Foe: Part 2 Summary & Analysis

It is April 15th, and Susan—now going by Mrs. Cruso—and Friday have settled in London. In a letter to Mr. Foe, Susan explains that she is attaching the whole history of her time on the island to this letter; since she has no money and needs to pay for her lodgings, anything Mr. Foe could send would be helpful. Susan admits that her story is monotonous, but she trusts that Mr. Foe can make it better, given that he has made a living turning people’s confessions into art.

On April 20th, Susan thanks Mr. Foe for the three guineas he has sent her, which she has used to buy new clothes. Susan is working as Mr. Foe’s servant, and she wishes that Mr. Foe would just take her and Friday into his home. Susan brings Mr. Foe breakfast in the attic room where he works, and notices how carefully he protects his writing papers, so that they will not be disturbed by mice. Among the papers are notes about ghosts, remarks on the wool trade, and a story of someone named Dickory Cronke.

Though Susan spent her whole time on the island wanting to leave, she is surprised to find that she now misses it dearly. She wishes she had saved sand or some other memento from the island (all she has is her shoes). Susan also expresses regret that she spent so much time telling Mr. Foe about Cruso, and so little describing her own life. “I was as much a body,” Susan reflects, “I ate and drank, I woke, and slept, I longed.” Susan wonders if it is impossible to tell your story when you are in the middle of it; maybe you need a desk and a window to imagine a place rather than actually being there.

Now it is April 21st, and Susan, worrying that her last letter mocked the art of writing, apologizes to Mr. Foe. She tries to picture his life, wondering if he has a wife or children; she imagines how difficult it is to imagine places you have never been to and describe them. She wishes she could help Mr. Foe access what it felt like to be on that island.  

On April 25th, Susan tells Mr. Foe (via another letter) everything she knows about Cruso’s shipwreck, which she believes took place on the north side of the island. Susan discusses the difficulty of bringing anything from the ship onto the island through the waves, even potentially lifesaving tools. Susan also asserts that, contrary to Cruso’s claim, she does not believe there are any cannibals in the ocean.

Last night, Susan dreamed of Cruso’s death and woke with tears in her eyes; she fears that he is going to be forgotten, and that his walls and terraces will be taken as the structures of cannibals. Susan resolves to make sketches of some of the things Cruso left behind on the island.

While Susan mourns, Friday seems to sleep most of the day away, feeling too afraid of his new surroundings to go outside. Still, the rumor has gotten around that there is a cannibal nearby, as all the neighborhood boys have come to gawk at him. Susan resolves to teach Friday how to do laundry, and again laments that Cruso never taught Friday language; couldn’t they have come up with a system of pebbles or hand gestures so that Friday could communicate even without a tongue?

Susan tries to teach Friday some basic words (like “spoon” and “fork”), though she fears he will never be able to learn language, since he has spent so much of his life without it. She also comments on how different Friday seems than he did on the island: there he was strong and agile, and in England, he just eats oatmeal and lies around.

One day, Susan tries to teach Friday about Mr. Foe and the kinds of books he writes. Susan explains that if Mr. Foe writes about their time on the island, they will become rich, and Friday will be able to go home to his family in Africa or Brazil. Though she reads Friday passages from other books Mr. Foe has written and tries to get him excited about the idea that Mr. Foe’s book could preserve his life story forever, Friday pays no attention.

Susan starts to be more and more upset by how much of her life she lives in silence. She begs Mr. Foe to let her and Friday come over to the garden at his house in Stoke Newington, as she can tell that Friday misses the feeling of soft ground beneath his feet. She hopes that maybe through gardening, she and Friday will be able to establish some kind of language with each other.

Lost in her daydream about gardening with Friday, Susan starts to wonder why using language with this man is so important to her. Is it because she really wants to communicate with him? Or is it because words allow her to boss Friday around, in the same way that Cruso could? Susan admits, not without shame, that Friday makes her understand “why a man will choose to be a slaveowner.” On April 28th, Susan notes that the letter about gardening has been returned to her unopened.

It’s May 1st, and Susan has just returned from Stoke Newington to find that Mr. Foe has fled and that the bailiffs are watching his house. She is worried about Mr. Foe’s safety, but relieved to know that he has not been ignoring her letters. Susan also fears that while he is in hiding from the law, Mr. Foe will no longer send money to her and Friday.

A week later, there are no real updates: Susan has been dropping her letters off with Mrs. Thrush, Mr. Foe’s maid, who confesses that she fears for Mr. Foe’s safety. The bailiff Wilkes and his companion have made themselves comfortable in Stoke Newington, and they are adamant that they will not leave until their warrant is served. If Mr. Foe comes back, he will likely be sent to the Fleet, a notorious prison—becoming one of a number of “castaways in the very heart of the city.” Susan learns that Mr. Foe has been widowed for many years.

Returning home, Susan feels that she can no longer bear all of the stress and anxiety of Mr. Foe and the bailiffs and Friday. She begs Mr. Foe to finish his book, so that she and Friday will have money to travel to far-off places; if Susan could finish her memoir in three days, what is taking Mr. Foe so long with his work?

It is now May 19th, and Susan is increasingly desperate. Flowers have begun to bloom, and yet Susan and Friday have not received any more money. When Susan goes to Stoke Newington, she sees that Mrs. Thrush is gone and the doors are boarded up.

Ten days later, Susan writes another letter to Mr. Foe informing him that she and Friday have taken up residence in his home. Susan is surprised to find that the space is much as she had pictured it: “does it surprise you as much as it does me,” she asks Mr. Foe, “this correspondence between the way things are and the pictures we have of them in our minds?”

Susan assures Mr. Foe that she and Friday are being careful with his linens and plates, and that Friday has set to work restoring his garden. She fears that Mr. Foe has gone to the colonies, but though she confesses to having felt some resentment at his abandonment in the past, Susan now feels comfortable and warm towards him in Stoke Newington. Strangely, she remarks, the house feels as it if were her own childhood home.

“How much of my life consists in waiting,” Susan reflects. She is trying to write her own narrative now, making a list of all the strange things that happened to her from the mutiny through her rescue on the island. Susan wonders if she will invent details: about cannibals come to the shore or about Friday’s backstory.

Susan feels that readers will not be satisfied unless they learn how Friday lost his tongue, so she makes two sketches: one that shows Friday’s tongue getting cut out by enslavers, and the other that show Cruso doing the bloody deed. Susan tries to get Friday to tell her which drawing is accurate, but she soon realizes that even this small communication will be impossible.

Moreover, Susan knows that there are many more ways that Friday could have lost his tongue than she could ever imagine or draw. Susan tears up her drawings and tells Friday that she feels she is wasting her life on him; “shipwreck is a great leveller,” she scoffs, “but we are not level enough yet.”

On the first day of June, a man named Mr. Summers comes to Mr. Foe’s house; the neighbors had been avoiding the house, so this is the first visitor they have had in months. Susan wonders where Mr. Foe is, and what kind of information he has access to. “The world is full of islands,” Susan reflects, thinking of her own loneliness and of Mr. Foe’s. Sometimes, she thinks that Mr. Foe would prefer to write the story of Cruso’s island without her in it at all.

To make things even stranger, a young girl has been watching the house for several days. At last, Susan gives her letters, first for Wilkes and then for Mr. Foe. But the girl claims not to know either of them and instead insists that Susan should recognize her—her name, too, she claims, is Susan Barton.

The young girl tells Susan that she is her mother, and bursts into tears when Susan declares that there is no way she could ever forget her daughter. When Susan presses her, the girl reveals that she knows about the island and Bahia—which makes Susan sure that Mr. Foe has sent her. Angrily, she tells Mr. Foe in her letter that only men could ever forget their children like this.

The girl explains that her father was a Brewer in Deptford; Susan is firm that she has never lived in Deptford in her life. The girl also remembers a maid (named either Amy or Emmy), but Susan is confident that she has never had such a servant. Lastly, the girl holds up her hands and eyes to show Susan her physical similarities, but Susan is baffled—none of their features look anything alike.

Susan asks the girl if Mr. Foe sent her, but she gets emotional, repeating that Susan is her true mother. When the girl presses, Susan allows her to stay, and she spends the night in the house, adding details to her backstory (like that she was raised by gypsies after Susan left). Susan tells the girl that these circumstances are impossible: “there are no stories of daughters searching for mothers. There are no stories of such quests because they do not occur.”

Meanwhile, Friday has gone into one of his “mopes,” or the term Cruso once used for his moments of depression. He does not get out of bed for several days, and Susan marvels at her sad situation, wondering if she was wrong to choose Mr. Foe as the teller of their tale. Susan begs Friday to talk to her, describing the need for speech as akin to the need for a kiss or sexual relations.

Susan then begins to wonder if Friday is a virgin; she thinks he is, and that he has probably never been kissed in his life. If Friday stays in England, Susan fears that he will never have any romantic life, since he is unlikely to “meet a woman of his own people” in this country. Susan compares Friday to a dog that, having spent its whole life chained, will not know what to do when he enters the real world. But Susan is also frustrated with herself; she feels that she cannot craft a useful metaphor, and that she is a bad storyteller.

Once more, Susan frets that Mr. Foe has died or abandoned them, and that she and Friday will be doomed to a life of poverty and obscurity. She resolves that she cannot write their story herself, as she knows how tedious and monotonous life on the island truly was. She wonders aloud whether Friday really was a cannibal, or if it was just a story Cruso made up to break up the boredom of the island.

Thinking back to her time on the island, Susan wonders what might be different if instead of just building a bed, Cruso had also built himself a desk and writing implements. But at the same time, Susan knows that “we will never make our fortunes…by being merely what we are”; their story lacks the “spectacle” of cannibals or romance. Susan prepares to go to bed, since night has fallen and they do not have candles here, either—yet another way that her life with Friday in Stoke Newington mirrors their life on the island.

Suddenly, however, Susan is heartened: there was some “mystery” on the island. Why was Cruso so obsessed with those fruitless terraces, and how did he and Friday move so many stones when it was just the two of them? How did Friday lose his tongue, and was Cruso responsible? Susan muses on the gory details of the mutilation, still horrified, but no longer unable to contemplate it as she once had been.

Susan begins to ask more questions—why did Friday never desire Susan, despite all of the time they’ve spent alone together? (She thinks that this is likely the main question future readers will have.) And most of all, what was Friday doing that day when he threw petals out to sea? Susan acknowledges that though Cruso’s indifference is a hard thing to write a story about, “the sorrows of Friday” are more fertile ground.

Now that she has thought about all these mysteries, Susan is determined to write her own story. She compares writing to the work Friday and Cruso did moving stones around the island, though she feels that writing is even more difficult. Before she sets about her task, Susan thinks that perhaps “it is I who have become the slave.”

More days pass, and there is still no word from Mr. Foe. The writing is difficult, because (in Susan’s telling) neither Cruso nor Friday had enough “desire” for an interesting tale. Yet just as a good painter can add drama to an everyday scene, Susan believes that a good writer can do the same: emphasizing power differences, condensing time, and teasing out “hidden meanings” in ordinary events. Had she known she would be writing their tale herself, Susan comments that she would have pressed Cruso harder to “confess” the things he kept secret.

Susan and the girl who claims to be her daughter venture into the forest together, reflecting that they are both “substantial beings.” When they are far away from any city or town, Susan begins to tell the girl about her true “parentage”; Susan claims Mr. Foe is the girl’s father, though the girl protests strongly. When the girl begs to know her true mother, Susan tells her that she is “father-born,” a phrase that shocks them both.

Time is now blurring as Susan writes a new letter to Mr. Foe. This time, she tells him that Friday has discovered his robes and wigs, which suggest that Mr. Foe belongs to a guild of some kind. Friday has taken to putting on the clothes and dancing, humming in a way that makes him seem “not himself.” Susan vows that she will not disrupt Friday during his dancing as long as he does his chores.

Still, it is getting easier to write, even though nothing seems to be happening. Susan tells Mr. Foe that she has started taking some of his household objects to sell, so that she can support herself and Friday. To go to market, Susan wears a robe belonging to someone named MJ (but who is that?); she looks much older than she used to. Susan imagines a shopkeeper ravaging her and thinks about her real daughter back in Brazil.

In another letter, Susan admits that she now understands why Mr. Foe was so eager to have cannibals be a part of their story; more words can be “sucked from a cannibal feast” than from more regular routines. Susan begins to study Friday as he eats and dances, imagining him as a cannibal until a shiver goes down her spine. There is “no doubt,” she writes, that his thoughts are on his flesh-eating past in such moments. 

One day, Susan finds a chest of old recorders of different sizes; did Mr. Foe used to play these with his wife and child? Friday gets his hands on the instrument, and he teaches himself the same 6 note melody he used to play when Cruso was so sick. In a desperate bid to communicate with Friday, Susan teaches herself the same song on a different recorder and plays it alongside him.

For an hour, Susan feels that music—like language or lovemaking—might actually allow her to connect to Friday. But soon enough, she grows bored, just as she would saying the same words or engaging in the same sexual motions.

Susan tries to mix things up by playing another tune alongside Friday’s original one, but he refuses to budge, and the two songs sound jarring together. Susan grows angry, feeling that Friday has never listened to her at all, “his soul more in Africa than in Newington.” She thinks about what might happen if she hit him, but she does not actually do so.

In her next letter (still undated), Susan announces to Mr. Foe that she has created and signed a deed of freedom for Friday. Susan laments that she feels like Cruso’s widow, and she informs Mr. Foe that she and Friday are on the road to Bristol, having left London.

Friday is dressed in Mr. Foe’s wig, and Susan in her old sandals from the island, so they get lots of stares on the road. Each time, Susan explains that they were robbed by highwaymen on the way to her brother’s house, but passers-by do not believe this story. Susan wonders if there are no more highwaymen, or if it is just something about her that makes people doubt her tale.

Susan stops at a cobbler and trades one of Mr. Foe’s nicest books for a new pair of shoes. Susan worries that she will be assaulted, and she is not sure if Friday will do anything to protect her. Susan promises Friday that once they arrive in Bristol, a large port city, he will be able to get back to his family in Africa or Brazil.

At one point along their journey, Susan and Friday are stopped by a pair of drunken soldiers who attempt to rape Susan. Susan and Friday escape the soldiers, but get caught in the rain, and are forced to take shelter at a nearby tavern. When the innkeeper sees that Friday is not wearing shoes, he kicks them out of the establishment, humiliating Susan and stranding them in the wet darkness.

Susan and Friday find an empty barn, and Susan tries to use the hay as a blanket, but to no avail. Eventually, she starts doing Friday’s dance just to keep herself warm—and it works. She reflects that she would never have learned why Friday did his dance if she had stayed at Mr. Foe’s: “there is after all design in our lives,” she decides. Susan continues the dance until she falls into a trance, imagining the other lives she might lead. When she finally comes back to reality, she is disappointed that she is still in the cold, on the road with Friday.

Susan tells Mr. Foe that she is not trying to make their journey more exciting than it really was—but one day, she notices a small bundle on the side of the road. When she unwraps the cloth, she discovers it is a bloody baby, stillborn or suffocated. Susan puts the baby down, not knowing what else to do, but she finds she cannot get her mind off of the child.

She begins to wonder if Friday might have eaten the baby if he’d gotten the chance, or if he might want to eat her; though part of her knows this is ridiculous, “another part, over which I had no mastery, insisted on his bloodlust.” Susan starts feeling panicked by the fact that Friday’s feet never get cold. She realizes that constantly, she is addressing her thoughts to Mr. Foe.

Susan is now in Marlborough, where she sells another of Mr. Foe’s books (Pakenham’s Travels in Abyssinia) to buy herself more stationary. In this new town, Susan and Friday are stopped by an old man, who is curious to know more about Friday. When Susan explains that he has no tongue, the man presses on, desperate to hear of the “sights” Friday has seen. He predicts that even if Friday were to tell his story, he would not be believed. Susan, creeped out by the man’s behavior, hurries away with Friday in tow. 

At last, Susan and Friday arrive at the Bristol port, which Friday seems to recognize. Susan meets with an Indian sailor in the hopes of finding a ship that will take Friday back to Africa, though when asked, she has no idea what part of Africa Friday comes from. The sailor brings Susan to his boss, who agrees to take Friday on board, much to Susan’s relief.

As the arrangements get made, however, Susan begins to feel that all is not right; the ship captain’s plan, she realizes, is to sell Friday into slavery again. Susan therefore backs out, and after she tries a couple of other sailors, all of whom are equally suspect, she comes to terms with the fact that her plan will not work. Susan feels she cannot possibly put Friday back into slavery; “I do not love him, but he is mine,” she comments. “That is why he is in England. That is why he is here.”