“The shell collector was scrubbing limpets at his sink when he heard the water taxi come scraping over the reef. He cringed to hear it—its hull grinding the calices of finger corals and the tiny tubes of pipe organ corals, tearing the flower and fern shapes of soft corals, and damaging shells too: punch holes in olives and murexes and spiny whelks, in Hydantina physis and Turris babylonia.”

In this opening quote, the narrative offers characterization of the shell collector by immediately establishing his unique perspective on the world. Vulnerable organic life, described as “soft” and given human-like language with words like “finger” and “organ,” clashes against the effects of the water taxi—a man-made object. “Grinding,” “tearing,” and “punching” lend a feeling of violence and destruction, setting up a dichotomy that will persist throughout the story: careless men interacting with the natural environment.

“Far off, he heard the high, amplified voice of the muezzin in Lamu calling prayer. ‘It’s Ramadan,’ he told the Jims. ‘The people don’t eat when the sun is above the horizon. They drink only chai until sundown. They will be eating now. Tonight we can go out if you like. They grill meat in the streets.’”

Though the shell collector sees the Jims as intruders on his shore, this description reveals the irony of this viewpoint. The shell collector himself exists as an outsider, set apart from civilization. He is not part of “the people” he’s describing. His repetition of “they” underscores this separation.

“By noon they had waded a kilometer out, onto the great curved spine of the reef, the lagoon slopping quietly behind them, a low sea breaking in front.”

The reef is personified, its “curved spine” lending the impression of something animalistic. This, in addition to the soothing diction of “the lagoon slopping quietly,” creates a feeling of calm, as though the environment is a beast of some kind that is at rest.