The fallabilities of recording and understanding history are
not new field of J.M. Coetzee’s writings; “the Narrative of Jacobus Coetzee,”
the latter story of his debut Dusklands presents
us with a fractured yet whole history; fractured in the different reports and
pieces of the narrative as a whole left out, but whole in its presentation; a
first person narrative, an appendix from a fictitious descendant of Jacobus,
and other add-ons (the use of J.M. Coetzee’s surname for the main character may
also be seen as a conscious anchoring of the fictitious history in real
history, forcing the reader to judge for themselves.) Later, in Waiting for the Barbarians, we are
presented with an unlodged and nebulous environment, in an unnamed land
populated by the denizens of ‘the Empire’ and also the mysterious ‘barbarians.’
Here history is a straining force; the barbarians alien approach to time and
the importance of history can be unsettling.
Coetzee’s
2013 novel The Childhood of Jesus has
a similar unlodged setting, but on a much more drastic scale. I have read some
reviews that glance over this, claiming that it is Coetzee simply moving aside
the humdrum lynchings of story, setting and other extrapalative description to
make room for philosophical waxing in the novel, and space for the reader’s
interpretations to blossom upon unanswered and often unspoken questions
presented throughout. I believe that this unlodging of history and environment,
being unusual in texts, forces the reader, through their discomfort, to mine
for histories that are not there.
The Childhood of Jesus feels very open
in terms of space, yet is populated with many characters. The space in question
is an unnamed land, where Spanish is spoken, (a similar confusion created as
when Coetzee used his own surname for Jacobus?) or, more accurately, the
populace has to speak Spanish, as we
learn that Simón and David had to learn Spanish on the boat to Novilla, the
main city. We know that Simón and David came by boat, from a camp called
‘Belstar,’ and that is about as far back for either of them that we are given.
We are allowed some insights into these journeys; David loses a document on the
boat supposedly detailing who his parents are, which is how he meets Simón, and
Simón comments that the portmaster at Belstar will only allow boats out, not
back to Belstar.
The main
characters are the only two we ever really get even a shallow insight into. The
other Stevedores that Simón works with at the docks at Novilla engage only in
the present, to the extent that they are dubious of ‘moving with the times’ and
using a crane to save their heavy lifting, or to acknowledge the accumulation
of the days upon days of shipping grain to a store that is overflowing and
infested with rats. The epitome of such misplacement of past or future thought
is Senór Daga, who acts with no understanding of consequence; he robs and
engages in violence, and generally seems to float through his life.
As such,
the reader latches onto the small details we are afforded. David’s history, at
least for the most part, we get to witness being built, but Simón’s we have not
witnessed. We know small details; he had to learn Spanish, he can drive, his
father pushed him high on the swing but he never fell off as a child, we know
his hands were soft before becoming a stevedore and we know he is middle aged.
This is the most we ever really get to know about any character; Coetzee offers
us a line into Inés’ past when Simón says of her past at the luxurious ‘La
Residencia; “I have no idea what it was like. I have never understood La
Residencia or how you landed up there.” Alas, Inés “does not hear the question,
or does not think it worthy of reply.” (Coetzee, p.312) Although it is mainly
stressed with Simón and David, it is suggested that every character met is not native to this land, that they too had
a history elsewhere, but are now fixed into the present, somehow landing up
wherever they landed up, Inés in La Residencia, and Simón and David in the
blocks.
The novel
ends with a group of characters breaking free of Novilla and the small and
barren satellite towns it grows, onward to the town of ‘Estrillata el Norte.’
(Even the place names appear unlodged from a past or hint at environment; “They
strike a town name Laguna Verde (why?- there is no lagoon)”) (Coetzee, p.310)
Where they will cut off the short history the reader has been allowed an
insight to, namely the histories of the characters in Novilla, thus denying the
reader even the relevance of this short record. However, Coetzee’s latest book
is a sequel entitled The Schooldays of
Jesus, and so we shall have to see what residue of history we can drag
across the gap.
Cited:
Coetzee, J.M. The
Childhood of Jesus. (London: Vintage, 2014)
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