First of all, get this straight: Heart of Darkness is one of those classics that you have to have read if you want to consider yourself a well-educated adult. That’s the bad news; the good news is that this is a very easy book to read — tremendously shorter than Moby-Dick, for instance. And the prose is easy to swallow, so you don’t really have an excuse. Having watched Apocalypse Now doesn’t count — if anything, it ups the ante, since that means you have to think about the similarities and differences (for example, contrast and compare the U.S. involvement in Vietnam with the Belgian rule over the Congo. Actually quite an intriguing and provocative question). Even though it is so much easier to read, this short novel shares with Moby-Dick the distressing fact that it is heavily symbolic. Frankly, I was trained as an engineer, and have to struggle even to attempt to peer through the veils of meaning, instead of just kicking back and enjoying the story. My solution: when I checked this outta the library, I also grabbed the Cliff’s Notes. I read the story, then thought about it, then finally read the Study Guide to see what I’d missed. And it was quite a bit. Like, the nature of a framed narrative: the actual narrator in Heart of Darkness isn’t Marlow, but some unnamed guy listening to Marlow talk. And he stands in for us, the readers, such as when he has a pleasant perspective on the beautiful sunset of the Thames at the beginning of the story, then at the end he has been spooked and sees it as leading “into the heart of an immense darkness”, much as the Congo does in the story (hint: the darkness is simultaneously the real unknown of the jungle, as well as the symbolic “darkness” that hides within the human heart, and thus also pervades society — so London, just upstream, really should be understood to be as frightening as the Congo). My initial take on the story was that it seemed anachronistic and naive. Actually, it felt a lot like Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. In both books, the main character has inadvertently received license to fully explore their evil inclinations without the normal societal consequences, and yet they both pay the ultimate penalty for their lack of restraint. But my perspective on evil was long ago captured by Hannah Arendt’s conclusion after analyzing Eichmann: evil is a “banal” absence of empathy; it isn’t some malevolent force striving to seduce and corrupt us. Certainly, there are evil acts and evil people, but nothing mystical or spiritual that captures and enslaves, much less transforms us from Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde. Golding’s Lord of the Flies examined similar questions, but did it a way that feels much more modern. If people aren’t reminded by the constraints of civilization to treat others with respect, then sometimes they’ll become brutal and barbaric. But is their soul somehow becoming sick and corrupted? The question no longer resonates. Even Conrad actually didn’t seem too clear on that question. These two quotes are both from Heart of Darkness — don’t they seem implicitly contradictory?: The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness. and Anything approaching the change that came over his features I have never seen before, and hope never to see again. Oh, I wasn’t touched. I was fascinated. It was as though a veil had been rent. I saw on that ivory face the expression of sombre pride, of ruthless power, of craven terror—of an intense and hopeless despair. Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation, and surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision—he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath: ‘The horror! The horror!’ The former denies any supernatural origin for evil, but the latter alludes to the tragic results of a Faustian bargain — Marlowe sold his soul to see what mortals should never witness. After pondering the study guide, I could see the allegorical content better. The mystical side of Heart of Darkness isn’t the only thing going on. Like the kids rescued from the island after Lord of the Flies, Marlow will forever be cognizant of how fragile civilized behavior can be, and how easily some slip into brutality — even those that have excellent motives and apparently unblemished characters. This is why he tells this as a cautionary tale to his shipmates on the Thames. Marlow also received a clear lesson on hypocrisy. I hadn’t seen how deeply “The Company” represented European hypocrisy. Obviously “The Company” was purely exploitative and thus typical of imperialism, but in subtle ways Conrad made it not just typical but allegorically representative. One example Cliff mentions scares me just a bit: in the offices of “The Company” in Brussels, Marlow notices the strange sight of two women knitting black wool. Conrad provides no explanation. But recall your mythology: the Fates spun out the thread that measured the lives of mere mortals. In the story, these are represented as women who work for “The Company”, which has ultimate power over the mere mortals in Africa. That’s pretty impressive: Conrad tosses in a tiny aside that references Greek (or Roman or Germanic) mythology and ties it both to imperialism, as well as to the power that modern society has handed to corporations, and quietly walks away from it. How many other little tidbits are buried in this short book? Frankly, it seems kind of spooky. The study guide also helped me understand what had been a major frustration of the book. I thought that Conrad had skipped over too much, leaving crucial information unstated. Between Marlow’s “rescue” of Kurtz and Kurtz’s death there are only a few pages in the story, but they imply that the two had significant conversations that greatly impressed Marlow, that left Marlow awestruck at what Kurtz had intended, had survived, and had understood. These impressions are what “broke” Marlow, but we are never informed of even the gist of those conversations. But Marlow isn’t our narrator: he is on the deck of a ship, struggling to put into words a story that still torments him years after the events had passed. Sometimes he can’t convey what we want to know; he stumbles, he expresses himself poorly. The narrator is like us, just listening and trying to make sense out of it, and gradually being persuaded of the horrors that must have transpired. • • • • • • • •Addendum: Conrad’s Heart of Darkness was written in 1899. A critical event which allowed the tragedy portrayed here was the Berlin Conference of 1884 (wikipedia), where the lines that divided up Africa were tidied up and shuffled a bit by the white men of Europe (no Africans were invited). The BBC4 radio programme In Our Time covered the conference on 31 October 2013. Listen to it streaming here, or download it as an MP3 here. Forty-three minutes of erudition will invigorate your synapses. Oh, if you liked that In Our Time episode, here is the one they did on the book itself (mp3).
In Heart of Darkness, Conrad tells us about unnamed narrator, who tells us the story told to him by Marlow, who told him about Mr. Kurtz. Why would Conrad put so many layers between himself and Kurtz? You may call it moral distancing or whatever, I think it is simply distortion. The same thing goes for his prose. It is admirable how each additional adjective and adverb, and there are so many of them in here, serves to reduce the clarity of things.And, why distortion? My theory is that he was trying too hard to make this story Gothic – oh! Look Africa, BE SCARED Oh look darkness, BE SCARED Oh the wilderness, BE SCARED! So mysterious, BE SCARED! Oh look black Africans with their black arms and legs, BE SCARED! Oh look sick Africans looking like black shadows, BE SCARED! Did you see I just used the word ‘black’ BE SCARED! Oh look darkness again, BE SCARED! Oh look, cannibals, BE SCARED! Oh look Kurtz’s mistress – so dark and look the wild way she mourns in, BE SCARED And if you still have doubts, just look at Kurtz’s last words – ‘the horror, the horror’. In the end it leaves you with same feeling as an average cult horror movie with its long sequences of opening doors and chasing does – it leaves you yawning.Anyways, in the beginning, the unnamed narrator says: “that we knew we were fated, before the ebb began to run, to hear about one of Marlow’s inconclusive experiences.”….. which is when if I had brains, I would have taken the clue and stopped. No, I had to read through this inconclusive *pauses looking around for a word and then suggests weakly* story. ColonialismIn one of few clear moments, Marlow suggests: "The conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much."And you are like wow, this guy is a genius to see through this but Marlow (Conrad?) realizes his mistake and conditions it quickly: “"What redeems it is the idea only. An idea at the back of it; not a sentimental pretense but an idea; and an unselfish belief in the idea - something you can set up, and bow down before, and offer a sacrifice to." Really, what idea? Patriotism? White man’s burden? Last time, I checked it was business profits, which is pretty selfish. The night of First Ages Marlow sees an African in his home environment, here are the first impressions of the continent and people: “The earth seemed unearthly. We are accustomed to look upon the shackled form of a conquered monster, but there—there you could look at a thing monstrous and free. It was unearthly, and the men were—No, they were not inhuman. Well, you know, that was the worst of it—this suspicion of their not being inhuman. It would come slowly to one. They howled and leaped, and spun, and made horrid faces; but what thrilled you was just the thought of their humanity—like yours—the thought of your remote kinship with this wild and passionate uproar. Ugly. Yes, it was ugly enough; but …”Okay, First strike –shackled form of monsterSecond strike – the ‘suspicion’ of their human? Really? ‘suspicion’?Third strike –Ugly!Since it was already three strikes, I stopped quoting – but Marlow goes on in great detail to tell you how weak this ‘suspicion’ is and how brave you have to be to admit all this and while also bringing in phrases like ‘the night of first ages' and then he shows you an ‘improved’ spices who knows his job as fireman, improved? Really? Can you blame Achebe for not liking the novel? Anyways, why is Marlow struggling so much with humanity of the guy? Racism? Obviously, but where did it begin? I mean it is not like he is ‘choosing’ to be racist, he already is – and seems to be struggling with it. No, his racism had its roots in other poorly formed notions - those of ‘progress’ of humanity, civilization and beauty.And the paragraph is only one example, Achebe quotes a lot more of them in his essay. Anyone reading it should probably follow it with Achebe’s essay on it – it could be a great lesson in how deceptively racism works.Now unlike Achebe, I won’t try to read Conrad in Marlow, but it means he is not going to get any good points either. May be, we wish to think, that Conrad made Marlow a detestable colonialist but, if you go around looking for it, there is an author’s note in which Conrad calls him gentleman. AllegorySomehow it is an allegory on good and evil. Mr. Kurtz had somehow fallen to evil and now has a ‘dark’ heart. What is this wrong he had done to fall? There are no apples here. The only out of ordinary act done by him is fooling Africans to worship him as a deity. If it is the evil that is being talked about, than Marlow had a point there. And how he suffers? I’m not sure – unless you are calling the act of living in Africa equal to suffering. He died a natural death after being worshiped by Africans for this long, I mean being worshiped can't be that bad. Really, I’ve no idea about this allegory part, and it won’t come out well unless you are willing to interpret in a racist manner. (African mistress –dark, European mistress – light; Thames– good, congo-bad and so on.) Another theory is that the book tries to show how much the colonialists and the black savages were similar, but it is still racist. Colonalists became savages because of their acts, but Africans are savage because of ... what? Their culture?I'm sorry, it is too difficult to read it and not notice all those prejudices.
Do You like book Heart Of Darkness (2003)?
Many people seem to think that this story is just about racism, but that is missing the main point. It is true that much of Conrad's fiction seems racist in tone, but one must take that from whence it comes; he was writing at a time when European Colonialism, (and sadly racism too) was in full swing. It is of course inevitable that writers will reflect some of the mores of their era, and also that some writers will examine the prevailing mores and comment on them.However, the inner message of the story transcends dealing with just purely the manifestation of racism and colonial exploitation, although such exploitation does of course also play a role in the density of ideas, and, on the surface, forms the main theme of this novel.But the inner, integral theme has to do with the more transcendental issue of how wordly power corrupts the holder thereof; about the inner boundaries set by conscience, and the comfort it brings to remain within those boundaries. Conversely, what happens to your psyche when one crosses these boundaries and enters an area beyond what you were brought up to believe fell within acceptable behavior?I see Conrad exploring the territory beyond those boundaries, about what happens when an individual crosses the boundaries set by conscience and social conditioning just because he finds himself in circumstances where he can cross these boundaries.Parallels for such circumstances can be seen in the excesses certain Roman emperors indulged in, simply because they had the power to. They held sway over the life or death of countless individuals, and many of them indulged in this power to excess.However, Conrad uses a fresh setting in which to explore the issue, and it is a setting that is more intimate and personal, and just as disturbing.
—Traveller
There are only a couple of points I would like to add to this excellent review here - http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/... - and even then, mostly nothing of substance. It is twenty odd years since I first read this and didn’t read it again this time, but listened to Kenneth Branagh’s remarkable reading of it. It is hard to imagine this book was written by someone whose first language wasn’t English. The Company is fascinating in this book – how if you want to create a situation that is blind to the evil it is committing you bureaucratize it. The banality of evil so often comes with printed forms and regulations and far too often we become so maddened by these that we completely ignore the remarkable inhumanity all this supports.This is a book that refuses to let you forget that it is a remembered dialogue – most of the book is paragraph after paragraph in quotation. But it ends with this ambiguous statement. Marlow ceased, and sat apart, indistinct and silent, in the pose of a meditating Buddha. Nobody moved for a time. "We have lost the first of the ebb," said the Director, suddenly. I raised my head. The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed somber under an overcast sky—seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.And here I am mostly interested in the Director. Here we get to see the response of two people to this most remarkable tale. We have the narrator who has lovingly been able to reproduce it word perfect after one hearing and we have the Director who is, I assume, somewhat annoyed at having missed the first ebb and is keen to be getting on his way. There is no accounting for what will touch our soul and what will resinate. The most interesting part of the book for me is the Russian. Here you have a man who can look at all of Kurtz’s excesses – and they have been many, and clearly not just the heads on poles all facing his house – a man who Kurtz had threatened to kill, but still someone who considers him godlike. We do so love our heroes to be terrifying. Even Obama in our day with his drones, I’m afraid.This is a remarkable book. It seems remarkable too that the lines that are remembered most from this, ‘The horror! The horror!’ and 'Mistah Kurtz—he dead.' Might be remembered over say, 'Exterminate all the brutes!’ Perhaps we can only take just so much darkness.
—Trevor
My problem with Chinua Achebe's essay is that everything he accuses Conrad of subconsciously (and consciously) doing, Conrad appears by all evidence to be not only aware of, but actively attempting to skewer, both in himself and Western Society at large.I acknowledge and respect Achebe's critique of the Western need to cast Africa as some sort of pseudo-hell negation of Europe, but even before reading his essay, Heart of Darknes immediately struck me as a knowing and passionate condemnation of this need. One which clearly and loudly names it as a primary source of much of the 'evil' such a view tries to blame African 'otherness' for.Chinua Achebe's essay, while brilliant in identifying, describing, and deconstructing this common mal-opinion of Africa, does nothing to convince me otherwise. In fact, it very much works to reinforce my view that Conrad was completely aware of and consciously attempting to scorn the very form of racism and ethnocentrism Chinua Achebe draws attention to. Achebe is spot on in observing that such racism often underlies the cultural embrace (and lionization) of Heart of Darkness. He's also undoubtedly correct in his recognition of it as an everpresent aspect of Western daily life and the Western Establishment. But the book itself is a clear tirade against the racism its admirers often bask in, and Achebe mistakes Conrad's ironic disparaging and disgusted condemnation for sincere, subconscious desire. (Not unlike many of those who lavish breathless praise on the book.)I can't buy that. Heart of Darkness' primary message is that Africa *isn't* a black hole to London's Super Giant and Paris' Blue Giant. The work is a parody, condemnation, and scorning of those who consciously OR unconsciously carry such opinions (including, from my perspective, the author himself, particularly as a younger man, but also in a contemporary sense. He comes across both open minded enough to find this depiction [of Africa] disgusting and wise enough not to think that such self awareness absolves him of guilt.) As a white man alive in the time of colonization, and physically present in many colonies, Conrad's disgust is as much for himself as for Western society at large. And it is particularly born of the way in which both aspects of himself and the majority of the societies he moves through seek to aggrandize themselves by falsely decrying the cultures of others. He chooses to challenge this trait by depicting a particular mode of horror through the eyes of those who believe in such things, and contrasting in metaphor and plot the true sources of this horror with those prescribed by the bigots who tell the story. Chinua Achebe, prescient as he is, reads this entirely backwards. That he does so completely in line with the canonical misreading of Conrad is only more tragic still.TL;DR: Chinua Achebe is prescient at diagnosing particular strains of racism and ethnocentrism in Western Society, but he confuses the misguided interpretation offered by many of Conrad's rabid fans with the messages to be found in the book itself. The two are often at complete odds. Ultimately, if Achebe and Conrad were to sit down together and discuss the work, I think they'd find a near identical stance in one another.
—Jenny Zhang
