Foe by J M Coetzee (ThA)

 comparative and critical analysis of Daniel Defoe’s ‘Robinson Crusoe’ and J. M. Coetzee’s ‘Foe’.

Introduction

Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe (1719) and J.M. Coetzee’s Foe (1986) are two novels separated by centuries yet deeply intertwined by theme, structure, and ideology. Defoe’s work is often hailed as the first English novel—an emblem of the Enlightenment spirit, individualism, and colonial expansion.Coetzee’s Foe, on the other hand, is a postmodern and postcolonial reimagining that dismantles the very assumptions Defoe’s narrative builds upon. Through the characters of Crusoe, Friday, and Susan Barton, Coetzee reopens the colonial narrative and interrogates who gets to speak, who is silenced, and what it means to tell a story.

1. Colonialism and Empire: From Conquest to Critique

In Robinson Crusoe, Foe presents the story of a man shipwrecked on a deserted island, who, through reason, hard work, and faith, “conquers” nature and re-creates civilization. Crusoe becomes a symbol of the self-made man and of Britain’s imperial spirit—mastering the island and even renaming it as his own domain.The relationship between Crusoe and Friday embodies the colonial hierarchy: Crusoe as the European master and Friday as the “savage” who must be taught language, religion, and obedience.

In contrast, Coetzee’s Foe revises this dynamic. Written in a postcolonial context, Foe exposes the violence and silence behind Crusoe’s so-called civilization. Coetzee gives us a Friday who cannot—or will not—speak, his tongue cut out. This muteness becomes a metaphor for the silencing of colonized peoples whose histories were erased by empire.Coetzee’s narrative thus challenges Defoe’s imperial worldview, forcing readers to confront the ethical implications of storytelling itself.

2. Voice and Silence: Who Tells the Story?

One of the most striking differences between the two novels lies in the question of narrative authority. In Defoe’s text, Crusoe is both the protagonist and narrator; his voice dominates the story. His perspective is rational, confident, and unquestioned—a reflection of Enlightenment faith in human reason and divine providence.

Coetzee subverts this certainty by introducing Susan Barton, a woman who survives a shipwreck and becomes the supposed “author” of the island story. She seeks to tell her version of events but must rely on the writer Foe (a fictional representation of Defoe) to publish it. Barton’s struggle for authorship mirrors the struggle of marginalized voices—women, colonized subjects, and the oppressed—who are written out of history.The novel becomes self-reflexive: it is not just about an island, but about the politics of writing and representation.

3. Friday: From the Subaltern to the Symbol

Friday’s transformation between the two novels is perhaps the most profound. In Robinson Crusoe, Friday is portrayed as a loyal servant—grateful, converted, and submissive. He is a blank canvas upon which Crusoe writes European civilization.

In Foe, however, Coetzee gives us a Friday who resists interpretation. His silence is unsettling and powerful. The absence of his voice is not mere muteness but a resistance to colonial language and control. Critics like Gayatri Spivak have read Friday as the ultimate “subaltern”—the figure who cannot speak because the structures of power deny him the means to do so. Coetzee’s Friday becomes a haunting presence, reminding readers that all stories of empire are built upon unspoken suffering.

4. Gender and Power: Susan Barton’s Role

Defoe’s original novel features a world of masculine adventure, exploration, and conquest. Women are largely absent or peripheral. Coetzee disrupts this masculine narrative by introducing Susan Barton as a narrator. Her presence brings gender politics into focus—how women, like colonized subjects, are denied the right to authorship and voice.

Susan’s frustration with Foe reflects the broader feminist struggle for representation: her story of survival and resistance is constantly reshaped by a male author who prioritizes adventure over truth. In this sense, Coetzee not only reclaims the colonial narrative but also re-centers it around the silenced female experience.

5. Metafiction and the Act of Storytelling

While Robinson Crusoe presents a linear, realistic narrative of adventure and faith, Foe deconstructs that structure. It is a metafictional work—aware of its own functionality. Coetzee blurs the lines between author and character, fiction and history. The figure of “Foe” (Foe) becomes a commentary on how writers shape reality through narrative choices.

The novel ends ambiguously, with the narrator descending into the shipwreck, discovering Friday’s body, and hearing the murmur of unspoken words—a haunting image that suggests that true history lies buried beneath dominant narratives. Where Defoe’s Crusoe asserts control over his world, Coetzee’s Foe dismantles the illusion of control entirely.

6. Religion, Morality, and Enlightenment Rationality

In Defoe’s work, religion plays a key role: Crusoe’s survival is framed as divine providence. His journey reflects repentance, faith, and moral awakening. It aligns with the Protestant work ethic and the rational optimism of the Enlightenment.

Coetzee, however, writes in a postmodern, secular era. In Foe, reason and faith no longer guarantee meaning or order. The island becomes a site of uncertainty, where language fails and morality blurs. Coetzee replaces Defoe’s confident rationalism with postmodern skepticism—a questioning of truth, authorship, and authority.

Conclusion :

Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe celebrates human mastery, colonial enterprise, and the birth of modern individualism. J.M. Coetzee’s Foe revisits the same island centuries later, only to expose its buried ghosts—the silenced voices of Friday and Susan Barton, the unseen costs of empire, and the politics of storytelling itself.

Through Foe, Coetzee turns Defoe’s foundational myth of Western civilization into a critique of colonialism, patriarchy, and authorship. Where Robinson Crusoe constructs the world through certainty and conquest, Foe dismantles it through doubt and silence.

Ultimately, Coetzee reminds us that every story told has another that remains untold—and that the true power of literature lies not in possession, but in the act of listening to those silenced by history.