A few years ago I read J.M. Coetzee's Foe, which is supposed to some kind of metafiction about Daniel Defoe and Robinson Crusoe. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. So I've been leary about reading anything more by Coetzee since. For some reason, Elizabeth Costello recently came onto my radar, and it seemed like a good place to get reacquainted with Coetzee.
And all I can really say about it is "eh."
It's another metanovel, this time incorporating a series of talks/articles that Coetzee really did. There were some interesting parts, some interesting discussions. But beyond that, the book was a bit of a yawn. That's really all I can say about it.
Coetzee and I will likely run into each other again in the years to come, but I can only hope our "relationship" improves.