How do we put the corpse of a dead animal in our mouths? It's a puzzle with no real solution. Vegetarianism may seem like an answer but it's really an evasion. My cats don't have this problem. You can argue that they are exempt in some way, but then, how can I, a human who should know better, feed a corpse to them?

The problem can't be solved. Violence and cruelty cannot be avoided--only framed in such a way as they become invisible. My president is currently sending drones to kill other humans and we frame this as defense or as collateral damage. What's wrong with my non-solution is that it becomes an argument for doing nothing. But I don't believe it's about arguments.

What's it like to be a cat? (You may notice Thomas Nagel's name in my goodreads book list.) I know they don't feel guilty for eating meat. A cat can enjoy the corpse of a dead animal in its mouth like nothing else. My (former, now dead of cancer) dog killed the neighbor's cat with its mouth. Once it stopped moving, it was no longer a source of enjoyment and my dog walked off. The ability to put yourself, empathically, in the place of another creature is what is necessary to make this problem visible. And maybe language as well. Is an invisible problem not a problem?

Elizabeth Costello is evidently Coetzee's stand-in and it is curious that he picks a woman for this role. She says her vegetarianism is not a philosophical argument so much as an attempt to save her soul. I imagine Coetzee feels his soul is safer embodied as a woman.

Like Coetzee, I am interested in philosophy, and like him, I prefer novels. I believe there's more truth in novels--stories about people who never existed--lies about their non-existent lives.

I, who exist, sort of, (does anyone on the internet really exist?) could join in the arguments. I have some answers, sort of. But that's not relevant to this review. The book isn't so much about the arguments as what it feels like to live a life engaged in them. What is it like to be a writer? A human? Elizabeth Costello? It is a difficult life. Your son is inconvenienced. His wife has contempt for you. Jews protest your use of Holocaust metaphors. Your sister seems to also need her soul saved (I wonder if she's a stand-in for someone in Coetzee's family) and chooses a different path which seems wrong to you. In the end, you don't even know if the judges in your head will accept you into a heaven you don't see as particularly worth the struggle.

I will say, that the nature of language, and the nature of metaphor is a key to everything and Coetzee is on the right track in his letter from the wife of Hugo von Hofmannsthal. And, yes, I noticed the analogy between this made up letter of a wife (who existed!) and Elizabeth Costello's creation of a life for Molly Bloom (who didn't exist.) Why is it that woman are the ones to take on these roles?

By avoiding framing my chicken soup (from tonight's dinner) as the corpse of a dead animal, I get to eat it without having to answer Plutarch's question. Not that framing is just about avoiding. Sometimes framing is about the opposite of avoiding. Sometimes it is about indulging in a feeling of sinfulness. But I'll save that stuff for MY book.