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How much can be conveyed between two people both speaking in a second language? How much is lost? Can such people translate their feelings into music, poetry, actions, and words that reach those who inspired them? Maddening yet tender, J.M. Coetzee’s latest novel, “The Pole,” strives to answer these difficult questions. As the 2003 Nobel Laureate and two-time winner of the Booker Prize, Coetzee carefully weaves a story of the relationship between an aging Polish pianist and an elegant Spanish patron of the arts, exploring the complicated dynamics that arise when two unlikely individuals cross paths. “The Pole” serves as an excellent microcosm of the human condition — scrutinizing, sharp, and delicate.

The novel opens with a single enigmatic sentence: “The woman is the first to give him trouble, followed soon afterwards by the man.” The woman’s name is Beatriz. Elegant, married, and soon to be 50, she is a board member of a “Circle” that stages monthly recitals in the Sala Mompou, a concert salon in Barcelona. The man, 72, an acclaimed yet controversial interpreter of Chopin, is the novel’s titular “Pole” — Wittold Walccyzkiecz, a name that “has so many w’s and z’s in it that no one on the board even tries to pronounce it.” After being invited by the Circle to perform a recital, Walccyzkiecz becomes infatuated with Beatriz. What ensues is a convoluted relationship, pushed forward by Walccyzkiecz — ever the persistent lover — and yet continuously halted by his reluctant beloved. Taking place between letters, countless invitations, and even a week spent together at her husband’s summer house, their connection seemingly advances only on Beatriz’s terms. However, the book implores the reader to question the true nature of this relationship and unveil the complexities of desire and loving.

“The Pole” presents an unconventional structure: It is divided into six parts, with the first five being divided into even smaller sections. Each section varies in length, from multiple pages to a single sentence. The novel’s meticulous form mirrors its tone. Calculated, rigid and detached, Coetzee keeps the reader at arm’s length, never offering easy answers. In comparison to the touching subject it explores, the novel’s distant tone can often feel dry and infuriating. Every instance of frustration or anger is always internalized and never spoken aloud, leaving the reader puzzled and waiting.

Though the story spans multiple years and locations, the novel uses the present tense, which freezes actions in time. It feels as though every moment — each meeting, each conversation — is happening simultaneously, and at a maddening speed. The novel thus occupies little space, both in its short page count and reserved writing style. At the same time, its restrictions are intentional, acting as confining frames for larger-than-life emotions.

Rather than employing superfluous descriptions or sentimental confessions, “The Pole” utilizes unique tools to explore love, including introspection. Beatriz is the book’s main agent, the character to whom the reader is most closely connected. She is “an intelligent person, well educated, well read, a good wife and mother.” However, she fears that she is not taken seriously, and throughout the novel, the reader becomes privy to her inner tribulations and her search for autonomy. But once she enters a relationship with the Pole, he becomes an object around which Beatriz revolves at the expense of her own self-identity. The dynamic of the relationship switches — the Pole’s feelings emerge as well-defined and resolute, and the once clear-headed Beatriz is left angered and inquiring. Though the reader may not always understand Beatriz, her unpredictability grounds the novel and keeps the story engaging.

The Pole himself, though simple in his request for love, faces frustrations of his own regarding his inability to communicate his feelings, his aging, and his unattainable “destiny” of being with Beatriz due to their language barrier. He attempts to “let the music speak” by recording numerous pieces of music and sending them to her. However, his efforts are in vain: When Beatriz listens, she “comes up blank, baffled.” While the authenticity of the love between the two characters is questionable, the reader feels pity and sadness nonetheless about the difficulties of conveying true feelings. The Pole’s persona is haunting — he gives nuance and depth to the story and lays the foundation for larger themes.

The two peculiar characters converge with respect to one of Coetzee’s main themes: conversations. There are plenty of them scattered throughout the novel, each strained and curt. They are limited by emotions and further by language, as both Beatriz and the Pole are forced to communicate using bare-bones English phrases instead of their respective native tongues. Plenty is lost in translation, as Beatriz questions truth and intent: “Whatever the words mean in English, whatever they mean in the Polish that presumably lies behind the English, what do they mean in reality?” The novel thus becomes, through these stilted conversations, a poignant study of miscommunication and lost opportunities.

Still, the novel’s detached tone only falls into place in its final third, when it allows the reader into the heart of the story, switching points of view and translating coded messages. Up until that point, it is difficult to connect with the characters. As Beatriz and the Pole both feel remote and untouchable, the reader may be unable to become invested into the outcome of their relationship. Though the collisions presented are touching and thoughtful, the novel’s stubbornness to delve into them further reads as an intentional disregard for its reader.

Ultimately, “The Pole” utilizes modern conventions of love and longing to explore the depth of human relationships and the many infuriating miscommunications that arise when great feeling is present. Contemplative and careful, this seemingly unassuming story will stick with the reader long after the last page is finished, as a stunning ending forces a reconsideration of all that preceded it. The question of “What is love?” is still one too difficult to answer. But Coetzee offers a new, introspective insight, motivating the reader to consider the constantly switching positions of the lover and the beloved.