Foe

I had to read Robinson Crusoe and Foe for my English 101 class, mainly due to the fact that I have/had to write a Compare and Contrast essay on the two. I can safely say that Foe is by far a much better title than its predecessor. Why, I ask myself. I think it's because of the old-style grammar back then, it's just difficult to get into. Foe on the other hand, starts off right in the beginning with adventure. It's no snooze. I love this book.

I was thrilled to hear that Coetzee won the Nobel Prize, I am a huge fan of his work. This is probably the easiest to read of his books and a good illustration of his talent. Writers and artists will find special meaning in this beautifully crafted metaphor woven around the story of Robinson Crusoe.

J.M. Coetzee is an extraordinarily gifted and insightful writer. The only other novel of his that I've read is "Life and Times of Michael K," but both that and this novel, "Foe" are sparse, beautiful, enigmatic works. "Foe" takes a postmodern look at Daniel Defoe's classic eighteenth-century novel, "Robinson Crusoe." Of course, reading Defoe's novel first gives you the fullest understanding of the background Coetzee is working from, but I believe that as much as anything, it is unnecessary to be intimately familiar with Defoe. Defoe's novel is an appropriate novel to rewrite because the plot is one that is ingrained into Western consciousness - everyone knows the basic story of shipwreck, survival, and rescue. "Foe" takes such preconceived ideas and shows that although we may feel comfortable with that basic narrative, comfortability can cause us to take stories for granted and make us complacent readers. In "Foe," Coetzee turns the story, characters, and subject positions of Defoe's foundational novel on their heads to disrupt our ready notions of truth, trust, and story. The major question we ask throughout the very short novel is 'Who's story is the right one?' Is there ever one right story? Coetzee turns the autocratic, garrulous, enterprising Robinson Crusoe into Cruso, a stoic castaway who no longer cares to leave his island and spends each day in a futile pursuit. He builds terraces where nonexistent future generations can plant imported seeds. Friday, Cruso's servant, is changed from a subservient, excitable islander to a former African slave who may or may not have a tongue and does not speak at all. Coetzee's major innovation is the introduction of Susan Barton, the novel's primary narrator, who tells the story of the island in conversation and letters addressed to Daniel Foe, a noted English author. Susan, as narrator, deals intensely throughout the novel with trying to get Cruso's story published. Meanwhile, she attempts to handle her own issues, to wit, her search for a missing daughter, Foe's disappearance, and her torturous relationship with the mute Friday. Overall, this is a fantastic novel, fraught with problems of language, narrative, and gender.

This is a fascinating book. About what it means to write and to be written -- to be a character and an author. Very much reminds me of Italo Calvino at points. I really found it beneficial to have recently read _Robinson Crusoe_. Coetzee plays with that text -- tracing it at some points and making important diversions at others. The idea of writers responding to eachother, carrying on a dialogue in their stories, is very interesting.

Foe begins as a realistic retelling of Daniel Defoe's classic tale, though names and situations have been sufficiently altered make such a retelling in fact a reinvention. What begins as a straightforwardly realistic narration, ostensibly epistolary in form, becomes, in the end, a discursive metaphor for the act of storytelling itself. Susan Barton begins as narrator of the novel but ends it as muse to an author (named Foe) whose own narration has become canonical (even to the point of being widely-known but rarely read). The 1st 40 pages of the book are linear--the shipwreck, the washing-ashore, the meeting of Friday & Cruso (sic), and--finally--rescue. But the subsequent parts of the novel, though no less linear, become less about a tale of shipwreck survival than about a tale of narrative survival. Susan Barton begins battling the punningly-named Foe for the survival of her original conception of herself as Cruso's living successor, while Foe, becoming more authoritative than mere scribe of her exploits, posits such possibilities as her daughter's reunion with Susan and those details which actually appear in the Robinson Crusoe we all know. The tension and focus shift (almost imperceptibly) from what is (in Susan's mind) to what could be (in Foe's). Susan is transmogrified from an actual character to merely the muse--the ennervating inspiration--that drives Foe to write his book. In the end, what we get is the story of how a story shapeshifts into its final form and how its failed possibilities are no less alive than its successful ones. The novel dives into the wreck of Daniel Defoe's failed alternatives and succeeds by plumbing what depths _Robinson Crusoe_ (probably) did not