Beyond Compare

Finished Disgrace yesterday and moved onto a bit of Pat Barker. Trying to get some distance from Coetzee who seems to have reached into my guts, wrenched them in a number of novel directions and then left me to make of myself whatever I can. A visceral read. I don't suppose it would necessarily have such an impact on every reader, but for me every word rang true and glowed like burning coal as a master of song once put it.

I suppose this is what it's like to live with a skin too few.

The Blind Assassin is a wonderful novel, beautifully structured, written with remarkable assurance, chock full of penetrating insight. As you read it you're conscious of the sheer craft of it all, how it works. In contrast, Coetzee seems beyond craft. I have no idea how Disgrace works, why Disgrace works. I don't even know what exactly it thinks it's doing, or how it manages to be so stunning. For this reader it just is.