On Coetzee’s Jesus Trilogy | books

Mulhall, S. (2022). In other words: Transpositions of philosophy in J.M. Coetzee’s “Jesus” trilogy. Oxford University Press.

“J. M. Coetzee’s ‘Jesus’ Trilogy extends and intensifies his long-term interest in engaging with a wide range of texts, themes and assumptions that help constitute the history of Western European philosophy. In this commentary, Stephen Mulhall extends his own earlier work on Coetzee’s previous stagings of the ancient quarrel between philosophy and literature by identifying and following out various ways in which the ‘Jesus’ Trilogy activates and interrogates themes drawn from Wittgenstein’s later philosophy. These themes include rival conceptions of counting and reading, the relation between concepts and wider forms of life, and the intertwined fate of philosophy, literature and religion in a resolutely secular world. In these ways, Wittgenstein’s, and so Coetzee’s, visions of the world disclose their uncanny intimacy with issues and values central to the critique of modernity elaborated in the work of Nietzsche, Heidegger, and Sartre.” — from Oxford University Press


Pippin, R. B. (2021). Metaphysical exile: On J.M. Coetzee’s Jesus fictions. Oxford University Press.

“This is the first detailed interpretation of J. M. Coetzee’s “Jesus” trilogy as a whole. Robert Pippin treats the three “fictions” as a philosophical fable, in the tradition of Plato’s Republic, More’s Utopia, Rousseau’s Emile, or Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Everyone in the mythical land explored by Coetzee is an exile, removed from their homeland and transported to a strange new place, and they have all had most of the memories of their homeland “erased.” While also discussing the social and psychological dimensions of the fable, Pippin treats the literary aspects of the fictions as philosophical explorations of the implications of a deeper kind of spiritual homelessness, a version that characterizes late modern life itself, and he treats the theme of forgetting as a figure for modern historical amnesia and indifference to reflection and self-knowledge. So, the state of exile is interpreted as “metaphysical” as well as geographical. In the course of an interpretation of the central narrative about a young boy’s education, Pippin shows how a number of issues arise, are discussed and lived out by the characters, all in ways that also suggest the limitations of traditional philosophical treatments of themes like eros, beauty, social order, art, family, non-discursive forms of intelligibility, self-deception, and death. Pippin also offers an interpretation of the references to Jesus in the titles, and he traces and interprets the extensive inter-textuality of the fictions, the many references to the Christian Bible, Plato, Cervantes, Goethe, Kleist, Wittgenstein, and others. Throughout, the attempt is to show how the literary form of Coetzee’s fictions ought to be considered, just as literary—a form of philosophical reflection.” — from Oxford University Press


Uhlmann, A., & Rutherford, J. (Eds.). (2017). J. M. Coetzee’s The Childhood of Jesus: The Ethics of Ideas and Things. Bloomsbury Academic.

“Since the controversy and acclaim that surrounded the publication of Disgrace (1999), the awarding of the Nobel Prize for literature and the publication of Elizabeth Costello: Eight Lessons (both in 2003), J. M. Coetzee’s status has begun to steadily rise to the point where he has now outgrown the specialized domain of South African literature. Today he is recognized more simply as one of the most important writers in the English language from the late 20th and early 21st century. Coetzee’s productivity and invention has not slowed with old age. The Childhood of Jesus, published in 2013, like Elizabeth Costello, was met with a puzzled reception, as critics struggled to come to terms with its odd setting and structure, its seemingly flat tone, and the strange affectless interactions of its characters. Most puzzling was the central character, David, linked by the title to an idea of Jesus. J.M. Coetzee’s The Childhood of Jesus: The Ethics of Ideas and Things is at the forefront of an exciting process of critical engagement with this novel, which has begun to uncover its rich dialogue with philosophy, theology, mathematics, politics, and questions of meaning.

Section I. Philological and Philosophical Concerns
1. What does J. M. Coetzee’s Novel, The Childhood of Jesus have to do with the Childhood of Jesus? – Robert B. Pippin
2. Pathos of the Future: Writing and Hospitality in The Childhood of Jesus – Jean-Michel Rabaté

Section II. Sociopolitical Concerns
3. Thinking Through Shit in The Childhood of Jesus – Jennifer Rutherford
4. Coetzee’s Republic: Plato, Borges and Migrant Memory in The Childhood of Jesus – Lynda Ng and Paul Sheehan

Section III. Intertextual Concerns
5. Creative Intuition: Coetzee, Plato, Bergson and Murnane – Anthony Uhlmann
6. The Name of the Number: Transfinite Mathematics in The Childhood of Jesus – Baylee Brits

Section IV. Ethical and Stylistic Concerns
7. J. M. Coetzee and the Parental Punctum – Sue Kossew
8. Coetzee’s The Childhood of Jesus and the Moral Image of the World – Tim Mehigan
9. Beyond the Literary Theme Park: J. M. Coetzee’s Late Style in The Childhood of Jesus – Yoshiki Tajiri

” — from Bloomsbury Collections

Ovid in the Third Reich, Geoffrey Hill (Quote) w/ Moddi

I love my work and my children. God
Is distant, difficult. Things happen.
Too near the ancient troughs of blood
Innocence is no earthly weapon.


The full version of the poem can be found in Poetry Foundation.

Source:
Geoffrey Hill, “Ovid in the Third Reich” from New and Collected Poems, 1952-1992. Copyright © 1994 by Geoffrey Hill. Used with the permission of Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
Source: New and Collected Poems 1952-1992 (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 1994)


It reminded me of Moddi’s A Matter of Habit:

Oh, being human is a matter of habit
A few baby steps, then you get better at it
To be for one minute, just now, just recall
The opposite side of the towering walls
But our hearts have hardened along with our skin
We built a bubble and let no one else in

Kästner, on rejection and renounce

I read Erich Kästner’s Going to the Dogs: The Story of a Moralist after watching the movie Fabian: Going to the Dogs (2021). This quote is from a letter from Stephan, Fabian’s close friend. Some novelists have a deep understanding of the present, and they foresee the future. Not only the near future. Maybe hundred years ahead. Spoiler alert.

going to the dogs = deteriorate shockingly

‘Dear Jacob, I went to the University at midday today to ask about my research thesis, but the Professor was away again. Weckherlin, his assistant, was there, however, and he told me that my thesis had been turned down. The Professor had described it as totally inadequate, and said that if he passed it on to the faculty, it would only be imposing on them. He also said that there was nothing to be gained by advertising my failure. This work has taken me five years. I’ve been working for five years on something which they wish to bury in secret out of consideration for my feelings.

‘I thought of telephoning you, but I was too ashamed. I have no talent for receiving sympathy – even at that I’m no good. I realized it a short time ago, after the talk we had about Leda. You would have shown me that my misfortune was microscopically small. I should have appeared to agree with you, and we should each have been deceiving the other.

‘The rejection of my work means my ruin, materially and psychologically, but especially the latter. Leda repulsed me, and now the University does the same. On all sides I am repudiated and inadequate. That is more than my ambition can stand. That breaks me, Jacob, mind and body. It is no good citing statistics of how many great men have been unsuccessful in their studies and unhappy in their love affairs.

‘Politically, my trip to Frankfurt was a sickening failure. It ended in a free fight. When I got back yesterday, Selow was lying in bed and Ruth Reiter was here and several other women were lending a hand. And now, as I write, they are throwing tumblers and vases at each other in the next room. When I survey my present situation, I can only say that everything about it is distasteful for me. I have been expelled from the circles where I belong, and those that would accept me I do not wish to enter. Do not be angry with me, dear friend; I am leaving it all. Europe does not need me. It will survive or go under without my assistence. We live in a time when economic horse-trading can alter nothing; it can only hasten or delay the final breakdown. We stand at one of those rare turning points of history, where a new way must be found of looking at life: all else is useless. I have no longer the courage to allow myself to be made fun of by political experts who let the continent die under their hands, while they potter about with their petty remedies. I know I am right, but that is no longer enough. I have become ridiculous, a candidate for manhood who has failed in both subjects, love and work. Let me get rid of myself! The revolver I took from the Communist the other day, by the Märkisches Museum, shall reap fresh laurels. I took it so that no harm should be done. I ought to have been a teacher, for children are the only persons ripe for ideals.

‘Well, good-bye, Jacob. I had almost written, in all seriousness, I shall often think of you. But that is all over now. Do not blame me for disappointing us so. You are the only person I ever knew and yet love. Remember me to my father and mother, and especially to your mother. If you should happen to meet Leda, do not tell her that I was so hard hit by her unfaithfulness. Let her think I was only hurt for the moment. There is no need for everyone to know everything.

Kästner, E. (2012). Going to the dogs: The story of a moralist (C. H. Brooks, Trans.). New York Review Books. p. 136-7.

greg in succession s04e08

The written dialogue couldn’t carry the weight of the actual scene but at least highlighted the heavy usage of the empty filling words in the conversations. I loved watching it and wanted to note it somehow. A loyal evil performance by Greg. It was the moment I discerned the monstrosity of the family decision. Jess’ reaction was also brilliant.


T: Hello.
R: Hey, Tom.
T: Hey.
R: So, call it. You can call it.
S: No!
T: We’re calling it?
R: Yeah. We called Wisconsin, now we’re gonna call Arizona, so we call the election. We call the election?
K: Call it.
R: Call it.
S: No. No, Tom. No. You’re making a terrible mistake. Please don’t.
T: Hey, guys, it’s not my call. It’s not my call.
R: Okay?
T: It’s your call. It’s up to you. If you say so.
R: I say so. Call it. I say so.
S: Fucking Pontius Pilate.
R: No one cares. No one… no one cares.
G: Hey, yeah. Okay.
T: Hey. Tell ’em I’m coming down.
G: Ok.
T: Yes. We’re gonna call it. Yeah, we’re calling for Mencken.
R: All right.
G: Oh.
T: Okay. Tell ’em I’m coming. All right. Okay.
R: Great work, Tom.
T: Thank you
R: Good stuff. Great night.

G: (sighs) Fuck.
J: You okay?
G: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I, uh… I… I… I have to go, um… tell them, I think… we’re calling it. For Mencken.
J: Whoa.
G: Yeah. So… I should… I should…
J: Right.
G: I should go. I’ll get in trouble if I don’t go.
J: Okay, dude. I mean…
G: Yeah. I mean, it’s not really my choice, right? So…
J: Sure. I mean, right. Yeah.
G: Yeah. I’m just… I’m pressing the button. Or I’m not even pressing
the button, I’m just… I’m asking them to prepare to press the button.
J: Right, and all that does is just, like, launch a nuclear attack. So…
G: It’s not gonna change anything if I don’t go. So…
J: Couple minutes. So, I mean…
G: Right, right.
J: You…
G: But realistically… Wow. Crazy.
J: Yeah.
G: Crazy. crazy one.

on headphones I | This is Your Brain on Music, Daniel Levitin

The opening sentences of Daniel Levitin’s book This is Your Brain on Music: Understanding a Human Obsession.

In the summer of 1969, when I was eleven, I bought a stereo system at the local hi-fi shop. It cost all of the hundred dollars I had earned weeding neighbors’ gardens that spring at seventy-five cents an hour. I spent long afternoons in my room, listening to records: Cream, the Rolling Stones, Chicago, Simon and Garfunkel, Bizet, Tchaikovsky, George Shearing, and the saxophonist Boots Randolph. I didn’t listen particularly loud, at least not compared to my college days when I actually set my loudspeakers on fire by cranking up the volume too high, but the noise was evidently too much for my parents. My mother is a novelist; she wrote every day in the den just down the hall and played the piano for an hour every night before dinner. My father was a businessman; he worked eighty-hour weeks, forty of those hours in his office at home on evenings and weekends. Being the businessman that he was, my father made me a proposition: He would buy me a pair of headphones if I would promise to use them when he was home. Those headphones forever changed the way I listened to music.

The new artists that I was listening to were all exploring stereo mixing for the first time. Because the speakers that came with my hundreddollar all-in-one stereo system weren’t very good, I had never before heard the depth that I could hear in the headphones—the placement of instruments both in the left-right field and in the front-back (reverberant) space. To me, records were no longer just about the songs anymore, but about the sound. Headphones opened up a world of sonic colors, a palette of nuances and details that went far beyond the chords and melody, the lyrics, or a particular singer’s voice. The swampy Deep South ambience of “Green River” by Creedence, or the pastoral, open-space beauty of the Beatles’ “Mother Nature’s Son”; the oboes in Beethoven’s Sixth (conducted by Karajan), faint and drenched in the atmosphere of a large wood-and-stone church; the sound was an enveloping experience. Headphones also made the music more personal for me; it was suddenly coming from inside my head, not out there in the world. This personal connection is ultimately what drove me to become a recording engineer and producer.

Many years later, Paul Simon told me that the sound is always what he was after too. “The way that I listen to my own records is for the sound of them; not the chords or the lyrics—my first impression is of the overall sound.”