By the Sea

The opening chapters establish a narrative framework built upon the fracturing of time and perspective, foregrounding the theme of The Unreliability of Memory and Competing Narratives. Saleh’s first-person account begins with a meditation on the act of remembering itself. His admission that “it is difficult to know with precision how things became as they have […] The moments slip through [his] fingers” (2) signals that the story is a subjective process of reconstruction and positions memory as an active, often flawed, process. Saleh’s initial deceptions—his use of a borrowed name, Rajab Shaaban, and his feigned silence—compound this narrative instability, calling the protagonist’s authority into question and developing the intertwined motifs of silence and storytelling. By presenting the narrator as a self-admittedly unreliable figure, the narrative compels the reader to question the nature of truth, particularly in the novel’s postcolonial context. For instance, Saleh’s remark, “It is so different here that it seems as if one life has ended and I am now living another one” (2), suggests that his struggles to construct a cohesive narrative of the past reflect a rupturing of identity in the wake of postcolonial disruptions and displacements. Likewise, his use of a false name, though unexplained for the moment, hints that for a refugee, history must sometimes be falsified for survival. The nonlinear flashbacks are the primary mechanism for this exploration, creating a layered temporality where the past is constantly being reconstructed even as it intrudes upon and defines the present of exile in England.

Through Saleh’s initial experiences, the novel critiques The Dehumanizing Process of Seeking Asylum, illustrating how institutional systems strip individuals of their histories. The interrogation by an immigration officer, Kevin Edelman, depicts this bureaucratic reductionism. Edelman’s monologue reveals that he cannot conceive of Saleh as an individual; instead, he sees a type, a problem to be processed, lamenting, “People like you come pouring in here without any thought of the damage they cause” (15). This moment encapsulates the dehumanizing process: The replacement of a person with a prejudiced category. The confiscation of the mahogany casket of incense is the symbolic culmination of this stripping of identity; it is the only truly personal object Saleh has brought with him, and while later revelations prove his attachment to it to be somewhat ironic, its theft nevertheless strips Saleh of a tie to his profession, culture, and friendship with Hussein. Saleh’s subsequent placement in a detention center and then in a squalid bed-and-breakfast reinforces this theme. In these environments, Saleh is treated as a “casual and valueless nuisance” (55), his dignity eroded by both the impersonal nature of state control and the casual cruelties of the proprietor and other residents.

The narrative grounds its exploration of memory and identity in the material world, using not only the mahogany casket but also furniture and maps as symbols of connection, loss, and contested history. The motif of furniture represents stability and the material legacy of a life. Saleh’s habit of wandering through English furniture shops suggests a search for grounding in this new and unfamiliar reality; as he observes, “[Furniture] weighs us down and keeps us on the ground, and prevents us from clambering up into the trees and howling naked as the terror of our useless lives overcomes us” (4). The revelation that Saleh was formerly a furniture dealer solidifies the motif’s relationship to the past he left behind in Zanzibar. Maps further complicate this relationship between the material and the remembered, exploring the tension between external definitions of place and personal history. As Saleh observes, cartography was a tool of colonial power: “New maps were made, complete maps, so that every inch was accounted for, and everyone knew who they were, or at least who they belonged to” (20). Yet Saleh also acknowledges a profound personal interest in maps, which have always sparked his imagination. This tension speaks to the complexity of charting one’s own journey through a world reshaped by imperial forces.

A similar tension underpins Saleh’s strategic use of silence and performance, further developing the critique of power dynamics in the asylum process. Saleh’s decision to feign ignorance of English is a calculated act of self-preservation: a way to control the flow of information and resist being immediately defined. Similarly, Saleh’s internal monologue reveals that he packed his suitcase not with personal belongings but with “signals of a story [he] hoped to convey” (10). However, such strategies are a double-edged sword. At the airport, Edelman sees Saleh’s silence and his packing choices as evidence that he is uneducated and ignorant; this is the “story” Saleh wanted to convey, but it is also a racist story, revealing how he must leverage postcolonial narratives to his advantage. His silence is similarly fraught. For one, Saleh embraces it based on a tip he does not understand but that seems like “the kind of resourceful ruse the powerless would know” (7)—a choice that highlights the disorienting process of seeking asylum. His silence also renders him vulnerable to taunts and intrusive behavior at the B&B. His eventual decision to speak is another strategic pivot, a recognition that continued silence will lead to further neglect, again highlighting that the displaced must constantly adapt their self-presentation to survive. Rachel’s shocked and angered reaction to his revelation reveals the underlying expectations of the system she represents: She is more comfortable with Saleh as a helpless victim than as a complex individual with his own agency. Her assumption that he needs an “expert on his area” reinforces this dynamic (83), framing his history as something to be interpreted for him.

Saleh’s extended flashback concerning the Persian trader Hussein situates the novel’s personal dramas within the wider historical context of colonialism and its legacies and introduces the theme of The Intergenerational Burdens of Betrayal and Inheritance. The history of the trade winds and their disruption by European powers serves as a macrocosm for the disruptions in the characters’ lives. Hussein’s family story—the rise of his grandfather and subsequent ruin of his father at the hands of the British—mirrors the larger historical narrative of Indigenous commercial networks being dismantled by colonial interests. Saleh’s colonial schooling, where he learned of his own history through the “unflattering accounts” of the British, illustrates the psychological dimension of this inheritance. This backdrop provides the ground for the personal betrayals that drive the plot. Hussein’s financial entanglement with both Saleh and Rajab Shaaban Mahmud echoes these broader historical patterns; he exploits and then abandons those he comes into contact with, turning them against one another in the process. The deed to Rajab’s house becomes the physical object upon which these intergenerational burdens are inscribed, representing a contested inheritance that will ultimately force Saleh into exile.