Mirkwood

No eloquence could have been so withering to one’s belief in mankind as his final burst of sincerety. He struggled with himself too. I saw it - I heard it. I saw the inconceivable mystery of a soul that knew no restraint, no faith, and no fear, yet struggling blindly with itself.- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness.

The Wikipedia page for The Heart of Darkness notes that the novella was criticized for being racist. Having read the book, I cannot say for sure why this should be so. This is made difficult because HoD is a story-within-a-story. Thus, when African natives laboring in the ivory trade are referred to by the derogatory term “niggers”, it is a term used not directly by Conrad but by Marlow, the narrator of the story. On most ocassions, Marlow’s reaction to the suffering of the natives is one of mild irritation and disdain. From this, one could make the case that Marlow was racist. This is still difficult to accept. It is much easier to accept that Marlow - and all the characters in the book - belong to the colonial period, which, apart from the trade-related expansions, was characterized by the white colonizer’s superiority over his coloured subjects. Thus Marlow is about as guilty as the rest of the colonizers.

Continue reading ‘The horrors of Mr. Kurtz’

As my interest in The Heart of Darkness grew over the past fortnight, reading time continued to dwindle. So much time was spent in programming that it left me with neither the leisure nor the energy to read. This disconnect reached comical proportions when, a week ago, I took to carrying the book to the gym. As the people around me read anything from tabloids to course notes while running on the treadmill, I took a chance with a large-print edition of The Heart of Darkness. This was a disaster; I read five pages in two outings, and had to repeat them again. Apparently, the treadmill does not jive well with Conrad.

Now, without my asking, an opportunity has presented itself. The flu, hovering ominously in my apartment for the past 4 days, has struck. As my roommate showed signs of recovery, I felt that the worst had passed, but now a cold and a fever have me feeling rather grumpy. All manner of precautions, separate utensils, disinfectant sprays, precautionary multivitamins, spending less time at home, have been in vain. So much for my false pride in being resistant to infection. I just hope that this does not reduce me to the pitiable condition which my apartment mate was in - incarcerated at home with an additional bacterial infection utterly unable to work.

Now, I have some time to read. I didn’t want this, being deluged with work which is progressing too slowly for comfort. So it was that, temporarily pacified with Acetaminophen, I spent an hour Friday night reading under a comforter. It is a short novel, and at this pace, I might not only meet the dreaded Mr. Kurtz, but will probably also finish the book tomorrow.