Why am I just discovering J.M. Coetzee now? Truly, it makes me wonder. And how can a book published more than thirty years ago that resonates so loudly today have so utterly flown under my radar? Reading Waiting for the Barbarians for the first time at age 66 felt like realizing someone had forgotten to teach me cursive writing in public school. It is a primer on the abuse of power; it is a frightening look through the (sun glassed) eyes of a well-meaning "civilized" society at the disenfranchised, dispossessed, disparaged and misunderstood 'barbarians" who inhabit their periphery. It is an allegory not anchored in any particular time or place, but one unmistakably present in every generation on every continent, recounted in grisly detail in nearly every copy of the daily news. This is bleak. This is irony. This is winter at its darkest and most hopeless moment. At least, I can now forgive whomever forgot to place it on my required reading list decades ago.