Imagine reading an essay on political theory that has a note scrawled along the bottom of the page in the author’s handwriting. It describes a young woman he has just seen walk into a laundromat wearing a “tomato-red shift … startling in its brevity.” Notes continue on pages throughout the essay, bit-by-bit, developing into a suspenseful tale of the relationship between the writer and the woman, while interacting with the philosophical work with which it shares the page. This is the basic format of J.M. Coetzee’s inventive new novel, Diary of a Bad Year.
Diary tells the story of an aging author from South Africa who now lives in Australia, has the initials J.C. and has written a book titled Waiting for the Barbarians—all autobiographical details of Coetzee as well. A German publisher has asked the narrator to write a book of “strong opinions” on any subjects he chooses, “the more contentious the better.” As he writes about subjects ranging from anarchism to missile guidance systems, the narrator becomes intrigued by a woman he sees around his apartment building, Anya, and persuades her to take a job transcribing his dictated tapes.
On the top third of each page is the narrator’s manuscript of opinions. In the middle, the same narrator relates the happenings between himself and Anya, while Anya herself takes up the last third with her own musings. Coetzee’s masterful storytelling lets readers enjoy the interaction between the two characters while allowing an engaging discussion of current world affairs. On each page, the reader must decide if he or she wishes to read down or across; at times the essays are so brilliantly crafted that one wants to finish them, and at other points the story’s dramatic tension outweighs the philosophizing.
Anya refers to the writer as Señor C because a mistaken neighbor has told her that he comes from South America. She lives with a much older boyfriend, Alan, whose solution for everything is lawsuits. Alan tells Anya that if she ever “appears” in a novel of Señor C’s, she should sue for “plagiarism of her identity.” As the relationship between typist and author develops, it becomes clear that Señor C wants Anya to do more than just transcribe his tapes—he wants her opinions. While at first reluctant, she soon berates his choice of topics—“On the origins of the state,” “On Guantanamo Bay”—as too political and boring, and tells him that he should stick to writing about cricket, fiction or his own life.
The interplay between the two characters, as manifested in the essays Señor C writes, offers a glimpse into the day-to-day effect a person can have on a writer. All three trains of thought interact typologically in the section “On Competition,” where an essay on the nature of games and power struggles is complemented by the writer and his typist truly letting each other know their frank opinions on one another for the first time. Señor C follows Anya’s suggestions about appropriate topics by including an example involving cricket.
Read alone, the top third of the book could be a brilliant commentary on the state of the world and its leaders. In true Coetzee fashion, the narrator does not simply call Bush evil, but neatly presents his interpretation of the President’s actions as “assert[ing] that he cannot commit a crime, since he is the one who makes the laws defining crimes.” Sparse but poignant details about the lives of the characters create a story filled with a strange type of tension: Señor C knows he will never be Anya’s lover, but still wants her to care for him. Diary of a Bad Year shows Coetzee’s astounding ability to craft metafiction, while redrawing a shaky line between what exactly constitutes fiction or fact.
