Mrs. Curren is dying of breast cancer, and, worse yet,
she is a liberal-minded white woman living in South Africa during
apartheid. The novel is mostly an
expression of her thoughts in the form of a letter to her daughter, who is
married with children in the U.S. and unaware of her mother’s terminal
condition. A homeless alcoholic, Mr.
Vercueil, who, along with his dog, has camped out near her house, becomes Mrs.
Curren’s handyman, companion, and caregiver.
Her black maid, Florence, has a teenage son who has joined the
resistance effort. Mrs. Curren is torn
between her enormous revulsion at the government’s enforcement of apartheid and
her concern for the safety of the young people involved in the rebellion. She would like to make a statement against
apartheid by perhaps hastening her own death in a violent manner, but that
would solve nothing. The fact that she
has taken on a homeless alcoholic as her confidant is a testament to her
extreme loneliness and desperation.
Vercueil, for his part, seems neutral politically and unredeemable
socially, but he’s all she has, and he’s better than nothing. In fact, he’s a lot better, because he seems
completely non-judgmental, and a family member would probably have a lot to say
about an elderly woman living alone and consuming vast quantities of pain meds. Mrs. Curren is a character whose outrage is
so palpable that I felt immense empathy for her. In fact, this is my first Coetzee novel,
published in 1990 while apartheid was very much still in effect, and it
obviously represents the South African author’s personal stand against apartheid,
using the power of the pen to try to enact positive change. I expect that Mrs. Curren’s dilemma and guilt
come straight from his own personal conscience, grappling with a situation that
was impossible to bear and simultaneously dangerous to oppose.
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