Source of book: I own this
Anyone who read T. S. Eliot’s poem, “The Hollow Men,” back in high school remembers the line, “Mistah Kurtz, he dead.” Followed, of course, by “A Penny for the Old Guy.” (The things I still remember 30 years later….)
The second line is a reference to Guy Fawkes Day. The first, however, is one of the two most famous lines from Heart of Darkness. The other, which is also well known, is “The horror, the horror.”
For many of my generation, Heart of Darkness is also strongly associated with the film, Apocalypse Now. The film is loosely based on the book - very loosely - and the differences are beyond the scope of this post.
The book is also inspired on a trip Conrad himself made up the Congo river, in his days as a seaman - a trip that would leave him with recurrent bouts of malaria for the rest of his life.
It was impossible to approach this book without some degree of prejudice. It is, after all, one of the most discussed books of the 20th Century, much maligned by later writers for its colonialist attitudes and less-than-nuanced portrayals of Africans. Chinua Achebe (author of Things Fall Apart) was particularly harsh in his assessment of the book, declaring it trash.
To be sure, the book has its issues, but I think that it is misunderstanding the book to consider it in any possible way a defense of colonialism. Rather, colonialism is the context of the book - its setting, the default way its white characters think, and likely the default thinking of his intended readers as well.
The story itself should be familiar by this time. Charles Marlow - a recurring character who appears in several of Conrad’s books - is a sailor who is hired to pilot a riverboat up what is essentially the Congo River in all but name, to bring back Mr. Kurtz from his remote outpost. This Mr. Kurtz is considered the best ivory trader the company has ever had, a great thinker, a rogue, and all things in between. Some of the company men revere him as a demigod, while others consider him dangerous.
What is clear is that he hasn’t been heard from lately, and the rumors are he has become ill. There are also some other, less flattering rumors - that he has “gone native,” taken up with a native woman. Or, that he has become violent and unpredictable. In any case, he is to be recalled.
After delays because the boat is inoperable, the journey commences, going deeper into the jungle and further from the comforts of British civilization. When they arrive, they find that Kurtz has pretty much gone crazy - he has murdered hundreds of Africans, stolen ivory, and is raging about genocide. He is also gravely ill. Taken aboard the ship, he has one last moment of seeming strength, and sneaks ashore, but it is all over soon after. Kurtz dies, having entrusted his papers to Marlow.
As the book gradually reveals its secrets, it turns out that Kurtz originally went to Africa with what he thought were good motives, by the standards of his time. He hoped to “civilize” the natives, better their lives, build bridges between peoples. But by the end, as revealed in his letters, he has succumbed to greed and prejudice and is openly calling to “Exterminate all the brutes!”
While there has been a lot of speculation as to who the inspiration for Mr. Kurtz was - and there are multiple plausible candidates - I think the better way to understand Kurtz is that he is a stand-in for Empire. Specifically for the British Empire, but also for the entire colonialist project, the entire sweep of European imperialism, and the nostalgia for an empire already showing its cracks.
Conrad makes this idea fairly clear in his comparison near the beginning and at the end between the “darkness” of Africa and the corresponding darkness of London. No matter how altruistic the British (and other white colonialists) thought they were, no matter how noble their motives in their own mind, it was all darkness and destruction. The British were every bit as brutal and violent and arbitrary as they imagined Africans (and indeed all indigenous peoples) to be. The imperialist project was ending in madness just like its microcosm, Mr. Kurtz.
Conrad’s view of human nature is generally quite pessimistic, and his insight into the darkness of the soul is penetrating. For me, this critique of colonialism and Conrad’s foresight into the catastrophic aftermath of Empire are what makes the book great.
Having said all that, the book does use the N-word plenty, and it lacks even a remotely multi-dimensional black character. To be fair, most of the characters in the book outside of a few, are barely there - nearly everything is about Marlow’s inner life, and his ultimate response to Kurtz - which is to say his response to Empire.
I have mentioned in my previous posts about Conrad - The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes - that English was his third language, and yet he is one of the most skilled writers I have read. Because of this, I have to quote some incredible passages in the book.
The first is actually found in the introduction by Verlyn Klinkenborg, quoting a letter from Conrad to a friend while the book was being written.
Not that I think mankind intrinsically bad. It is only silly and cowardly. Now You know that in cowardice is every evil - especially that cruelty so characteristic of our civilization. But without it mankind would vanish. No great matter truly. But will you persuade humanity to throw away sword and shield? Can you pursued even me - who write these words in the fulness of an irresistible conviction? No, I belong to the wretched gang. We all belong to it. We are born initiated, and succeeding generations clutch the inheritance of fear and brutality without a thought, without a doubt, without compunction - in the name of God.
Wow. That’s breathtaking and eviscerating all at once. I have for some time understood the concept of sin as being this violence and cruelty that we are all born initiated into, that fear and brutality that we assume as normal and struggle to transcend. It also gives insight into what Conrad was aiming for in this book.
Marlow, talking after his experience, has this to say about the colonialist project:
The conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking of 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. What redeems it is the idea only. An idea at the back of it; not a sentimental preference but an idea; and an unselfish belief in the idea - something you can set up, and bow down before, and offer a sacrifice to…
That is still powerful, and a true indictment of the plundering of the earth that white “civilization” has done over the last several hundred years. And how we have justified it in the name of god.
There is also another scene early in the book, when Marlow describes his meeting with his aunt, who pulls the strings to get him this job. She expresses all of the bright hopefulness about “weaning those ignorant millions from their horrid ways.” Marlow, even before his disillusionment, notes that the Company was run for profit.
I mentioned Conrad’s use of language - and I think it really shows in his descriptions as well. The book opens with a framing story - Marlow telling his story to some friends as they wait for the tide down the Thames.
And at last, in its curved and imperceptable fall, the sun sank low, and from glowing white changed to a dull red without rays and without heat, as if about to go out suddenly, stricken to death by the touch of that gloom brooding over a crowd of men.
This is paralleled by another moment while on the river.
The dusk came gliding into it long before the sun had set. The current ran smooth and swift, but a dumb immobility sat on the banks. The living trees, lashed together by the creepers and every living bush of the undergrowth, might have been changed into stone, even to the slenderest twig, to the lightest leaf. It was not sleep - it seemed unnatural, like a state of trance. Not the faintest sound of any kind could be heard. You looked on amazed, and began to suspect yourself of being deaf - then the night came suddenly, and struck you blind as well.
This is followed soon after, by a most peculiar dawn. I live in a place that gets fog like this sometimes in the winter.
When the sun rose there was a white fog, very warm and clammy, and more blinding than the night. It did not shift or drive; it was just there, standing all round you like something solid. At eight or nine, perhaps, it lifted as a shutter lifts. We had a glimpse of the towering multitude of trees, of the immense matted jungle, with the blazing little ball of the sun hanging over it - all perfectly still - and then the white shutter came down again, smoothly, as if sliding in greased grooves.
That’s just outstanding writing.
As delays build up, and the meagre provisions run out, hunger starts to gnaw at the psyches of the travelers. Conrad, who had known starvation on shipboard personally, has some quite perceptive things to say.
Restraint! What possible restraint? Was it superstition, disgust, patience, fear - or some kind of primitive honour? No fear can stand up to hunger, no patience can wear it out, disgust simply does not exist where hunger is; and as to superstition, beliefs, and what you may call principles, they are less than chaff in a breeze. Don’t you know the devilry of lingering starvation, its exasperating torment, its black thoughts, its sombre and brooding ferocity? Well I do. It takes a man all his inborn strength to fight hunger properly. It’s really easier to face bereavement, dishonour, and the perdition of one’s soul - than this kind of prolonged hunger.
After Kurtz’s death, Marlow too nearly succumbs to fever and hunger. His monologue afterward is haunting.
Droll thing life is - that mysterious arrangement of merciless logic for a futile purpose. The most you can hope from it is some knowledge of yourself - that comes too late - a crop of unextinguishable regrets. I have wrestled with death. It is the most unexciting contest you can imagine. It takes place in an impalpable grayness, with nothing underfoot, with nothing around, without spectators, without clamour, without glory, without the great desire of victory, without the great fear of defeat, in a sickly atmosphere of tepid scepticism, without much belief in your own right, and still less in that of your adversary. If such is the form of ultimate wisdom, then life is a greater riddle than some of us think it to be. I was within a hair's-breadth of the last opportunity for pronouncement, and I found with humiliation that I probably would have nothing to say.
Marlow makes it back to England, but he is a changed man.
No, they did not bury me, though there is a period of time which I remember mistily, with a shuddering wonder, like a passage through some inconceivable world that had no hope in it and no desire. I found myself back in the sepulchral city resenting the sight of people hurrying through the streets to filch a little money from each other, to devour their infamous cookery, to gulp their unwholesome beer, to dream their insignificant and silly dreams.
The last line of the book is so haunting, and it ties the darkness of Marlow’s nightmare in Africa to his daymare of London and Empire.
The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed sombre under an overcast sky - seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.
Heart of Darkness is one of those classics that deserves its reputation - in both senses. Even as it criticises colonialism, it fails to humanize its victims. But it also is superbly written, tells a memorable story, and pushes back against the “white savior” complex that justifies brutality toward brown-skinned people.
As always, Conrad’s writing is wonderful, painting unforgettable pictures, bringing out moral nuance, and encouraging the reader to take a closer look at the darkness in their own heart.
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