An Eternal Conrad

The final pages of Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness reproduce Marlow’s anxiety in the reader. The novel gravitates around Kurtz, his life, and his legacy. He symbolized direction and guidance, giving the expedition purpose. But with his appearance comes the “turn of the tide” (1). He is no longer guidance but an enigma, a being that was so many things at once and nothing at all. On their voyage back to civilization, this mysterious character dies. His last words: “The horror! The horror!”(130). How are we to interpret this?

Let us regress to a living Kurtz. This mysterious individual chose to dwell in the remote corners of the African wilderness. Marlow’s expedition was one to the unknown, to the core of Conrad’s own mind in search for him. When he finds Kurtz, he encounters much resistance in taking him back to civilization. Living in the wild, he had found an escape from all the pressures of a materialistic society. It was his form of rebellion against the atrocities of the human heart. Consequently, Conrad employs this encounter to juxtapose the civilized and the uncivilized. As Marlow blows the whistles of his ship, “two thousand eyes followed the evolutions of the splashing, thumping, fierce, river demon beating the water with its terrible tail and breathing black smoke into the air” (125). By employing demonic imagery in describing the industrialized nations, Conrad exhibits the destructiveness and greed of the human heart.

However, Kurtz does not make it back to the world he fled from. Marlow witnessed how his life began to “ebb out of his heart into the sea of inexorable time” (127). Here, inexorable time refers to the unalterable mortality of humans, to the insignificance of an individual when put in the context of eternal time. And as Kurtz felt the last breath leave his lungs, a weak and yet desperate cry gave way to his last words: “The horror! The horror!”. There is no definite interpretation for his final words, for they are extremely ambiguous. However, I think they might mean one of two things. First, in muttering ambiguity Kurtz incites mystery and interminable enigma. In doing so he was taking a hit at immortality by leaving the end to his story open. On the other hand, Kurtz might have been condemning the horrors of the human heart. His rejection to the atrocities of civilization was so real that he would rather die than face “the horrors” he initially fled from.

Eventually, a connection between Kurtz and Conrad may be evident. Heart of Darkness comes to an end amidst much ambiguity. Conrad’s novel poses similar enigmas as Kurtz' final words. Maybe they are both rebelling against society, or maybe Conrad wanted a grab at immortality. We are left alongside Marlow to interpret what we have read and try to give it meaning. These pages are the means through which reader and Conrad will continue to interact long after mortality takes her claim.

Shed Some Light

Joseph Conrad wrote a novel of deceptive meaning. It appears to be straightforward in its objective, but it is not so simple. Everything inside those pages suggests meaning beyond the literal. On the surface, it appears to be the narration of an experience: Marlow’s experience. Mildly entertaining, the story talks about his adventures as a ship captain and the obstacles he encounters as he travels into the heart of the continent in search of Kurtz. Heart of Darkness has much more to it than what is imminent on the surface. There are a number of levels of interpretation. It is reading from different angles, and each angle provides a different context.

As Marlow nears his objective, he begins to understand how far into the unknown they have come. Kurtz inhabits a place “so impenetrable to human thought, so pitiless to human weakness” (103). They have traveled far into a mysterious land towards the core of Africa. In it Kurtz lives in solitude, “far in the depths of the forest” (103). The depth of a mysterious land alludes to the unknown and undiscovered. Humanity has conquered all sorts of mysteries. We have mastered numbers, science, art, deceit, politics and many other tools that enable us to live in a global community. However, we are still in the quest to master ourselves. It is that quest for spiritual realization and mental control than continues to intrigue humanity. We are yet to find the answers to that puzzle.

Kurtz lives in the midst of such mystery. Characters hint towards his greatness but all they can relate are those “splendid monologues” (109). As the word suggests, monologues include a single individual. A monologue in this context is the talking with one’s self: reflection. When we reflect we dwell in the darkest places of our mind as we search for answers to infinite questions. Marlow was also searching for answers in his adventures. He was also trying to find a purpose for himself. This process tries to understand the functioning of human emotion through logical reason. But these reflections “echoed loudly within him because he was hollow at the core” (108). Conrad’s use of the word hollow refers to a hole or a gap in knowledge. No matter how long we search for answers, our thought will only echo indefinitely without conclusion because we lack the tools to understand the ultimate creator of reality: the human brain.

Marlow’s road into the unknown in search for Kurtz goes beyond the literal level. It has clear relationship with humanity’s quest for knowledge and understanding. Conrad describes his own attempt to crack into his brain in search for the answers through Marlow’s experience. It represents himself wondering into the darkest corners of his mind where the final pieces of the puzzle dwell guest to the unknown.

Black And White

Joseph Conrad juxtaposes black and white imagery in Heart Of Darkeness. Clear distinctions exist between these two colors as they transmit opposing sensations. White is a clean color, generally associated with enlightenment and divinity. Black is the color of mystery, evil and death. Accordingly, black and white have definite connotations in Conrad’s novel.

Europeans are supposed to be superior in knowledge and understanding. They are the white, after all. They dictate the norms of society and set the peace for development. Conrad exposes their cruelty in his novel as he uncovers their abusive behavior. They harass the natives, exploiting them to the point of exhaustion. They think of themselves as “supernatural beings” in the face of the “savages” (92). Thus, the white individuals feel enlightened, as if it was a natural consequence of the color. On the other hand, the black people become savages. Their only sin lies in their skin, but it is big enough to anticipate hell. They become but “a grain of sand in the black Sahara” (93).

Racial discrimination is present through the pages, deeply engraved in everyone’s reality. Even in the face of adversity we find “the contrast of expression of white men and the black fellows” (72-73). White Europeans are described as men, but blacks only attain the title of “fellows”. And they are so savage that “they belong to the beginnings of time” (73). It is also as if humanity had split according to color, and the white had fallen into the darkest possibility. Blacks may fall into the unprivileged group, but they got to keep the white emotions.

Consequently, moral questioning arises. Is it better to be master of a white body but slave of a dark soul? Are Europeans superior at all, or is it an act staged for centuries? Conrad’s novel begs the reader to search his soul in a quest to attain spiritual reflection. Maybe there is no white and black but shades in between. Maybe there is white and black but they never fully align with actions. Everything brings consequences, and having an undeserved advantage for centuries eventually caught up with those “supernatural beings” Conrad envisions.

Sound Asleep

As Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness progresses, my interest dwindles. It is not that the novel lacks quality, the problem is the way it translates into words. Take movies, for example. An action film maintains our interest as it manages to inscribe purpose into every second of the plot. There are moments where blinking may represent the absence of a bullet breaking through a human skull, where even the sound of gunpowder burning in the cannon calls for attention. But not everything may be high-tech warfare, for there must be something for romantics. If I ask you to recall one of such films, I bet the visual memory is not nearly as detailed. This is because, at least to my simple mind, there is no amusement in the picking of a flower, the waiting for a train or the entrance to a restaurant. But I would be wrong in arguing that the crushed skull represents a wider portion of human emotion than the message embedded in a rose. This same situation is staged in my reading of Conrad’s novel. The meaning is clearly there, but where’s the action?

There’s no doubt that European colonization was packed with action. Imagine how many rounds where fired, how many battles fought, how many succumbed to illness. Conrad is satisfied with the isolated effects. We stumble across a body “with a bullet-hole in the forehead” but have no access to the action that led to it (34). I am not insensible in my thirst for action. I clearly understand the message the lies inscribed in a dead body after a description of the ill treat towards black slaves, but it fails to welcome the reader into a story. When we become part of what is being said, when we understand the causes and implications, the effects mean so much more.

Pages display empty conversations and alienated descriptions. Many words go by between any two intriguing events, and when these appear, they are always a consequence of cruelty and punishment. Even if we have no exact location, it is evident the story takes place upon wild and unknown lands. What better context for mystery and adventure. Hidden in descriptions we find “beyond the fence the forest stood up spectrally in the moonlight” (45). What a waste of opportunity. Why wouldn’t Conrad take advantage of the suspense related to a mysterious forest? But he is so immersed in describing interactions between characters whichever those may be that he fails to provide the action.

Heart of Darkness vividly describes a hierarchy and a mission crucial in the understanding of a historical context. Through Conrad’s writing we learn much about European colonization and their relation with native peoples. Many things can be inferred from the text, especially concerning the questionable side of human spirit. However, the novel fails to maintain my attention for long. The pages lack the action that keeps you awake at times where a nap can easily seduce the mind.

A Harsh Reality

Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness portrays cruelty and mistreatment through unusual lenses. He vividly describes situations beyond the moral comprehension of human mind without flinching. Maintaining a serious tone through the pages, he resembles news presenters who seem equally affected by a massacre and a celebrity gossip. He describes his situation as if human sin was universally accepted and mundane, as if we had seen everything and whatever else happened was merely a repetition of a past catastrophe and not nearly as impressive.

Charles Marlow happens to come across some hostile situations with such frequency that they define his routine. When word comes that the previous captain to his ship was murdered, he sets out to find the body. As he finds it we face detailed descriptions ranging from the murderers to “the grass growing through his ribs tall enough to hide his bones” (13). As a reader I have time to picture the organs decomposed into the soil, maybe swallowed by some starving animal, the brothers that never had a chance to give him that last hug, maybe kids that never really knew what it was like to grow up with a father, a lonely woman with the duties of a household left by herself and so much misery that accompanies death. To Marlow death is a natural consequence of life and misery is part of everything humanity comes across. He cares not about another tragedy more than the waves that rush past the stern.

But death is a light matter when human creativity meets egocentric greed. Humans are capable of far worse than murder and Conrad knows it. Back at the camp, Marlow goes for a walk only to find slaves walking around in chains. He “could see every rib, the joints of their limbs where like knots in a rope; each had an iron collar on his neck, and all where connected together with a chain whose bights swung between them, rhythmically clinking” (25). The image would fail to be more impressive if we where there. Conrad’s imagery and attention to detail makes situations drill into our conscience even as Marlow discards them hastily. The narrator becomes a vehicle through which Conrad condemns the conditions slaves where subject to, the conditions in which humanity was building a future.

What we find inside the novel is no surprise after the title. The pages portray a cruel reality resulting from dark hearts and wicked leaders. There is no hope in his writing, no allusion to grandeur and honor. I only expect to find more misery, greater injustice and moral dilemma as I continue my reading of Heart Of Darkness.

Oh Comedy

The third Act of Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard exhibits element of comedy. Comedy isn’t always great. In this case, it is so lame that it becomes funny. It is almost as if the comedy lied behind ridiculing comedy by making it absurd. Of course, that is what it seems to me, facing a device capable of sending an entire human experience to another country in seconds. Checkhov might have been facing a quill, or maybe he was inscribing words into clay tablets. Whichever his preferred method of writing was, his comedy was that much different from my wireless keyboard. My guess is he wouldn’t have found a your momma joke very funny. What a party-pooper.

The third act is much like the two previous. A comedy so tedious should be illegal. How thrilling would it be to read Chekov then? Okay, we get it. They have no money to pay for their luxuries. Chill Checkhov, no need to make that any more evident. Much like a child begging for you to listen to his story, the intrusive musicians finally make their way into the stage. Varya says, “here we’ve hired musicians, and what are we going to pay them with?” To which Trofimov responds, “if the energy you have expended… had gone into something else, ultimately, you might very well have turned the world upside down.” (353). How absurd. The stubborn Trofimov puts down the few words that make some logical sense in the play. But who’s lines would you rather read? The play is already monotonous as it is, imagine if things started to make sense. His comedy lies in making a representation of routine so absurd that questions the utility of our existence.

The family lies in the brink of bankruptcy. They have been given a solution to their troubles and the means to achieve it. However, they remain unshaken by their future. Unless it is college, for who would want to miss so much fun? When some more sense finds its way miraculously into the play hinting towards future stability, the mother confesses that she “would gladly let you marry Anya, I swear it, only you must study, my dear, you must get your degree” (358). Because that will be really useful once they’ve lost all possessions. As long as they have enough material to feed their tedious conversation it makes sense to keep it up. I warn you, the modern Chekhov lives in Pasto, and we just haven’t been able to find him.

His comedy lies on absurdity. Everything the character say from their solutions to their responses makes no sense with anything any other character thinks about. He mocks something so mundane as routine making it absurd, thus demonstrating how empty so many things we praise could really be. I’m sorry if my comedy is worse than his. I find comfort in thinking we could have been good friends.

A Blog Post

In his play, The Cherry Orchard, Chekhov exhibits possibilities of literature new to my experience. In his description of events, he integrates vivid detail along with mention to banal activities. As we read we find characters doing anything from smoking to eating pickles, even when mention of these makes no relation to the dialogue. I had never read anything of the sort, expecting every word to add up to the ultimate meaning of a text. It took some time for me to adapt to this new narration, and still longer for me to appreciate such intense detail.

At the beginning of Act 2, Charlotta begins to share her past. She mentions details about her parents, her education and her country of birth. Suddenly, the narration intrudes into her story as we learn that she “takes a cucumber out of her pocket and eats it” (337). Not only is it completely isolated from her story; there is nothing that leads up to, or suggests, the entrance of a vegetable. At first it seems weird, almost as if this play was some sort of strange production from one of those guys in history whose strange mental state is their most intriguing asset. It continues to happen repeatedly, and as we read “Yawns, then lights a cigar,” we feel as if we were about to yawn as we create connections to reality. Then, after enough yawns, we realize that the problem is not this text but other narrations we are used to. Our frustrations don’t come from abnormality, but from extreme normality. It is Chekhov’s intent to mimic reality, or the normal, mundane events of everyday life, that exasperates us.

Reflect now upon the implications of reality. The first problem I face after such reflection is the intent of literature. Is writing, and other forms of art, supposed to imitate reality as to produce a tangible record of history? Are they supposed to recreate reality with opinion as to allow other to live their experience, or is it supposed to be an outlet for creativity and the materialization of individual conceptions? I tend to be very objective, and therefore writing in my life used to be primarily a means to keep record and reflect reality. Although I continue to enjoy objective writing and such texts that analyze numbers and a reality founded in science, these past years I have undergone a paradigm shift. With every novel that I read I begin to question my mentality as I find delight in literature beyond the mere facts writing can transmit. Even beyond that, this play proves how facts can become tiresome at times when our lives are already being bombarded by meaningless data.