After reading Coetzee’s The Lives of Animals followed by the first Lesson in Elizabeth Costello, which runs rampant with animal references, my mind seems now acutely aware of animal presence and meaning within his texts. Coetzee could have easily written Disgrace without the embedded animal narration. He could have, instead, used David Lurie’s passion for music or poetry as a moralistic road from point A to point B. But he did not. Thus, I contemplate the many possible roles that the dogs, the shelter and Lurie’s connection in their euthanization.
Animals appear constantly as being lost, becoming lost, neglected, attacked, burned. They exist for no purpose other than to be “used” by humans: “They do not own their own lives. They exist to be used, every last ounce of them, their flesh to be eaten, their bones to be crushed and fed to poultry” (Coetzee 123). It seems as if the most poignant writing is reserved for those passages concerning the dogs and not so much what happens to them during their lives, but what happens to them after their deaths ( Herron 473). Lurie’s new position in life is to take care of these dogs after their death: “He may not be their savior…but he is prepared to take care of them once they are unable, utterly unable, to take care of themselves” (Coetzee 146). Living in a world of “lower order,” animals are at the mercy of a “higher” being to take care of them and in this narrative, they appear as “hardly worth bothering about” (Herron 473). They are “erased daily by human beings” (473) and this is done not merely through the violence displayed against them, but also in their exploitation. Both ideas serve as a strong metaphor the resounds throughout Coetzee’s novels. Though they are not the main strain in the narrative, they emerge from under the main narratives shadow: the ethical and political matters, the breakdown of order, rape, man verses woman, and the possibilities of reconciliation.
Similar to thought in The Life and Times of Michael K, Disgrace calls for a simplified life style. Lucy is closer to this idea, as seen in her own life style decisions, and suggests this ideas to Lurie when she tells him that they should “start from ground level. With nothing. Not with nothing but. With nothing. No cards, no weapons, no property, no rights, no dignity” (Coetzee 205). Lurie responds, “Like a dog.” Lucy says, “Yes, like a dog” (205). Not only here is there a message that speaks against the commodity driven colonizers, but more so it sends a strong message concerning the treatment of the oppressed.
P.S. While reading Disgrace, I also became concerned with post-apartheid violence and rape in South Africa. I did a bit of research on the lingering effects of trauma on the victims of apartheid and posted some findings on it. It is not directly related to Coetzee’s Disgrace, but more so to a personal situation and subsequent uncovered facts. It is posted below for anyone interested in reading it.
Your point about the centrality of animals to _Disgrace_ makes perfect sense, especially, as you say, in the light of _Lives of Animals_ and Coetzee's other work. I must confess that I hadn't thought as carefully about the animals in _Disgrace_ as you have, but after reading your post I am seeing them in a different light, as metaphors and also as animals.
ReplyDeleteI also keep thinking back to that scene in _Long Night's Journey Into Day_ where the mother talks about her son being treated "like a dog." I was always a bit uncomfortable with that line, assuming (condescendingly, I suppose) that it indicated the mother's lack of awareness of "animal studies," that she assumed that it's ok to treat a dog like that but not ok to treat her son like that. But one could also read that line differently, that her outraged complaint also speaks to our treatment of dogs, and in making the comparison (son/dog) she is precisely pointing to the similar plights of animals and black South Africans in apartheid South Africa. So rather than only thinking of the familiar literary and social tropes of distinguishing ourselves from animals (I'm not like that, I don't deserve to be treated like that,etc.), we are also invited to think of commonality, of shared suffering, and the kinds of exploitation that enables and perpetuates it.
I am also thinking now that the gendering of Lucy's dogs might be quite significant. I wonder what the repeated references to the "bitch" suggest about the gender relations in the novel, about the very gendered violence of rape, etc. I haven't thought through this yet, and am wondering what your take is on the gendering of the dogs in the novel?
Ian~
ReplyDeleteI spent the weekend pondering the question you bring up concerning the gendering of the dogs. This is something I didn’t catch but now that I have gone through the text with a new set of eyes, there does appear to be something significant in Coetzee’s decision. The only dog at Lucy’s or at Bev’s place that is referred to as a bitch, as far as I can tell, is Lucy’s bulldog Katy. While Lucy’s other dogs are described as “working dogs” and are eventually to be picked up by their owners to continue their work as watchdogs, the bulldog bitch is the abandoned one. Due to her advanced age, she can no longer bare offspring and is therefore no longer needed.
There are a few interesting comments made by Lucy in regards to Katy. While no one wants Katy, Lucy points out that she has “offspring all over the district who would be happy to share their homes with her” (78). What follows this statement is poignant: “[The offspring] are part of the furniture, part of the alarm system. They do us the honor of treating us like gods, and we respond by treating them like things” (78). This is perhaps getting off topic.
Returning to the gendering of the dogs, while Katy’s gender is specified, all other dogs are not, with two exceptions. First, there is a passage in which Laurie talks about a dog that lived next door when Lucy was a child. It was a male that would “get excited whenever there was a bitch in the vicinity” (90). For this he was beat by his owners. As a result, the dog “had begun to hate its own nature…It was ready to punish itself” (90). The second exception is Lurie’s “companion” who in the end Laurie “gives up” to the needle.
When Lucy is raped and her dogs are shot, it is only the bitch that survives and continues to live on with Lucy, the one who bares the future race of South Africa. For Laurie, it is a male dog that he “sacrifices.” The significance of these two facts and their relationship to a larger picture of oppression is complicated. However, for society to continue, in a more healthy way, in a way different from its past, the male is sacrificed and the female is miraculously spared. I would be interested to know if you have had any further ideas on this subject. I feel as through I am still only reaching the surface layers of an intricate and deeply layered novel.