We take so much for granted, especially when we are most blessed. Our health, of course. And friendships. And taking time to listen, and understand.
Perhaps this is why Slow Man by Nobel-winning author J. M. Coetzee is so compelling. It's about Paul Rayment, a 60ish, independent, fit man in Australia who is hit by a young driver while riding his bike. He loses a leg, but also loses his sense of self. His life is uprooted, of course, and he loses his independence. He did not have many friends or close associates before the accident, but his life was a routine, and a comfortable one.
He loss of the leg shakes him. He begins to look inside and likes not very much what he sees. He falls in love with his (married) nurse - an honest and understandable transference - and then becomes rather intertwined with her family and her history. It's painful to watch him struggle in this situation - especially after he clumsily blurts out his feelings.
A novelist enters his life at random, and she possesses and uncanny (and almost mystical) ability to read him and force him to address the loose ends of his life. She is, quite frankly, spooky, and there are moments where I can't believe he puts up with her or gives her the power to guide his life. But then again, he lost his leg and his faith in himself. He's lost. Stumbling both physically and emotionally.
His hobby of collecting old sepia photographs of the Australian bush pioneers becomes a metaphor for his new life. These are old, weathered recordings of hard lives. He is fascinated and repelled by the seriousness of the faces, the dirt and grime. The camaraderie of the men. The exhaustion of the mothers. The photos are a record of history, part of what makes us moderns what we are. And yet, they are strangers - both in name and family. We are connected, but not familiar. The young people Paul encounters encourage him to join the world - a modern world. He resists this with a discomfort born of the pain of not being able to make all the choices. "An accident?" he says at one point. "What is an accident but something we wish we had control over."
Later, the strange, other-worldly novelist says to Paul (on page 182):
"You cannot love by an act of will, Paul. We have to learn. That is why souls descend from their realm on high and submit to being born again: so that, as they grow up in our company, they can lead us along the hard road of loving. From the beginning you have glimpsed something angelic in Drago, and I am sure you are not wrong. Drago has remained in touch with his origins longer than most children. Overcome your disappointment, your irritation. Learn from Drago while you can. One of these days the last wisps of glory that trail behind him will vanish into the air, and he will simply be one of us."
Paul responds to this bit of wisdom with skepticism. But she believes what she is saying. Her confidence in this as truth makes him question his lack of faith.
Do we all have angels among us? Surely this is true - or perhaps it is just humans around us who occasionally offer angelic acts. Either way, Coetzee's philosophical novel lets us dream that we would rise to a big life challenge in a way that is more decisive and rational than poor Paul Rayment. That instead of succumbing to the hole that the missing leg makes in his life, that he will rise up - be an inspiration.
Paul is no inspiration, to us nor himself. And yet, his questions are the questions of the ages. Of us all. And that is what makes a great story.
I found the combination of humanity and aspiration in this short novel quite intriguing. Disturbing in some ways, but always engaging.
