The Dying Animal

( 12 )

Overview

"David Kepesh is white-haired and over sixty, an eminent TV culture critic and star lecturer at a New York college, when he meets Consuela Castillo, a decorous, well-mannered student of twenty-four, the daughter of wealthy Cuban exiles, who promptly puts his life into erotic disorder." "Since the sexual revolution of the 1960s, when he left his wife and child, Kepesh has experimented with living what he calls an "emancipated manhood," beyond the reach of family or a mate. Over the years he has refined that exuberant decade of protest and license
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Overview

"David Kepesh is white-haired and over sixty, an eminent TV culture critic and star lecturer at a New York college, when he meets Consuela Castillo, a decorous, well-mannered student of twenty-four, the daughter of wealthy Cuban exiles, who promptly puts his life into erotic disorder." "Since the sexual revolution of the 1960s, when he left his wife and child, Kepesh has experimented with living what he calls an "emancipated manhood," beyond the reach of family or a mate. Over the years he has refined that exuberant decade of protest and license into an orderly life in which he is both unimpeded in the world of eros and studiously devoted to his aesthetic pursuits. But the youth and beauty of Consuela, "a masterpiece of volupte," undo him completely, and a maddening sexual possessiveness tranports him to the depths of deforming jealousy. The carefree erotic adventure evolves, over eight years, into a story of grim loss."--BOOK JACKET.
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Editorial Reviews

From Barnes & Noble
Fans of Philip Roth -- arguably the greatest living American writer -- need no introduction to the hero of The Dying Animal, David Kepesh, whose previous incarnations as a sexual being were chronicled in The Breast and The Professor of Desire. Kepesh, divorced, white-haired, and over 60, is an eminent TV cultural critic and a star lecturer at a New York college. But in the aftermath of a relationship with a well-mannered Cuban student named Consuelo Castillo, Kepesh finds his life in erotic disarray.
Charles Taylor
The productivity and urgency of Roth's work for the past decade stand alone in contemporary American fiction. This novel is clearly an attempt to get down what he knows about life and culture. But surely dispatches this urgent have rarely been so honed, so irreducible and hard, so compassionate and unforgiving. There isn't an American writer working who can touch him.
Salon
From The Critics
Novelists who like to resurrect their protagonists from book to book are often said to use those figures for a kind of literary division of labor. Different stock characters allow the novelist to stake out diverse personae, no single one of whom encapsulates the author's entire sensibility. Perhaps more than any other contemporary writer, Philip Roth is devoted to the practice. He has what he calls his "Zuckerman books" (in fact, eight of them); the experimental "Roth books," whose protagonist, "Philip Roth," dramatizes the blurry boundaries between fact and fiction; and his "Kepesh books"—to which he now adds a mordant novella, The Dying Animal.

To read Roth's novels with any degree of sympathy is to fall instantly beneath the spell of their characteristic first-person narrative and to feel the power of Roth's voice: urgent, intimate, captivatingly intelligent and bitterly comic. Nearly all of Roth's heroes are desperate people, yearning to make sense of their lives and at the same time to grab us by the lapels. What has distinguished Kepesh in this group is simply that he is a little more desperate, a little less dignified than his peers.

Divided between his high-minded dedication to culture and his rampaging id, Kepesh has raved in solipsistic isolation through two previous novels. In The Breast, Roth's homage to Kafka and Gogol published in 1972, the lecherous Kepesh found himself unaccountably transformed into a six-foot-tall, 155-pound human mammary gland. Five years later, a prequel, The Professor of Desire, recounted the sorry tale of Kepesh's early romantic history, in which, torn between his longing for the dignified life of theman of letters and his irrepressible desires, Kepesh wheeled from one disastrous relationship to another.

While Roth never explains how Kepesh escaped the anatomical imprisonment he experienced in The Breast to become the man he is here—an elderly, mildly self-important and slightly ridiculous cultural critic—he does make it clear that The Dying Animal is a kind of coda to his recent trilogy. Kepesh's biography is a testament to the bewildering course of postwar American history and to the astonishing, and terrifying, freedoms it appeared to open.

For Kepesh, the heart of this story lies in the sexual revolution, but, like Roth's earlier protagonists, he is never able to think of his personal desires and his private torments without imagining that they exemplify a larger vision of American liberty. "Am I or am I not a candidate for this wild, sloppy, raucous repudiation, this wholesale wrecking of the inhibitive past?" Kepesh asks himself. "Can I master the discipline of freedom as opposed to the recklessness of freedom? How does one turn freedom into a system?" Those are big questions, and in Roth's recent work they have resulted in big, complex and profoundly dark novels.

Kepesh is a media persona, the kind of critic who does three-minute essays on PBS and book reviews for NPR. His natural genre is not tragedy but farce, and he appears accordingly at the center of that classic story of ludicrous behavior, the older man's obsession with a younger woman. The Dying Animal is the story of his brief affair and long, jealous obsession with Consuela Castillo, a voluptuous young student nearly forty years his junior.

As Kepesh notes himself, this is not a story designed to evoke sorrow and pity. We have entered, he warns, "the realm of the ridiculous." Except that Roth's novel never really becomes that ridiculous, and his heart never seems in the farcical story he appears to have set out to tell.

For a tale of sexual obsession, the story is weirdly lacking in vitality, or passion or comedy, and it includes few of the hallmarks of erotic torment (the fetishistic lingering over the love object, the constant worry over the intentions of the beloved, the anguished speculation about rivals) traditional to the genre. Kepesh admits that he suffered terrible jealousy, but we never get the sense that he has felt a pang. Roth seems more interested in diagramming the conflicts that have long bothered Kepesh—the tensions between mind and body, freedom and convention—than in making his alleged torment seem real. With the exception of a brilliantly vivid subplot in which Kepesh recounts his battles with his reproachful, middle-age son, the book remains strangely lifeless, and Kepesh's passion seems mainly theoretical. As if to underscore that fact, Roth ends the story with a crude plot twist lifted almost directly from Jacqueline Susann's cult novel Valley of the Dolls.

Rather than a story about an old man's silly efforts to hold onto youth, the book turns out to be a tribute to Kepesh's intelligence and rigor, to the tentative victory of freedom over desire, of mind over body—and, ultimately, of Kepesh over Consuela. It is an ugly conclusion to a story that grows harsher and more disturbing as one goes along. In the novella's unsettling last lines, Roth hints at a possibility that also haunted Kepesh's narrative in The Breast, that we may have been imprisoned all along in the deluded thoughts of a highly unreliable narrator. The triumph of Kepesh's freedom, it seems—like his bodily imprisonment—may be all in his mind.
—Sean McCann (Excerpted Review)
Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
Eros and mortality are the central themes of Roth's frank, unsparing and curious new novella. It's curious not only because of its short form (new for Roth), but because he seems to have assumed the mantle of Saul Bellow, writing pages of essay-like exposition on contemporary social phenomena and advancing the narrative through introspection rather than dialogue. The protagonist is again David Kepesh (of The Breast and The Professor of Desire), who left his wife and son during the sexual revolution vowing to indulge his erotic needs without encumbrance. Kepesh is now an eminent 70-year-old cultural critic and lecturer at a New York college, recalling a devastating, all-consuming affair he had eight years before with voluptuous 24-year-old Consuela Castillo, a graduate student and daughter of a prosperous Cuban migr family. From the beginning, Kepesh is oppressed by the "unavoidable poignancy" of their age difference, and he suffers with the jealous knowledge that this liaison will likely be his last; even when locked in the throes of sexual congress, a death's head looms in his imagination. The end of the affair casts him into a long depression. When Consuela contacts him again eight years later, on the New Year's Eve of the millennium, their reunion is doubly ironic in the Roth tradition. Consuela has devastating news about her body, and it's obvious that retribution is at hand for the old libertine. Roth's candor about an elderly man's consciousness that he's "a dying animal" (from the Yeats poem) is unsentimental, and his descriptions of the lovers' erotic acts push the envelope in at least one scene involving menstruation. The novella is as brilliantly written, line by line, as any book in Roth's oeuvre, and it's bound to be talked about with gusto. Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.
Library Journal
That the listener may come to dislike the narrator of this story is testament to its intensity. David Kepesh, professor of comparative literature and local TV pundit, is in his 70s when he confides this account of his May-December affair with a former student. Told in the first person, Kepesh's introduction to himself and to Consuela, his 24-year-old love goddess (ask him about her breasts), is framed within a value system that uses sex as its mortar. Kepesh, whom Roth introduced as a 38-year-old in The Breast and later starred in The Professor of Desire, never outgrew the 1960s free-love culture that inspired him to leave his wife and son to hold court as a sexual savant. Kepesh may not be likable, but he is fascinating. Reader Arliss Howard relates the story as if to a dinner companion a bit bored, unabashed, and pruriently matter-of-fact. A former National Book Award and Pulitzer Prize winner, Roth ensnares the listener with a rich narrative; highly recommended for all adult fiction collections. Judith Robinson, Univ. at Buffalo, NY Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
The recent creative surge that has produced some of Roth's best fiction continues with this intense short novel narrated by David Kepesh (protagonist also of The Breast and The Professor of Desire), who's a more highly eroticized counterpart of Roth's other serial alter ego, Nathan Zuckerman. The subject is Kepesh's reluctant arrival at the threshold of old age and his unquenched vulnerability to the spectacle of sex, to which he wryly refers as "the imbecility of lust" and "the chaos of eros." Its specific focus is his memory, eight years after the fact, of his consuming affair with Consuela Castillo, a beautiful Cuban-American student and the last of a series of younger mistresses who had assuaged his aging for more than 40 years, dating back to the early years of his long-ago (only) marriage. Kepesh's detailed anatomy (no other word will really do) of Consuela's charms stimulates brief memory glimpses of other women (some companionable divorcées of mature years, others embodiments of the swinging '60s whose boldness simultaneously delighted and puzzled him), as well as more discursive (and labored) reflections on "Lord of Misrule" Thomas Morton of Puritan Massachusetts's "Merry Mount" colony; Kepesh's tortured relationship with his middle-aged son Kenny (another victim of sex, to whom his vagrant father is a dead ringer for Dostoevsky's lustful patriarch, Karamazov pére), and—in the most potent scene here—the last hours of Kepesh's closest male friend, an adulterous poet who incarnates man the "dying animal" (a phrase from a Yeats poem) clinging to the last fumbling vestiges of the sexuality that enables him to deny death. Roth then struggles, with mixed success, to pull these strands together in the climax, which occurs on the cusp of the recent millennium, as Consuela returns to him, to confront the fact of her own mortality. "This need. This derangement. Will it never stop?," Roth's most sexually importunate figure demands of himself. Probably not—and we'll probably be treated to further ruminations on why this should be so in a future David Kepesh novel.
From the Publisher

"...a distinguished addition to Roth's increasingly remarkable literary career." The San Francisco Chronicle

"(a) gleefully incendiary tale...whose eloquence and rage ultimately persuade us that (we)...bear the grace and the misfortune of belonging to a deeply flawed, tragically vulnerable, unavoidably mortal species." Elle

"This little book delivers a chill that you wouldn't get from a Zuckerman novel." Newsday

"In the hard, driving, unsentimental sentences, and with superb dialogue...Roth remained true to his youthful vision" Atlantic Monthly

"Powerful...Roth's narrator newly illuminates the American body, the American soul, the life of loving and the love of life that has always been so all-consuming in his fiction." The Chicago Tribune

"...insidiously disturbing and completely irresistable...All sympathetic readers will find themselves wondering: Is Philip Roth now our finest living novelist?" The Washington Post

"...the eponymous dying animal is not only a certain sort of man of a particular generation, but all of us..." Elle

"Small in size..large in insight and wisdom...Roth is spitting out brilliant novels every year. He's an American treasure." Orlando Sentinel

"...encompasses a broad expanse of human emotion and extends his stunning literary winning streak." St. Louis Post-Dispatch

"...a brilliant, demanding and splendidly artful exploration of fundamentals of literature and life" The Baltimore Sun

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780375714122
  • Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 7/9/2002
  • Series: David Kepesh Series
  • Edition description: Reprint
  • Pages: 176
  • Sales rank: 1,356,966
  • Product dimensions: 5.27 (w) x 7.99 (h) x 0.51 (d)

Meet the Author

Philip Roth

In 1997 Philip Roth won the Pulitzer Prize for American Pastoral. In 1998 he received the National Medal of Arts at the White House and in 2002 the highest award of the American Academy of Arts and Letters, the Gold Medal in Fiction, previously awarded to John Dos Passos, William Faulkner and Saul Bellow, among others. He has twice won the National Book Award, the PEN/Faulkner Award, and the National Book Critics Circle Award. In 2005 The Plot Against America received the Society of American Historians’ prize for "the outstanding historical novel on an American theme for 2003-2004" and the W.H. Smith Award for the Best Book of the Year, making Roth the first writer in the forty-six-year history of the prize to win it twice.

In 2005 Roth became the third living American writer to have his works published in a comprehensive, definitive edition by the Library of America. In 2011 he received the National Humanities Medal at the White House, and was later named the fourth recipient of the Man Booker International Prize. In 2012 he won Spain’s highest honor, the Prince of Asturias Award, and in 2013 he received France’s highest honor, Commander of the Legion of Honor.

Biography

Philip Roth's long and celebrated career has been something of a thorn in the side of the writer. As it is for so many, fame has been the proverbial double-edged sword, bringing his trenchant tragic-comedies to a wide audience, but also making him a prisoner of expectations and perceptions. Still, since 1959, Roth has forged along, crafting gorgeous variations of the Great American Novel and producing, in addition, an autobiography (The Facts) and a non-fictional account of his father's death (Patrimony: A True Story).

Roth's novels have been oft characterized as "Jewish literature," a stifling distinction that irks Roth to no end. Having grown up in a Jewish household in a lower-middle-class sub-section of Newark, New Jersey, he is incessantly being asked where his seemingly autobiographical characters end and the author begins, another irritant for Roth. He approaches interviewers with an unsettling combination of stoicism, defensiveness, and black wit, qualities that are reflected in his work. For such a high-profile writer, Roth remains enigmatic, seeming to have laid his life out plainly in his writing, but refusing to specify who the real Philip Roth is.

Roth's debut Goodbye, Columbus instantly established him as a significant writer. This National Book Award winner was a curious compendium of a novella that explored class conflict and romantic relationships and five short stories. Here, fully formed in Roth's first outing, was his signature wit, his unflinching insightfulness, and his uncanny ability to satirize his character's situations while also presenting them with humanity. The only missing element of his early work was the outrageousness he would not begin to cultivate until his third full-length novel Portnoy's Complaint -- an unquestionably daring and funny post-sexual revolution comedy that tipped Roth over the line from critically acclaimed writer to literary celebrity.

Even as Roth's personal relationships and his relationship to writing were severely shaken following the success of Portnoy's Complaint, he continued publishing outrageous novels in the vein of his commercial breakthrough. There was Our Gang, a parodic attack on the Nixon administration, and The Breast, a truly bizarre take on Kafka's Metamorphosis, and My Life as a Man, the pivotal novel that introduced Roth's literary alter ego, Nathan Zuckerman.

Zuckerman would soon be the subject of his very own series, which followed the writer's journey from aspiring young artist with lofty goals to a bestselling author, constantly bombarded by idiotic questions, to a man whose most important relationships have all but crumbled in the wake of his success. The Zuckerman Trilogy (The Ghost Writer, Zuckerman Unbound, and The Counterlife) directly paralls Roth's career and unfolds with aching poignancy and unforgiving humor.

Zuckerman would later reemerge in another trilogy, although this time he would largely be relegated to the role of narrator. Roth's American Trilogy (I Married a Communist, the PEN/Faulkner Award winning The Human Stain, and The Plot Against America), shifts the focus to key moments in the history of late-20th –century American history.

In Everyman (2006) , Roth reaches further back into history. Taking its name from a line of 15th-century English allegorical plays, Everyman is classic Roth -- funny, tragic, and above all else, human. It is also yet another in a seemingly unbreakable line of critical favorites, praised by Kirkus Reviews, Booklist, Publishers Weekly, and The Library Journal.

In 2007's highly anticipated Exit Ghost, Roth returned Nathan Zuckerman to his native Manhattan for one final adventure, thus bringing to a rueful, satisfying conclusion one of the most acclaimed literary series of our day. While this may (or may not) be Zuckerman's swan song, it seems unlikely that we have seen the last Philip Roth. Long may he roar.

Good To Know

Before publishing his first novel, Roth wrote an episode of the suspenseful TV classic Alfred Hitchcock Presents.

A film adaptation of American Pastoral is currently in the works. Australian director Phillip Noyce (Rabbit Proof Fence; Patriot Games) is on board to direct.

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    1. Also Known As:
      Philip Milton Roth
    2. Hometown:
      Connecticut
    1. Date of Birth:
      March 19, 1933
    2. Place of Birth:
      Newark, New Jersey
    1. Education:
      B.A. in English, Bucknell University, 1954; M.A. in English, University of Chicago, 1955

Read an Excerpt

No matter how much you know, no matter how much you think, no matter how much you plot and you connive and you plan, you’re not superior to sex. With these words our most unflaggingly energetic and morally serious novelist launches perhaps his fiercest book. The speaker is David Kepesh, white-haired and over sixty, an eminent cultural critic and star lecturer at a New York college–as well as an articulate propagandist of the sexual revolution. For years he has made a practice of sleeping with adventurous female students while maintaining an aesthete’s critical distance. But now that distance has been annihilated.

The agency of Kepesh’s undoing is Consuela Castillo, the decorous and humblingly beautiful 24-year-old daughter of Cuban exiles. When he becomes involved with her, Kepesh finds himself dragged–helplessly, bitterly, furiously–into the quagmire of sexual jealousy and loss. In chronicling this descent, Philip Roth performs a breathtaking set of variations on the themes of eros and mortality, license and repression, selfishness and sacrifice. The Dying Animal is a burning coal of a book, filled with intellectual heat and not a little danger.
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Reading Group Guide

1. To begin, answer these questions using the book as your guide. Read aloud the relevant sentences or passages.
a. Why is Janie Wyatt Kepesh’s hero [pp. 48–58]?
b. Why is Caroline Lyons Kepesh’s lover [pp. 46–48, 69–76]?
c. Why does Miranda stay behind after the party [pp. 7–9]?
d. Why does Elena Hrabovsky come to Kepesh when she’s unhappy about her life with men? What is Kepesh’s response to her unhappiness [pp. 107–110]?
e. Why is Kepesh’s description of Consuela’s vulva so detailed [p. 103]? Why the aquatic and artistic references? What human emotion informs this passage?

2. What are the sources of pleasure in Consuela Castillo and David Kepesh’s relationship? What do they offer each other? What allows each to “master” the other? Describe Consuela.

3. Why does Kepesh become obsessively jealous? Do his pleasure and jealousy derive from the same source?

4. What is the place of music in Kepesh’s life? What about books?

5. After Consuela leaves Kepesh, his friend the poet George O’Hearn warns him to stay away from her: “This is the pathology in its purest form. . . . You violated the law of aesthetic distance. You sentimentalized the aesthetic experience with this girl—you personalized it, you sentimentalized it, and you lost the sense of separation essential to your enjoyment” [p. 99]. Why would George suggest, and Kepesh be receptive to, the notion that sexual relations be governed by aesthetic laws?

6. Kepesh agrees with George that “attachment is ruinous,” finds those who voluntarily give up their freedom “ridiculous,” and feels that “marriage at its best is a sure-fire stimulant to the thrills of licentious subterfuge” [p. 111]. His son Kenny, who struggles to make his own marriage work, accuses him of gross irresponsibility, of confusing sexual freedom with vulgar self-interest, of behaving like a lecherous fool. Does the novel resolve these conflicting points of view? Does it endorse one position over the other or simply bring them into clarifying opposition?

7. Why doesn’t Kepesh’s son Kenny listen to his father? Is Kepesh not giving Kenny good advice?

8. In what ways is The Dying Animal about the intersection of America’s cultural history with David Kepesh’s personal history? How does he interpret the sixties? How does the sexual revolution “revolutionize” his life? What does it cost him?

9. Kepesh argues that family life is childish and that “emancipated manhood never has had a social spokesman or an educational system. It has no social status because people don’t want it to have social status” [p. 112]. Why do people refuse to give “emancipated manhood” social status? Do they give “emancipated womanhood” social status? If Kepesh were gay or female, would that alter your response to the book?

10. Why does Roth include the extended section on George O’Hearn’s death? What is the motive behind O’Hearn’s final desperate attempt to undress his wife [pp. 121–3]?

11. How does Consuela’s illness abolish the age difference between her and Kepesh?

12. Even though its last word is “finished,” and even though its final pages are filled with anxiety about death, The Dying Animal is open-ended. Why does Roth choose to close the book in this way? What is likely to happen to David Kepesh? Will he ignore his listener’s warning and go to Consuela? If so, will it be the end of him?

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Customer Reviews

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( 12 )
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Sort by: Showing 1 – 14 of 12 Customer Reviews
  • Posted August 5, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    "Her Name Was Consuela Castillo..."

    Philip Roth's texts, especially The Dying Animal, are way ahead of me (16-Years-Old) but I secretly picked up this gem. It is shocking, disturbing at times, and extremely sexual in nature, but all the more savorful. We follow once again the famed David Kepesh and his enticing sexual adventures up until he meets Consuela, a Cuban student whom he developes more feelings for then he likes to admit. The story is told to us through Kepesh's direct words and he reveals so much to us that you insantly develope a connection, growing more impossible to believe that he is a fictional character. The story takes twisted turns and leaves us with the empression of a man who just never grew up, or, better said, grew with society's tweaks and morphs. Highly recommended book, the movie some what does it justice, but to really delve into Kepesh's lifestyle read this great page-turner.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 15, 2005

    Little Emotion

    The Dying Animal had a great story that could have been evolved to something more capturing for the general reader. The beauty of the women and the tough encounter with cancer were themes with a lot of feeling and emotion but Philip Roth created this story into something very cold hearted and with very little emotion. This book could have been much more emotionally in depth as well as being erotic but was more emotionally surfaced.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 7, 2003

    Roth close to his worse

    This book illustrates much of what is wrong with one of the great American writers of the past half- century. The sheer heartlessness of this book, the cold intelligence, the lack of real human feeling makes this work another small lurid trip of the Roth-ean imagination at its worse. The great Portnoy will make you laugh and cry, and Patrimony is a gem of telling the father- son relation, and even the late American pastoral has some of the real Rothean best stuff in it. But this is Kepesh junk on the very same level as 'The Breast' When you read it you feel as if you have done something slightly immoral and ugly.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 16, 2001

    ROTH AGAIN

    Mr. Roth is a brilliant writer and this story reflects that. In anyone elses hands this book would not work. Enjoyable, readable.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 17, 2001

    An average book

    I don't mind the sex scenes that others complain about but I sure didn't find this book to be anything special. It also annoyed me that it is so short in length. Being a fast reader, i detest books that I can read in a short sitting and yet the publisher charges regular prices.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 6, 2001

    Great Book

    Philip Roth does a masteful job interwining sex, desire, evolution and ambition to not only reveal the inner character but tell an intriguing story.

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