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Reading J.M. Coetzee's work is somewhat exhausting. No matter how you're psyched to think you're in the same current stage in life to master reading a masterpiece, you'll eventually left dumbfounded and coerced to rethink what's come to the life of the character that is hard to articulate. Or maybe their life, even so much different than yours, can be terrifyingly comprehensible and it's unbearable not to weight on their decisions as if they were yours to bear. Writing such wonderful characters is truly Coetzee's purest gift.

The main character in this book is arrogant, idealistic, ignorant and self-absorbed as may him be called out. He is desperately trying to escape from whose life he is living in by over-analysing everything comes between who he is and the definition of what he wants to be -- the great poet. His existence depends on the ideal meaning he's craving to trap himself into. The belief that his life is destined for something much greater than he is at the moment manifests him and fosters his ignorance. While, so many conditions: racial and historical influence hinder his dreams, or what he believes that he could acquire; the ability to write, love and care for the other human beings. All those are missing throughout the flood of social dilemma, racial bias, xenophobia, and most of all concluded as the sense of alienation by leaving for the motherland to live in the foreign country with the heart full of false hope.

Yep, it's pretty much like reading about a white man's delusional crippled mind with the psychoanalysis approach and so many literary criticism which, I could say, is the major fondness I have for this book. His taste for poetry is pretty much the same as mine. Lol.