Foreigners comprises three novellas. Each deals with a real life. The first, “Doctor Johnson’s Watch”, reveals the life of Johnson’s Black manservant, Francis Barber. The second, “Made in Wales”, relates the main events in the life of the Black boxer, Randolph Turpin. And the final novella examines the case of David Oluwale, a Black immigrant worker persecuted by the police. The three works span from 1752 to 2006 and chart, with some irony, the extent to which a Black individual is always a foreigner within the diaspora. Their content is biographical, without a doubt, but Phillips is interested in something more than biography. His concern throughout the three novellas —or is this a novel?— is the narrative voice and the truths that it might tell.
In 1967, one of the great experimentalists of the last century, William Golding, published a novel as three linked novellas. This wasThe Pyramid. In essence, Foreigners is a set of linked narratives. They spark off one another, rubbing like flints, opening flickering questions. In each, the narrative voice is key. Foreigners is a fine fictional experiment. The first novel is a finely crafted masterpiece. Written in the style of the C18 novel, the life of Francis Barber is told with clarity. Stylistically, the pitch is exact, presenting the arrogant and unified voice of its narrator through an English that never falls into pastiche.
“…there were soon few within the doctor’s circle, who found either sympathy or concern for the negro’s welfare. Within a few years of his arrival in Lichfield, the careless Barber, had also, much to the dismay of his few remaining supporters, managed to fully deplete the capital which had been set aside to provide him with an annuity.” (p.21).
Such measured prose could be belong to either Equiano or Fielding, yet what betrays its narrator continually as White is his emphasis on capital and the racist assumptions of the C18: Barber lacked the rational guidance of the White race. This section of Foreigners builds towards a sentimental gesture worthy of Sterne.
The first novella, in Foreigners, closing at it does with the severe illness of Frances Barber, brings the point of writing to around 1800. Historically, the reader is at a liminal point, as one century becomes another. The second novella recreates a similar borderline. It closes with a mention of a statue erected to the boxer Randolph Turpin, in 2001, and a 2006 interview with his daughters, Annette and Charmaine. The style in this second section is typical of C20 journalistic prose, rather detached, without character, but is transformed in the final pages as Turpin is seen through the eyes of his family and the daughters are allowed to speculate on the statue erected in his honour. One tantalising aspects of Golding’s novelist technique was the reversal of perspective at the last minute. And this thought would appear to be in Phillip’s mind in the first two novellas: narrator one is presented with a meeting that could have transformed his understanding, yet he falls back into the prejudiced beliefs of his time: it would have been better for Barber to become Quashey once more and have returned to Jamaica because England was unsuitable for the Black temperament; narrator two begins to see that his narrative of Turpin is a cliché and emotionally deeper than he has described. Written from the outside, the two novellas are the opposite of the form that Phillips has avoided: the emotional first-person slave narrative. They look upon two enslaved (though supposedly liberated) lives to investigate the consciousness of the narrator and the kind of fictions that different centuries favour.
In the final novella, there is a deliberate lack of unity. Unity of voice is what the narrators in the first two novellas achieve. A comparison between Kesper Aspden’s Nationality:Wog and “Northern Lights”, which deal with the same material, helps to illustrate the interests in the closing of Foreigners. Aspden’s factual work is written as a piece of crime investigating, a surveying of evidence, from which a portrait of David Oluwale emerges. The book is intelligently and sympathetically written. But more interests Phillips than the case of David Oluwale: his interest is in history and the dislocation that occurs when personal history collides with it. Just as the first two novellas were held together by a unity of voice, so the third novella becomes a collection of fragmented voices, all of which struggle to cohere as they mime the problem of identity and coherence within the diaspora. Reading the third novella is like reading vocal points in time—from scattered islands. The voices range from the emotional “I” of the opening character:
“I remember he always used to wear a big black coat…” (p.167).
To the distanced, sympathetic voice of a narrator:
“David, do you remember this girl?
This is a creative, narrative voice, liberated in a way that the voices in novellas one and two were not:
“Leaving home. Yoruba boy. With your dreams of being an engineer locked up in your heart.” (p.173)
The sea, which is a constant image throughout Foreigners (Barber is forced onto HMS Princess Royal, Turpin crosses to America on the Queen Mary), becomes an image of dramatic terror. At the most extreme, there are the voices from crime reports, journals and historical accounts. A welter of voices—even the voices in street graffiti—becomes a tide of questions. The de-centering of the final narrative is a piece of triumphant post-modernism, though that triumph is continually questioned as Phillips pursues questions about identity and the kind of identities that fiction might create.
What makes Foreigners a great work of fiction is the thoroughness of its research and how fact is liberated into fiction. Or more accurately, how Phillips studies how fact can be liberated into fiction such that new, living perspectives arise from old prejudices.