Heart of Darkness

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Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness is the story of an English seaman, Charles Marlow, who is hired by a Belgian company to captain a steamer up river through the African interior. Widely regarded as a critique of European colonial rule in Africa, it has endured to stand as a Modernist masterpiece.
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Readers say *Heart of Darkness* is a complex, richly atmospheric novella exploring human nature, imperialism, and moral ambiguity. Many praise Conrad’...
Man's own capacity; a capacity to corrupt and get corrupted, man's ultimate inability to comprehend and rend the thick shards of ambiguity life catches us in, sort of feeds that impenetrable heart of darkness. Do we not all own it, have it, exhibit it? And then, if that is so, Heart of Darkness is a parable of human nature.
Despite hearing about the reservations on the racist tones and the not so anti-imperialist stance, I feel that there is more to this work than just that. Nowhere am I determinedly able to maintain that the text gives way to an authorial voice depicting a for or against sign, let alone some agenda to obey. If anything, it is a rich and complex novella with a promise to yield thoughtful discussion.
Degradation of human beings, material and spiritual, is what is at heart of the tale. And the language that captures the prose captivates aspect and attention with poetical sensitivity.
Still, I can hear reserved echoes of criticisms leveled against the 'dark' heart (particularly in its treatment of the natives of Congo, attributed as well to the racist tradition existent in Western literature). But if the dark treatment of Africa is to be considered as representative, what about the 'light' that is coming from the other side. Is it, in Conrad's view, all the more redeeming or 'civilised'? And can we say then which does the voice means when it sighs profoundly the word, 'Horror'? I don't know yet. In that I find the book more open-ended than we presume probably.
Somehow, style is central to narration and is thus worthy of re-readings. The narrative voice is aptly unreliable. Never do we really get to know what Marlow thinks in his own heart; he is a voice telling but somehow devoid of an intimacy towards readers. Perhaps, through what he sees on the outside, he sees the all too dark heart of his own and is unable to reveal it to us as Kurtz does. Marlow envies Kurtz for "He had something to say. He said it."
I quite liked it, although I like stylistic language, Conrad's prose was too much for me sometimes. 3.5 stars out of 5.
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