Heart of Darkness

By Joseph Conrad

It is the late nineteenth century, and colonial powers have claimed various parts of the African continent. Marlow, a riverboat captain for a Belgian ivory trading firm, is traveling up the Congo River to meet Kurtz, the manager of one of the company's trading stations. Marlow witnesses the brutal colonization practices and treatment of the native inhabitants. Equally fascinated and puzzled by Kurtz, who is both feared and treated like a god by the natives, Marlow tries to understand this mad man. Exploring the roots of evil amidst the corrupt influence of imperialism, this unabridged version of the horror novella by Polish author Joseph Conrad was first published serially in England in 1899.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lerner Publishing
• Release date: Aug 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781467797795

Joseph Conrad

Joseph Conrad (1857-1924) was a Polish-British writer, regarded as one of the greatest novelists in the English language. Though he was not fluent in English until the age of twenty, Conrad mastered the language and was known for his exceptional command of stylistic prose. Inspiring a reoccurring nautical setting, Conrad’s literary work was heavily influenced by his experience as a ship’s apprentice. Conrad’s style and practice of creating anti-heroic protagonists is admired and often imitated by other authors and artists, immortalizing his innovation and genius.

Book preview

III

I

The Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a flutter of the sails, and was at rest. The flood had made, the wind was nearly calm, and being bound down the river, the only thing for it was to come to and wait for the turn of the tide.

The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of an interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the sky were welded together without a joint, and in the luminous space the tanned sails of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits. A haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea in vanishing flatness. The air was dark above Gravesend, and farther back still seemed condensed into a mournful gloom, brooding motionless over the biggest, and the greatest, town on earth.

The Director of Companies was our captain and our host. We four affectionately watched his back as he stood in the bows looking to seaward. On the whole river there was nothing that looked half so nautical. He resembled a pilot, which to a seaman is trustworthiness personified. It was difficult to realize his work was not out there in the luminous estuary, but behind him, within the brooding gloom.

Between us there was, as I have already said somewhere, the bond of the sea. Besides holding our hearts together through long periods of separation, it had the effect of making us tolerant of each other’s yarns—and even convictions. The Lawyer—the best of old fellows—had, because of his many years and many virtues, the only cushion on deck, and was lying on the only rug. The Accountant had brought out already a box of dominoes, and was toying architecturally with the bones. Marlow sat cross-legged right aft, leaning against the mizzen-mast. He had sunken cheeks, a yellow complexion, a straight back, an ascetic aspect, and, with his arms dropped, the palms of hands outwards, resembled an idol. The director, satisfied the anchor had good hold, made his way aft and sat down amongst us. We exchanged a few words lazily. Afterwards there was silence on board the yacht. For some reason or other we did not begin that game of dominoes. We felt meditative, and fit for nothing but placid staring. The day was ending in a serenity of still and exquisite brilliance. The water shone pacifically; the sky, without a speck, was a benign immensity of unstained light; the very mist on the Essex marsh was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the wooded rises inland, and draping the low shores in diaphanous folds. Only the gloom to the west, brooding over the upper reaches, became more sombre every minute, as if angered by the approach of the sun.

And at last, in its curved and imperceptible 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.

Forthwith a change came over the waters, and the serenity became less brilliant but more profound. The old river in its broad reach rested unruffled at the decline of day, after ages of good service done to the race that peopled its banks, spread out in the tranquil dignity of a waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth. We looked at the venerable stream not in the vivid flush of a short day that comes and departs for ever, but in the august light of abiding memories. And indeed nothing is easier for a man who has, as the phrase goes, followed the sea with reverence and affection, that to evoke the great spirit of the past upon the lower reaches of the Thames. The tidal current runs to and fro in its unceasing service, crowded with memories of men and ships it had borne to the rest of home or to the battles of the sea. It had known and served all the men of whom the nation is proud, from Sir Francis Drake to Sir John Franklin, knights all, titled and untitled—the great knights-errant of the sea. It had borne all the ships whose names are like jewels flashing in the night of time, from the Golden Hind returning with her rotund flanks full of treasure, to be visited by the Queen’s Highness and thus pass out of the gigantic tale, to the Erebus and Terror, bound on other conquests—and that never returned. It had known the ships and the men. They had sailed from Deptford, from Greenwich, from Erith—the adventurers and the settlers; kings’ ships and the ships of men on ’Change; captains, admirals, the dark interlopers of the Eastern trade, and the commissioned generals of East India fleets. Hunters for gold or pursuers of fame, they all had gone out on that stream, bearing the sword, and often the torch, messengers of the might within the land, bearers of a spark from the sacred fire. What greatness had not floated on the ebb of that river into the mystery of an unknown earth! . . . The dreams of men, the seed of commonwealths, the germs of empires.

The sun set; the dusk fell on the stream, and lights began to appear along the shore. The Chapman light-house, a three-legged thing erect on a mud-flat, shone strongly. Lights of ships moved in the fairway—a great stir of lights going up and going down. And farther west on the upper reaches the place of the monstrous town was still marked ominously on the sky, a brooding gloom in sunshine, a lurid glare under the stars.

And this also, said Marlow suddenly, has been one of the dark places of the earth.

He was the only man of us who still followed the sea. The worst that could be said of him was that he did not represent his class. He was a seaman, but he was a wanderer, too, while most seamen lead, if one may so express it, a sedentary life. Their minds are of the stay-at-home order, and their home is always with them—the ship; and so is their country—the sea. One ship is very much like another, and the sea is always the same. In the immutability of their surroundings the foreign shores, the foreign faces, the changing immensity of life, glide past, veiled not by a sense of mystery but by a slightly disdainful ignorance; for there is nothing mysterious to a seaman unless it be the sea itself, which is the mistress of his existence and as inscrutable as Destiny. For the rest, after his hours of work, a casual stroll or a casual spree on shore suffices to unfold for him the secret of a whole continent, and generally he finds the secret not worth knowing. The yarns of seamen have a direct simplicity, the whole meaning of which lies within the shell of a cracked nut. But Marlow was not typical (if his propensity to spin yarns be excepted), and to him the meaning of an episode was not inside like a kernel but outside, enveloping the tale which brought it out only as a glow brings out a haze, in the likeness of one of these misty halos that sometimes are made visible by the spectral illumination of moonshine.

His remark did not seem at all surprising. It was just like Marlow. It was accepted in silence. No one took the trouble to grunt even; and presently he said, very slow—I was thinking of very old times, when the Romans first came here, nineteen hundred years ago—the other day . . . . Light came out of this river since—you say Knights? Yes; but it is like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightning in the clouds. We live in the flicker—may it last as long as the old earth keeps rolling! But darkness was here yesterday. Imagine the feelings of a commander of a fine—what d’ye call ’em?—trireme in the Mediterranean, ordered suddenly to the north; run overland across the Gauls in a hurry; put in charge of one of these craft the legionaries—a wonderful lot of handy men they must have been, too—used to build, apparently by the hundred, in a month or two, if we may believe what we read. Imagine him here—the very end of the world, a sea the colour of lead, a sky the colour of smoke, a kind of ship about as rigid as a concertina—and going up this river with stores, or orders, or what you like. Sand-banks, marshes, forests, savages,—precious little to eat fit for a civilized man, nothing but Thames water to drink. No Falernian wine here, no going ashore. Here and there a military camp lost in a wilderness, like a needle in a bundle of hay—cold, fog, tempests, disease, exile, and death—death skulking in the air, in the water, in the bush. They must have been dying like flies here. Oh, yes—he did it. Did it very well, too, no doubt, and without thinking much about it either, except afterwards to brag of what he had gone through in his time, perhaps. They were men enough to face the darkness. And perhaps he was cheered by keeping his eye on a chance of promotion to the fleet at Ravenna by and by, if he had good friends in Rome and survived the awful climate. Or think of a decent young citizen in a toga—perhaps too much dice, you know—coming out here in the train of some prefect, or tax-gatherer, or trader even, to mend his fortunes. Land in a swamp, march through the woods, and in some inland post feel the savagery, the utter savagery, had closed round him—all that mysterious life of the wilderness that stirs in the forest, in the jungles, in the hearts of wild men. There’s no initiation either into such mysteries. He has to live in the midst of the incomprehensible, which is also detestable. And it has a fascination, too, that goes to work upon him. The fascination of the abomination—you know, imagine the growing regrets, the longing to escape, the powerless disgust, the surrender, the hate.

He paused.

Mind, he began again, lifting one arm from the elbow, the palm of the hand outwards, so that, with his legs folded before him, he had the pose of a Buddha preaching in European clothes and without a lotus-flower—"Mind, none of us would feel exactly like this. What saves us is efficiency—the devotion to efficiency. But these chaps were not much account, really. They were no colonists; their administration was merely a squeeze, and nothing more, I suspect. They were conquerors, and for that you want only brute force—nothing to boast of, when you have it, since your strength is just an accident arising from the weakness of others. They grabbed what they could get for the sake of what was to be got. It was just robbery with violence, aggravated murder on a great scale, and men going at it blind—as is very proper for those who tackle a darkness. The conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking 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

Reviews for Heart of Darkness

[antao-3 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

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 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?

[msaucier818 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

One word to describe this book - woof. It isn't a story as much as an author's attempt to use metaphors and colorful language to make a point in 100 pages that could have been made in half of that. The basics of the book is that a man is telling his story of a trip to Africa for a company and he meets a white man who is kind of worshiped by the ignorant black people.

This is not a page turner, but I am glad I read it because it is a classic due to the time period in which it was written. Will I read it again? Probably not. But as a person who studies and teaches history, it was important to get through at least once. As literature, I was not fan.

[lindsay7564 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Most certainly would not recommend this book. It had a good theme, interesting characters, but I found it borderling painful to read.

[crom74 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It's been a while since I have read this particular book, so I thought I'd give it another go. Actually, I listened to it as read by Scott Brick. The only thing I remembered going into the story was Kurtz and the fact that Kurtz was movitized by Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now. I did not remember that the book was set in the African Belgian Congo or the fact that ivory played a large role. Also, I did not remember the character of Marlow - sad to say as he is the main character. Anyhow, I loved it. I remember loving it the time I actually read it as well. Conrad does a incredible job of enabling the reader to feel as if he/she is a part of what is going on. Fantastic wordage as well. I know there are other meanings to the book, but what I take away is that man (woman) is always only a hair away from madness. That is, we all have things that we would make that venture - into madness/darkness - to achieve. It was great listening to Brick read this tale. Ah, there is also a gratuitous use of the "N" word. It's not totally irrelevant as that was how things were back when the book was set. Anyway, just a warning for those who are bothered by such things.

[dougcornelius_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Darkness in the dark reaches of Africa looking into the dark souls of man seeking the unknown, but finding darkness amongst the darkness.

[cinesnail88 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I understand the purpose of using this book for instruction, but I found that it had major flaws that ultimately led to my dislike of it. Not every book is for everyone, though, so don't pass it up on my account.

[geraldlange · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Damn good catalyst.

[lisa.johnson.james · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is the tale of a man who's itchy feet & wanderlust lead him on a mission as a steamboat captain to a position in "the Company" along what I'm presuming is the Congo river in Africa. The clues are there, but the name is never given, so you have to infer it. In those days, the continent was rife with conflicts between the natives & the white men who came down to exploit the ivory trade. For a short book, & my shorter edition only had 72 pages, it's a deep book, the "darkness" in the title not only speaks of the interior of the at the time as a just being explored area, & not just the color of the skin of the natives, some of whom were fabled cannibals, but it speaks of the absolute darkness of the skies after nightfall, & the darkness inside a man's soul in conditions like that.....Not an "easy" read.....but one worth the time

[theoclarke · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

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.

[shanaqui_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I found Heart of Darkness very easy to read. My copy was only one hundred and twelve pages long, so there's that, but it's also written in a way that tugs you into the story. Actually, I think it's probably best read in one sitting, due to the way it's written -- the actual story is being told by a man called Marlow, to his companions, who mostly just sit quiet and listen, in one sitting. So to experience the book as it was written, it's probably best to settle down with it and read the whole story at once. I found the prose pretty easy, though that might just be that I'm somewhat used to that kind of slow, elaborate writing style. A lot of the imagery in the book is very vivid, which I liked.

Maybe I should have read it a little more slowly and carefully, but I felt sometimes that it lurched from one point to another and it took me a minute to catch up.

I don't really "get" this book, I guess. I can see how to analyse it and pick it apart -- this bit of imagery refers also to that, and this reflects that, and the racism springs from the culture it was written in, and blahblahblah. I can see how you can pick all kinds of special meaning out of it. But... I'm not so impressed that I want to.

[santhony_35 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Like most people, I was familiar with Heart of Darkness, both as an acclaimed work of literature and as the inspiration for the remarkable movie Apocolypse Now. For some reason, I recently decided to make an attempt at reading it, despite my concern that it was written at a level beyond my capacity to understand. Upon receipt of the volume from Amazon, I was initially under the impression that I had mistakenly ordered the Cliff's Notes version of the work. I had no idea that the book was essentially a short story, easily readable in 2-3 hours. Even more surprising, was the ease with which I was able to follow and understand the story, though admittedly written in a slightly dense prose. Perhaps this was due to having seen Apocolypse Now and being familiar with the broad outline of the story and having read other works of history on the Belgian Congo. In any event, it was a decent story, filled with some beautifully descriptive language and imagery. I must say, however, that I was not bowled over. Steamship Captain pilots a ragged boat up the Congo, accompanied by colonial agents and support staff (cannibals and other natives) in an attempt to relieve a long stranded station agent (Kurtz) who has "gone native" and become the insane source of worship for the local natives. If you've seen Apocolypse Now, you know the story, just replace the Mekong with the Congo. I go back to my first paragraph in which I related a concern over my ability to understand what is considered a classic work of literature. I fully understood it, but was perhaps not qualified to fully appreciate it.

[leslie398 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

While I enjoy Kenneth Branagh as an actor, his voice in this audiobook was soporific to the point that I struggled to finish this quite short book. Next time I will read it in print.

[esquilinho_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A Journey We All Must Take: When Marlow begins his journey to find the mythical Kurtz in HEART OF DARKNESS, Joseph Conrad dares the reader to accompany Marlow on a voyage less into the physical jungles of darkest Africa and more into the mental labyrinth that human beings erect to protect themselves from the horrors that they themselves build. In this justly famous novella, Conrad depicts a pre-politically correct age when white men thought it only fair and inevitable that they plunder the riches of Africa all the while comforting themselves that they were uplifting the fallen state of a lowly people.

Conrad uses a twin layer of narratives in order to achieve the needed objectivity that he felt required to place the reader at varying distances from the horror that Kurtz cried out at the end. The opening narrator is unnamed, possibly Conrad himself, who sets the stage by placing the reader at a safe distance from the evils which lay squarely ahead. Through this narrator we get a bird'e eyes view of the true narrator Marlow, who is depicted as somehow different from the four other men on the deck of the Nellie. This difference in physical attributes slowly increases to concomitant differences in perspective, attitude, and general authorial reliability. Marlow is a deeply flawed man who has the disadvantage of viewing the unfolding events from the prejudiced eyes of a white colonial civil servant who is sure that the blacks in Africa are little different from his preconceived notion of uncivilized cannibals. Further, Marlow makes numerous errors of judgment along the way, many of them seemingly insignificant, yet the totality of the reader's perspective is twisted through the equally twisted lens of an unreliable narrator. Conrad's purpose in melding the reader to a flawed narrator was to insure that the reader could never trust what he reads, thereby increasing his sense of unease in that the sense of safety that Marlow feels, first on the deck of the Nellie, and later in the jungle itself, is as flimsy as the signposts that guide Marlow toward his goal.

The goal is Kurtz, a trader who set out to civilize the blacks into accepting a white version of civilization, but Marlow finds out that the reverse happened. The true horror that Kurtz sees is the horror that all would be conquerors find when they discover that the philosophy of racial supremacy which led them into conflict with a people whom they deemed unworthy is shown to be built on straw. Kurtz knows that the only difference between his brutal acts toward the natives and their own similar atrocities toward themselves is no difference at all. As corrupt as Kurtz must have been, in his closing cry of horror, he finds a small measure of redemption and closure. Marlow sees what Kurtz saw, knew what Kurtz did, and heard up close and personal Kurtz's swan song of pain, but Marlow learned nothing of lasting value. All he could think of was to maintain the image of the Kurtz that was: "I remained to dream the nightmare out to the end, and to show my loyalty to Kurtz once more." The journey that Kurtz took was a horror only because he became what he sought. The journey that Marlow took became a horror only because he learned nothing from what he sought. As you and I read HEART OF DARKNESS, we must decide which journey has the more meaningful signposts.

[crowyhead · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The first time I read this novel, in high school, I really hated it. Having re-read it since then, however, I've come to actually appreciate and enjoy it. It seemed so much longer back in 11th grade! The writing is still awfully dense and confusing in places, but I've come to realize that this is rightfully considered a masterpiece.

[misslizzy_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I hate to say it, but I really didn't like this book. I know that it is a metaphor for something, but full realization of that metaphor eludes me, and I am really not that interested in discovering it. It was mostly the descriptions of everything, from people to the jungle to the banks of the Thames, that entrapped me--I probably have several pages worth of highlighted sentences, phrases, and paragraphs. Conrad has easily captured the idea of the phrase "hauntingly beautiful" when describing his characters and their surroundings and ideas.

[gypsysmom_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Many years ago when I was in high school Victory by Joseph Conrad was on the curriculum. I would like to know who thought that was an appropriate piece of literature for 16 and 17 year olds. I hated it and I have shied away from anything by Conrad ever since. However, I decided to give this book a listen since it was available as a download from my library's electronic site. I may have done Conrad a disservice all those years ago because Heart of Darkness, while never going to be in my top reads of all time list, is well written. I may have to go back to Victory and see what I think of it now.A group of old friends are on board a ship in the Thames estuary. As night falls one of the men, Marlow, tells the tale of his time as a riverboat captain on an African river (surely the Congo). Usually a salt water sailor Marlow decided to take a job on fresh water so he could see something of the interior of Africa. He was hired on by a large European concern to pilot the riverboat up the river to supply their stations and collect the ivory the stations had obtained. From the beginning he heard about the mysterious Mr. Kurtz who had been in charge of a station far up the river for several years. Kurtz sent quantities of ivory to the Central Station but never appears himself. He is so successful at getting ivory that the station manager fears Kurtz may be promoted over him. As Marlow hears more and more about Kurtz he longs to meet him. When he finally does reach Kurtz's station he finds that Kurtz is very ill and that he is surrounded by a tribe of natives who revere Kurtz. Kurtz is brought on board the ship and Marlow listens to Kurtz as they return downriver. Kurtz entrusts Marlow with a packet of materials and then dies. His last words are "The horror, the horror". Is Kurtz referring to his interactions with the natives, some of whom he killed and impaled their heads on posts around his hut? This man who lived among the natives for a long time did not seem to have a very high opinion of them. He wrote a pamphlet about civilizing the natives but ended it by writing "Exterminate all the brutes". A year later, after Marlow had recovered from his own debilitating illness, Marlow goes to visit Kurtz's fiancee and gives her some items that Kurtz had entrusted with him. When asked what Kurtz's last words were Marlow lies and tells her it was her own name.This book certainly shows the casual use of violence by so-called civilized men and the disdain they feel for the Africans. Even Kurtz, who Marlow has been told is exemplary, seemed to think nothing of slaughtering men in pursuit of ivory. When the riverboat is leaving Kurtz's station the natives who had revered Kurtz massed on the shore to pay their respects. Marlow noticed that the men on board (whom he refers to as pilgrims which always made me think of John Wayne everytime I heard it) were readying their guns to shoot them. Marlow frightened the natives away by blowing the ship's whistle much to the annoyance of the men who were looking for some "good shooting". This is a disturbing book but I am glad I have now "read" it.

[monapropertygirl · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This book definitely put forth some very interesting notions, and Conrad clearly can deftly weave his words and create well-crafted sentences. But I found some parts... a lot of parts, something of a chore to read, and despite my careful reading, I still ended up with only a rough sketch of what I supposed it was about. Perhaps that's what's the charm, perhaps I have a limited understanding, I don't know. Perhaps I should pick this back up in a few years and see if it clicks for me then, but for the moment, I can't hold a very high opinion of this novella and can only thank Conrad for making it 100 pages.

[shadowofthewind · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The main argument of this story, is that without society's pressure to determine good and evil and an appropriate way to behave, there is the potential to act in a truly evil way. This story is a good analogy to unchecked power as well. The story itself doesn't carry the weight since I watched Apocalypse Now before reading this story. The elements are there and the unchecked aggression and evil are great, but there is a difference between controlling an area for profit, to obtain ivory, and a soldier using natives to butcher an enemy. My perception is a bit tainted because of the order. However, even without the extreme elements, it is a demonstration of how those who have power unchecked can lead to horrible behavior. Favorite Passages:"You should have heard him say, 'My ivory.' Oh yes, I heard him. 'My Intended, my ivory, my station, my river, my--' everything belonged to him. It made me hold my breath in expectation of hearing the wilderness burst into a prodigious peal of laughter that would shake the fixed stars in their places. Everything belonged to him--but that was a trifle. The thing was to know what he belonged to, how many powers of darkness claimed him for their own. That was the reflection that made you creepy all over. It was impossible--it was not good for one either--trying to imagine. He had taken a high seat amongst the devils of the land--I mean literally. You can't understand. How could you?--with solid pavement under your feet, surrounded by kind neighbors ready to cheer you or to fall on you, stepping delicately between the butcher and the policeman, in the holy terror of scandal and gallows and lunatic asylums--how can you imagine what particular region of the first ages a man's untrammeled feet may take him into by the way of solitude--utter solitude without a policeman--by the way of silence, utter silence, where no warning voice of a kind neighbor can be heard whispering of public opinion? These little things make all the great difference. When they are gone you must fall back upon your own innate strength, upon your own capacity for faithfulness. p. 123They only showed that Mr. Kurtz lacked restraint in the gratification of his various lusts, that there was something wanting in him--some small matter which, when the pressing need arose, could not be found under his magnificent eloquence. Whether he knew of this deficiency himself I can't say. I think the knowledge came to him at last--only at the very last. But the wilderness had found him out early, and had taken on him a terrible vengeance for the fantastic invasion. I think it had whispered to him things about himself which he did not know, things of which he had no conception till he took counsel with this great solitude--and the whisper had proved irresistibly fascinating. It echoed loudly within him because he was hollow at the core. p. 200And for a moment it seemed to me as if I was also buried in a vast grave full of unspeakable secrets. I felt an intolerable weight oppressing my breast, the smell of the damp earth, the unseen presence of victorious corruption, the darkness of an impenetrable night...p. 170"Anything approaching the change that came over his features I have never seen before, and hope never to see again. Oh, I wasn't touched. I was fascinated. It was as though a veil had been rent. I saw on that ivory face the expression of somber pride, of ruthless power, of craven terror--of an intense and hopeless despair. Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation, and surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision,--he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath--"'The horror! The horror!'p. 223

[mariamsultana · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Beautifully written, but I've read too much about international development to actually feel for the narrator. It's too much of a pity party for him.

[worldincolour · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Quite difficult to read, had it's charms but in the end not really a book I'd like to read again some day.

[amydross · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Despite being a mere 100 pages long, parts of this book were as frustrating to slog through as the African jungle. Nevertheless, I'm glad I made it to through the wilderness to the palpable "horror" at the end. A book so deliciously overwrought with symbolism, I almost wish I had to write a paper on it.

[greatrakes · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A re-read, after many years. I'd forgotten how complex this book is. Ostensibly, its subject is Kurtz, a mysterious ivory trader, living far up the Congo river, a man who has allowed himself to become a god. Then again, it is the story of Marlow's trip up river to find Kurtz, and his conversations with Kurtz a man who has gone beyond madness. However, although Marlow seems to tell the story, there is a narrator who is actually relaying the story that Marlow told to a group of friends. And then there is Conrad, who made trips of his own up the Congo and whose letters and diaries reveal some similar episodes to those described in his novel. These layers give the book an ambiguity - we don't know whose truth is really being told. One of my favourite novels, still.

[soonercatholic · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Setting: The main part of the story is set in the heart of Africa where the narrator leans about man's inhumanity to man.Plot: Marlow recounts his journey on the Congo where he meets the infamous Kurtz.Characters: Marlow (protagonist)- commands steamboat; Kurtz (antagonist)- manager at Inner Station; Canibals- worked the shipSymbols: Africa as a place of darkness, Kurtz's depravity, restraint of the nativesCharacteristics: Moral reflectionResponse: I was at first bored by the prose but towards the end I became morbidly fascinated with Kurtz.

[amymacevilly · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I had forgotten what a brilliant stylist and craftsman Conrad is. I read this for the Great Books discussion group. It's a challenging book because of the limited -- and perhaps unreliable? -- narrator and the ambiguities and ambivalences: the narrator sees the process and effects of colonialism on both the colonized and the colonizers, and while he dislikes much of it, the framing narrative still has him in business (of some sort). Our facilitator asked if we thought the book was racist: no, we didn't, but we did recognize that it was a product of its time and that is going to be reflected/result in some inherent attitudes. However, the narrator was pretty clearly sympathetic to the Africans. Our facilitator also asked just what is "the horror, horror"? Man's use and abuse of each other? Not surprisingly, light and dark imagery abounds, and needless to say, the darkness is not necessarily without.

[thudfactor · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This one tends to be taught in high school and I don't know why; it was only several years later that I managed to grok it enough to appreciate the work.

[meredy_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Six-word review: Not sure what I just read.Extended review:Most likely it was very good. But enigmatic, or so they say. Not that I'd know; maybe it's just me. I've read some fairly tough stuff in my reading career, but this one made me feel like a borderline idiot.I followed the narrative, or thought I did--a frame tale with one Marlow being the narrator of the adventure and all his remarks being written down by his unnamed listener. I couldn't make out the reason for the use of this device in this instance. What would have been lost--what would even have been different--if the putative narrator had penned a first-person account of his experiences going upriver into the African jungle to find Mr. Kurtz? Why deliver it all as if second-hand? I don't see it.As for the narrative itself, I am not accustomed to having any difficulty with nineteenth-century prose, American or British or even (translated) Russian, no matter how quirky, rambling, vocabulous, or convoluted. The half-crazed internal monologues of Poe's characters and Dostoevsky's haven't slowed me down. I can handle the archaic styles of George Eliot and Walter Scott and Nathaniel Hawthorne, not to mention poetry of earlier centuries. There's nothing in Conrad's diction or syntax that I can't understand. I've read plenty of literature that goes for mood and atmosphere and allegorical meaning without actually having anything resembling what we'd think of as a plot.And yet I'm holding my copy of Heart of Darkness, open to the two-thirds mark, where I'm rereading passages for the third or fourth time and asking: What is this really saying? What am I missing? What's going on?Is it a ghost story? Are we supposed to take references to Kurtz's disinterred remains and his skeletal appearance as meaning what they seem to mean? I could make some sense of that, but the commentaries I've looked up don't seem to bear me out. I must have read it wrong.Swallowing my pride, I've just been reduced to reading the entire SparkNotes summary and analysis, which are damned near as long as the book itself, and received very little enlightenment. Yes, that's definitely the novella I just read. Now I'm wondering what the story is about and what the SparkNotes are about, if they're not just about the evils of European colonization of so-called primitive societies and the looting of their treasures.One thing I'll testify that it isn't is a character study. To me it seems to conceal more than it reveals, pointing with gestures and symbols and geographical landmarks to the places where disclosures of information ought to be but aren't. Is that the point? Is that the horror at the core? Is that why Eliot chose a line from this story as the epigraph to his poem "The Hollow Men"?I concede defeat. I'll take my lumps for being too lowbrow for Conrad. But what I'd like to know is, what in the world was my high school English teacher thinking when he assigned it to a room full of sixteen- and seventeen-year-old American kids? I was reading Dostoevsky on my own then, for pleasure, but I didn't make anything of this. Fifty years later, I still don't.

[radaghast_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A novel about the destruction of a people and a land at the hands of colonial power. A novel about evil in its most human form. Heart of Darkness is not racist as some have ridiculously suggested. It is a novel that argues against the vile deeds wrought in Europe's colonies. It is a novel that argues the relative nature of morality. I don't necessarily agree with all of its conclusions, but it is brilliant.

[mccin68 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Marlow is sent into the african congo to retrieve an unresponsive agent, Kurtz where the lines of civilization, wild human nature and quest for power blur.

[tulikangaroo · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Deep, dark and moving. I don't understand the loathing of this book for a few reasons - first, we cannot hold books written 100+ years ago to today's relatively enlightened standards of race, etc. While it was unfair and needed to change, it did - and discounting what used to be a reality disparages the great strides that have been made. Second, to me, it is not black people that are portrayed as depraved in this novel - it's the white people who have dark, greedy souls. Fascinating book, glad I read it.

[benuathanasia · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I really enjoyed this book but don't think I fully appreciated it for what it is. I allowed myself to become immersed in a wonderful story without ever looking below the surface of the story, despite the fact that I could see something written there. I'll have to re-read this at a later date.