Christianity and Colonialism in Coetzee's Foe and Defoe's Robinson Crusoe Jay Rajiva J. M. Coetzee's novel Foe begins with a shipwreck and ends with a confrontation underwater, as an unnamed, previously unvoiced narrator encounters Friday in a place "where bodies are their own signs" and each spoken word "is caught and filled with water and diffused" (Coetzee 1986, 157). 1 In this confrontation, Coetzee also withholds Friday from the reader's understanding, securing his body, as Gayatri Spivak notes, in "the real margin that has been haunting the text since its first page" (1999, 186). Thus Friday gestures only as that which will always keep its silence within the dominant colonial and historical register: we never receive any specific indication of what Friday might be, except a symbol of the breakdown of meaning. Friday is mute, intractable, mysterious, yet linked to the inexpressible "sounds of the island" (F 154). I argue that the tension in Coetzee's repetition of Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe springs from the exposure of the Christian secret in both the colonial enterprises of the characters and the authorial presences of Defoe and Coetzee. My argument draws on Jacques Derrida's characterization of Christianity in The Gift of Death, which outlines how Christianity incorporates (but does not destroy) older, non-Christian elements into its own epistemic framework without acknowledging this act of incorporation. In Defoe's novel, Crusoe, the white colonial explorer, explicitly sets out to convert Friday to Christianity and succeeds in that goal through the triumph of Christian tenets: devotion to God requires the keeping of an absolute secret, a willingness to sacrifice, and prostration before the gaze of God, at whom, because God is always what exceeds one's understanding, one can never gaze back. Friday and Crusoe's discussion about the worship Twentieth-Century Literature