Monday, October 31, 2011

Elizabeth Costello


         Elizabeth Costello is now seen as in her more rounded, more complicated life.  Moving beyond, and before, (and including), the Tanner Lectures, Costello’s complexities are described through other lectures around the world – ones that she either gives or attends.  All of these events happen during her later years in life, and each force her to reconsider, to contemplate, to question her own arguments.  In each lecture Costello seems to be met with awkward misunderstandings, resentment, anger, and questioning, yet, it is she who is her biggest critic.  These sections, or lecture segments, are “lessons.”  While there are multiple similarities between Costello and her creator, despite the twelve-year age difference, it seems as though these lessons are written for her, or him, or both. Which one or both, it is difficult to say.  So many of Coetzee’s textual references to other texts usually pan out to be just another case of fiction.  It is for this reason that I found “Lesson 6: The Problem of Evil” to be so intriguing; Paul West is real as is his book The Very Rich Hours of Count von Strauffenberg. 
            This discovery makes me consider what else could be real within this chapter.  Costello is reading West’s book on Hitler and the holocaust when she receives her invitation to lecture in Amsterdam.  There are specific areas in this Lesson that lead me to believe that the anger she feels from reading this book express an anger that in reality is directly linked to Coetzee.  Not only does Costello’s experience in this chapter appear to be a desire of Coetzee’s to express his own frustrations, but the narrator in this section provides evidence that my assumption may possible be factual. 
            Breaking away from the text’s narration style, the question of “where could West have got his information” (158), is followed by a fifteen line rant of anger:

“Could there really have been witnesses who went home that night and, before they forgot, before memory, to save itself, went blank, wrote down, in words that must have scorched the page, an account of what they had seen, down to the words the hangman spoke to the souls consigned to his hands, fumbling old men for the most part, stripped of their uniforms, togged out for the final event in prison cast-offs, serge trousers caked with grime, pullovers full of moth-holes, no shoes, no belts, their false teeth and their glasses taken from them, exhausted, shivering, their hands in their pockets to hold up their pants, whimpering with fear, swallowing their tears, having to listen to this coarse creature, this butcher with last week’s blood caked under his fingernails, taunt them, telling them what would happen when the rope snapped tight, how the shit would run down their spindly old-man’s legs, how their limp old-man’s penises would quiver one last time”  (158).

The evil on the pages and the evil that now circulates through West’s body for having written his “obscenities,” are vividly recounted by the narrator as being the feelings harbored by Costello.  This break in narration style suggests to me that the topic at hand seems to be having its effect on the narrator, just as much as they do for Costello herself.  This break is a possible complicated link between them, Costello and narrator, and Coetzee.  In addition, the comment that, “she can discourse on censorship in her sleep” (160), seems too close to Coetzee for her not to be him and therefore, for the narrator not be intertwined in the knowledge of both.
            Going back to Paul West, is seems as though Coetzee may have found his book to be upsetting and evil, and though Coetzee’s interactions with West, if any, are unknown, there seems to be something to be said regarding Costello’s interactions, or lack thereof, with Paul West.  When she confronts West prior to her lecture, she is met with a nonresponsive Paul West.  She explains the contents of her lecture and West only stares in some other direction. She asks West direct questions to which there is no response. She finally thanks him for listening and still there is no response. Coetzee has written a chapter in which Paul West, a real person, is spoken directly to, by Costello, and then spoken directly about in Costello’s lecture, yet, Coetzee does not give West words, or even a hint of having a voice.  There is an odd one-sided conversation that is taking place between a fictional character and a real man, or between Coetzee and this other writer.  Perhaps it is a wishful conversation on Coetzee’s part.
            Yet there are other confusing parts to this “Lesson.”  What is the relationship between Paul West and Coetzee’s Tanner Lectures?  It is not coincidental that his prior lecture spoke of Nazi Germany and that soon after West and his novel are a significant part of Costello’s lecture in Amsterdam.  What is the connection between the Devil, rewriting the “obscene,” Costello, Coetzee and the idea of the Devil strategically spreading his evil around through writing and reading?  The idea that “writing itself, as a form of moral adventurousness, has the potential to be dangerous” (162), refers to what or to whom exactly?  Does the resurfacing of evil bring only a possible good at the sacrifice of the writer?  Is Coetzee feeling tainted, weakened, by his authorial “duties?”  Does he feel like a “weak vessel?”  Was writing of atrocities a “bridge” that took him to the “far bank?”  Perhaps this is why Costello tells herself repeatedly to “Go back.  Go back” (178), “Go back to the experience” (179), or maybe I am completely off.  Regardless, there seems to be rather strong evidence in this chapter, an actually many others for that matter, that links Coetzee directly to Costello and Costello to Coetzee’s reality.

P.S. Why is Paul West reading a comic book and why does this minute detail stand out so prominently?

6 comments:

  1. Kelley,

    You point out some very detailed and interesting elements that are revealed later on in the text. They tie very closely to my own thought process regarding Coetzee's involvement within the novel, not just as an author, but as a creator of worlds. Within this world he has concocted some strangely similar scenarios that might as well have involved him in his own personal life. However, I must agree with your line of questioning that poses the question of Coetzee and his feeling of being a weak vessel. I am not sure, as it was something tied to the writing itself. I know for one thing, it cannot be denied that Coetzee is strongly linked to Elizabeth's character. The rest is up for debate, in my opinion. I also believe, that given Coetzee's usual lack of interaction, he would probably allow any kind of interpretation, as long as it was thought provoking and based in some kind of reality.

    -Christine van Eyck

    P.S.
    I rather enjoyed going through your blog! :)

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  2. You bring up so many interesting issues here. The ones that particularly continue to intrigue me revolve around 1) the relationship of this book to _The Lives of Animals_; 2) Coetzee's relationship to Elizabeth Costello (the character); and 3) Coetzee's and/or Costello's criticism of Paul West. It is curious that the very thing that Costello chastises West for (taking readers too deeply into the heart of horror) could be an accusation easily leveled at Coetzee himself (after all, he has indicated his interest in trying to figure out the mindset of those who perpetrate cruelty on others). _Dusklands_ and _Waiting for the Barbarians_, in particular, come to mind here. So, perhaps, Coetzee is more like Paul West than like Elizabeth Costello? Or perhaps he is like Costello in the sense that he is criticizing himself and in the sense that Costello, as you point out, constantly doubts herself (though this seems to me to be somewhat of a ruse on Coetzee's part, but that's another story....). But Elizabeth Costello's (and Coetzee's) concern about the damaging effects of West's novel on readers and on the writer himself, also seems somewhat arrogant. The assumption that literature has such power recalls Coetzee's perhaps cynical comment in _Fiction International_ that "it is in the interest of the community of writers . . to believe in the efficacy of products of fantasy as instruments of action." So has Coetzee done an about turn here? Or he is actually making fun of Elizabeth Costello? Or perhaps he's giving himself the freedom to be inconsistent?

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  3. Kelley,

    You brought up several intriguing points in your posting. In particular I liked your line “each [of these events] force [Elizabeth Costello] to reconsider, to contemplate, to question her own arguments.” I agree. I think this is a very striking storytelling choice on Coetzee’s part. Coetzee seems to thrive on ambiguity, or at least he thrives on giving his readers complex arguments to contemplate and debate. In both The Lives of Animals and Elizabeth Costello (and even later Slow Man), Coetzee uses the character of Elizabeth Costello as a conduit through which to debate philosophical ideas. The “reconsidering, contemplating and questioning” you talk about seems to be his way of creating a forum for introspection. For example in Elizabeth Costello, just after Emmanuel finishes discussing the role of oral tradition in African storytelling, Coetzee writes: “There is something about the talk [Elizabeth] does not like …” (46), indicating to the reader that Coetzee is going to use Elizabeth’s objections to Emmanuel’s lecture as a way to present another view. In The Lives of Animals, Coetzee uses the character of Norma as a counter to Elizabeth since the two women are of opposite minds on many of the issues surrounding animal cruelty. Along the same lines, in The Lives of Animals, Coetzee uses the arguments of other characters to counteract Elizabeth’s contentions in her speeches, thereby once again presenting many sides of a philosophical debate. This shows once again his need to “reconsider, contemplate and question” various arguments.

    This idea of presenting many sides of multiple issues as a way to create a forum for speculative thought reminded me of something Richard Wright says about his writing process in his essay “How Bigger Was Born.” In it, Wright says: “As I wrote, for some reason or other, one image, symbol, character, scene, mood, feeling evoked its opposite, its parallel, its complementary, and its ironic counterpart” (460). Wright says that he does this in order to create a richer, more complex text which raises class and social consciousness to a higher level. I wonder if Coetzee has a similar agenda or if he is simply using the character of Elizabeth Costello to “distance himself from [his arguments]” (91) as Peter Singer contends in The Lives of Animals. I’m not sure we’ll ever really know the answer. Coetzee is much more elusive than Wright and much less inclined to write an essay describing his writing process. So, as always with Coetzee’s works, we as readers are left to draw our own conclusions.

    -- Keli Rowley

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  4. You bring up so many interesting points. What really struck me, however, was the potential relationship between Coetzee the author and Costello's reaction to Paul West's book. The thing I find intriguing is that if Coetzee feels as Costello does, that some evils should not be portrayed, that it would be better if West had stayed silent, had past over the horrifying, "obscene" details of what happened...how can we reconcile that to Coetzee's criticism of Nabokov - that Nabokov romanticized his past, that he was nostalgic and that what we must do is look at the past, firstly, "unflinchingly." It seems that if there were one word to describe what West did, if it is not obscene, is unflinching.

    - Nina Ahn

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  5. I agree with your commnet about Coetzee speaking through Elizabeth Costello. Would it not be easier to let a woman announce her distain for past atrocities? It is also a cop out on Coetzee's part allowing the voice of one of his characters to vehemently speak of truth or truth as she sees it. The victimization of our surrounding world is right before us and the audience chooses to look away. It is interesting to me that Costello connects all of the "enslavements of whole animal populations" with humans. She believes that evil is all around us "the massacre of the defenceless is being repeated all around us, day after day, and a slaughter no different in scale or horror or moral import from what we call the holocaust; yet we choose not to see it." I can not help but agree with her arguement up to a point and I also agree with Costello when she says that we "turn a blind eye" and that we "choose not to see it." We do turn a blind eye to unpleasantness and Coetzee has directed his focus on the voice of Costello allowing his anger to show through her.
    I also believe Paul West's attitude toward her, his unresponsivness is based on the majority of the world, she looks at him as her "brush with evil.."

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  6. I, too, found this section of the novel both perplexing and intriguing. Like Ian, I also found myself saying back to Coetzee, "But you have also written about atrocities!" Of course, as it has been pointed out, Coetzee consistently contradicts himself (e.g. using language to point out the failures of language), so this most recent contradiction should come as no surprise. I like Ian's suggestion that "perhaps he's giving himself the freedom to be inconsistent." I sense a connection between this idea and the end of the novel, when Elizabeth Costello is apparently in some kind of purgatory where a panel of judges asks her to tell them what she believes. She refuses comply with this demand, providing answers that are noncommittal and obscure: "I am a writer, a trader in fictions . . . I maintain beliefs only provisionally" (195), "I believe in what does not believe in me" (218). When the judges call her out for changing her story, Elizabeth argues that both versions are simultaneously true and untrue, depending on which Elizabeth Costello is being asked. Perhaps this is like the "freedom to be inconsistent" that Ian has suggested for Coetzee.
    To me, this feels, as Ligia says, like a copout. By the end of the novel I find myself on the side of the judges when they impatiently ask her to commit to something, to be brave enough to claim some kind of belief as her own. I want to know what she believes because I want to know what Coetzee believes. I want answers!

    I think Coetzee would be pleased at my frustration. Perhaps he is just playing with us, deliberately leading us to read Costello as Coetzee and then turning the tables on us, teasing us for our willingness to see the character as the author and to search for meaning from this person. Maybe he, like Costello, resents the "performance" that is demanded from him when asked to elucidate his beliefs.
    This is what I would like to believe. I have defended Coetzee every step of the way so far. At this point I have created him in my mind as a powerful character with a wisdom I cannot always penetrate, but which, like God's wisdom (if one believes in such a thing), must surely be there. I would rather believe that Coetzee is playing with us, mocking us even, than believe that he is inconsistent or "a weak vessel."

    -Melissa Filbeck

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