Nostromo (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

By Joseph Conrad and Brent Hayes Edwards

Nostromo, by Joseph Conrad, is part of the Barnes & Noble Classics series, which offers quality editions at affordable prices to the student and the general reader, including new scholarship, thoughtful design, and pages of carefully crafted extras. Here are some of the remarkable features of Barnes & Noble Classics:

• New introductions commissioned from todays top writers and scholars
• Biographies of the authors
• Chronologies of contemporary historical, biographical, and cultural events
• Footnotes and endnotes
• Selective discussions of imitations, parodies, poems, books, plays, paintings, operas, statuary, and films inspired by the work
• Comments by other famous authors
• Study questions to challenge the readers viewpoints and expectations
• Bibliographies for further reading
• Indices & Glossaries, when appropriate

All editions are beautifully designed and are printed to superior specifications; some include illustrations of historical interest. Barnes & Noble Classics pulls together a constellation of influences—biographical, historical, and literary—to enrich each readers understanding of these enduring works.

One of the greatest novels of the twentieth century, Joseph Conrad’s Nostromo is an immensely exciting tale of love, revolution, and politics set in the mythical South American country of Costaguana during the 1890s.

Ten years after his father is murdered by a brutal dictator, Englishman Charles Gould arrives in Costaguana to reopen the family silver mine. But instead of ushering in a shining era of prosperity and progress, the return of the silver engenders a new cycle of violence as Costaguana erupts in civil war, initiated by rival warlords determined to seize the mine and its riches. In desperation, Gould turns to the only man who can save the mine’s treasure—Nostromo, the incorruptible head of the local dockworkers, who protects the silver from rebel forces by taking it out to sea. But disaster strikes, burdening Nostromo with a terrible secret that forever alters the fate of everyone involved with the mine.

A stunning monument to futility, Nostromo reveals how honor, idealism, and loyalty are inadequate defenses against the inexorable assault of corruption and evil.

Brent Edwards is an Associate Professor in the English Department at Rutgers University.  He is author of The Practice of Diaspora (Harvard University Press, 2003) and co-editor of Uptown Conservation: The New Jazz Studies (Columbia University Press, 2004).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barnes & Noble Classics
• Release date: Jun 1, 2009
• ISBN: 9781411432802

Joseph Conrad

Joseph Conrad was born to Polish parents in the Ukraine on 3rd December 1857. He grew up surrounded by upheaval. His father was exiled to northern Russia for political activities and although they eventually returned to Poland, Conrad was orphaned by the age of 11. Subsequently he was taught by his uncle, a great influence and mentor. Leaving for Marseilles in 1874, Conrad began his training as a seaman. After an attempt at suicide, Conrad joined the British merchant navy and became a British subject in 1886. After his first novel, Almayer's Folly was published in 1895 he left the sea behind and settled down to a life of writing. Indeed, as his wife wrote in 1927, he would move only "from his table to his bed, for days and days on end". Troubled financially for many years, he faced uncomplimentary critics and an indifferent public. He finally became a popular success with Chance (1913). By the end of his life on 3rd August 1924 his status as one of the great writers of his time was assured.

Book preview

PART ONE

The Silver of the Mine

CHAPTER 1

IN THE TIME OF Spanish rule, and for many years afterwards, the town of Sulaco—the luxuriant beauty of the orange gardens bears witness to its antiquity—had never been commercially anything more important than a coasting port with a fairly large local trade in oxhides and indigo. The clumsy deep-sea galleons of the conquerors that, needing a brisk gale to move at all, would lie becalmed, where your modern ship built on clipper lines forges ahead by the mere flapping of her sails, had been barred out of Sulaco by the prevailing calms of its vast gulf. Some harbours of the earth are made difficult of access by the treachery of sunken rocks and the tempests of their shores. Sulaco had found an inviolable sanctuary from the temptations of a trading world in the solemn hush of the deep Golfo Placido as if within an enormous semi-circular and unroofed temple open to the ocean, with its walls of lofty mountains hung with the mourning draperies of cloud.

On one side of this broad curve in the straight seaboard of the Republic of Costaguana, the last spur of the coast range forms an insignificant cape whose name is Punta Mala.a From the middle of the gulf the point of the land itself is not visible at all; but the shoulder of a steep hill at the back can be made out faintly like a shadow on the sky.

On the other side, what seems to be an isolated patch of blue mist floats lightly on the glare of the horizon. This is the peninsula of Azuera, a wild chaos of sharp rocks and stony levels cut about by vertical ravines. It lies far out to sea like a rough head of stone stretched from a green-clad coast at the end of a slender neck of sand covered with thickets of thorny scrub. Utterly waterless, for the rainfall runs off at once on all sides into the sea, it has not soil enough—it is said—to grow a single blade of grass, as if it were blighted by a curse. The poor, associating by an obscure instinct of consolation the ideas of evil and wealth, will tell you that it is deadly because of its forbidden treasures. The common folk of the neighborhood, peons of the .estancias,b vaqueros cof the seaboard plains, tame Indians coming miles to market with a bundle of sugar-cane or a basket of maize worth about three-pence, are well aware that heaps of shining gold lie in the gloom of the deep precipices cleaving the stony levels of Azuera. Tradition has it that many adventurers of olden time had perished in the search. The story goes also that within men’s memory two wandering sailors—Amerinos, perhaps, but gringos d of some sort for certain—talked over a gambling, good-for-nothing mozo, eand the three stole a donkey to carry for them a bundle of dry sticks, a water-skin, and provisions enough to last a few days. Thus accompanied, and with revolvers at their belts, they had started to chop their way with machetes through the thorny scrub on the neck of the peninsula.

On the second evening an upright spiral of smoke (it could only have been from their camp-fire) was seen for the first time within memory of man standing up faintly upon the sky above a razor-backed ridge on the stony head. The crew of a coasting schooner, lying becalmed three miles off the shore, stared at it with amazement till dark. A Negro fisherman, living in a lonely hut in a little bay near by, had seen the start and was on the lookout for some sign. He called to his wife just as the sun was about to set. They had watched the strange portent with envy, incredulity, and awe.

The impious adventurers gave no other sign. The sailors, the Indian, and the stolen burro were never seen again. As to the mozo, a Sulaco man—his wife paid for some Masses, and the poor four-footed beast, being without sin, had been probably permitted to die; but the two gringos, spectral and alive, are believed to be dwelling to this day amongst the rocks, under the fatal spell of their success. Their souls cannot tear themselves away from their bodies mounting guard over the discovered treasure. They are now rich and hungry and thirsty—a strange theory of tenacious gringo ghosts suffering in their starved and parched flesh of defiant heretics, where a Christian would have renounced and been released.

These, then, are the legendary inhabitants of Azuera guarding its forbidden wealth; and the shadow on the sky on one side, with the round patch of blue haze blurring the bright skirt of the horizon on the other, mark the two outermost points of the bend which bears the name of Golfo Placido, because never a strong wind had been known to blow upon its waters.

On crossing the imaginary line drawn from Punta Mala to Azuera the ships from Europe bound to Sulaco lose at once the strong breezes of the ocean. They become the prey of capricious airs that play with them for thirty hours at a stretch sometimes. Before them the head of the calm gulf is filled on most days of the year by a great body of motionless and opaque clouds. On the rare clear mornings another shadow is cast upon the sweep of the gulf. The dawn breaks high behind the towering and serrated wall of the Cordillera,f a clear-cut vision of dark peaks rearing their steep slopes on a lofty pedestal of forest rising from the very edge of the shore. Amongst them the white head of Higuerota rises majestically upon the blue. Bare clusters of enormous rocks sprinkle with tiny black dots the smooth dome of snow.

Then, as the midday sun withdraws from the gulf the shadow of the mountains, the clouds begin to roll out of the lower valleys. They swathe in sombre tatters the naked crags of precipices above the wooded slopes, hide the peaks, smoke in stormy trails across the snows of Higuerota. The Cordillera is gone from you as if it had dissolved itself into great piles of grey and black vapours that travel out slowly to seaward and vanish into thin air all along the front before the blazing heat of the day. The wasting edge of the cloud-bank always strives for, but seldom wins, the middle of the gulf. The sun—as the sailors say—is eating it up. Unless perchance a sombre thunder-head breaks away from the main body to career all over the gulf till it escapes into the offing beyond Azuera, where it bursts suddenly into flame and crashes like a sinister pirate-ship of the air, hove-to above the horizon, engaging the sea.

At night the body of clouds advancing higher up the sky smothers the whole quiet gulf below with an impenetrable darkness, in which the sound of the falling showers can be heard beginning and ceasing abruptly—now here, now there. Indeed, these cloudy nights are proverbial with the seamen along the whole west coast of a great continent. Sky, land, and sea disappear together out of the world when the Placido—as the saying is—goes to sleep under its black poncho.g The few stars left below the seaward frown of the vault shine feebly as into the mouth of a black cavern. In its vastness your ship floats unseen under your feet, her sails flutter invisible above your head. The eye of God Himself—they add with grim profanity—could not find out what work a man’s hand is doing in there; and you would be free to call the devil to your aid with impunity if even his malice were not defeated by such a blind darkness.

The shores on the gulf are steep-to all round; three uninhabited islets basking in the sunshine just outside the cloud veil, and opposite the entrance to the harbour of Sulaco, bear the name of The Isabels.

There is the Great Isabel; the Little Isabel, which is round; and Hermosa, which is the smallest.

That last is no more than a foot high, and about seven paces across, a mere flat top of a grey rock which smokes like a hot cinder after a shower, and where no man would care to venture a naked sole before sunset. On the Little Isabel an old ragged palm with a thick bulging trunk rough with spines, a very witch amongst palm trees, rustles a dismal bunch of dead leaves above the coarse sand. The Great Isabel has a spring of fresh water issuing from the overgrown side of a ravine. Resembling an emerald green wedge of land a mile long, and laid flat upon the sea, it bears two forest trees standing close together, with a wide spread of shade at the foot of their smooth trunks. A ravine extending the whole length of the island is full of bushes; and presenting a deep tangled cleft on the high side spreads itself out on the other into a shallow depression abutting on a small strip of sandy shore.

From that low end of the Great Isabel the eye plunges through an opening two miles away, as abrupt as if chopped with an axe out of the regular sweep of the coast, right into the harbour of Sulaco. It is an oblong, lake-like piece of water. On one side the short wooded spurs and valleys of the Cordillera come down at right angles to the very strand; on the other the open view of the great Sulaco plain passes into the opal mystery of great distances overhung by dry haze. The town of Sulaco itself—tops of walls, a great cupola, gleams of white miradors in a vast grove of orange trees—lies between the mountains and the plain, at some little distance from its harbour and out of the direct line of sight from the sea.

CHAPTER 2

THE ONLY SIGN OF commercial activity within the harbour, visible from the beach of the Great Isabel, is the square blunt end of the wooden jetty which the Oceanic Steam Navigation Company (the O.S.N. of familiar speech) had thrown over the shallow part of the bay soon after they had resolved to make of Sulaco one of their ports of call for the Republic of Costaguana. The State possesses several harbours on its long seaboard, but except Cayta, an important place, all are either small and inconvenient inlets in an iron-bound coast—like Esmeralda, for instance, sixty miles to the south—or else mere open roadsteads exposed to the winds and fretted by the surf.

Perhaps the very atmospheric conditions which had kept away the merchant fleets of bygone ages induced the O.S.N. Company to violate the sanctuary of peace sheltering the calm existence of Sulaco. The variable airs sporting lightly with the vast semicircle of waters within the head of Azuera could not baffle the steam power of their excellent fleet. Year after year the black hulls of their ships had gone up and down the coast, in and out, past Azuera, past the Isabels, past Punta Mala—disregarding everything but the tyranny of time. Their names, the names of all mythology, became the household words of a coast that had never been ruled by the gods of Olympus. The Juno was known only for her comfortable cabins amidships, the Saturn for the geniality of her captain and the painted and gilt luxuriousness of her saloon, whereas the Ganymede was fitted out mainly for cattle transport, and to be avoided by coastwise passengers. The humblest Indian in the obscurest village on the coast was familiar with the Cerberus, a little black puffer without charm or living accommodation to speak of, whose mission was to creep inshore along the wooded beaches close to mighty ugly rocks, stopping obligingly before every cluster of huts to collect produce, down to three-pound parcels of india-rubber bound in a wrapper of dry grass.

And as they seldom failed to account for the smallest package, rarely lost a bullock, and had never drowned a single passenger, the name of the O.S.N. stood very high for trustworthiness. People declared that under the Company’s care their lives and property were safer on the water than in their own houses on shore.

The O.S.N.’s superintendent in Sulaco for the whole Costaguana section of the service was very proud of his Company’s standing. He resumed it in a saying which was very often on his lips, We never make mistakes. To the Company’s officers it took the form of a severe injunction, We must make no mistakes. I’ll have no mistakes here, no matter what Smith may do at his end.

Smith, on whom he had never set eyes in his life, was the other superintendent of the service, quartered some fifteen hundred miles away from Sulaco. Don’t talk to me of your Smith.

Then, calming down suddenly, he would dismiss the subject with studied negligence.

Smith knows no more of this continent than a baby.

Our excellent Señor Mitchell for the business and official world of Sulaco; Fussy Joe for the commanders of the Company’s ships, Captain Joseph Mitchell prided himself on his profound knowledge of men and things in the country—cosas de Costaguana. Amongst these last he accounted as most unfavourable to the orderly working of his Company the frequent changes of government brought about by revolutions of the military type.

The political atmosphere of the Republic was generally stormy in these days. The fugitive patriots of the defeated party had the knack of turning up again on the coast with half a steamer’s load of small arms and ammunition. Such resourcefulness Captain Mitchell considered as perfectly wonderful in view of their utter destitution at the time of the flight. He had observed that they never seemed to have enough change about them to pay for their passage ticket out of the country. And he could speak with knowledge; for on a memorable occasion he had been called upon to save the life of a dictator, together with the lives of a few Sulaco officials—the political chief, the director of the customs, and the head of police—belonging to an overturned government. Poor Señor Ribiera (such was the dictator’s name) had come pelting eighty miles over mountain tracks after the lost battle of Socorro, in the hope of out-distancing the fatal news—which, of course, he could not manage to do on a lame mule. The animal, moreover, expired under him at the end of the Alameda, where the military band plays sometimes in the evenings between the revolutions. Sir, Captain Mitchell would pursue with portentous gravity, the ill-timed end of that mule attracted attention to the unfortunate rider. His features were recognized by several deserters from the Dictatorial army amongst the rascally mob already engaged in smashing the windows of the Intendencia.h

Early on the morning of that day the local authorities of Sulaco had fled for refuge to the O.S.N. Company’s offices, a strong building near the shore end of the jetty, leaving the town to the mercies of a revolutionary rabble; and as the Dictator was execrated by the populace on account of the severe recruitment law his necessities had compelled him to enforce during the struggle, he stood a good chance of being torn to pieces. Providentially, Nostromo—invaluable fellow—with some Italian workmen, imported to work upon the National Central Railway, was at hand, and managed to snatch him away—for the time at least. Ultimately, Captain Mitchell succeeded in taking everybody off in his own gigi to one of the Company’s steamers—it was the Minerva—just then, as luck would have it, entering the harbour.

He had to lower these gentlemen at the end of a rope out of a hole in the wall at the back, while the mob which, pouring out of the town, had spread itself all along the shore, howled and foamed at the foot of the building in front. He had to hurry them then the whole length of the jetty; it had been a desperate dash, neck or nothing—and again it was Nostromo, a fellow in a thousand, who, at the head, this time, of the Company’s body of lightermen,j held the jetty against the rushes of the rabble, thus giving the fugitives time to reach the gig lying ready for them at the other end with the Company’s flag at the stern. Sticks, stones, shots flew; knives, too, were thrown. Captain Mitchell exhibited willingly the long cicatrice of a cut over his left ear and temple, made by a razor-blade fastened to a stick—a weapon, he explained, very much in favour with the worst kind of nigger out here.

Captain Mitchell was a thick, elderly man, wearing high, pointed collars and short side-whiskers, partial to white waistcoats, and really very communicative under his air of pompous reserve.

These gentlemen, he would say, staring with great solemnity, "had to run like rabbits, sir. I ran like a rabbit myself. Certain forms of death are—er—distasteful to a—a—er respectable man. They would have pounded me to death, too. A crazy mob, sir, does not discriminate. Under providence we owed our preservation to my Capataz de Cargadores,k as they called him in the town, a man who, when I discovered his value, sir, was just the bos’n of an Italian ship, a big Genoese ship, one of the few European ships that ever came to Sulaco with a general cargo before the building of the National Central. He left her on account of some very respectable friends he made here, his own countrymen, but also, I suppose, to better himself. Sir, I am a pretty good judge of character. I engaged him to be the foreman of our lightermen, and caretaker of our jetty. That’s all that he was. But without him Señor Ribiera would have been a dead man. This Nostromo, sir, a man absolutely above reproach, became the terror of all the thieves in the town. We were infested, infested, overrun, sir, here at that time by ladrones and matreros,l thieves and murderers from the whole province. On this occasion they had been flocking into Sulaco for a week past. They had scented the end, sir. Fifty per cent of that murdering mob were professional bandits from the Campo, sir, but there wasn’t one that hadn’t heard of Nostromo. As to the town leperos, msir, the sight of his black whiskers and white teeth was enough for them. They quailed before him, sir. That’s what the force of character will do for you."

It could very well be said that it was Nostromo alone who saved the lives of these gentlemen. Captain Mitchell, on his part, never left them till he had seen them collapse, panting, terrified, and exasperated, but safe, on the luxuriant velvet sofas in the first class saloon of the Minerva. To the very last he had been careful to address the ex-Dictator as Your Excellency.

Sir, I could do no other. The man was down—ghastly, livid, one mass of scratches.

The Minerva never let go her anchor that call. The superintendent ordered her out of the harbour at once. No cargo could be landed, of course, and the passengers for Sulaco naturally refused to go ashore. They could hear the firing and see plainly the fight going on at the edge of the water. The repulsed mob devoted its energies to an attack upon the Custom House, a dreary, unfinished-looking structure with many windows two hundred yards away from the O.S.N. Offices, and the only other building near the harbour. Captain Mitchell, after directing the commander of the Minerva to land these gentlemen in the first port of call outside Costaguana, went back in his gig to see what could be done for the protection of the Company’s property. That and the property of the railway were preserved by the European residents; that is, by Captain Mitchell himself and the staff of engineers building the road, aided by the Italian and Basque workmen who rallied faithfully round their English chiefs. The Company’s lightermen, too, natives of the Republic, behaved very well under their Capataz. An outcast lot of very mixed blood, mainly Negroes, everlastingly at feud with the other customers of low grog shops in the town, they embraced with delight this opportunity to settle their personal scores under such favourable auspices. There was not one of them that had not, at some time or other, looked with terror at Nostromo’s revolver poked very close at his face, or been otherwise daunted by Nostromo’s resolution. He was much of a man, their Capataz was, they said, too scornful in his temper ever to utter abuse, a tireless taskmaster, and the more to be feared because of his aloofness. And behold! there he was that day, at their head, condescending to make jocular remarks to this man or the

Reviews for Nostromo (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

[mkfs-354306 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The most interesting aspect of this novel - for myself, at least - is Conrad's reason for writing it, as outlined in his introduction. Having read the tale of a sailor who made off with a small boat and its cargo of silver, he thought to himself: "Can I write a tale of this episode, in which the sailor is not a craven thief, but rather a man of scruple and integrity?"

Yes, yes he can.

[pilgrimjess · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

"for life to be large and full, it must contain the care of the past and the future in every passing moment of the present. Our daily work must be done to the glory of the dead, and for the good of those who come after."Located just outside the coastal town of Sulaco, in the fictional South American country of Costaguana, the silver mine of San Tomé is a source of great wealth for its English owner, Charles Gould, the local economy and the Costaguanan government in the way of bribes. When yet another political revolution brings down the Government of President Ribiera, Gould’s initial inclination is to shore up the tottering regime. However, other voices in Sulaca have another suggestion- break up the nation and set up an independent state with the mine at its heart.As forces of the leader of the latest revolution converge on the town, Nostromo, the incorruptible and indispensable “Capataz de Cargadores” is asked to take a lighter loaded with the latest shipment of silver offshore so that the revolutionaries won’t get hold of it. An accident as he is leaving port means Nostromo has to hide the silver on an island in the bay whilst he returns to the town to take on yet another perilous mission.Set around the turn of the 19th/20th century, this novel looks at the destructive nature of economic colonisation by capitalist nations on those countries whose resources they exploit whilst taking no responsibility for the impacts of their actions. The major capital investment in the mine comes from America but neither Britain or Spain escape Conrad's scorn, Gould is English, and Spain, through its historical economic control of the continent. All the major characters in the book, and in Sulaca, are foreigners either by birth or heritage, while the indigenous natives are relegated to being poor helpless pawns and onlookers.Costaguana is apparently based on Colombia, but in terms of its political identity, it could be any one of a number of Southern or Central American, or even African states who were colonised and their people and natural resources exploited.Nostromo is an incomer, Italian, but for him wealth is not the major motivation instead he wants to be respected, for his character, integrity and courage. The leaders of Sulacan society trust him absolutely and turn to him whenever they have a problem but they never treat him as one of their own. This treatment eventually takes its toll on the very integrity for which he is so valued. However, the corrosive nature of greed is also a major element of this book.Gould is a third generation resident of Costaguana, but sent home to England to be educated and when it’s time to marry, naturally selects an English bride. None of this makes him feel he doesn't have the right to use his economic power to influence the politics of this country with little concern for the needs of its people. Nostromo, Gould and his wife, Emilia, are particularly well drawn but then so too are many of the secondary characters.In some respects this is one of the more straight forward Conrad novels that I've read, however, its fragmented time-line and a text that is sprinkled with Spanish terms meant that I really had to concentrate and back-track on a few occasions so as to keep a handle on what was happening. All of which meant IMHO it falls short in comparison with say Heart of Darkness or even The Secret Agent, a real shame because despite being written over 100 years ago I feel that Conrad's message is insightful and unfortunately still relevant today.

[ken5me5old5mate · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Is this a "Classic"? It sure is good even though it is so old and outdated as to be almost irrelevant in this day and age. Would make a good soap or Netflix series. I thought it had something to do with the Alien franchise because of the occurrence of Conrad stuff in that series of movies. Nostromo was the name of the ship in the first Alien movie and the name of this mythical country is the name of the ship in the second movie.

Alas, all that ends there. This is a period piece set a long time ago in South America(ish) As a story it is engaging and all there. but I couldn't really see what it was about at all or even why I was reading it after the first 50 pages. But there I was and read it all the way through.

I do find it hard to engage with stories set so far in the past that there is almost nothing to grip on.

[dinadansfriend · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A very good novel involving a South American revolution and more than one heroic act by the named character. It proves that a classic novel may be fast-paced, and moving. the prose is of a very high standard, and the characters well drawn. I've always thought this 1904 novel was Conrad's best work. By the way I read an earlier Penguin reprint, run off in 1963, with no editorial apparatus.

[naggedman · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I understand why some reviewers failed to finish the book; it's quite a contrast to most 20th century fiction. But worth persevering as one gets into the characters of both the place and the people, Conrad's style maing them real. I loved it - the three stars reflect its difficulties.

[eldang-1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

After a year of false starts, I finally admitted I just couldn't get into this book. It's strange because I've loved a lot of Conrad's work, and I certainly see the same beauty of writing here, but this one just wasn't grabbing me. I don't know if it's the slower pace than most of his (but his other relatively long books also start slowly), that he was writing further outside his experience than usual, or that I've changed and some of the troubling things about Conrad now bother me more than they used to.

[kcshankd · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Conrad's 'Big' novel. A tale of a treasure lost, gained, and ultimately the loss of all.

[hemlokgang · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I did not finish this book. I have thoroughly enjoyed Conrad's other novels, but after 100+ pages and no sign of a plot, I gave up.

[m.belljackson · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Conrad's vivid and evocative descriptions of the land, sea, and sky can be overwhelming, even when read in short sections from DailyLit.This is his third book in a row that I've read (Outcast of the Island and Lord Jim) while working up to deal with Heart of Darkness.It is the first one where a Conrad character leaped out to be loved and admired > GIORGIO!The plot of Nostromo's tangents is sustained through often confusing political turmoil, even though he is often missing from most of the action."Negro liberals" is still a mystery...As is how Nostromo's character so radically changed from incorruptible to not calling the priest for his dying friend,to his odd epiphany about loving Giselle, and, strangest of all, his desertion of Decoud.

[terribooks · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I read Nostromo for the book group at the library. I suppose it was good for me, but I didn't enjoy it. It seemed to take forever to get to the point, and then it wasn't clear to me what this book is really about. There are a multitude of characters, but no real central character to hold it together (despite the novel being named after one of them). Once I made my way past the first third of the book, it was at least readable. It would have been nice to have the multitude of Spanish terms translated.

[juva_3 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

The writing in this novel is beautiful, but for some reason, it just couldn't keep my attention. The prose is tight and expressive, but I couldn't keep the names of the characters straight and was always looking up crib-notes online to figure out what was going on. My mind would wander and when I came back to myself I couldn't remember who was talking and it would be a long time before I got even a hint. I want to like Conrad but his writing puts me to sleep.

[bayardus-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I thought it a strange choice for Conrad to name this book Nostromo, as I found that character to be particularly problematic. He plays a very minor role in the beginning half of this novel, though the title makes clear that his role will not stay so confined forever. In this early segment people describe him, but we never see him act in line with those descriptions. Later, when he becomes important, he acts entirely contrary to how he is described.

It is bizarre to have a character described as one in a thousand, a paragon of virtue, and always perfectly honest when the character almost immediately contradicts all of those descriptions. Conrad gets no characterization points for Nostromo.

Nor does he get any points for a satisfactory climax to his story: just as the tension of the story reaches its zenith Conrad skips ahead in time to when everything has been resolved. Another bizarre choice.

Nostromo is nothing special, if you want to read some Conrad outside of Heart of Darkness try The Secret Agent instead.

[missizicks · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is a wonderful novel, redolent with the atmosphere of 19th century South America, the coming of the railways, the exploitation of the land and minerals and the upheaval of revolution and dictatorship. The central character spends most of the novel in the background, a charismatic figure, more legend than flesh. The action centres on those who are reliant on his ability to get the workers to do what is necessary to make the colonials rich. Conrad as ever makes his characters believable. I felt very invested in the various stories. The only let down was the slightly OTT ending. The best bit was the plotting to become an independent state and Decoud's passion for that cause. I wish I'd had the time to sit and read it without interruption, though, because it did require a level of concentration I don't always have the luxury of affording a book!

[mahallett · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

boring, hard to follow because nothing happened and people's names changed. characters were like stock characters. i liked the last 10 pages because things happened. i can't remember what the silver was all about. so long for nothing.

[worthywoman-1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

For now, I am not desperately impressed with this book. I'm also not anywhere near done with it…

This is one of the "Library for the Blind And Physically Handicapped" books on tape. I've set my options as widely as possible on this, so I can receive books that I would not necessarily otherwise think of reading. I listen after I'm ready for bed, before I am asleep. Think of it as a grownup version of "bedtime story."

This book has the effect of a mild sedative, so far. It starts, and I'm asleep in something like 10 minutes.

Update: I give up. I'm only getting about 7 minutes out of 45. In other words, I'm falling asleep within 4 minutes!

Maybe some books can be enjoyed that way. This one… Not so much!

[stillatim · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This one's tough to review. I want to recommend it to everyone, but that's probably just a waste of a lot of time. I read this about ten years ago as a young college student, and just re-read it. Even while re-reading, the only things I remember are i) wondering to myself, if this book is called Nostromo, why is Nostromo absent for most of the book? ii) a short passage about bringing people into a paradise of snakes, and iii) Nostromo saying to himself "If I see smoke coming from over there, they are lost." I have no idea why I remembered iii), but there you go.

The trick is, this book is great, but only if you've already done a *lot* of reading, particularly of the late nineteenth and early century's best novelists. Proust helps a lot. So does James. Even the less difficult modernists, like Forster, are useful. But Nostromo is not like Ulysses. I didn't understand Ulysses, but Joyce's writing is nice and there are some jokes to keep you going. Conrad's style here is wonderful, but not the sort of wonderful that keeps you going on its own. You need to be able to follow the plot, and you have to learn how to follow it.

But if you're either well-read or dedicated enough, this must be one of the best 50 novels- maybe even 20- of the twentieth century. The characters are hard to get a handle on, but once you do, they're extraordinary. Conrad's way of presenting the story is formally amazing. I've also been reading Genette's 'Narrative Structures,' and the tools in that book help make sense of this one (although Nostromo also shows up the problems with Genette's concepts, since they function best in first person narratives and not so well with third person narratives). The narrative seems to be all over the place. You get the consequences of and event before you get the event; you get two line summaries of what seem to be (but aren't) the most important events... and so it goes.

So do yourself a favour. Read the first four chapters. If you don't get into them, just stop and try it again ten years later. But keep trying!

[jwhenderson_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

With Nostromo Conrad plumbs the depths of human frailty, offering an intimate study in psychology and human relations. Unlike other of his novels he uses a greater canvas to consider the wider political and economic world.The story is one of a silver mine in the Occidental Province of “the imaginary (but true)” Latin American country of Costaguana, and the crisis by which the province passes from the chaos of post-colonial misrule to the unquiet prosperity of Anglo-American imperial capitalism. With the country beset by instability and warfare, Senor Gould, the mine's owner, decides to remove the silver and keep it out of the hands of the warlords.To do so, Gould turns to Nostromo, the top stevedore and the most trusted man in Sulaco. Nostromo is resourceful, daring, loyal and—above all—incorruptible. His illustrious reputation is his most prized possession. Says one character, "the only thing he seems to care for...is to be well spoken of." Well, you can see the tragic flaw right there. Even the most incorruptible are, ultimately, corruptible.The book's psychological depth and narrative structure, with its distorted timeline, were innovative for the era. The huge array of characters and interactions have been compared to War and Peace. Irony abounds: the non-chronological plotline tips us off to consequences before we know what led up to them—and results in a sense of inexorable fate pulling characters to their ultimate destiny.This story combined with a love triangle between Nostromo and two sisters Linda and Giselle make for an entertaining and intriguing novel. Told in Conrad's inimitable prose style this is one of his greatest achievements.

[lucthegreat_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was a very good book, and I am only surprised that I did not consider it to be excellent. It felt fresh and immediate (though written a century ago), with an interesting story, engaging characters, and comments on society. I'm tempted to think that I needed to be in a different frame of mind to savour its full worth, but on the other hand one of the measures of a good book is the extent to which it draws the reader into its world. I damn this very good book with faint praise.

[gypsysmom_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

In high school we read Victory by Joseph Conrad. Any one I have mentioned this to since can't believe that it was considered a good idea to have Conrad read by high school students. Certainly it did nothing for me and, as a result, I refused to read anything else by Conrad. Until now when some online friends were reading Nostromo and I decided to join them.I am happy to report that as an adult I managed to make it through the book and even found parts of it to admire. The story can be summarized quite briefly. In a fictional South American country, a large silver mine run by an Englishman, Mr. Gould, flourishes and brings prosperity to the local economy. However, in the rest of the country political unrest is common. When Mr. Gould learns that the moderate president has been unseated and that the revolutionaries are going to come for the mine he decides to send all the silver bars off-shore for safekeeping. The person chosen to undertake this dangerous mission is Nostromo, an Italian sailor who has become indispensable to the town and seaport. In the dark the small boat carrying the silver is sideswiped by a boat of revolutionaries coming to take over the seaport. One man on board, a stowaway, manages to grab hold of the anchor rope and he is brought up onto the boat. He tells the master that the silver has sunk with the boat. In fact, Nostromo and another man have survived and manage to get the boat onto a nearby island. They hide the silver there and Nostromo returns to the town. There he is persuaded to undertake a hazardous ride and bring help which he does. By the time he returns the man left on the island has killed himself so no-one knows that the silver is safe. Nostromo decides to keep the silver for himself.In the style of the times, I suppose, there is a lot of description and slow movement of plot. Conrad is fond of long, multi-phrase sentences that are often difficult to follow. Although Nostromo is the title character, he doesn't appear in much of the narrative. I found this strange and awkward.However, having broken the curse of hating Conrad I may try Heart of Darkness which many people feel is his greatest work.

[bookomaniac-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Absoluut Conrad's meest geslaagde roman. Uiteraard moeilijke lectuur door voortdurende verschuiving in tijd, ruimte en verteller, maar toch zeer geslaagd procédé.Kern van het verhaal: hoe zilver zelfs de hardste rots vermurwd, nostromo: dat zijn we allemaal

[alen2379 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Alongside Ulysses, my favorite novel of the 20th century. There is something so evocative in the life of this sailor, his thoughts and misgivings, in the middle of the political turmoil of a fictional Latin American country. A novel that explores the moral corruption of the most outstanding individuals, and the weaknesses of humanity, both in individual men and the community.

[cbl_tn · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Since Joseph Conrad's novels were mentioned in the last two books I read, I decided it was time for me to read him. The title story in Howard Norman's My Famous Evening tells of Marlais Abernathy Quire, a Nova Scotia woman who in 1923 left her husband and young children and made her way alone to New York just for the chance to hear Joseph Conrad read from his works at a rare public appearance. Marlais became acquainted with Joseph Conrad's works through her sister, who had traveled to Europe and brought back two of his books as a gift for Marlais. Nostromo was one of those two books. I thought reading it might help me understand why Marlais would abandon her home and family just to hear Conrad speak.Nostromo wasn't an easy read for me. The sentence structure, while grammatically correct, was unusual, and I frequently had to back up and re-read sentences in order to interpret them correctly. I concluded it's probably because English wasn't Conrad's first language. As new characters are introduced into the novel, Conrad frequently weaves flashbacks into the text, but without the visual clues of font and/or spacing common in today's novels. Finally, this is a long novel. Conrad uses an omniscient narrator, who describes in detail the physical appearance, thoughts, and motivations of even the minor characters in the novel, as well as the back story of events. I much prefer novels that show rather than tell.I'm glad I persevered and finished this book. I doubt it's one I'll read again, and it will probably be a long time before I pick up another Conrad novel. I'm no closer to identifying with poor Marlais Quire than I was before I started the book.

[jackkane_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

'Nostromo' is good, but it is a difficult read. The thematic focus is uniformly dark and unpleasant. Every single character of the large cast is defeated. Conrad must have been depressed out of his mind when he wrote this work. The language is heavy but strong. On a technical level a very impressive novel.

[whiteberg · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Excellent book once you get into it. Liked the shifting perspectives and the thick irony. I don't understand why this has been labelled as a book on colonial exploitation - the capitalists in this book seems to be the only half-sensible human beings around, even though money only leads to more greed and more robber barons throwing themselves up as 'democrats'. Noone escapes Conrad's irony though and all characters are flawed and helpless in the end.

[aerodynamics_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The story of 'Nostromo' hinges on the enormous wealth of treasure contained in the mountains of the fictional South American country of Costaguana. I felt as though I carried that silver on my back from page one to page four-hundred and fourty-four. Judging from his correspondence of the time (Nostromo was published in 1904), Conrad felt much the same about the writing of it.The plot of this novel is tangled, its characters largely inscrutible. An early work of the Modernist peroid of literature, it's time line is fractured and scattered. Nearly every page contains words or lines in Italian, French, or Spanish. I read 'Nostromo' with a dictionary close at hand, in order to devine the meanings of such words as "stentorian" or "imprecation" or "execrable".Despite its anguished genesis and it's dense and difficult nature, Conrad's prose is lovely and he litters the page with profound comments on society and human nature. There is much to think about here.This is a novel rife with ambiguity. Conrad seems to be struggling to come up with answers, and arriving a none. Despite this, the struggle seems paradoxially worth the effort, as though the very act of raising these questions and battling these demons has value in itself, even if the battle is ultimately lost.I know that the characters, places, themes, and ideas of 'Nostromo' will be with me for a long time to come. Lacking a satisyfing conclusion or resolution, the reading of 'Nostromo' was nevertheless a worthwhile endeavor. It has been said of 'Nostromo' that it is one of those books you can't read without having read it before. We'll, now I've read it once.

[rosecityreader · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Although this one took me a long time to finish, I really enjoyed it. It may be my favorite of the four Conrad books on the Modern Library's list of Top 100 Novels of the 20th Century -- maybe tied with The Secret Agent, which I also liked.Nostromo starts off interestingly enough, setting the stage by describing the imaginary South American country of Sulaco. Then it hits a slow patch when it goes into the details of the political situation. That's where I slowed down. But the second half picks up again, with a real adventure tale of stolen silver and star-crossed lovers. Of course, the writing throughout is elegant Conrad.

[hudsy · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

A bit of a snooze so far. Read Lord Jim instead.