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Rating(3.9 / 5.0, 99 votes)
5 stars
30(30%)
4 stars
28(28%)
3 stars
41(41%)
2 stars
0(0%)
1 stars
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99 reviews
April 25,2025
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«¿Quién va a querer leer que hubo una vez dos individuos anodinos en una roca en medio del océano que para matar el tiempo se dedicaban a cavar buscando piedras?»

Se dice que para contar la verdad, la literatura debe inventar muchas pequeñas mentiras.

En Foe, Coetzee desarrolla esta idea de la literatura como medio de traducir y transmitir una verdad esencial que, de otra forma (en el mundo real) no podría ser entendida más que por aquel único individuo que por experiencia propia la presenció, la sintió y ha podido comprenderla (en este caso, la náufraga Susan Barton, y quizá también el mismo Foe). La palabra escrita necesita apropiarse de la historia, modificarla y contarla así a su propia manera, en su propio lenguaje, por la sencillísima razón de que es imposible capturar la vida en tinta y papel.

Uno de los más claros ejemplos de esta necesidad de transformar la realidad y contar mentiras para poder transmitir una verdad superior, la encontramos en el Diario del año de la peste, de Daniel Defoe, novela que ha sido denigrada muchas veces por su «falta de veracidad» o por ser «históricamente inexacta» por lectores o críticos que no han acabado de entender la misión o significado de la literatura. Porque claro que es inexacta y no cuenta las cosas como se supone que históricamente sucedieron, pero, y he ahí su enorme valor, logra transmitir muy bien al lector que a ella se acerca el ambiente de inseguridad, desazón, miedo, pasmo y hasta apocalíptica indiferencia que de seguro (en la vida real) se cernió sobre los seres humanos que vivieron la peste en carne propia. No es que reproduzca, es que re-crea la realidad.

En esta original novela, para llevar a cabo su empresa, J.M. Coetzee toma y reinterpreta el Robinson Crusoe del mismo Defoe (que de nacimiento se apellidaba Foe), creando una especie de universo alterno, una versión de la historia en donde Crusoe (en la novela: Cruso) y su naufragio fueron cosa real, aunque mucho menos interesante y florida que la extraordinaria narración que Defoe hace a partir de diversos relatos de naufragios, como el de Alexander Selkirk. La verdadera protagonista en este caso es Susan Barton, una mujer inglesa que por azares del destino acaba naufragando en la misma isla a que Cruso fue a parar.

La realidad, entonces, la verdadera historia de Robinson Crusoe y su naufragio, resulta ser algo tan monótono, escueto y falto de heroísmo que Susan Barton, que siente necesita contar lo que vio y vivió en la isla una vez regresa a la civilización, va en busca del escritor profesional Foe. Pero el señor Foe es escurridizo, se asemeja a una mera sombra que la hace dar vueltas, y es entonces, con su necesidad nunca satisfecha de relatar su historia, lo que la lleva a darse cuenta de la capacidad de la literatura de contar verdades a medias, alternas o meros inventos en aras de contar una verdad esencial. Antes de que se pueda dar cuenta, la protagonista de la novela se halla narrando su propia historia.

Resulta una novela muy entretenida e interesante, en donde Coetzee nos muestra ese otro gran tema que, junto con la denuncia de la injusticia y los excesos del poder, conforma su obra: la forma y los medios con que la literatura recrea la realidad, la forma en que se escribe una novela, tema que será retomado sobre todo en sus últimos trabajos.
April 25,2025
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Fancy being driven to pictures.

When I read a novel, I'm looking for this:



and this:



with big hints along the way like:


and this:



I thought I was doing fine with this Coetzee I found in Leiden recently. There's a woman and she is on a desert island for a while and then she's rescued and she's bogged down with Man Friday and Daniel Defoe's in it writing her story and I thought I got it. But I couldn't help feeling now and again like:



and trying to figure it all out made things worse.



Frankly, in the end, I felt like I was in the middle of xkcd's google map directions (goodreads has made a hash of this, please go link: here to see it:



I don't know, Mr Coetzee. I really don't know. I wish when I'd got to the lake and saw the trouble ahead, I'd just turned back. I'm going to have a lie down and a nice cup of tea now. That's if I'm still alive, if I was real. Perhaps the book has the answer to that.
April 25,2025
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"Ma la vita non è mai come ce l'aspettiamo. Un autore, ricordo, ha scritto che dopo la morte potremmo ritrovarci non da cori angelici bensì in un luogo del tutto ordinario, come per esempio un bagno pubblico in un pomeriggio torrido, con i ragni che sonnecchiano negli angoli; al momento ci sembrerà una qualsiasi domenica in campagna, e solo più tardi ci renderemo conto di essere nell'eternità."
April 25,2025
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???????????????????
36 pages into it and I started skimming (due to the vapidness of it) so fast I read the last 100 pages in 10 minutes.
A summary:
- Susan is shipwrecked
- She tells Cruso to do something
- They're rescued
- She wants her book to be published
- Foe disappears
- Susan tells her daughter she isn't her daughter (or something)
- Foe reappears
- Something happens
- Lots of talking
Still looking for a tangible plot that I'm starting to believe doesn't exist
April 25,2025
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I read this a long time ago and have only just got round to thinking about a review now. Now is me sitting in front a netbook with a large glass of red wine, the work phone switched off (praise all your gods, it is the weekend) and a pile of salted cashew nuts to hand. You could cast me adrift on a desert island now, with no hope of redemption and as long as I could take the wine and the nuts (I'll leave the works phone, thanks) then I probably wouldn't utter so much as a squeak of protest.

Turns out that leaving it a while to review this book was probably a tactical faux pas on my part because it has not left enough of an impression to allow the memories of salient points ( a fellow goodreader pointed out today that book amnesia is frequently the benchmark of a bad book), witty lines and poetic description to come flooding back. Give me an hour, more wine and I'll probably fill in the blanks with some kind of skewed version of Coetzee's sequel/ parallel to Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe (recently read and reviewed), but I'll try to finish writing before it gets to that sloppy point.

In lieu of being able to offer any new startling observations on this text I have just read two excellent reviews:

Chris Holmes' http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...

and Brian's review http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...

both which are worth reading with or without the wine.

Coetzee tackles the story of Robinson Crusoe and his castaway years by adding into the mix, a female companion who has returned to England and brought with her the story of her life on an island with the now deceased Cruso and the man Friday. The story she tells is very different to that of the Crusoe we know from popular publication. Does this make it any less true? I suppose the point is that communication, or if you are Friday, lack thereof, is constantly open to interpretation. Is what we say actually interpreted by those who hear it in the way we mean it? Probably not. The faceless communications of today (text, Tweet, blog and even goodreads) leave a lot of scope for misinterpretation and error. With Cruso I guess the question is, how much of his-story is in this case her story?

April 25,2025
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Foe reminds me more of Robert Coover's multilayered, metafictional Spanking the Maid than of Robinson Crusoe. That book was about spanking, and this book is about getting ravished. But what's it really about, you ask, and I'm like ugh, isn't "multilayered and metafictional" enough? Fine, god. I'll mark serious spoilers but we'll discuss general plot points, so heads up.

On the first layer: Susan Barton is marooned on an island already inhabited by two other castaways. When she is rescued, she tries to sell her story. There are mysteries: one of the other castaways is mute. Supposedly his tongue was cut out, but she fails to verify this. Who cut out his tongue? Or did anyone? And who is the woman who shows up claiming to be her long-lost daughter?

Below that, it's about Daniel Defoe's 1719 classic Robinson Crusoe: the other two castaways are Cruso [sic] and Friday. The author she attempts to sell her story to is Foe [sic] himself. So this is metafiction, and here's another mystery: why didn't Barton herself make it into Foe's novel?

And below that, it's about the process of storytelling: whose stories are heard and whose are silenced and which truth gets told. Coetzee pretends that [De]foe wrote his books from life, but changed them to make them more entertaining. The version he eventually published has virtually nothing to do with its inspiration.

(Several of Defoe's other characters also show up here to help make the point. And it's true, actually, although not in the way Coetzee presents it: Defoe was inspired by the story of castaway Alexander Selkirk.)

Coetzee is South African, and he wrote Foe in the 80s, at the height of the controversy over a soon-to-die apartheid. When he presents Friday as mysteriously mute - the only character unable to tell his own story - he's talking about his country. He said that "South African literature is a literature in bondage. It is a less than fully human literature." That's what Friday represents, this less than fully human literature.

So the third level answers the questions of the first two. Friday is mute because the storyteller has muted him. And Barton isn't really a character: she's the Muse. She tells you so herself, during an explicit sex scene. (All that ravishing represents the process of creation - sorry, I know that's cliched, blame Coetzee. Barton begins the story moments after being gang-raped by mutineers, so there's a metaphor for you.) And the mystery daughter is the story itself - unrecognizable to the Muse by the time it arrives, twisted and yet presented hopefully by the storyteller. "Did I get it right?" And the Muse is like ugh, no, that's terrible.

Honestly, I think the book descends a little into wankery starting around Part III, 3/4 of the way through the book. It stops creating story and starts talking about it, and it's a bit on the tedious side. But it's done enough by that point to earn a little wanking; it's a very good book. Multilayered! And metafictional.
April 25,2025
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Coetzee's sometimes strained exercise here is to write together the narratives of Daniel Defoe's two major novels, Pamela and Robinson Crusoe. Once again, the central undertaking is Coetzee's straining to hear the voice of the subaltern through his characters and once again concluding with the best-solution-possible as some complicated ritual of bodily compassion and performative abjection. As the characters of The Darjeeling Limited need a drowned Indian boy to make their trip meaningful, Coetzee needs Friday to have no tongue to stand in as a cipher of the Unknowable. After my third Coetzee novel in less than as many months, the anguished to-and-froing about who owns whom, and who speaks/writes/acts whom and whether or not this is the very tension/question that we are forced to forever grapple with (it is, it seems) is starting to feel like the repetitive tongue-and-groove chafing of a masochist's wrist ties. It's enough to make you want to say Uncle (or Empire) and be done. Or at least find a partner with different ropes and different knots.
April 25,2025
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Un libro maravilloso sobre la desigualdad del habla y la imposibilidad de transmitir según que cosas a través de según qué sujetos. ¡También la obra más moderna que he leído en meses!
April 25,2025
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Ugh. I really was enthralled with the idea of this novel, but obviously I'm not post-modern enough to enjoy this sort of book. Coetzee's narrator really irritated me and I absolutely did not buy her POV as being a woman's. Some male authors can do a credible female narrator, but I think this Nobel laureate should stay inside his own gender!
April 25,2025
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COMMUNICATION WITH A FELLOW READER
(ABOUT NOTES IN THE MARGIN):


Footprints in the Sand of Time:

Hello. You don't know me. I bought your book online. I don't know your name. I don't even know whether you're dead or alive. You made notations in the margin. I noticed them straight away: some were in pencil, some, later, when I looked, were in pen, although they might have been made by someone else. We started to note similar things and make similar comments. After a while, I started to make fewer comments, because I was content with yours. Either that, or I started to think like you, to walk in your footsteps. I'm a reader like you. You're a reader like me. Reader. Like me. Please. Whoever you are. I don't think there are many of us around. Let me know if you get this message. In the meantime, I'll try to write a review. I hope it's an OK one. I hope we like it.



CRITIQUE (NOTES FROM THE MARGIN):

Friend or Foe?

"Foe" raises fascinating metafictional ideas in a text that is just as economical (157 pages) as it is intellectually and aesthetically stimulating.

It's a postmodern reconstruction of "Robinson Crusoe" that asks questions about empire and colonialism, slavery and dominion, history and fictional narrative, especially its ownership: What is the story about? Whose story or perspective is it? Who is telling the story? Who owns the story that results?

Plantation and Quotation Marks

Coetzee tells his tale in four parts.

The first is wholly contained in quotation marks. It purports to be the perspective of Susan Barton, incidentally a character from a subsequent Daniel Defoe novel ("Roxana"), who in "Foe" ends up on the island with Cruso (sic) and Friday (whose tongue has been cut out by slavers).

The second is largely epistolary, being the letters written by Susan Barton to Foe, trying to get him to write her story for publication. Again, this section is in quotation marks.

The third is an almost Borgesian confrontation between Susan and Foe, which begins, "The staircase was dark and mean." There are no quotation marks around the section.

History and Heritage

The fourth begins with the words, "The staircase is dark and mean." It mimics the beginning of the previous section (but in present tense), there are no quotation marks, however, it's not clear whether the narrator is actually Susan Barton or whether the "author" of this section is the same author as any or all of the previous sections.

It's quite possible that this author is a contemporary writer or reader (i.e., us) who is visiting Defoe's home (complete with heritage plaque). It's as if the narrator is a visitor to the home, narrating their experience in the physical space, as well as their imaginary extrapolation of events that could have taken place here three centuries before.

Dying to Tell the Tale

The bulk of the first three sections explores the power relationship between Cruso and Susan.

Eventually, it becomes clear that she will have to tell (or commission the telling) of his and/or their story. The second option necessitates the involvement of Foe, who de-authenticises the tale, in order to make it more entertaining and commercially successful.

Not only does this dialectic raise issues about control and ownership of the narrative, it dramatises a power struggle between two genders.

Friday on My Mind

Just as Susan recognises her own need and desire to communicate, increasingly, her own perspective comes to focus on the plight of Friday:

"...this is not a place of words…This is a place where bodies are their own signs. It is the home of Friday."

He has no tongue, therefore he cannot speak. He knows little English, and presumably cannot write. Therefore, apparently, he has no capacity to contribute his version of the story, in other words, a black version of history.

Susan starts to teach Friday how to write in the third section.

As if the issues raised in section four aren't enough, I wondered whether Friday might have "written" the entire novel.

Thus, there is a sense in which the book can be read as a post-colonial work that gives voice not just to non-whites, but simultaneously to women. In any event, just as it subverts the authorial conventions of literature, it subverts the social conventions of white male authoritarianism.

Friday, I'm in Love!

This review might make the novel sound very academic. The truth, however, is that it's exquisitely written. Not one word is surplus or out of place. It consumes our imagination so effectively that we don't need any distraction. However, having achieved its goal, it remains a distraction for the reader. I'm sure the previous reader would agree with me!




Date of Review: January 12, 2016


SOUNDTRACK:

The Cure - "Friday, I'm In Love"

"I don't care if Cruso's blue,
Author's gray and readers too.
Defoe, I don't care about you,
Coz, Friday, I'm in love."


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGgMZ...

The Easybeats - "Friday On My Mind"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dnqxb...

David Bowie - "Friday On My Mind"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCgNC...

Pink Floyd - "See Emily Play"

"She's often inclined to borrow somebody's dreams till tomorrow."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5R8Ep...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p6HFk...

David Bowie - "See Emily Play"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yjg5_...



"It is not whoring to entertain other people's stories and return them to the world better dressed." [J.M. Coetzee]
April 25,2025
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J.M. Coetzee's 1986 novel FOE is a retelling of ROBINSON CRUSOE that uses Daniel Defoe's well-known story as a basis for a bitter commentary on colonialism. To really get anything out of Coetzee's novel, you'll need to read ROBINSON CRUSOE first. The Penguin Popular Classics edition is an inexpensive way to read that important work.

As FOE opens, we are introduced to Susan Barton, an Englishwoman returning from Brazil who is set adrift on the seas by mutineers. She washes up on an island populated by Robinson Crusoe and his servant Friday. Yet, these are not the same characters we've encountered before. Unlike the clever protagonist of Defoe's novel, "Cruso" is a dull old man, complacent with his miserable existence on the island, not wanting rescue and making no effort to better his living condition. Friday is not a the Brazilian cannibal that Defoe portrayed, but a horribly mutilated African slave. When the trio is finally rescued, Cruso soon dies, but Barton and Friday return to England. There Barton encounters Mr. Foe and narrates her story to him, only to find that he is not interested in the remarkable truth of her experiences, but instead bends the story to his own preconceptions.

Coetzee's main message seems to be that Europeans have robbed colonized peoples of their own history. By supressing any report they might make of their past, and forbidding them from speaking now for themselves, the colonizers have reduced the natives to the very savages Europeans claimed they were from the beginning. Towards the end of the novel, Coetzee turns things even more postmodernism, showing how difficult it is to create a "true" narrative.

If I had to compare Coetzee's writing here to anyone else, I'd say that the dialogue reminds me of Harold Pinter, and the enigmatic dream or dream-like sequences towards the end are reminiscent of Gene Wolfe. The novel is only around 150 pages long and can be tranquilly read over the span of a few hours. I found the narrative style somewhat grating, thus my review of four stars, but nonetheless I found this a remarkable and extremely thought-provoking book, and I recommend it.
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