I assume the reader is intended in some sense to identify with the unnamed Magistrate who narrates the story, and I suppose Coetzee leaves a sliver of light in the odd decency and strange courage of the man. But I found myself only in his weaknesses.
There's a point where you feel you can have too much moral intensity - and that, I suspect, is the point to which Coetzee intends to push us to show us how shabby we are.
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