“’At last I could row no further’” (5). Thus begins J.M. Coetzee’s novel Foe, an imaginative retelling of the Robinson Crusoe story (originally written by Daniel Defoe) in which a woman, Susan Barton, joins Crusoe and Friday as a castaway on their island. This opening line and several others on the first page alone are repeated over-and-over throughout the text as Coetzee uses the themes of language and storytelling to explore how marginalized people (in this case a woman and a black man) find the means to speak about their lives. The last chapter of the novel is only a few pages long, but by repeating key phrases and ideas from the rest of the text Coetzee summarizes the themes and ideas of the work as a whole. In my attempt to make sense of this final chapter, I will work through it piece-by-piece and hopefully approach some understanding of the author’s intended message.
The first sentence, “The staircase is dark and mean” (153) is an exact repetition of the beginning of the previous chapter, except the word “was” is now replaced by “is.” Apparently the narrator is now describing events of the present time, whereas the rest of the novel took place in the past. This is significant because it leads me to believe that the author, Coetzee, is the narrator of this chapter. Of course it isn’t literally the author, but rather a fictional persona adopted by him for the purposes of the story. It is not unusual in postmodern fiction for the author to insert him/herself into the narrative. I also conclude from the surreal nature of the events in this chapter it is taking place in a vision or dream-like state.
The narrator climbs the staircase to what the reader assumes is Foe’s apartment (Mr. Foe is the author Susan has asked to write her story) and he encounters a body blocking the door, “a woman or a girl…she weighs no more than a sack of straw” (153). Judging from previous events I conclude that this is meant to be Susan’s “daughter,” whom she believes to be lost in Brazil but whom Foe is convinced has come to England to find her mother. The narrator tries to unwrap the scarf from around her face, a glimpse of which might settle the question of her parentage, but the layers are unending. As a representation of progeny, the girl may signify the book that Foe and Susan are fighting to control; to discover her source is to find the author. Entering the room, the narrator finds a couple lying “side by side in bed, not touching,” (153) their skin dry and their lips pulled back, revealing their teeth. This couple is Susan and Foe, presumably at odds with each other since they are not touching. Although he later tries to open Friday’s mouth, he leaves theirs alone, they have said too much already. He initially fears that they will obstruct his purpose and seems relieved that they are incapable of speech, “I draw the covers back, holding my breath, expecting disturbance…but they are quietly composed” (153).
His goal is revealed in the next paragraph as he makes his way to the “pitch black” (154) alcove where Friday sleeps. Friday is still warm and alive, perhaps because he has not yet told his story (the other two, in speaking/writing, have literally dried themselves out). Try as he might, the narrator cannot pry open Friday’s teeth, he must wait patiently until Friday decides to roll over and open his mouth. Even then the narrator must “ignore the beating of my own heart” (154) and listen carefully to Friday without imposing his own narrative. Susan and Foe were so busy speaking about, and essentially colonizing, Friday that they were unable to listen to him as the narrator does. As Susan first suspects, Friday doesn’t speak in words (he hardly knows any) but rather “like the roar of a seashell held to the ear” (142). The sounds that the narrator hears from Friday’s mouth are the sounds of the island, which seem to indicate a feeling of homesickness. The question that remains is how to interpret these sounds in a way that lets us understand Friday’s story.
The beginning of the second vision makes it clear that the house we are visiting is Foe’s, as a plaque on the wall proclaims “Daniel Defoe, Author.” This is the first mention of the author’s full name, although the reader has probably suspected it all along. The inclusion of the word “Author” on the plaque suggests that Foe has claimed ownership over the story, the ambiguity of the first dream vision is gone. As if in reflection of this fact, the bodily positions of the couple have changed, they are now facing each other and Susan’s head is in the crook of Foe’s arm. He has asserted his authority and she has succumbed to the female role. As he makes his way up the stairs the narrator once again encounters the mysterious body of the girl, stumbling over it as if it is not important. When the narrator turns his gaze on Friday’s corner of the room he notices “a scar like a necklace, left by a rope or chain” (155). He seems surprised not to have noticed this before, but it’s possible that everyone has been so distracted by Friday’s missing tongue that they have ignored the rest of his body. The narrator also notices that the table only has two plates on it, which speaks to the troubling manner in which Susan and Foe regard Friday. They seem deeply concerned with his lack of voice, yet they cannot do him the courtesy of having a plate for him (he must wait until they have finished before he can eat).
Finding the dispatch box in which the manuscript is kept, the narrator reads the first line “’Dear Mr. Foe, At last I could row no further’” (155), which is almost an exact repetition of the opening line of the novel. Literally this line indicates exhaustion, but it also suggests inability to surmount an obstacle (possibly the issue of Friday’s voice). Reading this sentence transports the narrator into the boat that Susan was cast away in, and from here he enters the water in exactly the same manner as she did, “With a sigh, making barely a splash, I slip overboard” (155). The narrator’s change in location is signaled by the use of quotation marks in the first line and none in the second. This line is repeated again to describe the narrator submerging himself in the ocean: “With a sigh, with barely a splash…” (155). The repetition of these words may indicate the importance of non-resistance and quiet immersion as a precondition for hearing and understanding Friday. Beneath the surface the narrator finds the wrecked ship that had originally brought Friday and Crusoe to the island. Earlier in the novel Susan equates the wreck (which the narrator describes as a cavernous hole) with Friday’s mouth, saying that “It is for us to descend into the mouth” (142) and hear his story.
The narrator’s entrance into the ship parallels that of his entry to Foe’s house. He is obstructed by something soft which he thinks is either a dead shark or “the body of a guardian wrapped in rotting fabric, turn after turn” (156). The body of the unknown girl wrapped in scarves, and thus the looming question of authorship, still blocks his path. Just like at Foe’s house there is a stairway leading to the living quarters, and further inspection reveals two dead bodies here too, only this time it’s Susan and the captain of the ship from which she was cast away. The bodies are bloated with water, or symbolically glutted with power. Their hands are “held out in blessing” (157), yet Friday wears a chain around his throat and is once again hidden, half-buried, in a corner; clearly their effusions of good will are ineffectual.
In a burst of sudden understanding the narrator realizes that “this is not a place of words” (157) because Friday has not allowed himself to be colonized in that way. He does not speak as we would wish him to, instead “This is a place where bodies are their own signs” (157). The narrator’s visions have allowed us to understand the themes of the novel through the use of bodies: Friday’s continually in a corner (the oppressed “other” who is spoken about but not listened to), the unknown girl’s always blocking the door (the ever-present question of authorship), and Susan’s repeatedly next to a man (the necessity of a male figure to validate women’s experience). Words are not the only way of communicating, Coetzee has explained a lot about the story just from the positioning of bodies in this final chapter. In the last paragraph Friday opens his mouth and speaks, yet the narrator can only describe it as “soft and cold, dark and unending” (157). The entire novel has been building up to this moment, only to discover that the mere act of speaking doesn’t mean that we can understand him. A similar conclusion was reached at the end of the first vision; all we have is sounds and no way to make sense of them. Although there has been some progress, there are still more obstacles to overcome before Friday (and through him repressed peoples) can be understood by his oppressors.
Work Cited
Coetzee, J. M. Foe. New York: Penguin, 1986. Print.
