‘The Pole’ by J. M. Coetzee    (2023) – 167 pages

Witold is a 70 year-old man from Poland who is a concert pianist but refers to himself as simply “a man who plays the piano”. His name, Witold Walczykiewicz, “has so many w’s and z’s in it, no one on the board even tries to pronounce it. They refer to him simply as ‘the Pole’.” He travels around Europe giving concerts playing the music pieces of his fellow countryman, Frédéric Chopin.

Beatriz is a 49 year-old society lady from Barcelona, Spain who volunteers with the Concert Circle to arrange monthly music recitals. Beatrix is married, but her husband has other lovers and she no longer sleeps with him.

“She has also with a cool eye observed how the men of her class behave. She has emerged from her explorations with no great respect for men and their appetites, no wish to have a wave of male passion splash over her.”

The Concert Circle arranges for Witold to perform in Barcelona, and Beatriz attends his concert. During the concert, she compares Witold’s renditions of Chopin to those of Chilean pianist Claudio Arrau, and finds Witold’s renditions lacking. Witold’s piano playing left her unmoved.

“At the piano he plays with soul, undeniably, but the soul that rules him is Chopin’s, not his own. And if that soul strikes one as unusually dry and severe, it may point to a certain aridity in his own temperament.”

The Concert Circle takes Witold out to dinner after the concert, and Beatriz meets Witold. She is unimpressed. That would be the end of it.

However a week later, Beatriz receives a note in the mail from Witold addressed “to the angel who watched over me in Barcelona” and a recording of his music. She is still not impressed. Beatriz can’t figure out why this old man is pursuing her. He arranges to meet her again in the nearby city of Girona. She agrees to it, but asks “Why are you here, Witold?” He replies, “I am here for you,”. Things progress or not from there.

Not every lover from afar is a supreme artist like Dante. Beatrix, the Spanish benefactress, considers Witold, the aging pianist from Poland who has fallen in love with her, a rather lame interpreter of Chopin.

I’m not sure what J. M. Coetzee’s point in all this is or even if he has a point. This novel held my interest, but I was not tremendously or even significantly moved by it.

Grade:    B