I read far more than was necessary to finally determine this book was not worth reading. Upon the entrance of Elizabeth Costello I knew pretty much that I was in for a weighty disappointment. The main character and his stubborn life-style refusals and insistence on furthering an ill-fated and inappropriate love affair left me feeling basically disgusted with the pitiful old gent. I was embarrassed for all aging men and what they might become if served heaped on a plate filled with leftover mediocrities. I have no idea what possessed a man of such talent as Coetzee's to write this drivel and why he allowed it to even be published. The text is nothing short of despicable and I doubt the experience will wash completely off me. But I will rub and scrub with the harshest of detergents and hope the cleansing chemicals will somehow save me instead of causing a more deadly cancer to grow. But after reading two-thirds of this I cannot imagine what that could be.