the search for one’s components one encounters a Nought, the zero-negation of existence itself, a disaster for all numbers. Nought can never be forgiven; it can’t even forgive itself.
*One is not a prime number by accepted convention among mathematicians. Giving One that status would cause serious logical problems which are simply resolved by excluding it from consideration.
**Famously, Bertrand Russell and Alfred Whitehead attempted to demonstrate in the early 20th century that arithmetic could be derived from set theory. They failed. The reason for their failure, and indeed the impossibility of establishing any logical foundation for mathematics, was proven several decades later by Gödel.
Postscript: There is also an important theme of measurement which runs through the book. Coetzee alludes to the widespread misconception that measurement involves the assignment of numbers to things and events. This is part of the process through which mystical numbers are turned into sterile ant-numbers. The reality is exactly opposite: in measurement things and events are assigned places on various numeric scales, what one of Coetzee’s characters calls ‘metrons.’ The numbers are what are real; things and events only appear when they are placed on these eternal scales. See For further explanation: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
The relationship among the three protagonists in Coetzee’s story is mysterious. All three come from somewhere else. They are intimately connected and dependent upon one another; but their origins and histories are obscure. Although they comprise a family, it appears that each is genetically distinct. They are on the run, possibly for breaking a minor civil regulation. Although poor, they are sustained by the benevolence of community members. Among these is an apparent homicidal maniac who also may be a paedophile.
Like Coetzee’s Waiting for the Barbarians , relevant background and motivations are left unsaid. Vagueness about purpose is purposefully part of the narrative. Consequently there are many ways to interpret the the interactions among Simon and Ines, the parental figures, and David, the young boy whom they care for. The title and biblical allusions to the Flight to Egypt and several figures from the Old Testament suggest a religious reading. Alternatively, the tale can be taken as a commentary on a fundamentally corrupt society that honours convention more than authentic morality. These interpretations may certainly be valid but I find them unsatisfying.
Coetzee hints at a different sort of interpretation entirely through his early reference to numbers and the relation between numbers and life in a sort of kabbalistic, speculative parable. His point seems to be deeply philosophical, perhaps spiritual, but not a matter of religion or political sociology. In this reading, the boy David is the number One, a singular, and singularly unique entity. As this fundamental number, he exists independently of his purported parents. In fact, he is the source of their existence, although they do not recognise him as such. David is elemental and will not be forced into some presumed role. According to his teacher, David is “integral,” that is: a self-sufficient whole. In fact, of course, he is the first integer from which all others emanate.
Ines, David’s purported mother, is the number Two. She contains David within her but she is not he (1+1=2). In fact she is the first prime number, that which is only evenly divisible by itself or by the number One. During the story, Ines becomes progressively distant from David. She has her own family life of siblings, other relatives, and friends. Although One might claim an affinity with Two, he cannot assert any rights as a prime number, and therefore as part of her family.*
Simon is the number Three. He is the protector of the One and the Two. He includes them in his life (1+2=3). But he too is unique and independent as the second prime number. Two is increasingly concerned to maintain her distance in terms of intimacy from Three. In a sense she is threatened by both One and Three - One because he might claim to be her progenitor (2 x 1=2); And Three because if he is stripped of One, he might become her (3-1=2).
These are not numbers as we typically know them, namely as signs for conducting practical tasks like counting or making change in the market. Those pedestrian numbers are part of “ant arithmetic.” They are sterile ciphers without life and which, therefore, have fixed meanings as if they were ordinary things. These ant-numbers make it appear that all numbers have a prosaically easy relationship with things, that in fact numbers are merely sets of things.** This is a misunderstanding. Real numbers come from elsewhere, from the stars, or heaven if you like. They are virtually mystical entities which can only be expressed adequately through activities like Sufi-esque dance.
One of Coetzee’s characters divides numbers into “noble ” and “auxiliary.” It seems likely that the noble numbers are primes (2,3,5,7,11,13,17...); auxiliaries are all the rest. All non-prime numbers are the sum of two primes, hence their priority (4=2+2, 6=3+3, 10=7+3...). They are the building blocks of the mathematical universe. Prime numbers are the general answer to the question ‘what should we ask about?’ in mathematics. The answer to all mathematical questions lie, in a sense at least, among the primes since they generate all other numbers.
Two and Three, as primes, lead on to the entire universe, and to an infinity of enormous families of numbers which have strange and intriguing relationships with each other (there is no highest prime number; more are always being discovered). All primes are odd; not only unique but also strange. During the story, David turns Seven, the fourth prime, a sign of maturity as well as superiority to his parents who even together only sum to Five, the third prime number. He also ‘dances down’ Seven in front of his father (and offers to dance the next prime of Eleven, but is told to stop). He can generate all the primes, and therefore all the numbers from within himself. They are all ultimately expressions of him. Neither his father nor mother can understand this, trapped as they are in their isolated noble/prime positions.
In short, numbers have a life of their own, each with its own characteristics, origins, and even temperaments. Numbers are very much like human beings; perhaps humans are a form of number (Or, conversely, number is a self-projection of what being human is). This could explain their odd behaviour. Some are intimately, even passionately, connected. Passions, like numbers, have a life of their own as well. These passions have unexpected, sometimes apparently irrational, consequences. No one knows how or why they exist; and, like prime numbers, we are likely to stumble upon them by accident.
Non-prime numbers lack something; they are defective in that they have more fundamental components. Non-primes are mundane in contrast to the primordial simplicity of the passionless primes. They are the ones that cause problems in the world. They passionately and constantly look for their prime components for completion. This passion for completion can’t be denied or derailed. It is inevitable. And it can be awkward. Then there is always the possibility that during the search for one’s components one encounters a Nought, the zero-negation of existence itself, a disaster for all numbers. Nought can never be forgiven; it can’t even forgive itself.
*One is not a prime number by accepted convention among mathematicians. Giving One that status would cause serious logical problems which are simply resolved by excluding it from consideration.
**Famously, Bertrand Russell and Alfred Whitehead attempted to demonstrate in the early 20th century that arithmetic could be derived from set theory. They failed. The reason for their failure, and indeed the impossibility of establishing any logical foundation for mathematics, was proven several decades later by Gödel.
Postscript: There is also an important theme of measurement which runs through the book. Coetzee alludes to the widespread misconception that measurement involves the assignment of numbers to things and events. This is part of the process through which mystical numbers are turned into sterile ant-numbers. The reality is exactly opposite: in measurement things and events are assigned places on various numeric scales, what one of Coetzee’s characters calls ‘metrons.’ The numbers are what are real; things and events only appear when they are placed on these eternal scales. See For further explanation: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
May 11, 2023
E vorba de un roman haios, lipsit de sens, aiuristic, fără mesaj (repet: fără mesaj!), scris în așa fel încît cititorul de bună-credință să se apuce să caute disperat un mesaj (îndeosebi unul religios) și să fie convins că dacă nu-l găsește e numai și numai din vina lui: nu l-a dus mintea, n-a citit destul, n-a fost suficient de pios, a lipsit de la ora de Religie...
Dar nu! Nu există un mesaj, deși autorul a construit în așa fel cartea încît toată lumea (bună) să caute Mesajul. Iluzia e desăvîrșită. Și tocmai în asta stă talentul ironic al prozatorului. Coetzee construiește o ghicitoare fără soluție. Dar dacă l-am întreba cu privire la soluție, el ar suține hotărît că a ascuns cel puțin una, dacă nu chiar 3 (sau mai multe, o infinitate).
În Estrella nu există școli normale (școli generale, colegii, universități). Există doar două (și numai două) posibilități. Poți studia canto la o Academie de profil. Sau poți studia dansul. Și lumea prin dans, fiindcă sensul lumii se vădește, nu este nici un secret pentru nimeni, numai prin dans. Deci, David va urma cursurile școlii de coregrafie.
Profesoara lui este o femeie de o iremediabilă frumusețe și se numește Ana Magdalena (știu, știu, a mai fost cîndva o Magdalena...). Lîngă Academia de dans se află un muzeu (ignorat de locuitori), păzit de un custode neîngrijit, murdar, dubios, pe nume Dmitri (Frații Karamazov, firește, Demeter, zeița fecundității, vă las să faceți Dvs. corelațiile). Școala are și un „centru de recreere”, în care toți - fără deosebire de vîrstă, sex sau religie - fac nudism: și profesoara, și elevii (paradisul recucerit!). Amănunt fooooooarte logic, de altfel...
Nimeni nu știe, dar între slinosul Dmitri și strălucitoarea Ana Magdalena (femeia cu „forme desăvîrșite, de marmură”) există de multă vreme o relație de iubire, o „patimă roșie” (Rogojin, Nastasia F. etc.). Legătura lor tenebroasă iese la iveală și stupefiază orașul abia după ce Dmitri, într-un acces irațional, o ucide pe femeie. La proces (revenim la Frații Karamazov!), asistăm la inversarea completă a rolurilor: acuzatorul sare în apărarea acuzatului (a lui Dmitri, deci), acuzatul refuză să se apere și cere să fie pedepsit exemplar. Episodul juridic e delirant, de un umor total, o parodie după prozele rusești și o trimitere la Kafka (poate).
Nu mai spun că și Simon (părintele adoptiv al lui David) suferă de singurătate (e un om, totuși), cu toate că, în principiu, el face pereche cu glaciala Ines (mama adoptivă a băiatului).
Totul e alandala, o lume pe dos. Și e de admirat abilitatea lui J. M. Coetzee de a lăsa mereu impresia că sub acest scenariu incoerent / inconsistent s-ar afla o enigmă ascuțită pentru minți la fel de ascuțite. Doar cititorul care va dezlega enigma va fi mîntuit. Eu, unul, n-am dezlegat nimic (fiindcă nici nu mi-am propus), deși nu sfătuiesc pe nimeni să procedeze ca mine...
De curînd, s-a publicat sfîrșitul trilogiei: The Death of Jesus. Cronicarul de la The Guardian spune că seria despre Iisus pare a fi o „glumă pe seama cititorului”. Mă tem că are dreptate...
Bonus:
„Indiferent dacă există sau nu un dincolo, omul s-ar îneca în disperare dacă n-ar exista ideea unui dincolo de care să se agațe” (p.166).
Dar nu! Nu există un mesaj, deși autorul a construit în așa fel cartea încît toată lumea (bună) să caute Mesajul. Iluzia e desăvîrșită. Și tocmai în asta stă talentul ironic al prozatorului. Coetzee construiește o ghicitoare fără soluție. Dar dacă l-am întreba cu privire la soluție, el ar suține hotărît că a ascuns cel puțin una, dacă nu chiar 3 (sau mai multe, o infinitate).
În Estrella nu există școli normale (școli generale, colegii, universități). Există doar două (și numai două) posibilități. Poți studia canto la o Academie de profil. Sau poți studia dansul. Și lumea prin dans, fiindcă sensul lumii se vădește, nu este nici un secret pentru nimeni, numai prin dans. Deci, David va urma cursurile școlii de coregrafie.
Profesoara lui este o femeie de o iremediabilă frumusețe și se numește Ana Magdalena (știu, știu, a mai fost cîndva o Magdalena...). Lîngă Academia de dans se află un muzeu (ignorat de locuitori), păzit de un custode neîngrijit, murdar, dubios, pe nume Dmitri (Frații Karamazov, firește, Demeter, zeița fecundității, vă las să faceți Dvs. corelațiile). Școala are și un „centru de recreere”, în care toți - fără deosebire de vîrstă, sex sau religie - fac nudism: și profesoara, și elevii (paradisul recucerit!). Amănunt fooooooarte logic, de altfel...
Nimeni nu știe, dar între slinosul Dmitri și strălucitoarea Ana Magdalena (femeia cu „forme desăvîrșite, de marmură”) există de multă vreme o relație de iubire, o „patimă roșie” (Rogojin, Nastasia F. etc.). Legătura lor tenebroasă iese la iveală și stupefiază orașul abia după ce Dmitri, într-un acces irațional, o ucide pe femeie. La proces (revenim la Frații Karamazov!), asistăm la inversarea completă a rolurilor: acuzatorul sare în apărarea acuzatului (a lui Dmitri, deci), acuzatul refuză să se apere și cere să fie pedepsit exemplar. Episodul juridic e delirant, de un umor total, o parodie după prozele rusești și o trimitere la Kafka (poate).
Nu mai spun că și Simon (părintele adoptiv al lui David) suferă de singurătate (e un om, totuși), cu toate că, în principiu, el face pereche cu glaciala Ines (mama adoptivă a băiatului).
Totul e alandala, o lume pe dos. Și e de admirat abilitatea lui J. M. Coetzee de a lăsa mereu impresia că sub acest scenariu incoerent / inconsistent s-ar afla o enigmă ascuțită pentru minți la fel de ascuțite. Doar cititorul care va dezlega enigma va fi mîntuit. Eu, unul, n-am dezlegat nimic (fiindcă nici nu mi-am propus), deși nu sfătuiesc pe nimeni să procedeze ca mine...
De curînd, s-a publicat sfîrșitul trilogiei: The Death of Jesus. Cronicarul de la The Guardian spune că seria despre Iisus pare a fi o „glumă pe seama cititorului”. Mă tem că are dreptate...
Bonus:
„Indiferent dacă există sau nu un dincolo, omul s-ar îneca în disperare dacă n-ar exista ideea unui dincolo de care să se agațe” (p.166).
October 23, 2016
[Originally appeared here (with edits): http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/li...]
The journey from a toddler to a schoolchild is often the most memorable and ironically, chaotic one. The sudden loosening of parental grip propels the child without doubt; towards what direction, of course, is the biggest question to be answered.
The Schooldays of Jesus is a sequel to The Childhood of Jesus wherein we continue to befriend David and walk along with him as he traces the arc of his life. With a former stevedore, Simon, for a stepfather and an evidently ambitious, Inés, for a mother, David metamorphoses into a strikingly different child, of his own volition and vanity. Nothing holds his interest in the new town of Estrella which the trio is forced to inhabit after leaving Novilla until the ‘Dance Academy’ comes by. Funded by three large-hearted sisters, David gains admission into the Dance Academy and thus, commences a love-hate relationship with the adult world on the tremulous and bewitching rhythm of dance moves.
Fraught with arguments and passion, longing and loss, Coetzee conjures up a trick that remains largely engaging. The stronghold of Coetzee’s signature restrained and unadorned language continues to enthral, releasing vibrations far and wide in my psyche. Transformation of David from a reticent, indifferent and disdainful child to a feral, passionate and invested boy is done with subtle undertones; much like how a little dash here and a little wipe there gives a painting its fuller, flawless texture. His never-ending questions and silent pursuing of the same imparts a certain fluidity to his personality which sticks to him till the end.
While the chapter of David left a reaffirming stamp on my love for Coetzee, it was the sketches of other prime characters that played hide and seek. Through the unselfish and consistent efforts of Simon to provide comfort and education to David, Coetzee displays the powerful instincts of a parent. That the intentions of a parent remain untarnished despite unresponded affections from his ward is beautifully depicted in the troubled-yet-unsevered bond between the stepfather and the son. Inés, on the other hand, drew no sympathy or loyalty; she seemed almost a half-formed thing in her insipid dialogues and disjointed conversations with her family.
Juan Sebastian Arroyo and Anna Magdalena Arroyo, the husband-wife duo who own the Dance Academy and Dmitiri, the security guard of the adjacent museum who also performs part-time duties at the Dance Academy, are the characters that further render the narrative, its chequered garb. At a major turning point mid-way through this book, the tempo suddenly escalates. Unfortunately though, this tempo turns unsustainable after a short while and experiences, all at once, a sharp fall. It never recovers from there. David continues to hurl his questions but amidst these three characters, the questions haggle haplessly and collapse without much attention or resolution. There is a sprinkle of science and philosophy towards the fag end which is withdrawn before they can make their presence felt.
A book that offers growing up on the nourishing feed of dance can’t go much wrong, not unless one is already fed upto their soul. I checked in, half satiated. Left, the same way.
[A note of thanks to Netgalley and Random House UK, Vintage Publishing for providing me a copy of this book].
The journey from a toddler to a schoolchild is often the most memorable and ironically, chaotic one. The sudden loosening of parental grip propels the child without doubt; towards what direction, of course, is the biggest question to be answered.
The Schooldays of Jesus is a sequel to The Childhood of Jesus wherein we continue to befriend David and walk along with him as he traces the arc of his life. With a former stevedore, Simon, for a stepfather and an evidently ambitious, Inés, for a mother, David metamorphoses into a strikingly different child, of his own volition and vanity. Nothing holds his interest in the new town of Estrella which the trio is forced to inhabit after leaving Novilla until the ‘Dance Academy’ comes by. Funded by three large-hearted sisters, David gains admission into the Dance Academy and thus, commences a love-hate relationship with the adult world on the tremulous and bewitching rhythm of dance moves.
Fraught with arguments and passion, longing and loss, Coetzee conjures up a trick that remains largely engaging. The stronghold of Coetzee’s signature restrained and unadorned language continues to enthral, releasing vibrations far and wide in my psyche. Transformation of David from a reticent, indifferent and disdainful child to a feral, passionate and invested boy is done with subtle undertones; much like how a little dash here and a little wipe there gives a painting its fuller, flawless texture. His never-ending questions and silent pursuing of the same imparts a certain fluidity to his personality which sticks to him till the end.
While the chapter of David left a reaffirming stamp on my love for Coetzee, it was the sketches of other prime characters that played hide and seek. Through the unselfish and consistent efforts of Simon to provide comfort and education to David, Coetzee displays the powerful instincts of a parent. That the intentions of a parent remain untarnished despite unresponded affections from his ward is beautifully depicted in the troubled-yet-unsevered bond between the stepfather and the son. Inés, on the other hand, drew no sympathy or loyalty; she seemed almost a half-formed thing in her insipid dialogues and disjointed conversations with her family.
Juan Sebastian Arroyo and Anna Magdalena Arroyo, the husband-wife duo who own the Dance Academy and Dmitiri, the security guard of the adjacent museum who also performs part-time duties at the Dance Academy, are the characters that further render the narrative, its chequered garb. At a major turning point mid-way through this book, the tempo suddenly escalates. Unfortunately though, this tempo turns unsustainable after a short while and experiences, all at once, a sharp fall. It never recovers from there. David continues to hurl his questions but amidst these three characters, the questions haggle haplessly and collapse without much attention or resolution. There is a sprinkle of science and philosophy towards the fag end which is withdrawn before they can make their presence felt.
A book that offers growing up on the nourishing feed of dance can’t go much wrong, not unless one is already fed upto their soul. I checked in, half satiated. Left, the same way.
[A note of thanks to Netgalley and Random House UK, Vintage Publishing for providing me a copy of this book].
September 13, 2016
I literally have no idea what I just read. Perhaps it's very much my fault, as I didn't read the first book, and as I know very little about the story of Jesus between his birth and his adult ministry.
This is an extremely smoothly written but quite boring book set in a fantastical version of Spain (why Spain?) that is a little totalitarian, a little antique and a little future dystopian all at the same time. Although the state is actually depicted as mostly inept. Everyone in Spain is an immigrant from another life (ah topicality) but they have forgotten their past including their name upon arrival in Spain. Is Spain heaven? Or hell? If so, why is Jesus growing up there?
The main character is Jesus/David's father/stepfather, Simon. He is a sexless, aging and simple man who devotes his life to the obnoxious and imperious "David". Is that the book's message? If you knew the Messiah as a child, He would be a brat? Or is it a commentary on modern permissive parenting?
There is sort of a parody of a 19th century Russian novel stuck in there about a criminal named Dmitri (of course). It may be meant to make us meditate on mercy, grace, and forgiveness. Or the impotence of all of the above. Some of the book's more bleakly funny scenes poke fun at ineffective rehabilitative justice. (Oh and Dmitri's victim is named Magdalena. What does that mean? )
Then there are a lot of passages about cosmic numbers as supreme beings, dance as truth, language or worship, etc. I didn't really understand or care about much of this, and again there is something tongue-in-cheek about the book's dalliance with abstract philosophy: I'm not really sure we're meant to care. Coetzee seems to be daring us, "knock yourselves out puzzling out my allegory!" But does the Emperor have any clothes?
Could not shake the feeling that the author knows he can put down any random sequence of portentous sounding anecdotes and the literati will swoon, and likely give him a Booker prize. And so he set out to create a book with a salad of seemingly highly symbolic ingredients but with no moorings whatsoever. While the book is oddly compulsively readable, I did feel a bit toyed with. No thanks.
This is an extremely smoothly written but quite boring book set in a fantastical version of Spain (why Spain?) that is a little totalitarian, a little antique and a little future dystopian all at the same time. Although the state is actually depicted as mostly inept. Everyone in Spain is an immigrant from another life (ah topicality) but they have forgotten their past including their name upon arrival in Spain. Is Spain heaven? Or hell? If so, why is Jesus growing up there?
The main character is Jesus/David's father/stepfather, Simon. He is a sexless, aging and simple man who devotes his life to the obnoxious and imperious "David". Is that the book's message? If you knew the Messiah as a child, He would be a brat? Or is it a commentary on modern permissive parenting?
There is sort of a parody of a 19th century Russian novel stuck in there about a criminal named Dmitri (of course). It may be meant to make us meditate on mercy, grace, and forgiveness. Or the impotence of all of the above. Some of the book's more bleakly funny scenes poke fun at ineffective rehabilitative justice. (Oh and Dmitri's victim is named Magdalena. What does that mean? )
Then there are a lot of passages about cosmic numbers as supreme beings, dance as truth, language or worship, etc. I didn't really understand or care about much of this, and again there is something tongue-in-cheek about the book's dalliance with abstract philosophy: I'm not really sure we're meant to care. Coetzee seems to be daring us, "knock yourselves out puzzling out my allegory!" But does the Emperor have any clothes?
Could not shake the feeling that the author knows he can put down any random sequence of portentous sounding anecdotes and the literati will swoon, and likely give him a Booker prize. And so he set out to create a book with a salad of seemingly highly symbolic ingredients but with no moorings whatsoever. While the book is oddly compulsively readable, I did feel a bit toyed with. No thanks.
September 26, 2017
Coetzee’s quiet skill shows us how an old bible story parallels events that happen today in every country—the dislocation of migration for instance—making us scour the landscape for examples of God working through us. By telling the old story in a new way, we think anew about Christian values—charity, kindness, and love for instance—and what they really mean in practice.
The city Estrella to which Davíd, Inés and Simón escape sounds remarkably like Australia when spoken. Davíd attends a school without regular classes, called the Dance Academy, which teaches numbers through dance by calling the numerals down from the stars. His teacher, Ana Magdalena, is a beautiful woman. After she is horribly attacked by a man who claims to love her, Davíd discovers her body.
The cast of characters is more transparent than the earlier book, though were I to go back to that earlier piece now, having read this one, I’m sure I would find more in it that fits into the myth. What we find ourselves contemplating is the lack of stability in the world, and our need for the society of others. We learn the difference between passion and love between people (passion is selfish while love is unselfish), but also the perhaps contradictory need for passion when choosing a field of study.
We learn that there is evil, that sometimes people do evil things. There is something…something along the lines of “pay attention” that makes the point that we must not be careless with our actions, but should have reasons for what we do. Until the heart of a bear can be put into a human being, Simón tells Davíd, people will have to take responsibility for their actions. “I don’t know why” is no kind of an excuse for bad behavior. We’ll find out in the next installment what happens to those who knowingly do things that will harm others.
Coetzee is such a master. His descriptions of children’s speech and actions are so perceptive—like the dog Bolívar’s swagger—that we trust his descriptions of the sisters on the farm, and Señor Arroyo’s sister Mercedes, who finally teaches Simón to dance, to remember, and maybe to get his passion back.
I like everything about this series. Coetzee gives it to us in installments rather than trying to make one big book of it. As a result, the stories are slim things, which allows us to read with attention. After all, the underlying story is going to be familiar to most of the world. Christian, Jewish, and Muslim believers have all learned the life of Jesus.
The book is available in audio, produced by HighBridge and read by James Cameron Stewart. It is listening to Stewart’s very British accent that I discovered that Estrella sounds so much like Australia. We know Simón and family learned Spanish when they left Novilla, but I'm going to guess the accent you have in your head for this family is not British. No matter. Stewart does a magnificent job. Read or listen, this layered novel is a real treat.
I’d been pronouncing Coetzee’s name wrong for years, so I copy the wiki for you: John Maxwell "J. M." Coetzee ([kutˈseː], kuut-SEE. It occurred to me that I would not be afraid to meet Coetzee, though I am rather timid when I consider meeting other authors I admire. Somehow I imagine he would be kind, and neither he nor I would need to perform.
The city Estrella to which Davíd, Inés and Simón escape sounds remarkably like Australia when spoken. Davíd attends a school without regular classes, called the Dance Academy, which teaches numbers through dance by calling the numerals down from the stars. His teacher, Ana Magdalena, is a beautiful woman. After she is horribly attacked by a man who claims to love her, Davíd discovers her body.
The cast of characters is more transparent than the earlier book, though were I to go back to that earlier piece now, having read this one, I’m sure I would find more in it that fits into the myth. What we find ourselves contemplating is the lack of stability in the world, and our need for the society of others. We learn the difference between passion and love between people (passion is selfish while love is unselfish), but also the perhaps contradictory need for passion when choosing a field of study.
We learn that there is evil, that sometimes people do evil things. There is something…something along the lines of “pay attention” that makes the point that we must not be careless with our actions, but should have reasons for what we do. Until the heart of a bear can be put into a human being, Simón tells Davíd, people will have to take responsibility for their actions. “I don’t know why” is no kind of an excuse for bad behavior. We’ll find out in the next installment what happens to those who knowingly do things that will harm others.
Coetzee is such a master. His descriptions of children’s speech and actions are so perceptive—like the dog Bolívar’s swagger—that we trust his descriptions of the sisters on the farm, and Señor Arroyo’s sister Mercedes, who finally teaches Simón to dance, to remember, and maybe to get his passion back.
I like everything about this series. Coetzee gives it to us in installments rather than trying to make one big book of it. As a result, the stories are slim things, which allows us to read with attention. After all, the underlying story is going to be familiar to most of the world. Christian, Jewish, and Muslim believers have all learned the life of Jesus.
The book is available in audio, produced by HighBridge and read by James Cameron Stewart. It is listening to Stewart’s very British accent that I discovered that Estrella sounds so much like Australia. We know Simón and family learned Spanish when they left Novilla, but I'm going to guess the accent you have in your head for this family is not British. No matter. Stewart does a magnificent job. Read or listen, this layered novel is a real treat.
I’d been pronouncing Coetzee’s name wrong for years, so I copy the wiki for you: John Maxwell "J. M." Coetzee ([kutˈseː], kuut-SEE. It occurred to me that I would not be afraid to meet Coetzee, though I am rather timid when I consider meeting other authors I admire. Somehow I imagine he would be kind, and neither he nor I would need to perform.
April 4, 2021
This is a book about many things: alternatives to formal education, the nature of children and how they differ from adults, crime and punishment, nascent sexuality and trauma. It's also about two brilliantly drawn characters, David, an exceptional six-year-old, and his stepfather or adopted father, Simon. The book follows the journey of Simon and Ines, the child's mother, as they take David out of the formal educational system and secretly make their way to another town to escape the law. Not much is given away at this stage but we do get to know that David could not fit into traditional schooling, and that his parents are taking him out of it in the hope of offering him an education more suited to his needs.
The three of them end up at a farm where Ines and Simon find casual work as fruit pickers, while David mingles with the other labourers' children. An episode soon ensues that gives us a glimpse of David's headstrong character. Whilst playing, the children come upon a family of ducks, which Bengi, the oldest of the group, begins to chase and hurl stones at. A stone strikes one of the ducks and breaks its wing; David is outraged and falls into the water to save the duck. His parents intervene and Simon dives in to get the wounded duck ashore. It's too late for the duck, it has to be put down, but Simon urges David to go with Bengi and give the bird a proper burial. He also advises David to forgive Bengi because the older boy has apologised for his action. But David is adamant that Bengi was not sorry for what he did. A long conversation follows: Simon patiently and rationally tries to explain why David should forgive Bengi, but David is not convinced. He has his own views on the matter -- that Bengi hurt the duck on purpose -- and is not prepared to backtrack.
This episode sets the pattern for the entire book with Simon patiently engaging with David's questions, but ultimately failing to win over the boy who does not find Simon's answers convincing. The relationship between them begins to turn sour. David is not happy with the kind of explanations he gets from Simon, while Simon feels that the boy is losing his respect for him. The relationship is further complicated by David's insistence that 'David' is not his real name and that Ines and Simon are not his real parents. Simon does not contest the latter explaining that David arrived on a boat "just as I did, just as the people around us did. ... When you travel across the ocean on a boat, all your memories are washed away and you start a completely new life". This is repeated later on in the book, so it is to be understood somewhat literally, rather than as a simple explanation suitable for a six-year-old.
There soon follows another failed educational experiment; Ines and Simon find David a private tutor. Initially, this tutor seems to have promising educational methods, for example, he tries to teach numbers by getting young David to abstract from the idea of things that come in pairs and focus solely on the notion of 'two'. However, this tutor, too, fails to engage David, and in fact, the reader tends to sympathise with the young boy who clearly possesses a kind of intelligence the tutor neither understands nor engages with. Thus, when shown two pens and two pills and prompted for an answer to the question 'what is the property the pills and the pens have in common', David answers 'Two. Two for the pens and two for the pills. But they aren't the same two". This is right, of course. But the tutor does not care about young David's objections, he only cares about getting his own point reinforced. This tutor proves to be as self-assured and incapable of engaging with young, fresh minds as any in David's short foray into the formal school system.
The book thus raises important questions about what it is to teach, especially when the children in question have inquisitive minds keen on questioning everything. For his part, Simon is both different and similar to the other adults David has encountered. He's different in that he makes a genuine effort to engage with the boy's questions. On the other hand, his rationalist views do not go down well with David. It's pretty clear that Simon loves the boy, but gets frustrated at the boy's repeated 'why' questions. His frustration becomes more pronounced when a different kind of school is suggested for young David, the Academy of Dance, run by the Arroyo couple, where students are not taught the numbers through traditional methods but actually dance the numbers and by dancing them, they call the numbers down to earth. Simon's rationalist bend of mind immediately rebels against this theory but David is captivated. The contrast between these two characters occupies much of the rest of the book with Simon keen to encourage the boy but also completely unable to feel any sympathy for the Arroyos' unorthodox methods.
The conflict between Simon's down-to-earth rationalism and David's frank, uncompromising attitude forms the backbone of this book. The question is not only how we, as adults, teach, but also how we, as adults, love. Simon loves David -- there's no doubt about that. But he is unable to convey this to David while he rejects the boy's more intuitive approach to the world. The book brings this out superbly, and yet, this conflict is not final or catastrophic, because eventually Simon will make more efforts to understand the boy's point of view. Conversely, the boy does respect Simon even at the times when his frustration takes the upper hand.
There are many more elements in the book: philosophical discussions about the nature of numbers and a long foray into crime and punishment, which unfortunately, for me, did nothing to enhance the main story. There of course remains the question of Jesus in the title. Is David 'Jesus' as suggested by the fact that the book tells the story of his schooldays? There's a wonderful point in the book where Senor Arroyo explains to Simon why David is a rare child: "The word I use for him is integral. He is integral in a way that other children are not. Nothing can be taken away from him. Nothing can be added. Who or what you or I believe him to be is of no importance". Young David seems to possess traits that other people do not, and in that sense he is extraordinary, out of this world. Only some god could have the kind of integrity, the kind of completeness young David has. On the other hand, David also seems to be the archetypical child, the child that each one of us might be if we hadn't those qualities knocked out of us by our parents or the educational system. So my take on this is that David is both unlike any other child but also very much like every other child, and in this he is 'Jesus'.
The three of them end up at a farm where Ines and Simon find casual work as fruit pickers, while David mingles with the other labourers' children. An episode soon ensues that gives us a glimpse of David's headstrong character. Whilst playing, the children come upon a family of ducks, which Bengi, the oldest of the group, begins to chase and hurl stones at. A stone strikes one of the ducks and breaks its wing; David is outraged and falls into the water to save the duck. His parents intervene and Simon dives in to get the wounded duck ashore. It's too late for the duck, it has to be put down, but Simon urges David to go with Bengi and give the bird a proper burial. He also advises David to forgive Bengi because the older boy has apologised for his action. But David is adamant that Bengi was not sorry for what he did. A long conversation follows: Simon patiently and rationally tries to explain why David should forgive Bengi, but David is not convinced. He has his own views on the matter -- that Bengi hurt the duck on purpose -- and is not prepared to backtrack.
This episode sets the pattern for the entire book with Simon patiently engaging with David's questions, but ultimately failing to win over the boy who does not find Simon's answers convincing. The relationship between them begins to turn sour. David is not happy with the kind of explanations he gets from Simon, while Simon feels that the boy is losing his respect for him. The relationship is further complicated by David's insistence that 'David' is not his real name and that Ines and Simon are not his real parents. Simon does not contest the latter explaining that David arrived on a boat "just as I did, just as the people around us did. ... When you travel across the ocean on a boat, all your memories are washed away and you start a completely new life". This is repeated later on in the book, so it is to be understood somewhat literally, rather than as a simple explanation suitable for a six-year-old.
There soon follows another failed educational experiment; Ines and Simon find David a private tutor. Initially, this tutor seems to have promising educational methods, for example, he tries to teach numbers by getting young David to abstract from the idea of things that come in pairs and focus solely on the notion of 'two'. However, this tutor, too, fails to engage David, and in fact, the reader tends to sympathise with the young boy who clearly possesses a kind of intelligence the tutor neither understands nor engages with. Thus, when shown two pens and two pills and prompted for an answer to the question 'what is the property the pills and the pens have in common', David answers 'Two. Two for the pens and two for the pills. But they aren't the same two". This is right, of course. But the tutor does not care about young David's objections, he only cares about getting his own point reinforced. This tutor proves to be as self-assured and incapable of engaging with young, fresh minds as any in David's short foray into the formal school system.
The book thus raises important questions about what it is to teach, especially when the children in question have inquisitive minds keen on questioning everything. For his part, Simon is both different and similar to the other adults David has encountered. He's different in that he makes a genuine effort to engage with the boy's questions. On the other hand, his rationalist views do not go down well with David. It's pretty clear that Simon loves the boy, but gets frustrated at the boy's repeated 'why' questions. His frustration becomes more pronounced when a different kind of school is suggested for young David, the Academy of Dance, run by the Arroyo couple, where students are not taught the numbers through traditional methods but actually dance the numbers and by dancing them, they call the numbers down to earth. Simon's rationalist bend of mind immediately rebels against this theory but David is captivated. The contrast between these two characters occupies much of the rest of the book with Simon keen to encourage the boy but also completely unable to feel any sympathy for the Arroyos' unorthodox methods.
The conflict between Simon's down-to-earth rationalism and David's frank, uncompromising attitude forms the backbone of this book. The question is not only how we, as adults, teach, but also how we, as adults, love. Simon loves David -- there's no doubt about that. But he is unable to convey this to David while he rejects the boy's more intuitive approach to the world. The book brings this out superbly, and yet, this conflict is not final or catastrophic, because eventually Simon will make more efforts to understand the boy's point of view. Conversely, the boy does respect Simon even at the times when his frustration takes the upper hand.
There are many more elements in the book: philosophical discussions about the nature of numbers and a long foray into crime and punishment, which unfortunately, for me, did nothing to enhance the main story. There of course remains the question of Jesus in the title. Is David 'Jesus' as suggested by the fact that the book tells the story of his schooldays? There's a wonderful point in the book where Senor Arroyo explains to Simon why David is a rare child: "The word I use for him is integral. He is integral in a way that other children are not. Nothing can be taken away from him. Nothing can be added. Who or what you or I believe him to be is of no importance". Young David seems to possess traits that other people do not, and in that sense he is extraordinary, out of this world. Only some god could have the kind of integrity, the kind of completeness young David has. On the other hand, David also seems to be the archetypical child, the child that each one of us might be if we hadn't those qualities knocked out of us by our parents or the educational system. So my take on this is that David is both unlike any other child but also very much like every other child, and in this he is 'Jesus'.
February 21, 2017
In 1999, the South African writer J.M. Coetzee topped his already celebrated career by publishing “Disgrace,” an unforgettable novel that earned him a second Man Booker Prize — the first time anyone had done that. Four years later, he won the Nobel Prize in literature. But since then, his published fiction has strained mightily to repel any reader who might be interested.
Perhaps that’s as it should be. If you’re 77 years old, and you��ve collected every literary prize in the world, you ought to be able to write whatever you damn well please.
But caveat emptor.
“The Schooldays of Jesus,” Coetzee’s new novel, is a sequel to his equally enigmatic book “The Childhood of Jesus” (2013). You can be forgiven for assuming that these novels follow the life of, say. . . .
To read the rest of this review, go to The Washington Post:
https://www.washingtonpost.com/entert...
Perhaps that’s as it should be. If you’re 77 years old, and you��ve collected every literary prize in the world, you ought to be able to write whatever you damn well please.
But caveat emptor.
“The Schooldays of Jesus,” Coetzee’s new novel, is a sequel to his equally enigmatic book “The Childhood of Jesus” (2013). You can be forgiven for assuming that these novels follow the life of, say. . . .
To read the rest of this review, go to The Washington Post:
https://www.washingtonpost.com/entert...
February 19, 2019
There is the boy. Lost in the throng of refugees trying to board a boat, he is found by the narrator of this tale, Simón. The boy is found and cared for by this man who unites him with his mother, who becomes his step father, in a sense. They have have taken different names for protection and the boy is called David but he is quick to let others know that is not his name and that Simón is not his father. Typically, the boy, David carries a knife with him. Not a sharpened steeled object but a quivering laser born to slice through the conglomerate of lies accepted to keep his makeshift family intact, and the world around him, the city of Estrella. The boy’s questions are endless; the length of the list; the adamancy of why things need to be made this way, spoken of such. In a discomforting way he raids the reality people are cushioned by. Often referred to as special, he is a seer. Possibly it was being lost on the dock, seven years old, clutching the rail, which opened a field of vision he could no longer turn his back on. An emotional, Psychological, organic change, leaving him a seer. In the womb he may have heard the ethereal words of, Miss MacIntosh My Darling, read or spoken unveiling the true life beyond the facades constructed for survival. There is no turning back.
He is frequently at odds with Simón who is reasonable, steady and responsible. Simón has no wishes to see beyond only what he can see. David’s insistence on his own sight, refusal to back down and accept the what is accepted by the status quo grinds against Simón, as it had grated against the school in Novilla where he was removed and or taken away. Against the law Simón and Inez his mother took him and fled. In Estrella it appears the only source of an education is a Dance Academy. While their are no academic classes, to Inez’s disappointment, David is enamored by the concept that he will be taught to dance in a way which will help him to encounter and express the meanings of the, numbers. The numbers beyond. The numbers that existed before people began their measuring of it, before they listed away from the life of seeking what things are in and of themselves. Uncertainty.
Both Inez and Simón are uncertain about this method of schooling but there are no other choices. It does not come across as shady to Simón who well accepts his limitations due to the small slit he is left to view the world from as well as his passive acceptance of what comes to him. This is fueled by the dedication of the owners of the Academy, an older musician and his younger wife. It seemed in a word, goofy, to him, but who was he and he felt a tinge of envy that others seemed to be on to something about life he was not or could not reach, see, that filled their lives fuller.
I as reader had grave concerns about this being a central part of the tale then drifting into the absurd. Coetzee maintained a sliver of tension here consistently throughout, however undetectable it registered on my geiger counter. This was difficult. An admirable accomplishment.
Looking back on it now I can see Coetzee’s slowing the tempo, his restrained language with the bare throbs of a pulse below, as a means of guiding us to the crescendo of what is identity beyond a name, reality beyond a measurement. Coetzee seems to make the complex simple and he does not fail here.
However he did lose one star. The mother of this cobbled together family, Inez, is a thin plied character of small substance. She too is stuck in this measured world but unlike Simón little is known of her. A large opportunity was missed in its myopic view of women.
December 1, 2019
Just like the first one this second book in the ‘Jesus’-cycle of Coetzee makes you wonder: who is this little David really? What is his connection to Christ? And in general: what is this book about? Is there a message, or does Coetzee just play a game with the reader? And so on; enough to get intrigued or even frustrated about.
I remember from the first book, The Childhood of Jesus, that I had the impression that Coetzee’s central theme was ‘the state of contrariness’, that he wanted to illustrate that people who go against prevailing thinking and social norms may be right, or at least that they have the right to be different. In that sense the stubborn little David in particular was central to that first part. And there were enough subtle hints in the direction of the Christian Trinity story (Joseph-Mary-Jesus) to explain the title reference to Jesus.
But just that is not the case in this second part. Surrogate mother Ines for instance stays almost completely out of the picture in "The Schooldays of Jesus". And little David himself remains the same stubborn, capricious and self-centred boy, constantly posing "why?"-questions and refusing to comply to what his parents want. The only evolution in his character is his fascination for the numerological theory of the dance academy where he ends up (see below).
Hence my new thesis: this novel cycle is not about David/Jesus, but about Simon, the very caring and concerned father figure. Just as in the first part Coetzee zooms in on the man's patient attempts to understand David, to explain the course of the world to him. But new is that we regularly see Simon becoming desperate, losing his patience and even falling out against David and others. And new is that Simon is clearly struggling with that special approach of the dance academy where he enrolled David and where a numerological philosophy is followed that he does not understand: the teachers learn the children to ‘make numbers fall down from the stars’, through music and dance, a clear reference to the Pythagorean philosophy (my GR-friend Blackoxford rather thinks it is a kabbalistic reference). It is clear to me that in this part Simon stands for the rational person who desperately tries to place phenomena and views that do not fit in his logical way of thinking, and is frustrated that he does not succeed (for the time being?) in doing that. To me, personally, Simon was a very recognizable character.
The murder story about the museum attendant Dmitri is another example of that issue. With Dmitri Coetzee clearly refers to Dostoyevsky: he's a passionate man, that lets his passion take control over him, with dramatic consequences. For him and for the entire community it's impossible to grasp why the murder was committed. Here too Coetzee stresses the challenge of irrationality (the issue of passion) that embarrasses our 'reasonable' world. To be honest, I found the whole murder story to be a weak element, which brought the entire second part to a slightly lesser level than the first one. This second book is also much 'poorer' in terms of themes than the first. But Coetzee compensates for this by a sudden twist in the final chapter, a twist around main character Simon that again jeopardizes our apparent certainties, and seems to offer an way out of our passion/rationality-dilemma.
And so I come back to my starting point: does Coetzee play a game with the reader? I don’t mean that in a derogatory way. It seems to me that he consciously wanted to confront us with the large portion of mystery that prevails in our seemingly well-designed world. It is a theme that is covered in almost all of his novels, and that he may have worked out a little more frivolously here than usual. And again Coetzee perfectly illustrates that the attraction of stories is that they are enigmatic and can be interpreted in many ways. So I am curious if my thesis will hold in the third and last part of the Jesus-cycle, that has just been released, The Death of Jesus. It's already on my to-read list.
I remember from the first book, The Childhood of Jesus, that I had the impression that Coetzee’s central theme was ‘the state of contrariness’, that he wanted to illustrate that people who go against prevailing thinking and social norms may be right, or at least that they have the right to be different. In that sense the stubborn little David in particular was central to that first part. And there were enough subtle hints in the direction of the Christian Trinity story (Joseph-Mary-Jesus) to explain the title reference to Jesus.
But just that is not the case in this second part. Surrogate mother Ines for instance stays almost completely out of the picture in "The Schooldays of Jesus". And little David himself remains the same stubborn, capricious and self-centred boy, constantly posing "why?"-questions and refusing to comply to what his parents want. The only evolution in his character is his fascination for the numerological theory of the dance academy where he ends up (see below).
Hence my new thesis: this novel cycle is not about David/Jesus, but about Simon, the very caring and concerned father figure. Just as in the first part Coetzee zooms in on the man's patient attempts to understand David, to explain the course of the world to him. But new is that we regularly see Simon becoming desperate, losing his patience and even falling out against David and others. And new is that Simon is clearly struggling with that special approach of the dance academy where he enrolled David and where a numerological philosophy is followed that he does not understand: the teachers learn the children to ‘make numbers fall down from the stars’, through music and dance, a clear reference to the Pythagorean philosophy (my GR-friend Blackoxford rather thinks it is a kabbalistic reference). It is clear to me that in this part Simon stands for the rational person who desperately tries to place phenomena and views that do not fit in his logical way of thinking, and is frustrated that he does not succeed (for the time being?) in doing that. To me, personally, Simon was a very recognizable character.
The murder story about the museum attendant Dmitri is another example of that issue. With Dmitri Coetzee clearly refers to Dostoyevsky: he's a passionate man, that lets his passion take control over him, with dramatic consequences. For him and for the entire community it's impossible to grasp why the murder was committed. Here too Coetzee stresses the challenge of irrationality (the issue of passion) that embarrasses our 'reasonable' world. To be honest, I found the whole murder story to be a weak element, which brought the entire second part to a slightly lesser level than the first one. This second book is also much 'poorer' in terms of themes than the first. But Coetzee compensates for this by a sudden twist in the final chapter, a twist around main character Simon that again jeopardizes our apparent certainties, and seems to offer an way out of our passion/rationality-dilemma.
And so I come back to my starting point: does Coetzee play a game with the reader? I don’t mean that in a derogatory way. It seems to me that he consciously wanted to confront us with the large portion of mystery that prevails in our seemingly well-designed world. It is a theme that is covered in almost all of his novels, and that he may have worked out a little more frivolously here than usual. And again Coetzee perfectly illustrates that the attraction of stories is that they are enigmatic and can be interpreted in many ways. So I am curious if my thesis will hold in the third and last part of the Jesus-cycle, that has just been released, The Death of Jesus. It's already on my to-read list.
February 8, 2023
Trilogia lui Isus e ca o cutie cu bomboane, umplute cu idei filozofice, în loc de ciocolată. La fiecare frază, scriitorul îți aduce în față un gând, care se transformă într-o idee, care la rândul ei generează alta, parcă mai profundă și mai atractivă, în stilul lui inimitabil, concis, clar, dar în același timp spumos și plin de substanță. Coetzee ne dezvăluie o grămadă de lucruri inedite, interesante, poate și datorită faptului că este nu numai literat, ci și matematician de top.
Eu nu am putut să mă opresc din a o citi, este foarte intensă și mi-a plăcut cum toate se leagă firesc, dar și uimitor, ca zalele unui lanț creat de un meșter genial.
Pentru că e o curgere aici, care te conduce lin către fiecare final de volum.
M-a interesat povestea lui David, copilul, însă și a lui Simon, la fel de mult. Veți vedea că între ei e o legătură indestructibilă, sunt ca doi magneți cu poli opuși. Deși in jurul lor totul se transformă permanent, ei rămân aproape neschimbați, adultul este serios, rațional și calculat în toate, copilul entuziast și special, excepțional, după cum spun cei care îl cunosc. Coetzee cunoaște foarte bine psihologia umană și arta scrierii, toate personajele lui sunt puse în fel și fel de situații foarte credibile și surprinzătoare totodată, e o splendoare narațiunea, parcă vezi un teatru foarte bun.
Cartea asta e ca un potir de floare ce se deschide la soare, atunci când o citești, e minunată, savuroasă.
Am parcurs și Copilăria lui Isus - ebook.
Dupa ce voi citi și volumul 3, Moartea lui Isus, voi reveni 🙂
Eu nu am putut să mă opresc din a o citi, este foarte intensă și mi-a plăcut cum toate se leagă firesc, dar și uimitor, ca zalele unui lanț creat de un meșter genial.
Pentru că e o curgere aici, care te conduce lin către fiecare final de volum.
M-a interesat povestea lui David, copilul, însă și a lui Simon, la fel de mult. Veți vedea că între ei e o legătură indestructibilă, sunt ca doi magneți cu poli opuși. Deși in jurul lor totul se transformă permanent, ei rămân aproape neschimbați, adultul este serios, rațional și calculat în toate, copilul entuziast și special, excepțional, după cum spun cei care îl cunosc. Coetzee cunoaște foarte bine psihologia umană și arta scrierii, toate personajele lui sunt puse în fel și fel de situații foarte credibile și surprinzătoare totodată, e o splendoare narațiunea, parcă vezi un teatru foarte bun.
Cartea asta e ca un potir de floare ce se deschide la soare, atunci când o citești, e minunată, savuroasă.
Am parcurs și Copilăria lui Isus - ebook.
Dupa ce voi citi și volumul 3, Moartea lui Isus, voi reveni 🙂
December 4, 2020
He is about to answer {another of David’s interminable questions} about to produce the correct, patient educative words, when something wells up inside him. Anger? No. Irritation? No more than that. Despair?
I re-read this book, together with “Childhood of Jesus” and “Death of Jesus” back to back in a single day following publication of the third (and final) volume in the trilogy.
My reviews of the first and third volumes are here:
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
The second book picks up where the first finishes – Ynes, Simón and David reach the countryside town and initially work on a farm as labourers.
Later Ynes gets a job in the City and sponsored by three sisters who own the farm, David joins an academy of Dance, where he flourishes despite the disquiet of Simón and Ynes with the methods of the Academy – which relies on some pseudo-mystical connection between dance, numbers (which are seen very much the way David himself sees them as having their own identity and meaning) and astrology.
The academy is run by a husband and his cold but beautiful wife – she is murdered by the wild caretaker of the downstairs museum who has been telling everyone of his obsession with her and who confesses to her rape and murder (while hinting and effectively proving to Simón – who does not want to know – that he was actually having an active affair with her and strangled her simply to see what it was like).
David is obsessed with this character and his passion (as opposed to the boring Simón) – a character who is clearly inspired by Dostoevsky. As an aside I can only recommend people to read books by the publisher Dostoevsky Wannabe, rather than this misjudged attempt to be one.
David is more and more convinced he is a special child and is indulged by those around him to believe so. He and Simón have a strange relationship – Simón still feels parental responsibility for David, but the latter delights in making it clear to everyone that Simón is not his father and also annoys Simón with his persistent questioning, and refusal to accept the reality of life but to instead assume life should be fashioned around him to his own satisfaction and requirements.
The book ends even more strangely with Simón deciding to join the academy himself.
The second book is much weaker than the increasingly tiresome first
Before the end of the first book Simón tires of the austerity of the land and of the silly questioning of David. And we quickly tire of Coetzee’s writing and the disjointed superficial philosophical discussions.
By the second book this wearInéss is engrained from the very first page.
Further issues include:
The murderer character seems transported from another novel.
Coetzee adopts a device of using phrases like “Says he, Simón” in what is a third person book largely written from a single point of view. Hilary Mantel of course uses a similar device in “Bring Up The Bodies” itself a slight weakening of the incredibly effective unattributed “he/him” in “Wolf Hall” which brings us into Cromwell’s mind despite the third person voice. In this book however the effect is simply to add an additional layer of irritation to the reader – or at least this reader, Says he, Gumble’s Yard.
There is even a rather pathetic attempt at something done so much better by Douglas Adams (and unfortunately this seems deliberate given something in the third book)
Perhaps we should be scouring the world not for the true answer but for the true question.
But perhaps worst of all, David’s quasi-mystical view of numbers which is one of the oddest parts of the first novel becomes almost central, and worse than that linked with a rather ridiculous mix of performance dance and cod-astronomy.
And the very act of having a second book implies that Coetzee clearly has some form of intention for the novel whereas the first could in isolation been have read as an interesting experiment.
Our own reaction to the idea that there is some deep intent here, mirrors that of Simón to the mathematical dance.
Can you make sense of this? He whispers
He, Simón, soon loses interest.
No I don’t call it philosophy. Privately, I call it claptrap.
August 26, 2016
As I started this book, for the first few pages, I thought I was going to like it a lot more than I did The Childhood of Jesus which I read in preparation for reading this and which I really did not enjoy. This one started off a lot more promisingly. But then I started to notice repeated use of phrases like “to him, Simon”, “so he, Simon”, “he, Simon”, “then he, Simon” and, worst of all “says he, Simon”. From that point onwards I found it hard to concentrate on the book properly as I was counting the paragraphs between use of one of those ridiculous phrases. I rarely had to use the fingers on my second hand. Unfortunately, that did it for me. The book reads like it has been badly translated from some other language.
The plot merely serves to navigate us between philosophical discussions. Nothing is required to happen except to open up the next debate. For much of the time, I was unfortunately reminded of Ayn Rand and Atlas Shrugged and that's not something I would wish on anyone.
In The Guardian, Elizabeth Lowry writes: “On the evidence of this austere, barely realised mise-en-scène, it is difficult not to feel that Coetzee, like Plato, is no longer much interested in the accidents of our quotidian human world, the shadows on the cave wall. He is after essence alone, the pure, ungraspable fire. In his fidelity to ideas, to telling rather than showing, to instructing rather than seducing us, he does not actually write fiction any more. The Schooldays of Jesus, philosophically dense as it is, is parched, relentlessly adult fare – rather like eating endless bread and bean paste."
And that’s about how I feel at the end of this: like I have been living for an age on a diet of bread and bean paste. Childhood and Schooldays are the only two Coetzee books I’ve read. I won’t be putting any others on my “to read” list in a hurry.
That said, I confidently expect it to be on the Man Booker short list.
The plot merely serves to navigate us between philosophical discussions. Nothing is required to happen except to open up the next debate. For much of the time, I was unfortunately reminded of Ayn Rand and Atlas Shrugged and that's not something I would wish on anyone.
In The Guardian, Elizabeth Lowry writes: “On the evidence of this austere, barely realised mise-en-scène, it is difficult not to feel that Coetzee, like Plato, is no longer much interested in the accidents of our quotidian human world, the shadows on the cave wall. He is after essence alone, the pure, ungraspable fire. In his fidelity to ideas, to telling rather than showing, to instructing rather than seducing us, he does not actually write fiction any more. The Schooldays of Jesus, philosophically dense as it is, is parched, relentlessly adult fare – rather like eating endless bread and bean paste."
And that’s about how I feel at the end of this: like I have been living for an age on a diet of bread and bean paste. Childhood and Schooldays are the only two Coetzee books I’ve read. I won’t be putting any others on my “to read” list in a hurry.
That said, I confidently expect it to be on the Man Booker short list.
January 12, 2018
I find these Coetzee novels mesmerizing. I'd taken notes while reading Childhood of Jesus last year and never compiled them into a review (too late now), but this second novel was as interesting to me as that one and I feel the same elation and pleasant perplexity that I did after finishing the first. Schooldays picks up where Childhood left off but its themes are expanded. The city of Estrella allows more expression than Novilla, and the concerns/obsessions of its inhabitants are different. Many discussions allude to Platonism (how many times did I think of Plato's cave?) and the characters Dmitri and Aloysha have the Dostoevskyian names. Then, Jesus (critics can keep saying that the biblical story has nothing to do with the books, but Coetzee has titled the books with deliberation, so it must be considered): Jesus as the irascible student attracted to/repelled by his teachers, and trying the patience of his parents, and his unceasing questions that push the boundaries of the status quo..... Coetzee is an avowed atheist (though raised Protestant and deeply familiar with the Judeo-Christian tradition), and the novels contain countless parallels to the teachings of the historical Jesus - enough that I get a little thrill when I detect something - but the parallels are arbitrary and trying to read as a one-to-one allegory is crazy-making. It seems rather that Coetzee is availing himself of parts of the Gospels that intrigue him, and tossing them into a surreal world in which this strange child might incorporate the ideas into an eventual philosophy (but not a theology, which has no place in the universe of these novels). Simón (Joseph?) continues to be the most intriguing character and Simón's evolution in thought, through his "dialogues" with David, his writing teacher, and Dmitri, are fascinating. As a nonbeliever he feels adrift and depressed in a world of people who believe in the "numbers" or follow their passions, but maybe the conclusion of the book (learning to dance) reveals that a nonbeliever does not have to remain outside the realm of transcendence .....
October 16, 2020
Dva roditelja (da li su roditelji?) i dete beže pred zakonom. Prekršaj možda i nije nešto velik, ispisali su Davida iz škole, smatraju da u običnoj školi ne može da se snađe, da je drugačiji i da mu treba drugačija vrsta školovanja.
Ovaj simpatičan roman počinje njihovim dolaskom u izmišljen grad izmišljene države, gde Davida upisuju u plesnu akademiju. Roman se najviše bavi odnosima te neobične porodice, ali dotiče i ozbiljne teme. Da li sam autentičan, pita se narator / dečakov staratelj. Ako i jesam, kakvu to vrednost ima u današnjem svetu? Gajim li strast i prema čemu? U školi se pojavljuje i osoba za koju isprva nije jasno da li je manijak ili samo neko sa mnogo strasti, pa se tu pitamo i šta je zlo, ko je ustvari zao.
Isusovo školovanje trebalo bi da bude alegorija na biblijsku priču o Isusovom odrastanju. Znam da se radi o najvećoj ikad napisanoj knjizi, ali pošto sam svaki put brzo odustajao, pretpostavljam da sam ovde dosta i propustio. Ipak, veoma pozitivno iskustvo.
Ovaj simpatičan roman počinje njihovim dolaskom u izmišljen grad izmišljene države, gde Davida upisuju u plesnu akademiju. Roman se najviše bavi odnosima te neobične porodice, ali dotiče i ozbiljne teme. Da li sam autentičan, pita se narator / dečakov staratelj. Ako i jesam, kakvu to vrednost ima u današnjem svetu? Gajim li strast i prema čemu? U školi se pojavljuje i osoba za koju isprva nije jasno da li je manijak ili samo neko sa mnogo strasti, pa se tu pitamo i šta je zlo, ko je ustvari zao.
Isusovo školovanje trebalo bi da bude alegorija na biblijsku priču o Isusovom odrastanju. Znam da se radi o najvećoj ikad napisanoj knjizi, ali pošto sam svaki put brzo odustajao, pretpostavljam da sam ovde dosta i propustio. Ipak, veoma pozitivno iskustvo.
August 27, 2016
'I cannot tell you, señor Arroyo,' he says, 'how much I dislike these cheap paradoxes and mystifications." p. 199
That pretty much sums up my feelings about Coetzee's allegedly allegorical work, which - although marginally more interesting than its predecessor ('Childhood of Jesus'), since it in large part deals with a mysterious murder and its aftermath - is still somewhat incomprehensible and meaningless. The story moves quickly, and there are some interesting sections, but the underlying philosophy just never brings with it any tangible results, IMHO.
On a side note, I assume that the names of the characters Dmitri and Alyosha are a reference/homage to Dostoyevsky's Brothers K., but again, can see no reasonable explanation for why that should be so (and where's Ivan?)
That pretty much sums up my feelings about Coetzee's allegedly allegorical work, which - although marginally more interesting than its predecessor ('Childhood of Jesus'), since it in large part deals with a mysterious murder and its aftermath - is still somewhat incomprehensible and meaningless. The story moves quickly, and there are some interesting sections, but the underlying philosophy just never brings with it any tangible results, IMHO.
On a side note, I assume that the names of the characters Dmitri and Alyosha are a reference/homage to Dostoyevsky's Brothers K., but again, can see no reasonable explanation for why that should be so (and where's Ivan?)
May 31, 2017
(Lightning Review)
The best thing JMC's done in a long while. While that may not be saying much considering its predecessors, the book delivers on what you want: passionless, idiomatic Coetzee-isms that include the killing of a duck delivered with all the passionate verve of a BINGO caller. That's not a put-down, it's what I like about the man's writing. I just wouldn't want to sleep with him, if ya know what I mean.
Lightning Review rating: Jesus got more interesting after he entered school and became a dancing machine (watch me get down, watch me get down...)
The best thing JMC's done in a long while. While that may not be saying much considering its predecessors, the book delivers on what you want: passionless, idiomatic Coetzee-isms that include the killing of a duck delivered with all the passionate verve of a BINGO caller. That's not a put-down, it's what I like about the man's writing. I just wouldn't want to sleep with him, if ya know what I mean.
Lightning Review rating: Jesus got more interesting after he entered school and became a dancing machine (watch me get down, watch me get down...)
October 24, 2016
Wow! It was crystal clear liquid moving over rusting surfaces.
Sir Coetzee's writing always floats, deflects and with sly polish of meaning, elevates.
That's why I love Coetzee because of my CONNECTION with his writings.
This book was unexpectedly good.
Detailed review will be soon to come.
Sir Coetzee's writing always floats, deflects and with sly polish of meaning, elevates.
That's why I love Coetzee because of my CONNECTION with his writings.
This book was unexpectedly good.
Detailed review will be soon to come.
September 20, 2021
In this trilogy Coetzee reaches his former heights, returns to the territory where he moves with ease - the territory between the lines. The books leave the reader wondering, some messages certainly make it through, yet what if there is another meaning, hidden, felt but not trapped, not nailed to the page by a catchy precise phrase?
The books of the trilogy are influenced by Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov. The idea of Jesus coming at a different time and place is clearly borrowed from the main chapter of Dostoyevsky's sad masterpiece. If the analogy is not convincing enough for you, just look at the names of some key characters - obviously Alyosha and Dmitry are not mere coincidences.
Jesus as a child provides Coetzee with some interesting lines of conflict. Parents vs children, our social institutes vs parents and children, our education systems vs Don Quixote. The current set of values and requirements are no match for the gifted child. There is a price to pay as always there must be a price. Even if the memory of the entire land fails, what you don't remember does not allow you to ignore the bill.
The books of the trilogy are influenced by Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov. The idea of Jesus coming at a different time and place is clearly borrowed from the main chapter of Dostoyevsky's sad masterpiece. If the analogy is not convincing enough for you, just look at the names of some key characters - obviously Alyosha and Dmitry are not mere coincidences.
Jesus as a child provides Coetzee with some interesting lines of conflict. Parents vs children, our social institutes vs parents and children, our education systems vs Don Quixote. The current set of values and requirements are no match for the gifted child. There is a price to pay as always there must be a price. Even if the memory of the entire land fails, what you don't remember does not allow you to ignore the bill.
October 30, 2016
To his and Inés' enquiries about his schooldays the boy responds briefly and reluctantly. Yes, he likes señor Arroyo. Yes, they are learning songs. No, they have not had reading lessons. No, they do not do sums. About the mysterious arc that señora Arroyo sounds at the end of the day he will say nothing.
The Schooldays of Jesus picks up where The Childhood of Jesus left off (and as a result, I can't imagine understanding much of this book without having read the earlier): In this new land where refugees arrive with erased memories and assigned identities, the formerly unacquainted Simón, Inés, and six-year-old David have formed a type of family, and after the authorities in Novilla had threatened to remove the headstrong David and send him to a reformatory school, the trio fled to the faraway city of Estrella. As this book begins, the family arrives at a farm where they are hired on as fruitpickers, and as David runs wild with the local children, Simón and Inés attempt to solve the problem of the boy's education: having proven himself incapable of conforming to the demands of a public school setting, just how will the precocious and stubborn little boy be prepared for life? After the family suffers through an unsatisfactory meeting with a local tutor, the women who own the farm – a trio of aging spinsters known as The Three Sisters – offer to pay the tuition for David to attend the Academy of Dance in downtown Estrella. With gratitude, the family decamps to the city where young David commences his schooldays. Filled with odd situations and nonstop philosophical debates, I was intrigued by The Schooldays of Jesus, but as with Childhood, I can't say that I completely understand author J. M. Coetzee's intentions here (perhaps it will all be resolved in a third volume?); yet, I'm glad to have had had the experience.
Having been assured that the Academy of Dance would give David the most well-rounded education possible, Simón and Inés don't understand when David explains that the students spend their days dancing, “calling the numbers down from the stars”. This process is never made clearer to the reader than it is to the baffled parents:
'Inés showed me your dance chart,' he says. 'What are the numbers for? Are they positions for your feet?'
'It's the stars,' says the boy. 'It's astrology. You close your eyes while you dance and you can see the stars in your head.'
'What about counting beats? Doesn't señor Arroyo count the beats for you while you dance?'
'No. You just dance. Dancing is the same as counting.'
'So señor Arroyo just plays and you just dance. It doesn't sound like any dance lesson I am familiar with. I am going to ask señor Arroyo whether I can sit in on one of his lessons.'
'You can't. You are not allowed. Señor Arroyo says no one is allowed.'
'Then when will I ever see you dancing?'
'You can see me now.'
He glances at the boy. The boy is sitting still, his eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips.
'That is not dancing. You can't dance while you are sitting in a car.'
'I can. Look I am dancing again.'
David is so attracted to the Dance Academy's philosophy, and his parents are so reluctant to oppose his demands, that he eventually insists on becoming a boarder at the school and the family essentially breaks up. As the book is told from Simón's point-of-view, it's easy to identify with the despair he feels as the guardianship of the boy – Simón's entire raison d'être in this new land – is removed. And especially because Simón doesn't understand what is attracting David to the odd education, the ice cold dance teacher Ana Magdalena (finally a Biblical tie-in), and Dmitri; the grungy museum worker who hangs around the dance studio. After a violent crime is committed, the book begins to debate ideas like passion and mercy and justice, and throughout it all, Simón understands that people are laughing at him behind his back; calling him a passionless pedant.
Much of The Schooldays of Jesus debates the essential nature of things (Is everything quantifiable? How many times can you ask the question “why” before the answer becomes “because”? Do numbers exist in nature or just the human mind?); and as I was reminded that in Childhood Simón impatiently exited a philosophy course that was dwelling on this same topic, it seems significant enough to note some examples.
While still on the farm, the tutor hired by Simón and Inés attempted to teach David the foundations of mathematics by going over the meaning of numbers with him; explaining why objects can be quantified as existing in groups of one, or two, or three, the tutor says, “Every object in the world is subject to arithmetic. In fact every object in the universe.” David reasonably responds, “But not water. Or vomit.” Despite the solid logic of not being able to count water or vomit as discreet units, the tutor leaves, declaring the boy unteachable. In another instance, after patiently answering a string of “why” questions from David, Simón is forced to eventually answer:
A rule is just a rule. Rules don't have to justify themselves. They just are. Like numbers. There is no why for numbers. This universe is a universe of rules. There is no why for the universe.
(To which, of course, David asks, “Why?” and in frustration Simón declares him “silly”). It is also frustrating for Simón when others won't provide him with straightforward answers, as when he tries to get señor Arroyo to explain what David means when he says only the music teacher really understands who he is:
If I were a philosopher I would reply by saying: It depends on what you mean by who, it depends on what you mean by he, it depends on what you mean by is. Who is he? Who are you? Indeed, who am I?
(This is also frustrating for the reader.) And in my final examples, at one point Simón attends a free lecture on Astrology for want of something better to do after David moves out:
Discussion turns to the Spheres: whether the stars belong to the Spheres or on the contrary follow trajectories of their own; whether the Spheres are finite or infinite. The lecturer believes the number of Spheres is finite – finite but unknown and unknowable, as she puts it.
And in a contrasting scene near the end of the book, Simón attends another lecture, this time on the philosophy of measurement; including a debate on whether everything should be measured:
According to one strand of the legend, Metros said there's nothing in the universe that cannot be measured. According to another strand, he said that there can be no absolute measurement – that measurement is always relative to the measurer.
And in a scene that seems intended to tie it all up, some boys from the Dance Academy do their dance to call down the numbers, which some in the audience seem to understand, but which is still all arcane to Simón. And by extension, arcane to me as well. As I opened with, I was interested in this reading experience, but I was pretty sure I wasn't understanding it; so I went to the experts, wondering what the official reviews said. According to The Telegraph:
Is it possible for a novel to be a series of boring conversations punctuated by silly dancing, but still be good? In The Schooldays of Jesus, J M Coetzee pulls it off. This is another opaque book from an ascetic author who finds a way of denying you everything you want while somehow giving you what you need.
As an example of a positive review, that's pretty faint praise. More damning is The Guardian:
On the evidence of this austere, barely realised mise-en-scène, it is difficult not to feel that Coetzee, like Plato, is no longer much interested in the accidents of our quotidian human world, the shadows on the cave wall. He is after essence alone, the pure, ungraspable fire. In his fidelity to ideas, to telling rather than showing, to instructing rather than seducing us, he does not actually write fiction any more. The Schooldays of Jesus, philosophically dense as it is, is parched, relentlessly adult fare – rather like eating endless bread and bean paste.
I used an unusually high number of quotes in this review in order to give the best sense what The Schooldays of Jesus is like, and even still, you'd have to read the whole thing to really experience it. What I know for sure: if there is a third book in this series, I will happily pick it up; Coetzee has me hooked if confused.
October 4, 2022
Coetzee'nin İsa Üçlemesi'ne devam ediyorum. Açıkçası bu ikinci kitabı ilk kitap kadar etkileyici bulmadığımı söylemem lazım. Bu serinin bütünüyle alegorik olduğunu, okuduğumuzun ötesinde bir meseleyi anlamamız gerektiğini gayet iyi biliyorum ancak bu kez, nasıl diyeyim, ikna olmadım.
Bu ikinci kitapta David'in (İsa'mız?) numerolojiyi dansa adapte eden bir tuhaf Akademideki günlerini okuyoruz. Çocuğun dünyayla dans ve sayıların öznelliği (böyle bir şey iddia ediyor okulun felsefedi) üzerinden ilişkilenme çabasını ve okulda gelişen olayları okuyoruz.
Okulda gelişen olaylardan en temeli, Dimitri adlı (ve besbelli ki Coetzee'nin Dostoyevski takıntısının bir mahsulü olan) bir karakterin hikayesi. İlk kitapta kurallarını tanıyıp anladığımız bu "tutku"suz, arzusuz, iştahsız distopyaya tutku girerse nasıl vahşi sonuçları olur, yazar Dimitri üzerinden bunu keşfetmeye çalışıyor gibi ama açıkçası bana ikinci kitabın merkezine koyduğu bu karakter ve hikâye epeyce zayıf göründü.
İkinci kitabın sonu itibariyle içimdeki huzursuzluk geçmiş değil. Bu üçlemeyi "enigmatik" olarak tanımlayan çok görüş okudum; haklılar. Esrarengiz, tam olarak anlaşılamayan, anlaması ve anlamlandırması güç bir üçleme bu. Yazar sizinle oyun mu oynuyor, sayfalar süren garip felsefi akıl yürütmeler aslında boş kelime oyunlarından mı ibaret yoksa gerçekten bir şey anlatıyor mu, hala çözebilmiş değilim.
Fakat ne tuhaf, bir yanımla da bu kitabın o nev-i şahsına münhasır hissinin içime işlediğini de seziyorum. Sevip sevmememden bağımsız, benimle kalacak bir üçleme olacak bu, bunu biliyorum. Bu da bir güçtür muhakkak.
Bu ikinci kitapta David'in (İsa'mız?) numerolojiyi dansa adapte eden bir tuhaf Akademideki günlerini okuyoruz. Çocuğun dünyayla dans ve sayıların öznelliği (böyle bir şey iddia ediyor okulun felsefedi) üzerinden ilişkilenme çabasını ve okulda gelişen olayları okuyoruz.
Okulda gelişen olaylardan en temeli, Dimitri adlı (ve besbelli ki Coetzee'nin Dostoyevski takıntısının bir mahsulü olan) bir karakterin hikayesi. İlk kitapta kurallarını tanıyıp anladığımız bu "tutku"suz, arzusuz, iştahsız distopyaya tutku girerse nasıl vahşi sonuçları olur, yazar Dimitri üzerinden bunu keşfetmeye çalışıyor gibi ama açıkçası bana ikinci kitabın merkezine koyduğu bu karakter ve hikâye epeyce zayıf göründü.
İkinci kitabın sonu itibariyle içimdeki huzursuzluk geçmiş değil. Bu üçlemeyi "enigmatik" olarak tanımlayan çok görüş okudum; haklılar. Esrarengiz, tam olarak anlaşılamayan, anlaması ve anlamlandırması güç bir üçleme bu. Yazar sizinle oyun mu oynuyor, sayfalar süren garip felsefi akıl yürütmeler aslında boş kelime oyunlarından mı ibaret yoksa gerçekten bir şey anlatıyor mu, hala çözebilmiş değilim.
Fakat ne tuhaf, bir yanımla da bu kitabın o nev-i şahsına münhasır hissinin içime işlediğini de seziyorum. Sevip sevmememden bağımsız, benimle kalacak bir üçleme olacak bu, bunu biliyorum. Bu da bir güçtür muhakkak.
July 6, 2022
I am way behind with my reviewing again so will keep this one short. 2016 was the last year when I didn't aim to read the whole Booker longlist, and it was published very late in that year's Booker season, but I saw it in the library and thought I should read it, having read the first part of the trilogy a few years ago.
This is a rather odd, cryptic fable, and not one I can wholeheartedly recommend - I like Coetzee's early novels much more, and it is a book that probably needs to be read after reading the first part, which in my view makes it a strange choice for the Booker. One for Coetzee devotees only.
This is a rather odd, cryptic fable, and not one I can wholeheartedly recommend - I like Coetzee's early novels much more, and it is a book that probably needs to be read after reading the first part, which in my view makes it a strange choice for the Booker. One for Coetzee devotees only.
August 29, 2016
I found this book very perplexing indeed. If I thought that it was my own intellect at fault, then I would be willing to put the time and effort in to try to make more sense of the novel. But I have a sneaking suspicion it would not be worth it because I have a sneaking suspicion that the book is neither as profound nor as intellectual as it obviously thinks it is. For a start, the title. Cryptic titles are only successful if by the end of the book they stop being cryptic. This one doesn’t. Unless, of course, one of the alleged profundities of the book is that it’s supposed to be an allegory of the holy family and that the boy in the book is supposed to be Jesus. But is he? He’s certainly a strange child but I’m not sure that alone would make him the messiah. He does indeed have parents who travel to another country and arrive in Estrella (star in Spanish) and there is indeed a census. And his adoptive father isn’t his real father nor is his mother his biological mother. So a case could be made for an allegorical portrayal of Jesus. But to what end? Surely it’s rather banal just to draw a few parallels and say, hey, aren’t I clever, I’ve written an allegory, did you notice? It’s a novel that sustains itself with philosophical (or pseudo-philosophical, depending on your point of view) conversations and platitudes, and there’s a bizarre Academy of dance in which David is enrolled – all a bit hippyish – but what does it all amount to? Not much in my opinion. Just because the author draws a few parallels doesn’t mean a book is full of meaning. And I couldn’t find the meaning here. Baffling and irritating, as far as I’m concerned, and not the masterpiece many reviewers have found it.
December 9, 2020
⚫️ “Mūsų Akademijos paskirtis- vesti moksleivių sielas į tą erdvę, siekti jų darnos su didingais pamatiniais visatos judesiais arba, kaip mes tai vadiname, su visatos šokiu.
Pasitelkiame šokį, kad iškviestume skaičius iš erdvių, kuriose jie gyvuoja, kad leistume jiems reikštis tarp mūsų, kad suteiktume jiems kūną.<...> Kaip muzika prasiskverbia į mūsų vidų ir skatina mus šokti, taip ir skaičiai liaujasi buvę tik idėjomis, vaiduokliais ir tampa tikrove.”
Pasitelkiame šokį, kad iškviestume skaičius iš erdvių, kuriose jie gyvuoja, kad leistume jiems reikštis tarp mūsų, kad suteiktume jiems kūną.<...> Kaip muzika prasiskverbia į mūsų vidų ir skatina mus šokti, taip ir skaičiai liaujasi buvę tik idėjomis, vaiduokliais ir tampa tikrove.”
February 6, 2017
I was really looking forward to diving in to this longlisted Man Booker Prize nominee. It was simple to follow (something I cherish in a novel — at times) and surprisingly funny (mainly when the child David drops a comment into conversation that manages to illuminate some fundamental social aspect of our world, that we take for granted, encouraging everyone present to feel uncomfortable). Allegorical? Absolutely. Although, I am still trying to grasp the allegory and worry about what that illuminates in me.
Here’s what reviewers are saying but what did YOU think?
‘An intimacy born from urgency crackles through each of [Coetzee’s] books, as if one is not reading a text but being plugged into a brand new form of current—reinvented each time to carry a new and urgent form of narrative information…Coetzee is the most radical shapeshifter alive.’
John Freeman, Australian
‘The Childhood of Jesus represents a return to the allegorical mode that made him famous…a Kafkaesque version of the nativity story…The Childhood of Jesus does ample justice to his giant reputation: it’s richly enigmatic, with regular flashes of Coetzee’s piercing intelligence.’
Guardian
‘The Schooldays of Jesus by JM Coetzee is maddening, obscure — and brilliant.’
Telegraph
‘Obscurely compelling, often very funny, full of sudden depths…The Schooldays of Jesus is a work of many small but significant truths, rather than one central message; a novel stubbornly committed to its own way of doing things.’
Guardian
‘Yet although it is written with the coolness and limpidity that make Coetzee such a master, the story remains almost uninterpretable, certainly no simple allegory, quite an achievement in itself. Frustrating, yes, but not just that. There were moments when I found it almost too affecting to read without pausing to recover myself.’
Evening Standard
‘The way [Coetzee] mixes the enigmatic and almost otherworldly elements of this child with his youthful and innocent questions makes David the perfect mix of endearing, enraging, and enlightening. He’s as believable as characters come.’
Bookmunch
‘Freed from literary convention, Mr Coetzee writes not to provide answers, but to ask great questions.’
Economist
‘Coetzee’s depiction is unlike any other you’ve read. Rather, it’s decidedly ‘Coetzeean’…Eloquent and provocative.’
Readings
‘The indeterminacy…gives the two Jesus novels their air of unreality and their vaguely allegorical sheen, but it also provides a conveniently stripped-back setting in which to stage philosophical arguments.’
Sydney Review of Books
‘At sentence level, he [Coetzee] is, of course, a model of clarity – think of the dry and unornamented perspicuity Coetzee brings to bear in his fiction, the fastidiousness of thought that emits from his creations the way a dot matrix printer unspools. Yet the cumulative effect of this approach is not arid intellection but organic feeling: full-fleshed, mysterious and often extreme.’
Monthly
‘These are novels for our time…They will puzzle you and frustrate you but at the end of Schooldays you will catch a glimpse of the things unseen.’
Online Opinion
‘The continuation of a masterpiece that is breathtaking and enthralling in its strangeness.’
Peter Craven, Australian Book Review, 2016 Books of the Year
‘The continuation of a masterpiece that is breathtaking and enthralling in its strangeness.’
Peter Craven, Australian Book Review
Here’s what reviewers are saying but what did YOU think?
‘An intimacy born from urgency crackles through each of [Coetzee’s] books, as if one is not reading a text but being plugged into a brand new form of current—reinvented each time to carry a new and urgent form of narrative information…Coetzee is the most radical shapeshifter alive.’
John Freeman, Australian
‘The Childhood of Jesus represents a return to the allegorical mode that made him famous…a Kafkaesque version of the nativity story…The Childhood of Jesus does ample justice to his giant reputation: it’s richly enigmatic, with regular flashes of Coetzee’s piercing intelligence.’
Guardian
‘The Schooldays of Jesus by JM Coetzee is maddening, obscure — and brilliant.’
Telegraph
‘Obscurely compelling, often very funny, full of sudden depths…The Schooldays of Jesus is a work of many small but significant truths, rather than one central message; a novel stubbornly committed to its own way of doing things.’
Guardian
‘Yet although it is written with the coolness and limpidity that make Coetzee such a master, the story remains almost uninterpretable, certainly no simple allegory, quite an achievement in itself. Frustrating, yes, but not just that. There were moments when I found it almost too affecting to read without pausing to recover myself.’
Evening Standard
‘The way [Coetzee] mixes the enigmatic and almost otherworldly elements of this child with his youthful and innocent questions makes David the perfect mix of endearing, enraging, and enlightening. He’s as believable as characters come.’
Bookmunch
‘Freed from literary convention, Mr Coetzee writes not to provide answers, but to ask great questions.’
Economist
‘Coetzee’s depiction is unlike any other you’ve read. Rather, it’s decidedly ‘Coetzeean’…Eloquent and provocative.’
Readings
‘The indeterminacy…gives the two Jesus novels their air of unreality and their vaguely allegorical sheen, but it also provides a conveniently stripped-back setting in which to stage philosophical arguments.’
Sydney Review of Books
‘At sentence level, he [Coetzee] is, of course, a model of clarity – think of the dry and unornamented perspicuity Coetzee brings to bear in his fiction, the fastidiousness of thought that emits from his creations the way a dot matrix printer unspools. Yet the cumulative effect of this approach is not arid intellection but organic feeling: full-fleshed, mysterious and often extreme.’
Monthly
‘These are novels for our time…They will puzzle you and frustrate you but at the end of Schooldays you will catch a glimpse of the things unseen.’
Online Opinion
‘The continuation of a masterpiece that is breathtaking and enthralling in its strangeness.’
Peter Craven, Australian Book Review, 2016 Books of the Year
‘The continuation of a masterpiece that is breathtaking and enthralling in its strangeness.’
Peter Craven, Australian Book Review
August 5, 2018
"Schooldays" picks up where "Childhood" left off, our threesome David, Simon and Inez are on the lam running from the authorities who would take David from his pseudo parents and put him in a school for different kids. David is a different kind of kid too, he is both brash and authoritative on one hand and mysterious and inquisitive on the other always asking why this why that. He knows and often repeats that David is not his real name and these are not his real parents. He has powers of perception and a sense of awe that are enlivened by new characters introduced here at the Academy of Dance in Estrella the outlying hamlet where this novel takes place. Ana Magdalena and her husband Juan Sebastian run the school with heavy Kabbalistic undertones mixed into their dance curricula all of which captures young David's imagination and his sense of belonging to something greater than what is everyday normal. He and other students at the direction of Ana dance to the numbers one, two, three and conjure links to the starry heavens above. Simon as guardian is always meddling while trying to understand how David has become a driving force amongst the people he interacts with including the strangest character of all Dimitri a janitor at the academy and one who befriends many of the kids especially David. If David is the Christ child in this story then Dimitri is John the Baptist and a cross between Raskolnikov & Meursault, a "stranger" mix indeed. And so murder, the senseless kind is afoot and takes this story into an unusual direction introducing new themes and philosophical questions left mostly if not fully unanswered. Simon the benevolent gains in stature as the story builds yet does not move the story the way other characters do. I liken him to Walt Whitman ministering to wounded soldiers as rendered here in a piece Coetzee wrote for The New York Review of Books '05 before these Jesus books were written:
"'Many nights I sat in the hospital by his bedside…—he always liked to have me sit there, but never cared to talk—I shall never forget those nights, it was a curious & solemn scene, the sick & wounded lying around in their cots…& this dear young man close at hand…—I do not know his past life, but what I do know, & what I saw of him, he was a noble boy—I felt he was one I should get very much attached to….
I write you this letter, because I would do something at least in his memory—his fate was a hard one, to die so—He is one of the thousands of our unknown young American men in the ranks about whom there is no record or fame, no fuss about their dying so unknown, but I find in them the real precious & royal ones…. Poor dear son, though you were not my son, I felt to love you as a son, what short time I saw you sick & dying there.'
The letter was signed “Walt Whitman,” with a Brooklyn address."
Coetzee's aim is maybe a little high but his target is clear enough a looseness of his gathered threads to assemble a pattern akin to David's 'dance of seven' epiphanic child's play profundity. Out of the mouth or body movements of babes. Jesus wrote on sand, David dances to bring the stars down illuminating our plight with nature and our hopeless striving to overcome the existential horror of existence without knowing who or what our purpose. It's a fine book from an author who seems to care enough to do some sand writing of his own.
"'Many nights I sat in the hospital by his bedside…—he always liked to have me sit there, but never cared to talk—I shall never forget those nights, it was a curious & solemn scene, the sick & wounded lying around in their cots…& this dear young man close at hand…—I do not know his past life, but what I do know, & what I saw of him, he was a noble boy—I felt he was one I should get very much attached to….
I write you this letter, because I would do something at least in his memory—his fate was a hard one, to die so—He is one of the thousands of our unknown young American men in the ranks about whom there is no record or fame, no fuss about their dying so unknown, but I find in them the real precious & royal ones…. Poor dear son, though you were not my son, I felt to love you as a son, what short time I saw you sick & dying there.'
The letter was signed “Walt Whitman,” with a Brooklyn address."
Coetzee's aim is maybe a little high but his target is clear enough a looseness of his gathered threads to assemble a pattern akin to David's 'dance of seven' epiphanic child's play profundity. Out of the mouth or body movements of babes. Jesus wrote on sand, David dances to bring the stars down illuminating our plight with nature and our hopeless striving to overcome the existential horror of existence without knowing who or what our purpose. It's a fine book from an author who seems to care enough to do some sand writing of his own.
February 27, 2017
“Passion can’t be explained, it can only be experienced. More exactly, it has to be experienced from the inside before it can be understood from the outside”
The Schooldays of Jesus is the second book in the Jesus series by award-winning author, J.M.Coetzee. It follows on directly from The Childhood of Jesus and was longlisted for the2016 Man Booker Prize. David, Simon and Ines have left Novilla, perhaps as fugitives. In the town of Estrella, Simon and Ines find work on a farm until the harvest is over, while David spends the days with the children of other workers. Queries about David’s schooling, now that he is almost seven, lead to his enrolment at the Academy of Dance, with tuition funded by the farm’s owners.
The owner of the Academy of Dance teaches a philosophy with which Simon finds difficulty: the dances may be beautiful, but calling down numbers from the sky? The relationship that David forms with the Principal Attendant at the ground floor museum also concerns Simon, and he cannot deny feeling hurt by David’s preference for the Academy’s care over that of Ines and himself.
In this slightly bizarre, seemingly third-world and possibly post-apocalyptic setting, many of the characters are rather flat and passionless (although less so that in The Childhood of Jesus), often somewhat intriguing but not endearing: their strangeness allows Coetzee to explore their reactions and ideas. Coetzee uses both David’s incessant questions and the encounters his characters have, in various scenarios, with officials, employers, a tutor, patrons, teachers, other parents and random strangers to philosophise about various aspects of life: identity, passion, the reliability of memories, kindness, meat eating, lust, culpability and the state of mind of the perpetrator, being in love, guilt, repentance, and forgiveness.
Readers may find allegory and deep meaning in the text (or perhaps not, as it never really becomes clear if there is any, and even readers who have read The Childhood of Jesus may be confused).The ending is, again, rather ambiguous and leaves scope for Coetzee to continue on this philosophical journey with the same characters in further books. At times surreal, often perplexing, this is another unique offering from Coetzee.
The Schooldays of Jesus is the second book in the Jesus series by award-winning author, J.M.Coetzee. It follows on directly from The Childhood of Jesus and was longlisted for the2016 Man Booker Prize. David, Simon and Ines have left Novilla, perhaps as fugitives. In the town of Estrella, Simon and Ines find work on a farm until the harvest is over, while David spends the days with the children of other workers. Queries about David’s schooling, now that he is almost seven, lead to his enrolment at the Academy of Dance, with tuition funded by the farm’s owners.
The owner of the Academy of Dance teaches a philosophy with which Simon finds difficulty: the dances may be beautiful, but calling down numbers from the sky? The relationship that David forms with the Principal Attendant at the ground floor museum also concerns Simon, and he cannot deny feeling hurt by David’s preference for the Academy’s care over that of Ines and himself.
In this slightly bizarre, seemingly third-world and possibly post-apocalyptic setting, many of the characters are rather flat and passionless (although less so that in The Childhood of Jesus), often somewhat intriguing but not endearing: their strangeness allows Coetzee to explore their reactions and ideas. Coetzee uses both David’s incessant questions and the encounters his characters have, in various scenarios, with officials, employers, a tutor, patrons, teachers, other parents and random strangers to philosophise about various aspects of life: identity, passion, the reliability of memories, kindness, meat eating, lust, culpability and the state of mind of the perpetrator, being in love, guilt, repentance, and forgiveness.
Readers may find allegory and deep meaning in the text (or perhaps not, as it never really becomes clear if there is any, and even readers who have read The Childhood of Jesus may be confused).The ending is, again, rather ambiguous and leaves scope for Coetzee to continue on this philosophical journey with the same characters in further books. At times surreal, often perplexing, this is another unique offering from Coetzee.
February 6, 2021
Part 1 was enigmatic and Part 2 is much the same. In the middle novel of Coetzee's trilogy, David (who is not David), Ines (who is not his mother) and Simon (who is not his father) arrive at a new town. Having fled Novilla/No-town/Utopia because they refused to send David to school, they set up a new home in Estrella - Star City. Here David enrols at the mysterious Arroyo Academy of Dance and learns to dance star numbers (as opposed to the ant/ data numbers normally valued by humanity).
As with Part 1, Part 2 is a Rousseau for modern times, asking questions about education, nature, nurture, do we enter this world blazing " a trail of glory"? The Schooldays of Jesus" is a fictional reworking of Wordsworth:
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star...
Much of the novel is concerned with the memories a child might have when entering this world. David is a child who remembers sleep and has not entirely forgotten life before birth. He is not born tabula rasa. The novel also follows a Blakean dance amongst the Four Zoas, questioning Reason, Love, Sense, and Creativity. In Part 2, Coetzee creates a novel that is better staged and investigates David's schooldays with a tragicomic eye. The result is infuriatingly fascinating.
As with Part 1, Part 2 is a Rousseau for modern times, asking questions about education, nature, nurture, do we enter this world blazing " a trail of glory"? The Schooldays of Jesus" is a fictional reworking of Wordsworth:
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star...
Much of the novel is concerned with the memories a child might have when entering this world. David is a child who remembers sleep and has not entirely forgotten life before birth. He is not born tabula rasa. The novel also follows a Blakean dance amongst the Four Zoas, questioning Reason, Love, Sense, and Creativity. In Part 2, Coetzee creates a novel that is better staged and investigates David's schooldays with a tragicomic eye. The result is infuriatingly fascinating.
September 17, 2016
Drie jaar geleden las en recenseerde ik het raadselachtige "De kinderjaren van Jezus", een parabel zonder sleutel, waarbij ik mij prima amuseerde met de vele open vragen die dat boek opriep. En nu is er dan tot mijn verrassing een vervolg, dat de raadsels van het eerdere boek nog vergroot en vermeerdert. Ik vond dit tweede deel zelfs nog wat mooier en intrigerender dan het eerste, vooral door de verdieping en vermeerdering van de vragen en raadsels, maar ook omdat de stijl voor mijn gevoel wat hartstochtelijker en rijker is. Het haalt volgens mij weliswaar niet het torenhoge niveau van erkende Coetzee-highlights als "Disgrace" en "Life and times of Michael K.", maar sterk is het niettemin wel.
Hoofdpersonen in dit deel zijn ook nu weer de jonge David, inmiddels zes jaar oud en nog wat tegendraadser dan hij in het eerste deel al was, en Simon, 'sadder and wiser' dan hij in deel een al was. Beide personen kennen nog steeds niet hun echte naam en hun echte geschiedenis. Nog steeds zijn er parallellen tussen David en Jezus, terwijl 'Simon' een soort Petrusfiguur zou kunnen zijn (want Simon was de oorspronkelijke naam van Petrus) en tegelijk een soort Jozef (want hij neemt de vaderrol van David op zich al is hij diens aardse vader niet). Maar David is dan wel een Jezus die zijn eigen naam en roeping niet kent, of alleen in het diepst van zijn geheime gedachten, Simon is dan een discipel en Jozef-figuur die niet weet dat hij een discipel is, en in de tamelijk onbepaalde en abstracte wereld waarin Coetzee deze beide personages laat optreden is weinig ruimte voor de stem des geloofs. Ook in dit deel valt de naam 'Jezus' alleen in de titel, en blijven alle parallellen met de Bijbelse Jezus cryptisch en impliciet. Wat misschien symboliseert dat Het Woord en de Bijbelse Jezus hun richtinggevende betekenis verloren hebben in onze postmoderne tijden. Wel stelt David met een mitrailleurvuur aan waarom-vragen alle zekerheden ter discussie, zoals ook Jezus deed, maar op al zijn vragen komt geen eenduidig antwoord, en al helemaal geen antwoord dat -zoals de Bijbel- duidt op een Hoogste Waarheid of een Ultiem Waarom. Simon voelt op enig moment zelfs "wanhoop in een van zijn lichtere vormen" vanwege al deze vragen. En wel "Omdat hij graag zou willen geloven dat hij het kind door de doolhof van het morele leven leidt wanneer hij diens onophoudelijke waaromvragen correct, geduldig beantwoordt. Maar waaruit blijkt ook maar enigszins dat het kind zich iets aantrekt van zijn leiding of op zijn minst hoort wat hij zegt?". En dan zegt hij David dit: "We sjokken door de woestijn, jij en Ines en ik. Je zegt me dat je dorst hebt en ik bied je een glas water aan. In plaats van het water op te drinken giet je het in het zand. Je zegt dat je naar antwoorden dorst: "Waarom dit? Waarom dat?". Ik, omdat ik geduldig ben, omdat ik van je houd, bied je elke keer een antwoord aan, dat je in het zand giet. Vandaag heb ik er eindelijk genoeg van om je water aan te bieden".
Mooie passage vind ik, vooral vanwege het beeld van de vragende die doolt in de woestijn en naar antwoorden dorst. Dat geeft naar mijn gevoel treffend de intensiteit aan van de alsmaar doorvragende vragen van David, waarin met geen enkel gangbaar antwoord genoegen wordt genomen. En het is ook maar de vraag of David ooit uit die woestijn komt of zelfs maar wil komen, of de antwoorden die hij zoekt wel bestaan, en of het bestaan wel een waarom heeft. En misschien is de 'les' van dit Coetzeeiaanse Jezus-verhaal vooral dat ook wij vaker en met wat meer intensiteit zouden moeten doorvragen, wat meer in die vragen zouden moeten leren leven, wat beter zouden moeten leren om te verwijlen in die woestijn van vragen zonder te vluchten naar een dorstlessend antwoord. Waarbij "De schooldagen van Jezus" dan prima helpen kan, want dit boek staat (net als "De kinderjaren van Jezus") vol met filosofische vragen en dialogen, waarin de vraagstukken steeds adembenemend scherp worden neergezet en waarbij het ontbreken van een antwoord steeds op scherpzinnige en soms zelfs fabuleuze wijze wordt gedemonstreerd. Dit boek nodigt ons dus uit om ons in diverse vragen te verdiepen, en door dat te doen trainen wij ons vermogen om in die onbeantwoorde vragen te wonen.
Daarbij moet ik dan meteen benadrukken dat "De schooldagen van Jezus", anders dan het beeld van de woestijn zou kunnen doen vermoeden, zeker geen droog en kaal boek is. Het is integendeel rijk aan verwijzingen en motieven, die allemaal weer nieuwe raadsels opleveren. Erg intrigerend is bijvoorbeeld hoe David op een nogal buitenissige dansacademie leert om het universum te doorgronden via muziek en dans. Het gaat dan om een soort Platoonse en Pythagorese kennis van de 'muziek der sferen', die voorafgaat aan onze onontbeerlijke maar ook verarmende en ontoereikende ratio, en aan onze classificerende logica. Dit dansen draait dus om een soort pre-logisch begrijpen dat voorafgaat aan taal en rede. Prachtig zijn de passages over de pre-logische vervoering van David. Nog iets prachtiger en zelfs erg ontroerend zijn de passages waarin ook Simon, aanhanger van de rede en tamelijk verdord en in het leven teleurgesteld, ook zelf heel geleidelijk aan iets van deze vervoering begint te ervaren, bijna tegen zichzelf in. Misschien ervaart hij daarbij zelfs een begin van religieuze vervoering, zoals waarschijnlijk ook de dansende David, zoals wellicht ook de door David bewonderde dwaas Don Quichotte. Mooi is hoe Simon eerder al een aantal facetten van zijn levensverhaal op papier zet, en daarbij met serene verwondering opmerkt hoe normale structurerende verbindingswoorden ('dus', 'omdat', 'vervolgens') hem niet helpen omdat zijn verhaal te veel leemten bevat. Intrigerend is bovendien het verhaal van Dmitri, een prachtig beschreven dubbelzinnige figuur die duidelijk aan Dostojevski is ontleend, en allerlei Dostojevskiaanse vormen van verheven hartstocht en misdadige passie combineert en uitschreeuwt. Schitterend wordt daarbij beschreven hoe zijn gepassioneerde misdaad niet te duiden en te beoordelen valt in onze classificerende rede en het daarbij behorende rechtssysteem. Nog prachtiger is hoe die buitenrationele hartstocht bij de rationalist Simon weerzin en wrevel oproept, maar tegelijk voor Simon ook een soort appel is om zich iets meer in te laten met de buitenrationele wereld van de passies, hoe problematisch, onvoorspelbaar en gevaarlijk deze ook is. En misschien het allermooist is hoe bijna alle personages dolen in deze wereld, het gevoel hebben dat ze hun wortels en oorsprong zijn kwijtgeraakt en nooit meer zullen terugvinden, terwijl ze tegelijk zich niet kunnen bevrijden van het verlangen naar dieper contact met die verloren oorsprong. Waarbij aan de ene kant gesuggereerd wordt dat het wijzer is om te leven in de open vraag en zonder geloof in de oorsprong, vooral omdat die oorsprong er vermoedelijk gewoon niet is, maar waarbij tegelijk ook gesuggereerd wordt dat het verlangen naar de oorsprong (en: naar het antwoord op al onze levensvragen) een onlesbare dorst is van ons allemaal. Volgens Plato zijn wij schaduwen, die hulpeloos maar vol verlangen zoeken naar het Goddelijke Licht van de ultieme kennis, onze oorsprong en vergeten oerbron. Coetzee alludeert op deze gedachte, maar geeft er volgens mij een eigen wending aan: zeker zijn wij schaduwen, zeker verlangen wij naar het licht, maar dit ultieme licht bestaat bij Coetzee niet. Dus is eindeloos dwalen, dolen en vragen ons eeuwige lot. Aldus Coetzee. Denk ik.
Mooi hoe Coetzee ook in "De schooldagen van Jezus" weer diverse intrigerende vragen zonder antwoord opwerpt en daarmee veel vanzelfsprekendheden in onoplosbare raadsels verandert. Intrigerend hoe hij daarbij schrijft over onze passies en buitenrationele verlangens en hoe zij haaks staan op onze logica en onze behoefte om de dingen te kennen en te meten. Prachtig hoe hij ons laat zien dat het bestaan van open vragen doordesemd is, hoe hij ons uitnodigt om ons in die openheid te verdiepen, en hoe hij daarbij tegelijk ook ons onblusbare verlangen naar antwoorden recht doet. En helemaal intrigerend is hoe Coetzee Bijbelse en Platoonse motieven, die van oorsprong in het teken staan van zoeken naar ultieme hoewel verborgen antwoorden die de aardse en alledaagse waarheden overstijgen, laat uitmonden in een wereld vol vragen en zonder verklarend waarom. Hopelijk komt er ook op "De schooldagen van Jezus" weer een vervolg, en als dat gebeurt worden de raadsels vast weer op fraaie wijze vermenigvuldigd.
Hoofdpersonen in dit deel zijn ook nu weer de jonge David, inmiddels zes jaar oud en nog wat tegendraadser dan hij in het eerste deel al was, en Simon, 'sadder and wiser' dan hij in deel een al was. Beide personen kennen nog steeds niet hun echte naam en hun echte geschiedenis. Nog steeds zijn er parallellen tussen David en Jezus, terwijl 'Simon' een soort Petrusfiguur zou kunnen zijn (want Simon was de oorspronkelijke naam van Petrus) en tegelijk een soort Jozef (want hij neemt de vaderrol van David op zich al is hij diens aardse vader niet). Maar David is dan wel een Jezus die zijn eigen naam en roeping niet kent, of alleen in het diepst van zijn geheime gedachten, Simon is dan een discipel en Jozef-figuur die niet weet dat hij een discipel is, en in de tamelijk onbepaalde en abstracte wereld waarin Coetzee deze beide personages laat optreden is weinig ruimte voor de stem des geloofs. Ook in dit deel valt de naam 'Jezus' alleen in de titel, en blijven alle parallellen met de Bijbelse Jezus cryptisch en impliciet. Wat misschien symboliseert dat Het Woord en de Bijbelse Jezus hun richtinggevende betekenis verloren hebben in onze postmoderne tijden. Wel stelt David met een mitrailleurvuur aan waarom-vragen alle zekerheden ter discussie, zoals ook Jezus deed, maar op al zijn vragen komt geen eenduidig antwoord, en al helemaal geen antwoord dat -zoals de Bijbel- duidt op een Hoogste Waarheid of een Ultiem Waarom. Simon voelt op enig moment zelfs "wanhoop in een van zijn lichtere vormen" vanwege al deze vragen. En wel "Omdat hij graag zou willen geloven dat hij het kind door de doolhof van het morele leven leidt wanneer hij diens onophoudelijke waaromvragen correct, geduldig beantwoordt. Maar waaruit blijkt ook maar enigszins dat het kind zich iets aantrekt van zijn leiding of op zijn minst hoort wat hij zegt?". En dan zegt hij David dit: "We sjokken door de woestijn, jij en Ines en ik. Je zegt me dat je dorst hebt en ik bied je een glas water aan. In plaats van het water op te drinken giet je het in het zand. Je zegt dat je naar antwoorden dorst: "Waarom dit? Waarom dat?". Ik, omdat ik geduldig ben, omdat ik van je houd, bied je elke keer een antwoord aan, dat je in het zand giet. Vandaag heb ik er eindelijk genoeg van om je water aan te bieden".
Mooie passage vind ik, vooral vanwege het beeld van de vragende die doolt in de woestijn en naar antwoorden dorst. Dat geeft naar mijn gevoel treffend de intensiteit aan van de alsmaar doorvragende vragen van David, waarin met geen enkel gangbaar antwoord genoegen wordt genomen. En het is ook maar de vraag of David ooit uit die woestijn komt of zelfs maar wil komen, of de antwoorden die hij zoekt wel bestaan, en of het bestaan wel een waarom heeft. En misschien is de 'les' van dit Coetzeeiaanse Jezus-verhaal vooral dat ook wij vaker en met wat meer intensiteit zouden moeten doorvragen, wat meer in die vragen zouden moeten leren leven, wat beter zouden moeten leren om te verwijlen in die woestijn van vragen zonder te vluchten naar een dorstlessend antwoord. Waarbij "De schooldagen van Jezus" dan prima helpen kan, want dit boek staat (net als "De kinderjaren van Jezus") vol met filosofische vragen en dialogen, waarin de vraagstukken steeds adembenemend scherp worden neergezet en waarbij het ontbreken van een antwoord steeds op scherpzinnige en soms zelfs fabuleuze wijze wordt gedemonstreerd. Dit boek nodigt ons dus uit om ons in diverse vragen te verdiepen, en door dat te doen trainen wij ons vermogen om in die onbeantwoorde vragen te wonen.
Daarbij moet ik dan meteen benadrukken dat "De schooldagen van Jezus", anders dan het beeld van de woestijn zou kunnen doen vermoeden, zeker geen droog en kaal boek is. Het is integendeel rijk aan verwijzingen en motieven, die allemaal weer nieuwe raadsels opleveren. Erg intrigerend is bijvoorbeeld hoe David op een nogal buitenissige dansacademie leert om het universum te doorgronden via muziek en dans. Het gaat dan om een soort Platoonse en Pythagorese kennis van de 'muziek der sferen', die voorafgaat aan onze onontbeerlijke maar ook verarmende en ontoereikende ratio, en aan onze classificerende logica. Dit dansen draait dus om een soort pre-logisch begrijpen dat voorafgaat aan taal en rede. Prachtig zijn de passages over de pre-logische vervoering van David. Nog iets prachtiger en zelfs erg ontroerend zijn de passages waarin ook Simon, aanhanger van de rede en tamelijk verdord en in het leven teleurgesteld, ook zelf heel geleidelijk aan iets van deze vervoering begint te ervaren, bijna tegen zichzelf in. Misschien ervaart hij daarbij zelfs een begin van religieuze vervoering, zoals waarschijnlijk ook de dansende David, zoals wellicht ook de door David bewonderde dwaas Don Quichotte. Mooi is hoe Simon eerder al een aantal facetten van zijn levensverhaal op papier zet, en daarbij met serene verwondering opmerkt hoe normale structurerende verbindingswoorden ('dus', 'omdat', 'vervolgens') hem niet helpen omdat zijn verhaal te veel leemten bevat. Intrigerend is bovendien het verhaal van Dmitri, een prachtig beschreven dubbelzinnige figuur die duidelijk aan Dostojevski is ontleend, en allerlei Dostojevskiaanse vormen van verheven hartstocht en misdadige passie combineert en uitschreeuwt. Schitterend wordt daarbij beschreven hoe zijn gepassioneerde misdaad niet te duiden en te beoordelen valt in onze classificerende rede en het daarbij behorende rechtssysteem. Nog prachtiger is hoe die buitenrationele hartstocht bij de rationalist Simon weerzin en wrevel oproept, maar tegelijk voor Simon ook een soort appel is om zich iets meer in te laten met de buitenrationele wereld van de passies, hoe problematisch, onvoorspelbaar en gevaarlijk deze ook is. En misschien het allermooist is hoe bijna alle personages dolen in deze wereld, het gevoel hebben dat ze hun wortels en oorsprong zijn kwijtgeraakt en nooit meer zullen terugvinden, terwijl ze tegelijk zich niet kunnen bevrijden van het verlangen naar dieper contact met die verloren oorsprong. Waarbij aan de ene kant gesuggereerd wordt dat het wijzer is om te leven in de open vraag en zonder geloof in de oorsprong, vooral omdat die oorsprong er vermoedelijk gewoon niet is, maar waarbij tegelijk ook gesuggereerd wordt dat het verlangen naar de oorsprong (en: naar het antwoord op al onze levensvragen) een onlesbare dorst is van ons allemaal. Volgens Plato zijn wij schaduwen, die hulpeloos maar vol verlangen zoeken naar het Goddelijke Licht van de ultieme kennis, onze oorsprong en vergeten oerbron. Coetzee alludeert op deze gedachte, maar geeft er volgens mij een eigen wending aan: zeker zijn wij schaduwen, zeker verlangen wij naar het licht, maar dit ultieme licht bestaat bij Coetzee niet. Dus is eindeloos dwalen, dolen en vragen ons eeuwige lot. Aldus Coetzee. Denk ik.
Mooi hoe Coetzee ook in "De schooldagen van Jezus" weer diverse intrigerende vragen zonder antwoord opwerpt en daarmee veel vanzelfsprekendheden in onoplosbare raadsels verandert. Intrigerend hoe hij daarbij schrijft over onze passies en buitenrationele verlangens en hoe zij haaks staan op onze logica en onze behoefte om de dingen te kennen en te meten. Prachtig hoe hij ons laat zien dat het bestaan van open vragen doordesemd is, hoe hij ons uitnodigt om ons in die openheid te verdiepen, en hoe hij daarbij tegelijk ook ons onblusbare verlangen naar antwoorden recht doet. En helemaal intrigerend is hoe Coetzee Bijbelse en Platoonse motieven, die van oorsprong in het teken staan van zoeken naar ultieme hoewel verborgen antwoorden die de aardse en alledaagse waarheden overstijgen, laat uitmonden in een wereld vol vragen en zonder verklarend waarom. Hopelijk komt er ook op "De schooldagen van Jezus" weer een vervolg, en als dat gebeurt worden de raadsels vast weer op fraaie wijze vermenigvuldigd.
August 23, 2017
Lascio volutamente da parte il 'gioco' delle interpretazioni di questa misteriosa storia (gioco che, tra l'altro, può essere molto interessante).
Il romanzo ripropone gli stessi protagonisti de L'infanzia di Gesù, sbarcati in un'altra città, ma poco cambia.
Gli abitanti, come nel romanzo precedente, non ricordano le loro vite precedenti, e sembra che questo non abbia molta importanza per loro.
E poi c'è David. Lui è un bambino 'speciale', che fa domande 'speciali', e ora è un po' cresciuto, e quindi fa domande un po' più 'speciali' di prima.
La sensazione è che oltre i cosiddetti fatti (e la tintura di giallo), poco sia cambiato. Quello che aveva affascinato nel romanzo precedente, il mistero della città e degli abitanti senza passato, di David (chi è davvero David?), il mistero dell'intero genere umano, non ha più la stessa forza.
Che Coetzee vada avanti a colpi di romanzi fino ai 33 anni di David?
Il romanzo ripropone gli stessi protagonisti de L'infanzia di Gesù, sbarcati in un'altra città, ma poco cambia.
Gli abitanti, come nel romanzo precedente, non ricordano le loro vite precedenti, e sembra che questo non abbia molta importanza per loro.
E poi c'è David. Lui è un bambino 'speciale', che fa domande 'speciali', e ora è un po' cresciuto, e quindi fa domande un po' più 'speciali' di prima.
La sensazione è che oltre i cosiddetti fatti (e la tintura di giallo), poco sia cambiato. Quello che aveva affascinato nel romanzo precedente, il mistero della città e degli abitanti senza passato, di David (chi è davvero David?), il mistero dell'intero genere umano, non ha più la stessa forza.
Che Coetzee vada avanti a colpi di romanzi fino ai 33 anni di David?
May 10, 2018
Fascinante, desconcertante e irritante a partes iguales. Uno tiene la sensación de que Coetzee a alcanzado ese grado de total maestría que le permite hablar de cualquier cosa con una lucidez extraordinaria. Eso sí, ¿de qué habla exactamente esta novela? Pues al igual que la que la precede nos dice que NO PENSEMOS EN UN OSO BLANCO.
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