Conrad created an interesting character in Kurtz but the novel somehow falls short of being more than "just" a good read. ( )

one of the better old books I've read, but the overuse of the whole "heart of darkness" metaphor (it's mentioned on almost every page it feels like) and the story-within-a-story form really detract from an otherwise powerfully written story. ( )

Amazingly, I'm reading this for the first time in my 40's. But I can't imagine I would have understood it very well when I was younger. Mr. Conrad makes ample use of Africa as a symbol of darkness but the real darkness doesn't lie in the external world. It has always lain in the depths of the human soul. It doesn't take living in a savage land to find oneself unmoored from goodness and right. Anytime external restraints are lifted is the time when man must grapple with his own soul and what he can do and what he will do. Mr. Conrad's capturing of that truth and all the horror of that truth is masterful. ( )

Lush language is the key differentiator of this remarkable polemic against atrocity. The framed narrative distances the author from the views expressed so it is hard to know whether Conrad shared the racism and sexism of Marlow, his protagonist. Taken at face value, the account of white colonists going to collect ivory from a white manager who has ruthlessly suppressed his black suppliers endorses white supremacy but not the ill-treatment of the lesser beings. Marlow objects to Kurtz's abuse of the 'savages' in much the same way that the English of the time protected dogs and horses. ( )

Well, I hate to do it, but I'm taking the rating down to 4 out of 5 stars. I'm not sure why, but this time around, Joseph Conrad did not manage to induce the same level of fascination as he did the first couple of times I read this book. Maybe because the last time I read it was for a class, where we got to discuss it so much.

It's the story of Marlow, the classic man of the sea, and his trip down the river Congo to find Kurtz, the company man said to have native. But instead of being drawn into the story, this time I felt like Conrad was deliberately keeping the reader at arms' length. Marlow is telling the story, and an unnamed male listener is telling the reader what Marlow says. Then Marlow tells the listener who tells us what Marlow says somebody else says. Still with me?

Maybe the point of all those layers was to make the reader question the story a little more, to ask one's self how much you really know about someone else if all you know is what they say.

Anyway, it was good to read it again, but not as great as I remembered. I'm not sure why, but it must be a change inside me, because I *LOVED* this book back in college. ( )