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Literary Review

Novelist as critic

Coetzee has won the Booker Prize twice. He is also an accomplished critic. And his readings and investigations go beyond mere aesthetic concerns to raise wider political issues, says M.S. NAGARAJAN.

JOHN MICHAEL COETZEE was born in 1940 in Cape Town, South Africa. He holds the position of the Professorship of General Literature at the University of Cape Town. Besides being a novelist of world acclaim, he is also an accomplished critic and translator. In addition to winning the Premier British award, the Booker Prize twice (1983 and 1999), he has also been the recipient of numerous other prizes among which, the Lannan Award for fiction, the Jerusalem Prize, The Irish Times International Fiction Prize are worthy of special mention. His fourth anthology, Stranger Shores, is a collection of 29 essays in criticism he published during 1986-1999. Twenty-one of these appeared in the New York Review of Books and the rest were either given as lectures or meant for other journals.

This handy volume gets a kick-start with the lecture "What is a Classic?" Apparently, the provocation for this lecture is the 1944 magisterial address of T.S. Eliot to the Virgil Society, London, bearing the same title. Eliot's avowed aim was to reaffirm that Virgil's Aeneid is a classic and reinforce his claim that the whole of Western civilisation is a single unit descending from the Holy Roman Empire. Coetzee calls into question such simplistic notions generally held about the classic that it is timeless and that it speaks unproblematically to all generations across all boundaries. For him a classic is historically constituted, historically conditioned. "The classic defines itself by surviving," and so it is the business of criticism to interrogate the classic, for, "criticism of the most sceptical kind may be what the classic uses to define itself and ensure its survival". The immediate purpose on hand, however, which comes off undisguised, is to demystify Eliot and show that he was all along looking eagerly for some space to establish his political identity and entrench himself as an elder statesman in the domain of criticism. Evidence can be found in one of his write-ups in the Criterion in which he remarks, "The American individual of today has almost no chance of continuous development upon his own soil and in the environment which his ancestors, however humble, helped to form."

The essay on Kafka examines the problems confronted by two of Kafka's English translators, Edwin Muir in 1930 and Mark Harman in 1998. Edwin Muir and his wife Willa were a Scottish couple, self-taught in German. Muir, though not of the calibre of Yeats or Auden, was quite a good poet in his own right. Kafka was introduced to the English-speaking world by this couple. Muir had to depend on the version supplied by Max Brod, who saved the Kafka manuscripts from destruction (by disobeying his instruction that his manuscripts be burnt unread), edited and published them in German. Fidelity to the source text is the hallmark of a good translation. Muir, according to Coetzee, seems to have "included freshness of phrasing and variousness" in his translation and in so doing had introduced a historical dimension to the works and presented The Castle and The Trial as more or less religious allegories. At a later point of time, the original manuscripts were reedited by the German scholar, Malcolm Pasley in 1982, which formed the source text for Harman's new translation, which supersedes Muir's earlier version in many ways. Harman's version shows an improvement on Muir's in trying to reproduce in English the "spareness and the matter-of-factness" and the syntax of the original. In the words of Coetzee, Harman's version "is semantically accurate to an admirable degree, faithful to Kafka's nuances, responsive to the tempo of his sentences and to the larger music of his paragraph construction." When all is said and done, a work of art is an artifact that has its existence in a particular cultural system. The function of a faithful translation is to create a similar role for the work in the target language. Coetzee juxtaposes the two versions of Kafka in order to examine which of the two has the ease and grace of the original.

The essay on Rushdie's The Moor's Last Sigh (1995) is a spirited reply to Rushdie's defenders who claim that he operates within a tradition of double narration, one Western (of the type of Tristram Shandy) and the other Eastern (like the Panchatantra tales) and so his works should be read as a "mix of genres and play of textuality." Coetzee analyses The Moor's Last Sigh and shows clearly that episodes in the novel peter out and palimpsests do not contribute a jot to `textual layering.' That is why the novel sags and founders. "Photographs of South Africa" is a review of A Vision of the Past that reproduces 370 best photographs chosen from the archives. The intention of the compilers of these photographs is to present them as "the social history that embraces the history of the common man." The principle of abstracting some space for social history may be a laudable one but what saddens Coetzee is that such a selection has resulted in misrepresenting — and thus falsifying — the history of South Africa by showing those hard and strife-ridden times as peaceful and happy ones. <147,1,0>What he finds harmful is that "the overwhelming majority of the images they reproduce, are the faces and clothed bodies of middle-class white people and of the objects and occasions deemed important by these people." Even more serious and malicious is the exclusion of the photographs of the social life and customs of the original inhabitants of South Africa. An illustrated book that claims to represent the social history of South Africa cannot afford to be so selective and so partial as to leave out the existence of a large section of humanity. His righteous indignation is quite understandable. The essay `The 1995 Rugby World Cup" is not a whit about the world cup that South Africa won, defeating the much-favoured New Zealand. Rather it is all about the chauvinism and political jingoism that go with such sports these days. The celebrations of the inauguration and the valediction were meant to promote South African nationalism. The images and the cacophony of sounds were intended to create the impression that a nation and national consciousness are one and the same. And what they did in effect was to concoct a "dehistoricised vision of tourist South Africa." It was nothing short of a symbolic pageantry. The metaphor of the Rainbow that the South Africans are the elected people of God, having passed through turbulent times of history, was invoked by the colourful extravaganza of the ceremonies. Here is Coetzee: "Part of the experience of being colonised is having images of yourself made up by outsiders stuffed down your throat."

Coetzee's essays display a remarkable erudition coupled with incisiveness in his knowledge and understanding of other writers. They also show his wide range of taste and scholarship as these writers belong to three Centuries, the 18th, the 19th and the 20th. The writers he examines include Defoe, Richardson, Dostoevsky, Brodsky, Borges, Byatt, Caryl Phillips, Naguib Mahfouz, Daphne Rooke, Doris Lessing, Gordimer, Turgenev, and Alan Paton among others. Coetzee is capable of handling different genres with an enviable degree of felicity. After a few general remarks, he gets into the heart of the work he discusses and offers deep insights into it. Such a criticism is quite bracing in so far as it is sharply focussed on the work on hand. He is on native grounds when it comes to interpreting South African writers. Eleven out of the 29 essays are on South Africans. As a writer of protest fiction and as one so committed to exposing sufferings caused by imperialism and the effects of the apartheid, his readings, his literary investigations and his interpretations raise wider political issues which go much beyond mere aesthetic concerns and evaluation of the literary merits of writers. Since most of these essays were written as review articles, they fall into a set pattern of what might be called literary journalism, the sort of criticism that is prone to being less academic and more judicial in nature. This does not, in any way, lower the value of the book as a critical work. The book lacks an introduction, which would have served the purpose of knitting the essays together to form a coherent whole.

Stranger Shores is an enjoyable work of criticism. Coetzee's prose is lucid; his observations are marked by admirable candour and judgement supported by textual evidence. Informative without being arid, penetrating without being opinionated, Coetzee's essays are exhilarating studies in criticism.

The writer is former Professor and Head, department of English, University of Madras.

Stranger Shores, J.M. Coetzee Secker and Warburg: London, 2001, p.374, £17.99.

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