miobrien
Reader
Youth is J. M. Coetzee's second fictional-memoir. I read Summertime a few months ago, and finished Boyhood last week. It would probably have been convenient to read this before Summertime but at least I read it after Boyhood. The first and second books in this "series" are much more similar in style, plot, tone, and chronology. Summertime, on the other hand, is a bit more, but not overbearingly, experimental.
As usual, Coetzee's prose is surgical and precise. One can expect this in all his writing -- even in his weaker post-Nobel fiction like Diary of a Bad Year. He eschews maximalism but isn't necessarily a minimalist either (though his prose could pass for it with a quick glance). He uses the occasional big word, but often settles for crushingly precise, formal language. It is the epitome of fluidity. But this doesn't necessarily make it lyrically fluid; it is more academic in tone than poetic.
This book follows Coetzee's life in London. He lives a solitary existence, works as a computer programmer at IBM, reads and writes. It is an odd, intimate, and brutal examination of the aspiring artist. The narrative is empowered by questions and irony; he is always asking something, even about the most mundane thing.
There is not dispute that Coetzee works to deconstruct his "celebrity" here. He never flatters himself. Is this some sort of reverse hubris? I personally don't think so. I think it's mostly modesty, but the overbearing criticisms he has of himself sometimes become repetitive. I thought to myself: "I get it. Stop. Lighten up, man."
While many have criticized him for not being outspoken about apartheid and other things political, I quite like Coetzee's terseness, and think it suits his style very well. He certainly has opinions, but values subtly and dislikes passion. He engages politics in an understated, skeptic manner. I think there's something to learn from this in our age of zany electioneering and propagandizing.
Nonetheless, I plan to read all of Coetzee sometime in the near future. As a reader, I find his style engaging and reader-friendly. As a writer, I look up to him. I admire his control and measurement.
As usual, Coetzee's prose is surgical and precise. One can expect this in all his writing -- even in his weaker post-Nobel fiction like Diary of a Bad Year. He eschews maximalism but isn't necessarily a minimalist either (though his prose could pass for it with a quick glance). He uses the occasional big word, but often settles for crushingly precise, formal language. It is the epitome of fluidity. But this doesn't necessarily make it lyrically fluid; it is more academic in tone than poetic.
This book follows Coetzee's life in London. He lives a solitary existence, works as a computer programmer at IBM, reads and writes. It is an odd, intimate, and brutal examination of the aspiring artist. The narrative is empowered by questions and irony; he is always asking something, even about the most mundane thing.
There is not dispute that Coetzee works to deconstruct his "celebrity" here. He never flatters himself. Is this some sort of reverse hubris? I personally don't think so. I think it's mostly modesty, but the overbearing criticisms he has of himself sometimes become repetitive. I thought to myself: "I get it. Stop. Lighten up, man."
While many have criticized him for not being outspoken about apartheid and other things political, I quite like Coetzee's terseness, and think it suits his style very well. He certainly has opinions, but values subtly and dislikes passion. He engages politics in an understated, skeptic manner. I think there's something to learn from this in our age of zany electioneering and propagandizing.
Nonetheless, I plan to read all of Coetzee sometime in the near future. As a reader, I find his style engaging and reader-friendly. As a writer, I look up to him. I admire his control and measurement.
Last edited: