Timeless and Timely
The Nobel Prize committee has a history of honoring writers with a strong political or social message. WAITING FOR THE BARBARIANS (1980), Coetzee's short, approachable, but devastating fable about the abuse of power, must have played a major part in their decision to award him the prize in 2003. While all his books deal with moral issues, and many (such as DISGRACE of 1999) reflect his experience as a South African growing up in a divided society, this comparatively early book tackles the underlying issues straight on, by divorcing the story from an explicit place or time. The narrator, known only as the Magistrate, is the civil administrator of a colonial outpost of some great Empire. At the beginning of the story, a state security officer called Colonel Joll (one of only two proper names in the book) arrives for an expedition against the Barbarians. When he captures a few hapless natives and submits them to torture, the Magistrate becomes morally involved. His attempt to counteract Joll's brutality leads to his own downfall, even as the Empire discovers that it is dealing with forces that it can no longer control.

One of the problems of allegorical fiction is that by being set in an unreal place and time, it can deprive the reader of the familiar landmarks necessary to hold his interest. But Coetzee preserves the sense of actuality with great skill. The layout of the small border town quickly becomes familiar; we have often seen its like in books and movies. The time is not today, but it might well be yesterday: South Africa in the last years of Apartheid, the Roman Empire before its collapse, or anything in between. And by being timeless, the novel is also perennially timely. No one could read the opening chapter now without thinking of Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo, things that could not have been predicted by the author -- other than through his certainty that something of this kind will always occur when once-great power is threatened.

The 1904 poem by Constantine Cavafy which gave the book its title ends with the discovery that the barbarians have gone, and the question: "And now, what's going to happen to us without barbarians? | They were, those people, a kind of solution." The need for a weakening society to define itself by setting up straw-man aliens as objects of fear is certainly one of the themes of this book, but not the only one. An equally apposite punch line might have been something like: "Look in the mirror; the barbarians are us." For a while, the Magistrate appears to be the One Just Man who will stand up against barbarity. But in fact, the novel ends with the bleaker image of "a man who lost his way long ago, but presses on along a road that may lead nowhere." For, humiliated and reaching a painful self-understanding, the Magistrate realizes a truth: "I was not, as I liked to think, the indulgent pleasure-loving opposite of the cold rigid Colonel. I was the lie that Empire tells itself when times are easy, he the truth that Empire tells when harsh winds blow. Two sides of imperial rule, no more, no less." This is a brief, absorbing book, but one that will certainly make you think.

Book club book didn't enjoy
i read this book because it was on our book club list. to be honest, I wouldn't have bought it if it hadn't been for the book club and thought about not finishing it, as did others in the book club. The author told a story, but felt that he was trying to convey a message about whether "civilized nations" are better than "barbarions" and didn't enjoy the way he did it. Sorry, not my kind of book.

Waiting for the Barbarians
Shipping time was great but unlike all other used books rated as in very good condition that I have purchased via amazon, this book had extensive underlines, highlights, and margin notes added by the previous reader. Such notations are problematic and were unexpected. Otherwise, the book was in nice condition. The seller is new so is likely learning.

Disappointing...
Having read and loved "Disgrace" a few years back, I found myself surprisingly wary of "Waiting for the Barbarians." I was supposed to read it for my book club but begged off it, then recently on a slow afternoon picked it up. The Coetzee trademarks are all there -- South African setting, middle aged male protagonist with a womanizing bent, allegories and political symbols aplenty. So why do I love one Coetzee novel but have a lukewarm reaction to a second?

I'm not sure. Coetzee is a magnificent writer; the prose sings. Yet there is something familiar about this type of story -- the big bad colonialists who project fearsome stereotypes onto natives, the erstwhile protagonist who defies simplistic orders, the twist at the end that shows that political quagmires have all kinds of shades of gray. It seems to me this isn't the most original novel I've read recently.

Then there's the misogyny. The male protagonist of this novel (he doesn't have a name) engages in sexual acts with natives that are supposed to represent the personal side of colonialism. There is metaphorical degradation and literal degradation. Some of the sexual scenes are graphic and disturbing. I'm sure some will protest that it's sexuality with a point to make. Yes, that's true, but that doesn't make it any more pleasant to read about.

I'm sure there are many who will enjoy this novel. I, for one, would recommend "Disgrace."

Miracles of Creation Too
It occurs to me that we crush insects beneath our feet, miracles of creation too, beetles, worms, cockroaches, ants, in their various ways.
- J.M. Coetzee

Concerned as it is with the historical and contemporary experience of formerly European colonies, postcolonial studies have shown little interest in the effects of such controlling power on non-human animals. In identifying the political, sociological, and economic impact of "Western" imperialistic pursuits upon non-European "others," post-colonialism has concentrated almost singularly on "other" humans. The cost of European territorial conquest and the discursive operations of empire however, were not borne solely by human beings, but arguably, by non-human animals as well. Indeed, it is just this argument that forms the subtext of J.M. Coetzee's allegory of territorialism, Waiting for the Barbarians. Relying on the narrator's imperialistic use of animal imagery, Coetzee effectively criticizes the operations of empire whose colonial legacy is responsible for the construction of what is essentially, a non-human animal subaltern.