Culture can be considered as one of
the most efficient forms of protest; it draws a chord in human brains of
humanity and relate ability. Literature is an example of how a writer can draw
a reader into comprehending experiences beyond their own reality. The highly
acclaimed South African writer John Coetzee is a case in point, his third novel
Waiting for the Barbarians, an
allegorical novel, acting as a protest to the wider status quo, both within the
literary world and the political world.
The central protagonist in the
novel, the magistrate, is a representative of the state in an isolated frontier
settlement between civilisation and waste lands, with the position of
protecting the settlement from a larger threat, the “barbarians”. The novel begins with the presence of Colonel
Joll and his torture of perceived barbarians; this act ignites empathy in the
magistrate. The Magistrate following
this empathy, houses a barbarian girl, who was subject to torture of Joll. The
Magistrate’s shift in conscience throughout the novel entwined with his fraught
relationship with the girl, ensure his gradual dissension against the authority
of the empire. The novel climaxes with the realisation of the impossibility of
expressing his rational dissent
against the empire and the Magistrate is reduced to a madman.
Coetzee masterly depicts
(Foucauldian) “regime of truth”, how the dominant regulate rationality, acting as
an informal censor. The reduction of the Magistrate as a madman, gives the
state prerequisite to censor him, it stunts the possibility of dialogue. The Magistrate
is isolated, like the location, he is ignored, overlooked. The Empire’s predefining
extents beyond the Magistrate’s mental state, the “barbarians” are viewed as
unpredictable uncivilised beings and thus irrational, this acts as a justification
for excessive institutional violence. This “othering” is internalised by state
actors as well as civilians, and Coetzee reveals it to be a necessary precursor
for the states existence, the Empire defends civilians against the “other”. The
soldiers at the end of the novel are rampant in the settlement and yet the people
require their presence against the “barbarians”.
The theme of “waiting” in the novel
creates suspense and conjures the attention of the reader. Not because one
necessarily believes the barbarians will indeed “attack” but because of the
growing paranoia, aggravation and eventual disintegration of society within the settlement. The settlement
throughout the novel dissolves both physically with settlers fleeing to the
city and psychologically, this is in conjunction to the effective loss of the
enemy, the fact the barbarians never arrived. This “waiting” is not unknown to
us in 2015, with growing Islam-phobia in Europe, politicians rhetoric
references the looming threat of fundamentalist Islam in European society
abusing “our” liberal democratic pillars. The result of this “waiting” is paranoia.
The paranoia instils a toxicity leading to: labelling; stereotyping; and thus
ultimately a failed society.
On the note of protest, the novel
received a dubious reception in South Africa in 1980 it was not, however,
censored. Coetzee’s ambiguity of place and cold winters convinced the censor
“it was nowhere near South Africa”, and therefore there were “no apparent
parallels” to the regime in South Africa (Poyner 46). It was however
“undesirable” for other reasons, such as descriptions of implicit sex and of
violence. The ambiguities in the text, go beyond an attempt to avoid the
censor, they are intentional; the plot represents a story beyond the boarders
of one state or one historical event.
The novel sought to challenge the
status quo through form as well as content: Coetzee’s choice to reject prevailing
European (and South African) literary trends, by adopting an absurdist style, inspired
by Samuel Beckett. An example of the parallels is in the relationship between
protagonists: the Magistrate’s relationship with the barbarian girl is
comparable to the relationship between Vladimir and Estragon (Vladmir’s
inferior) in Waiting for Godot. The estranged
relationship between the Magistrate with the barbarian girl including his
failure to remember her face when she arrived; his failure to communicate with
her; his failure to have sexual relations with her, all reveal the magistrates
internal loss of his self. The peculiarity of their relationship one of
inevitable superiority and inferiority, is reflective to be wider than their
existence, similarly the absence of location, Coetzee describes an unnamed
place and dynamic and yet as the reader it is entirely relatable. Beckett’s
Vladimir reprimands Estragon for trying to leave “There’s no way out there”, both pieces have this imprisonment
dynamic. Despite the physical return of the barbarian girl to her people, as
the reader you recognise the depths of the torture will continue to plague her
life, she like the Magistrate will never be free even outside of the Empire
society.
One could easily criticise Coetzee’s
refusal to divulge into detailed descriptions of the barbarians, but Coetzee
does so in defiance. The silence acts to
imitate the reality of those subject to inferior treatment in the world. The
barbarian girl is silent, and appears to the have no voice, but it is more
complex than that. As Nadine Gordimer contended with, also writing in Apartheid
South Africa, if you are in the privileged position to be able to speak, should
you and what would you say on behalf of the underprivileged? The silence
represents Coetzee’s refusal to assume their (the barbarians) subjectivity. Her
silence is captivating, because as the reader you are hungry for a background
about the girl, and yet like the magistrate you are unable to obtain it. As the
reader you are however more empathetic of the girl than the magistrate, the
absence of her identity, as the leading barbarian in the novel, highlights
Coetzee’s protest of othering.
Coetzee’s subtle depiction of a
torturous society plagues the Magistrate as well as the reader. And the end
does not leave the reader in peace. Cavafy’s poem (written in 1904) with the
same name as the novel haunts Coetzee’s underlining question:
“And
now, what’s going to happen to us without barbarians?
They were, those people, a kind of solution.” (Cavafy)
They were, those people, a kind of solution.” (Cavafy)
Works Cited:
Beckett, Samuel. Waiting For Godot. New York: Grove
Press, 1954. Print.
Cavafy,
C.P. Collected Poems. Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip
Sherrard. Edited by George Savidis. Revised Edition. Princeton University
Press, 1992.
Coetzee, J. M. Waiting For The Barbarians.
Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England: Penguin Books, 1982. Print.
Foucault, Michel, and Colin Gordon. Power/Knowledge.
New York: Pantheon Books, 1980. Print.
Gordimer, Nadine. “Living in the Interregnum.” The Essential Gesture: Writing, Politics,
and Places. London: Jonathan Cape, 1988, 272-284.
Poyner, Jane. J.M. Coetzee And The Idea Of The Public
Intellectual. Athens: Ohio University Press, 2006. Print.
I'm left thoroughly astounded at the clarity with which this review circumnavigates the dominant themes pertinent to the network of 'subjugated knowledge', particularly that of the morality of imperialism, in J.M. Coetzee's novel, Waiting for the Barbarians. The dynamics underpinning the symbolic representation of the dualistic barbarians & soldiers dichotomy and the theme of 'waiting' amounting to the grafting of paranoia upon the outpost (amongst much more), cherry-topped with an excerpt of Cavafy's poem, testament to the significance of the barbarians' presence in story's meaning-making process, each offer a concise and thought-provoking insight into the ominous allegory of Coetzee's novel. I would like to contribute to two particular observations made in this review to, perhaps, further consolidate its overall acuteness.
ReplyDeleteFirst, with regard to Coetzee's approach to gaining publication within South Africa's regulated cultural terrain, closer observation eludes to Coetzee's utilisation of locational and climatic obscurity in the novel as a form of self-censorship in order to undermine local restrictions. There is a profound irony to Coetzee's method, his "genealogy" involves a degree of imitation of South African authorities in order to release his allegory of subjugated knowledge of South African colonial history. In exchange for explicit details which are self-censored, he makes subjected knowledge buoyant (Foucault 306).
Secondly, I would like to expand upon Coetzee's "protest of 'othering'", in which no revealing dialogue about the barbarian girl is divulged for the entirety of the novel. Spivak has commented on the position of the subaltern in colonial and postcolonial discourse, emphasising how the subaltern voice as a female is doubly repressed. The barbarian girl's role as the principal representative of the barbarian faction, accompanied by her possession of the female gender serve to satisfy Coetzee's motives of stripping the barbarians of any relatable characteristic, they take up the singular role of the "other", filling the gap in colonial rhetoric.
Foucault, Michel, Paul Rabinow, Nikolas S. Rose, and Michel Foucault. The Essential Foucault: Selections from Essential Works of Foucault, 1954-1984. New York: New, 2003. Print.
Spivak, Gayatri. "Can the Subaltern Speak?" Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture. By Cary Nelson and Lawrence Grossberg. Urbana: U of Illinois, 1988. N. pag. Print.
I appreciate your observations of the review, particularly the second one, as I failed to include the role of gender in combination with the "other", or subaltern.
DeleteHowever on your first point I wish to reiterate my argument: that Coetzee, while inevitably inspired by his home country, South Africa, was not shaped by it, i.e. his novel is not shaped by the avoidance of censorship. Coetzee's choice not to set the novel in a particular place (or climate), e.g. South Africa, is not purely to avoid censorship, "Waiting for the Barbarians" is a commentary on the wider human condition. Coetzee's heroic presentation of an individual's struggle to express dissent against regime, which censors via a “regime of truth” was relatable then and sadly remains relatable today. My concern is that literary texts and cultural production produced under regimes imposing censorship, is to often reduced by external viewers as a production in response to censorship, this is in itself a form of censorship. It reduces the writer's (or artist's) agency to a singular dimension, the political, when writer’s work in a multidimensional way, inspired by the economical, the social, etc., they are not solely political agents.