A House in Spain by J.M. Coetzee

 

Catalonia.

The only other work I've read by J.M. Coetzee was Disgrace, but that was ages ago and, honestly, I barely remember anything about it. I think I liked it? Maybe? Either way, reading A House in Spain felt like a proper reintroduction to an author who is often hailed as one of the great writers of the post–WWII literary world. I'm not quite on the Coetzee bandwagon yet but can definitely see the appeal. 

As the title suggests, this story revolves around a house in Spain (Catalonia, to be exact) bought by a foreign man in his 50s. Through the lens of this house, Coetzee’s omniscient narrator digs into some big themes: mortality, ownership, social class, history, love, marriage, and the fleeting nature of life itself. It’s philosophical but never stuffy, with elegant, economical prose that gets straight to the point.

One of the more striking aspects of the story is how the narrator reflects on the man’s complex relationship with the house. At one point, they remark: "Functional from beginning to end, his understand of the ownership relation. Nothing like love, nothing like marriage." Yet, the act of maintaining this foreign property requires a lot of work and starts to resemble a kind of burgeoning intimate relationship. That duality is beautifully summed up in this quote:

|"If this is a marriage he tells himself, then it is a widow I am marrying, a mature woman, set in her ways. Just as I cannot be a different man, so I should not want her to become, for my sake, a different woman, younger, flashier, sexier."|

The author's use of metaphors here and throughout the story is quite effective. It’s such a poignant way of capturing the delicate balance between acceptance and control, especially in the context of love and aging. The house, like a long-term partner, comes with its own history, quirks, relationship dynamics and worn edges. Rather than try to renovate it into something it’s not, the man chooses to meet it where it is instead. There’s a quiet grace and dignity in that; an acknowledgment that real love, or at least real commitment, is about embracing imperfection and giving up the fantasy of transformation.

Ultimately, A House in Spain is a thoughtful and quietly moving piece. It may not be flashy, but it's deeply wise. It offers some sharp insights into the human condition, particularly when it comes to love, stability, and our search for meaning. Coetzee doesn’t shout his ideas; he lets them unfold gently, inviting the reader to sit with them. It’s the kind of story that understands something quietly profound about what it means to live, to age, and to care for something so passionately, even if it is a house that doesn’t love you back in quite the same way.