Late last year I read J.M. Coetzee's Booker and Nobel Prize-winning 1999 novel, Disgrace. No surprise, perhaps, that it was no ordinary reading experience, despite resemblances: the waffling intellectual recluse subject more and more, over time, to purely physical oeuvres—despite elsewise ambitions; the father out of step with the child now grown and maturer, it seems to him, than he himself ever was; [...]
This Better and Truer History [Reblog]
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