Heart of Darkness

Dismal, bleak, but somehow fascinating in its very pessimism, Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness has been on my list to reread for years. But it isn't the sort of book you eagerly search out for re-perusal, oh no. It is the sort of story you borrow on audiobook from the library because the other options are unceasingly banal and this at least has the aura of a classic about it.

It was hard to listen to; it took me almost a month to get through four CDs. The narrator, Charles Marlow, tells of his time as a steamboat captain traveling up the Congo River to transport that all-consuming commodity, ivory. Though Marlow narrates, the character that looms largest is that of Kurtz, the company agent whose legend precedes him everywhere. Kurtz is show more a legend, spoken of with awe... and Marlow's whole torturous journey feels inevitably propelled toward him. They seemed fated to meet. When they finally reach Kurtz in his remote location, they find he has subjugated an entire tribe to worship him and has employed torture, murder, and raids to gather all the ivory from the surrounding peoples. It is a horrifying situation, but mercifully must end, as Kurtz, very sick, reluctantly agrees to go back to civilization for treatment.

Kurtz, weakened and ill, does not survive the journey back. We can theorize on the reasons why; perhaps he had become unfit for civilization and the ordinary human laws and relationships it represents. I am sure many critics have studied the significance of Kurtz's last words — "The horror, the horror!" — and what exactly he was speaking of. It seems that in his last moments he was finally able to see himself as he really was, to peer down into his own soul and see the blackness there — the true heart of darkness. In some ways it reminded me of The Lord of the Flies in its searching scrutiny of human depravity, how we live when we are beyond the strictures of human law. Not a pretty picture.

And then there's the closing chapter with Marlow listening to Kurtz's betrothed eulogizing him and speaking of what a wonderful man, what a genius he was. And Marlow can only think of the horrors Kurtz perpetrated, of the dangerous force of personality and oration the man possessed that allowed him to dominate everyone he met. English major moment: is Kurtz a metaphor for imperialism, and his betrothed representing those who praise it, so unwitting of how it really was?

Central Africa was a miserable place at this time. Marlow describes of how common sickness and death were, the rapacity (and stupidity) of the ivory companies, the racism and ignorance and mistreatment of the natives, the whole bleak picture of it all. Conrad has a lean, poetic style that is very attractive in itself. He creates such a mystique about the darkness of the unknown. I love how Peter Jackson wove the novel into his remake of King Kong. "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."

The next audiobook I picked up and am currently listening to has a similar subject — 19th-century white men traveling into the heart of unknown African lands — but it couldn't be more different. Henry Rider Haggard's King Solomon's Mines may not have the philosophical profundity of Heart of Darkness, but I actually want to listen to it and I make an effort to turn it on even with only a short time to listen. It's an adventure story, written for fun. Not so Heart of Darkness. show less

This book will probably be banned and calls for it to be removed from any western literary canon have already been issued. Because of the use of the N-word it wouldn’t be used in schools for classes prior to undergrad studies, if at all. This book, novella really, is outstanding in construction and complex execution. For that reason, most high achieving high-schoolers would still find it bewildering. Shakespeare is also bewildering for students but there are more references to his plays than to Heart of Darkness in other literary works which come after. The 1995 issue of The New Yorker comes to some hasty conclusions about Conrad’s intent. Intent is always forbidden in literature classes, but that article’s author feels free to show more break all established norms of hermeneutics.
This is a first time read for me although I had high expectations to finish for my own sense of accomplishment. This is a short work, and very intense. I enjoyed Conrad’s style and felt challenged to read on to interpret correctly his language choices during the narrative. Although English was not Conrad’s first language, he had mastered it by the time of writing Heart of Darkness. The is no article in the title.
This work has one meaningfully haunting line which was used by the Rock band Gang of Four for one of their song titles: We Live As We Dream Alone. That is a very good song.
Most of the book is engaged in preparation for a phrase which comes near the end of Marlow’s tale. The phrase is uttered on Kurtz’s deathbed that capitulates what he has seen during his life. Sort of a Christ on the Cross moment where Jesus gives up his Spirit. Kurtz’s exasperation of “the horror! The horror” is ambiguous but nevertheless interpreted in a singular way by Marlow which is not borne out as an exclusive way to understand it.
This Penguin edition has an excellent introduction and nice cover photo of a flat bottom river steamer. This adds to the readers imaginative state for focusing on what Marlow offers in reflection on the Roman Empire, British Empire, French trading posts, the Belgian Congo trading operations, what ideals can survive such clash of civilizations. This is one of the greatest pieces of literature I have ever read, although pessimistically dark and oppressive about the interior lives of people everywhere. I had assumed this was adventure story like Gulliver’s Travels or Don Quixote but it is more of a sly introduction to nihilism or a Gothic (read Victorian) expose on all western presumptions of moral evolution. I don’t agree with Conrad’s moral vision in this book. I loved his attempt to be consistent in his story of what people can see and refuse to see in man’s treatment of other men. The popularity of Apocalypse Now as a film may have dimmed the genius of Conrad’s source material but this is a work which moves far beyond that parallel story set during the 1960's and served only to illustrate Francis Ford Coppola’s personal prejudices about the Vietnam War’s futility. Some of the events depicted in the film did happen but in different contexts. This is a dark work of literature. Along with 1984, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, and Clockwork Orange, this is worth reading but should be discussed with others afterward to dispel the nagging skepticism which will inevitably follow Christians and Catholics who aren’t familiar with certain epochs of world history. Agnostic readers will see in this a narrative proof that man is alone and must save himself somehow. show less

2nd or third time I've read this.

If you can get over the cultural and zeitgeist differences between now and then, this is brilliant. No doubt you would have see Apocalypse Now which showed the dark heart of this novel transposed to the Vietnam War. If you've ever read any of those old gritty war books by Sven Hassel you will have seen the dark heart there.

It's that universality that draws me in. I like how it goes from banality to carnality in a few steps, itb is unforgiving in its exposure of how shallow we are when you strip a few layers off. Bloody Brilliant

There's nothing wrong with a bit of baggy. And certainly there's little or nothing 19th century without that touch of cellulite. And that's mostly where all the masterpieces live. No waste. But no bounty either. Conrad's prose is too parsimonious for anything to get very close to masterpiece status. I like him fine but he was a writer who tied his boots too tight almost on purpose. He wrote better about the sea than anything else and yet did relatively little of it. You're right (in a tiny, limited sense) in that the strangely neglected “The Secret Agent” is probably his best - full of surprises and real pleasures - does “Greenwich” like no one ever did. But to call it a masterpiece is to seriously abuse the term. Hush my show more moderation, it is to take the term out the back with a baseball bat and go all Joe Pesci on its ass. His prose is the diametric opposite of gorgeous (saying so makes me sound like a Banville-admirer). His prose was bullied at school and has been keen to avoid trouble ever since. I can understand that but it don't bring me no grandeur nor frisson.

I'm a big fan of “Notre Dame de Paris” (I've read it English, Portuguese and German). But obviously I’m singing its praises to avoid the lurking presence of “Les Mis”. Because it gloriously proves my point about baggy masterpieces. “Les Mis” was pissed on at the time for its vulgarity and indiscipline. This is the stuff that makes a masterpiece. “Notre Dame de Paris” is a pretty little thing, but it's a run-up, a stretching exercise before the real thing. Hugo was a looper (try “Les Travailleurs de la Mer”). He spent the spectacular, once-in-a-lifetime Commune moment eating zoo animals and banging fans. This makes him lots and lots of things. Unbaggy is not amongst them. “Les Mis” changed everything. “Notre Dame de Paris” was a cartoon waiting to happen.

I'm not a fan of everything books-wise. And I also don't want to scatter the masterpiece medals too liberally. Though I admire some people’s generosity and enthusiasm. I'm just worried it's going to end up with J.K. Rowling as Nobel Laureate (she wouldn't be the worst). The sentiment is almost the opposite of masterpiece though. But then I'm a big fan of cowardice, so I'm bound to say that. The thing about Conrad? No funnies. Not once. Not ever. Even by accident. That's the Beckett kiss of death. I rest my case. Cry at your leisure. Don't forget, I'm a Conrad fan.

And I wouldn't dream of hurting someone, but look me right in the eye and tell me “Les Mis” is not baggy. Remember the chapter about the joys of human shit? Not even the tiniest bit discursive, that one? Really? show less

Here's one of those works traditionally considered a classic that I'd managed to not read until fairly late in life. I was surprised, by the way, at how short it is: only 72 pages in the Dover Thrift edition I have.

I can see where the supposed classic status comes from. Conrad's writing is incredibly evocative. As for what it's evocative of... Well, it's certainly an interesting thing to read this here in the 21st century, on the other side of the colonial era. It is, as they say, very much Of Its Time, but in a complicated way that I find worth pondering. Conrad is writing about the absurdity, the inhumanity, and, yes, the horror of Europeans' exploitation of Africa. He's also writing that criticism very much from inside the cultural show more framework that produced those horrors, which means that there's an incredibly limited effort and an even more limited ability to imagine what things look like from other perspectives. It also means a preoccupation with ideas of "civilization" and "savagery" that seem, now, to be quite simplistic and wrongheaded, but which are explored here in a complex way that gives a genuinely interesting window onto the thoughts and fears surrounding these ideas at the time. And, yeah, let's not mince words: it's super racist. I mean, by the standards of the time, even the repeated insistence that the Africans in the story are completely human may have been unusual, but, y'know, one kinda wants to set the bar higher than that. In my mind, though, the value of reading this doesn't lie in the way it lets us pat ourselves on the back for being more enlightened, but in getting this rather dark and tortured glimpse into that past and into what it looked like to someone who, despite all that comparative lack of enlightenment, was still horrified by it.

I'm not sure if I've expressed any of that very well. I also feel like I ought to have a lot more intelligent things to say about the story and the writing, and especially about the character of Mr. Kurtz. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure what to make of the character of Mr. Kurtz. He's not exactly what I was expecting from what I'd osmosed about this piece of writing, either. If nothing else, I was expecting there to be... more of him.

Rating: I'm going to call this 4/5, for the writing, and for how worthwhile it is from a cultural and historical perspective, but, y'know, take that with all the appropriate caveats. show less

Extraordinarily good. I expected many things of Heart of Darkness but I didn't expect the odd flash of humour (black though it may be) and the immense readability of this enthralling tale. To be honest I was a bit nervous, not generally taking to allegorical works. This swept me along with the genius of the narrative--I was as enthralled as Marlowe's ship-mates, and could hear every word falling from his lips in the darkness of the Themes estuary. Just over 110-years-old, the writing remains fresh and engaging.

Something to note is that this edition comes with copious footnotes (plus Conrad's 'Congo Diary'). While it was tiring to look things up all the time, I think that added a lot to my reading experience. My housemate doesn't show more remember his copy of Heart of Darkness, when he studied it a decade of so ago, having those notes. It may be worth seeking out an edition that does. show less

I see the allure in this book. And I see the criticism in this book. However, the allure far outweighs the criticism.

This book is ambiguous, in the best way possible. The setting is clear most of the time, but the characters that come and go, their interactions, and even whether they are alive or dead, is hard to discern. This would be a negative, however, in the novella format, being less than one hundred pages, I do not mind it at all. I like having to really think about things sometimes, and this made me think.

Yes, this book is rife with racism, however, anyone who thinks that it should be pulled from publication ignores the theme that the racism introduces. The main character is a white trader who embarks on a river journey hundreds show more of miles into Africa, and what he finds is that the darkness present in the jungle is no different than the darkness he can see in London.

The ending, by the way, could be the best ending to a book I've ever read. show less