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Checked out
Due 26 Feb 2024
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From the Nobel Prize-winning author J. M. Coetzee, the haunting sequel to The Childhood of Jesus, continuing the journey of David, Simon, and Ines. "When you travel across the ocean on a boat, all your memories are washed away and you start a completely new life. That is how it is. There is no before. There is no history. The boat docks at the harbour and we climb down the gangplank and we are plunged into the here and now. Time begins." David is the small boy who is always asking questions. Simon and Ines take care of him in their new town, Estrella. He is learning the language; he has begun to make friends. He has the big dog Bolivar to watch over him. But he'll be seven soon and he should be at school. And so, with the guidance of the three sisters who own the farm where Simon and Ines work, David is enrolled in the Academy of Dance. It's here, in his new golden dancing slippers, that he learns how to call down the numbers from the sky. But it is here, too, that he will make troubling discoveries about what grown-ups are capable of. In this mesmerizing allegorical tale, Coetzee deftly grapples with the big questions of growing up, of what it means to be a parent, the constant battle between intellect and emotion, and how we choose to live our lives.… (more)
User reviews
LibraryThing member VicCavalli
J.M. Coetzee’s The Schooldays of Jesus is a perplexing, disturbing, well-written novel packed with extreme weaknesses and flaws, all of which are obviously intentional on the author’s part. Coetzee creates a peculiar, adjusted strange world as this work takes up where The Childhood of Jesus
Into this weary scenario, Coetzee inserts the Dance Academy and the “training of the soul” (43) under the direction of the “strikingly beautiful” young dance teacher Ana Magdalena (43). She is an elegant idealist, demanding of her students, and yet “the boy raises his face to her like a flower opening” (44). Ana says, “our Academy is dedicated to guiding the souls of our students toward . . . the dance of the universe” (68). Although Simon (the boy’s guardian) is cynical and judgmental towards the Dance Academy’s philosophy of numbers and Ana’s personality, nothing prepares the reader for the brutal shock of chapter 11, pages 127 and following.
Here I actually stopped reading for several days, thinking I would abandon the novel.
Coetzee uses a lazy plot trick to suddenly shift every element in the narrative in an unexpected vicious direction, and that direction is beyond the mysterious setting of forgetting past experiences and exploring philosophical themes. The reader is suddenly placed in a nightmarish soap opera where the characters speak to each other as if their setting is conceivable and normal when it is actually grotesque and filled with the shallow discourse of marionettes in a bad dream.
I was genuinely disturbed, but after some time I found myself coming back to the book and reading on, thinking that ‘Coetzee must have a higher purpose in creating this “[b]eauty and the beast” (220) scenario.’ And I think he does. Within the context of the world we actually live in, a world of horror and numbness, and yet a world of beauty and gentle kindness, the questions ultimately permeating the novel are: “[W]here is the soul?” And, “When will the soul emerge from its hiding place and open its wings?” (194).
The police in Estrella are hopelessly absent and equally impotent when they do appear. Right through to the end of the novel a homicidal maniac is essentially free to come and go as he pleases, begging forgiveness with pleas that show zero depth within a setting that resembles a hellish cartoon. As the narrator says, “the man is a fake” (250), and yet woven into this disturbing narrative fabric are edifying scenes describing the rope bridge to the new life (206-207), and ponderings on the hope of eliminating evil by transplanting “a bear’s heart” (228) into a man.
And then Simon has an epiphany as he watches David perform the Dance of Seven: “From some buried memory the words pillar of grace emerge . . . . [And] on the stage of the Institute, Ana Magdalena’s legacy reveals itself. As if the earth has lost its downward power, the boy seems to shed all bodily weight, to become pure light. . . . [And] Simon, whispers to himself: Remember this! If ever in the future you are tempted to doubt him, remember this!” (246).
As Coetzee’s strange novel comes to a close, Simon says to Mercedes—the elderly woman who will teach him his first dance movements in the final scene of the book—“I do not think. . . . In our family I am the stupid one, the blind one, the danceless one. Ines leads. David leads. The dog leads. I stumble along behind, hoping for the day to come when my eyes will be opened and I will behold the world as it really is, including the numbers in all their glory” (257-58).
This novel is very disturbing, but also very interesting, and the use of very three times in this sentence is justified, as you will see when you read The Schooldays of Jesus.
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leaves off and the characters enter the world of Estrella. The reader overhears speculations about whether or not “kissing can raise one from the dead” (11); there are early and continuing biblical echoes regarding “trying to dodge the census” (25); and from the start, young David (still 6 years old, though soon to be 7) has exhausted his parents: “He is like a bulldozer. He has flattened us” (40). Into this weary scenario, Coetzee inserts the Dance Academy and the “training of the soul” (43) under the direction of the “strikingly beautiful” young dance teacher Ana Magdalena (43). She is an elegant idealist, demanding of her students, and yet “the boy raises his face to her like a flower opening” (44). Ana says, “our Academy is dedicated to guiding the souls of our students toward . . . the dance of the universe” (68). Although Simon (the boy’s guardian) is cynical and judgmental towards the Dance Academy’s philosophy of numbers and Ana’s personality, nothing prepares the reader for the brutal shock of chapter 11, pages 127 and following.
Here I actually stopped reading for several days, thinking I would abandon the novel.
Coetzee uses a lazy plot trick to suddenly shift every element in the narrative in an unexpected vicious direction, and that direction is beyond the mysterious setting of forgetting past experiences and exploring philosophical themes. The reader is suddenly placed in a nightmarish soap opera where the characters speak to each other as if their setting is conceivable and normal when it is actually grotesque and filled with the shallow discourse of marionettes in a bad dream.
I was genuinely disturbed, but after some time I found myself coming back to the book and reading on, thinking that ‘Coetzee must have a higher purpose in creating this “[b]eauty and the beast” (220) scenario.’ And I think he does. Within the context of the world we actually live in, a world of horror and numbness, and yet a world of beauty and gentle kindness, the questions ultimately permeating the novel are: “[W]here is the soul?” And, “When will the soul emerge from its hiding place and open its wings?” (194).
The police in Estrella are hopelessly absent and equally impotent when they do appear. Right through to the end of the novel a homicidal maniac is essentially free to come and go as he pleases, begging forgiveness with pleas that show zero depth within a setting that resembles a hellish cartoon. As the narrator says, “the man is a fake” (250), and yet woven into this disturbing narrative fabric are edifying scenes describing the rope bridge to the new life (206-207), and ponderings on the hope of eliminating evil by transplanting “a bear’s heart” (228) into a man.
And then Simon has an epiphany as he watches David perform the Dance of Seven: “From some buried memory the words pillar of grace emerge . . . . [And] on the stage of the Institute, Ana Magdalena’s legacy reveals itself. As if the earth has lost its downward power, the boy seems to shed all bodily weight, to become pure light. . . . [And] Simon, whispers to himself: Remember this! If ever in the future you are tempted to doubt him, remember this!” (246).
As Coetzee’s strange novel comes to a close, Simon says to Mercedes—the elderly woman who will teach him his first dance movements in the final scene of the book—“I do not think. . . . In our family I am the stupid one, the blind one, the danceless one. Ines leads. David leads. The dog leads. I stumble along behind, hoping for the day to come when my eyes will be opened and I will behold the world as it really is, including the numbers in all their glory” (257-58).
This novel is very disturbing, but also very interesting, and the use of very three times in this sentence is justified, as you will see when you read The Schooldays of Jesus.
Show Less
LibraryThing member stillatim
Why do people dislike these books so much? I don't understand. They're not hard; you're not missing something. It's exactly what it says it is: people have died, they're in a new world, they're trying to work out how to live there. Yes, there are biblical references. Yes, there are thoughts about
In the past, I've disliked Coetzee's more Kafkan efforts, but in the Jesus novels he's getting it precisely right. As with Kafka, people reading them will always understand either too much, or too little.
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migration. But it's not like you need a guidebook to it all. In the past, I've disliked Coetzee's more Kafkan efforts, but in the Jesus novels he's getting it precisely right. As with Kafka, people reading them will always understand either too much, or too little.
Show Less
LibraryThing member michaelbartley
I liked the book but it was also disappointing.
LibraryThing member VicCavalli
J.M. Coetzee’s The Schooldays of Jesus is a perplexing, disturbing, well-written novel packed with extreme weaknesses and flaws, all of which are obviously intentional on the author’s part. Coetzee creates a peculiar, adjusted strange world as this work takes up where The Childhood of Jesus
Into this weary scenario, Coetzee inserts the Dance Academy and the “training of the soul” (43) under the direction of the “strikingly beautiful” young dance teacher Ana Magdalena (43). She is an elegant idealist, demanding of her students, and yet “the boy raises his face to her like a flower opening” (44). Ana says, “our Academy is dedicated to guiding the souls of our students toward . . . the dance of the universe” (68). Although Simon (the boy’s guardian) is cynical and judgmental towards the Dance Academy’s philosophy of numbers and Ana’s personality, nothing prepares the reader for the brutal shock of chapter 11, pages 127 and following.
Here I actually stopped reading for several days, thinking I would abandon the novel.
Coetzee uses a lazy plot trick to suddenly shift every element in the narrative in an unexpected vicious direction, and that direction is beyond the mysterious setting of forgetting past experiences and exploring philosophical themes. The reader is suddenly placed in a nightmarish soap opera where the characters speak to each other as if their setting is conceivable and normal when it is actually grotesque and filled with the shallow discourse of marionettes in a bad dream.
I was genuinely disturbed, but after some time I found myself coming back to the book and reading on, thinking that ‘Coetzee must have a higher purpose in creating this “[b]eauty and the beast” (220) scenario.’ And I think he does. Within the context of the world we actually live in, a world of horror and numbness, and yet a world of beauty and gentle kindness, the questions ultimately permeating the novel are: “[W]here is the soul?” And, “When will the soul emerge from its hiding place and open its wings?” (194).
The police in Estrella are hopelessly absent and equally impotent when they do appear. Right through to the end of the novel a homicidal maniac is essentially free to come and go as he pleases, begging forgiveness with pleas that show zero depth within a setting that resembles a hellish cartoon. As the narrator says, “the man is a fake” (250), and yet woven into this disturbing narrative fabric are edifying scenes describing the rope bridge to the new life (206-207), and ponderings on the hope of eliminating evil by transplanting “a bear’s heart” (228) into a man.
And then Simon has an epiphany as he watches David perform the Dance of Seven: “From some buried memory the words pillar of grace emerge . . . . [And] on the stage of the Institute, Ana Magdalena’s legacy reveals itself. As if the earth has lost its downward power, the boy seems to shed all bodily weight, to become pure light. . . . [And] Simon, whispers to himself: Remember this! If ever in the future you are tempted to doubt him, remember this!” (246).
As Coetzee’s strange novel comes to a close, Simon says to Mercedes—the elderly woman who will teach him his first dance movements in the final scene of the book—“I do not think. . . . In our family I am the stupid one, the blind one, the danceless one. Ines leads. David leads. The dog leads. I stumble along behind, hoping for the day to come when my eyes will be opened and I will behold the world as it really is, including the numbers in all their glory” (257-58).
This novel is very disturbing, but also very interesting, and the use of very three times in this sentence is justified, as you will see when you read The Schooldays of Jesus.
Show More
leaves off and the characters enter the world of Estrella. The reader overhears speculations about whether or not “kissing can raise one from the dead” (11); there are early and continuing biblical echoes regarding “trying to dodge the census” (25); and from the start, young David (still 6 years old, though soon to be 7) has exhausted his parents: “He is like a bulldozer. He has flattened us” (40). Into this weary scenario, Coetzee inserts the Dance Academy and the “training of the soul” (43) under the direction of the “strikingly beautiful” young dance teacher Ana Magdalena (43). She is an elegant idealist, demanding of her students, and yet “the boy raises his face to her like a flower opening” (44). Ana says, “our Academy is dedicated to guiding the souls of our students toward . . . the dance of the universe” (68). Although Simon (the boy’s guardian) is cynical and judgmental towards the Dance Academy’s philosophy of numbers and Ana’s personality, nothing prepares the reader for the brutal shock of chapter 11, pages 127 and following.
Here I actually stopped reading for several days, thinking I would abandon the novel.
Coetzee uses a lazy plot trick to suddenly shift every element in the narrative in an unexpected vicious direction, and that direction is beyond the mysterious setting of forgetting past experiences and exploring philosophical themes. The reader is suddenly placed in a nightmarish soap opera where the characters speak to each other as if their setting is conceivable and normal when it is actually grotesque and filled with the shallow discourse of marionettes in a bad dream.
I was genuinely disturbed, but after some time I found myself coming back to the book and reading on, thinking that ‘Coetzee must have a higher purpose in creating this “[b]eauty and the beast” (220) scenario.’ And I think he does. Within the context of the world we actually live in, a world of horror and numbness, and yet a world of beauty and gentle kindness, the questions ultimately permeating the novel are: “[W]here is the soul?” And, “When will the soul emerge from its hiding place and open its wings?” (194).
The police in Estrella are hopelessly absent and equally impotent when they do appear. Right through to the end of the novel a homicidal maniac is essentially free to come and go as he pleases, begging forgiveness with pleas that show zero depth within a setting that resembles a hellish cartoon. As the narrator says, “the man is a fake” (250), and yet woven into this disturbing narrative fabric are edifying scenes describing the rope bridge to the new life (206-207), and ponderings on the hope of eliminating evil by transplanting “a bear’s heart” (228) into a man.
And then Simon has an epiphany as he watches David perform the Dance of Seven: “From some buried memory the words pillar of grace emerge . . . . [And] on the stage of the Institute, Ana Magdalena’s legacy reveals itself. As if the earth has lost its downward power, the boy seems to shed all bodily weight, to become pure light. . . . [And] Simon, whispers to himself: Remember this! If ever in the future you are tempted to doubt him, remember this!” (246).
As Coetzee’s strange novel comes to a close, Simon says to Mercedes—the elderly woman who will teach him his first dance movements in the final scene of the book—“I do not think. . . . In our family I am the stupid one, the blind one, the danceless one. Ines leads. David leads. The dog leads. I stumble along behind, hoping for the day to come when my eyes will be opened and I will behold the world as it really is, including the numbers in all their glory” (257-58).
This novel is very disturbing, but also very interesting, and the use of very three times in this sentence is justified, as you will see when you read The Schooldays of Jesus.
Show Less
LibraryThing member Steven1958
The second in the trilogy by Coetzee. David, 6 years old now is enrolled in school, an academy of dance, where children are taught to dance numbers (1, 2, 3 etc). Their dancing, they are taught will call down the numbers from the sky where they live. (Yeah, it struck me as a little weird too.)
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enjoyed the first book in the series, this book was very different and I had a hard time trying to see Coetzee was going with it. I will read the final instalment, but I am a bit wary. Show Less
Awards
Booker Prize (Longlist — 2016)
The Observer Book of the Year (Fiction — 2016)