Analysis of “Heart of Darkness”

Duncan S. Jackson

English 1105

Mr. Ellis

October 22, 2012

Analysis of “Heart of Darkness”

            What makes a story truly great, ingratiates itself upon us, gaining favor, standing the test

of time to be extolled a masterpiece, a literary contribution to be cherished throughout the ages?

My initial thought, as I read this gothic-imagery-laden offering from the mind of Joseph Conrad,

was that the author’s faculties had all but deserted him as he surely labored for what must have

been weeks on end, endeavoring ever-so-lovingly over a very personal celebration in mediocrity;

should those who, in their ignorance and arrogance, allowed such a thing to come into being,

lauding with great supplications of good thanksgiving for all to hear, be charged with any less

crime? While I am the first to admit that every story will not connect with every reader, there has

to be at least a small amount of redemption found within the pages of what one may very well

deem an otherwise excursion into futility, and I found mine.

            It would be remiss of me, before going any further, to point out that I am a true believer

in the adage that every story has a story, thus the need for background, foreshadowing, and the

like as Mr. Conrad surreptitiously builds to his anticlimactic conclusion. That being said, it

seems the author takes the opposing view of minimalism, instrumental in the writings of Carver,

Hemingway, and Barthelme, to the N^th degree by sandbagging the reader—well, this reader in

particular, at any rate—with filler and fluff which, if removed, would have allowed for an even

easier flow of text and better assimilation and understanding of that which he wished to convey.

It would not come to me until the third chapter, after all the improper usage of grammar

and punctuation, when the true heart of “Heart” would be revealed, and I realized, as I read what

would prove to be the tiniest of glimpses into the real meat and potatoes of this tale, that I was

reading the rough-draft script for the Martin Scorsese-directed mega-blockbuster motion picture

Apocalypse Now. This was indeed to be the story’s redemptive measure for me, but it came too

little, too late. Chapter three begins, […] “His very existence was improbable, inexplicable, and

altogether bewildering. He was an insoluble problem. It was inconceivable how he had existed,

how he had succeeded in getting so far, how he had managed to remain—why he did not

instantly disappear. I went a little farther, […] then still a little farther—till I had gone so far that

I don’t know how I’ll ever get back” (92). This quote sums up perfectly my thoughts and feelings

on the story as a whole as well as my journey into this literary heart of darkness, and my inability

to escape once that journey had begun.

Although where the story takes place has never been specifically pointed out by Conrad,

the Narrator, nor Marlowe, one can easily surmise it is the continent of Africa due to references

made to it being “one of the dark places of the earth” (6), “trireme[s] in the Mediterranean” (7),

“those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves” (9), and “a black

Sahara” (85). Then, of course, are the references to “dark interlopers” (5), “black figures” (41),

and a very liberal use of the word “nigger” (13, 29, 42, 76); not a thing uncommon for writers of

Conrad’s day (pub. Year 1902), but one must wonder if these are the thoughts and feelings of the

author, the author through his characters, or the characters as separate entities. Important to note

is how Marlow does not even refer to his (black) helmsman as a “man” until the poor fellow has

died at the hands of the natives (86). To this point he is: a “fool nigger” (76); “a dog in a parody

of breeches and a feather hat” (81); “an instrument” (85); and a “second-rate helmsman” (86).

Furthermore, the Marlowe character takes his time in making a show of any reverence for his

fallen shipmate, and then only as an afterthought as the funeral and burial consists of the dead

carcass being thrown overboard; true, this saves him from being eaten by the hired cannibal

crew, but that is the only respect any person of color is shown throughout the entirety of the

story; Marlowe gives his shoes, which were bloodied sopping wet by the helmsman’s blood,

more consideration: “out of sheer nervousness had just flung overboard a new pair of shows.”

They were new, the intended afterthought being they could have been cleaned.

There is an almost mystic ambience Conrad conjures up whenever speaking of the people

and their way of life. They are “supernatural beings” (84), who are “sorcerer[s], witch-men,

fiend-like” (111), as the African religious practice of Obeah would suggest (Morrow, Ally,

Narcisse, Javier). Due to Marlowe’s unfamiliarity with these practices, he is left to surmise that

“the far-off drums […] weird, appealing, suggestive, and wild” (31), usher forth “midnight

dances with unspeakable rites” (84), “aggravated witch dance[s]” (85) performed by the “devils

of the land” (82). The natives, “black shadows of disease” (26), were not the only people of

whom this could be said. Marlowe felt that the heart of darkness, which was anything—man,

jungle, river to name a few—that had no amount of civility about it, and he was sure that the

heart of darkness corrupted absolutely, which is why he could refer to the master brick builder as

a “papier-mâché Mephistopheles” (42), or come to believe that because of Kurtz’s indomitable

spirit and ability to gather the tribes to proclaim him master and leader that something had

protected him “like a charm” (54). These “red devils” (113) nor Kurtz’s rescuers (white devils?)

held dominion over the man, Marlowe noticed, as there was “nothing above or below him” (112)

any longer; the man had transcended the convention of religion—heaven and hell—to become a

god in his own right.

Separate but equal is the way in which Conrad defines the land itself; it carries an air of

mysticism about it, but more as an as-yet undiscovered country. He speaks of Africa as “still

belong[ing] to the beginnings of time” (68), a “prehistoric earth” (59). In it, one finds “truth

stripped of its cloak of time” (60). It is here, perhaps, that the heart of darkness envelops most

completely, as the place is “primeval” (43) and one finds “no joy [even] in the brilliance of the

sunshine” (55), a true “night of first ages” (60) where every living thing contained within spews

its birth cry as both invitation, and warning.

Several references are made to the intrepid Europeans who—for that of adventure’s sake

or profit’s—have braved this vast, indiscriminate wilderness. We, through Conrad, the Narrator,

and Marlowe, view them as a transmogrification of colonists, “adventurers and sailors” (5),

conquerors” (9), and finally “faithless pilgrims” (37) who seem no longer capable of even

understanding the need to leave the place of their greatest sorrows; the heart of darkness, which

consumes as it is consumed, is one great thing and many great things simultaneously; it has

consumed them, making them one with itself.

The gothic imagery employed by Mr. Conrad is on a par with that of Poe and Hawthorne,

and perhaps a bit more cerebral besides. We are introduced to this early on with references to

“black hens” (12) and women “knitting black wool” (14) in an office located on a “street in deep

shadow” (14) that Marlowe would visit prior to setting off for “The Continent” (12), yet the

office itself, in contrast to this, sported a “large shining map, with all the colours of the rainbow”

(14) as if to nullify what truly awaited the seafaring adventurer upon arrival at his destination.

Marlowe speaks of the eyes of a dead native “shining darkly” (100), and speaks of a painting that

has caught his attention in which “the background was somber […] and the face (of the unknown

woman) sinister” (40).

I reread this story after setting myself to the task of writing this analysis, and while I hold

true to everything I have written, I must clarify a few things as I build toward my end. Though an

arduous task still, I did gain better understanding—and enjoyment—from this piece the second

time around. It definitely deserves the praise it has received, which merits its place as one of the

fine literary contributions of all time. No longer do I feel the opening of Chapter Three to be a

worthy assessment of my experience with this book; on the contrary. I invite you to page seven

to read the script, “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!”

Works Cited

Conrad, Joseph. Heart of Darkness. Bantam Classic Books. Doubleday and Co., Inc. 1981.

Morrow, Ally, Narcisse, and Javier. Obeah, Voodoo, and Wicca. Central University of New

York. Web.  2012. http://condor.admin.ccny.cuny.edu/~lm5786/index.html

Analysis of Steinbeck's "The Pearl"

Duncan S. Jackson

English 1105

Charles Ellis

Independent Study

Analysis of “The Pearl”

            John Steinbeck, through his novella “The Pearl,” takes his reader(s) on a multi-themed

journey that reminds us to be careful for that which we wish much the way W. W. Jacobs was

able to drive home the same point in his short story “The Monkey’s Paw.” Unlike Jacobs’ classic

fable, however, the total plausibility Steinbeck invokes serves to lend credence and believability

to the characters and the roles under which they serve.

            Set in 1930s La Paz, Mexico, it is immediately clear that the first theme this story

employs is that of class, of poverty versus wealth. The brush houses—homes constructed of

bushes, limbs, grass, leaves, and having thatched roofs—are a testament to the poverty-level

conditions in which the destitute pearl divers of the town live; this is contrasted by “the city of

stone and plaster” (13), as well as “the smell […] of good bacon from the doctor’s house” (15),

and even in the doctor’s relegating those he views as beneath him as nothing more than animals

as he says to the air about himself, “I am a doctor, not a veterinary” (18). It is not until Kino

finds the pearl that he is looked upon differently by those whose scorn he so easily fell under, be

it the priest, the doctor, the shopkeepers, the pearl buyers, or Kino’s very own neighbors.

            The second theme made manifest is the classic good versus evil, and this is seen most

profoundly with the pearl itself, which is immediately reminiscent of Tolkien’s “precious.” The

pearl in and of itself is a good thing, for it will provide for Kino, his wife Juana, and their son

Coyotito the opportunity to forge a better future. Kino understands the importance the “Pearl of

the World” (32) holds, and perhaps this is best exemplified by one of the first things he states he

will buy after selling the pearl, “—a rifle—but why not, since he was so rich” (37)? It would

definitely bespeak his new-found station in life, but it would also protect against the “colonial

animal” (32) with the “poison sacs of […] manufacture[d] venom” (35) that the town had not

necessarily become, but had always bided its time in revealing itself to be.

Though at times naïve, and others ignorant, these two factors affirmed Juana’s belief in

superstition, and after her begging Kino to “crush it between two stones” (77) had fallen on deaf

ears, she had attempted to return the pearl to the sea herself (79) due to the evil she felt resided in

it, for had Kino not already been accosted twice, his house burned to the ground, and his boat

destroyed? Prior to the discovery of the pearl it was she who prayed not for the healing of

Coyotito, who had been stung by a scorpion, but for a pearl with which to seek proper medical

attention for her son. Kino’s brother—and La Paz’s village elder—Juan Tomas stated, “There is

a devil in this pearl [and] you should have gotten rid of it” (89), yet Kino was “half insane and

half god” (83), and all that would slake his thirst for the justice of a proper price could be found

in “that monster of strangeness they called the capital” (73), for “he had already lost his old

world and must clamber on to a new one” (73) when he upset the status quo by refusing to deal

with the buyers, and in some way this was expedited when an unknown sent assassins to dispatch

of Kino and procure the pearl.

The story’s third theme, becoming more than one is told he or she should be—not

accepting one’s lot in life—begins when Kino “felt the evil coagulating about him [and] heard in

his ears the evil music” (69) as the pearl buyers attempted to swindle him, and it is these things

that set him upon the path of discovering the pearl’s terrible value. Juan Tomas explains that,

“You have defied not the pearl buyers, but the whole structure, the whole way of life, and I am

afraid for you” (74). The pearl buyers worked in collusion to keep the villagers subjugated, but

Kino’s resolute determination to travel to the capital city to fetch a fair price for the pearl drove

out any rational thought offered as to it being a thing of evil.

Call it happenstance, irony, or a twist of fate, but the ending Mr. Steinbeck chose for his

intrepid hero brings this paper full circle as once again a parallel is drawn between “The Pearl”

and “The Monkey’s Paw.” To protect his family from the assassins, one of whom brandishes the

same Winchester rifle Kino had earlier entertained thoughts of owning, he is forced to kill or be

killed. He easily dispatches the rifleman—not before a shot is fired—then terminates the other

two, and he finds the “cry of death” (119) comes not from the palpable silence left in the wake of

his own bloody massacre of the would-be assassins, but from his wife Juana, who laments the

loss of their son; it was the initial rifle shot that had killed Coyotito.

Kino and Juana return to La Paz village, “and they were not walking in single file” (119),

but side by side as opposed to the custom of the woman following in her husband’s wake. This

signifies the equality of loss suffered by both, and perhaps the equality of blame and guilt both

assume for Coyotito’s death. Equal also are the rifle, which hangs over Kino’s right shoulder,

and the lifeless body of Coyotito, hanging over Juana’s left. In claiming the prized weapon Kino

found he had given up that which was more precious to him than the money a thousand pearls

could hope to ever bring.

Upon first taking in the depth and beauty of the pearl, “It captured the light and refined it

and gave it back in silver incandescence. It was as large as a sea-gull’s egg” (30), but at the end

of his journey Kino looks at it one last time, “And the pearl was ugly; it was gray, like a

malignant growth.” Kino offers the pearl to Juana, to do with as she had wished the night before,

but she—perhaps fueled yet again by superstition—allows he who dragged this monstrosity from

the depths to return it from whence it came, and perhaps finally understanding the evil this freak

of nature holds—or more conceivably, exercising their own naivety, ignorance, and superstition

—none of the villagers seek to claim it as their own.

1110 words

The Reality of Things is Such...

I like the History Channel. I really enjoy learning more about what it may have been like during the Black Plague, the Revolutionary War, and the Civil Rights Movement--I say this in the present tense when the reality is that History Channel, along with TLC and Discovery Channel, are fast losing sight of their original objective and becoming networks of reality-based programming, and I am sorry History Channel, you can dress it up any way you choose by saying "History is made every day" before showing Pawn Stars, American Pickers, or Ice Road Truckers, but none of these things have to do with actual history; face it, these networks are becoming the MTV of the 2010s (when is the last time anyone actually saw a whole music video on MTV?). Speaking of MTV...The Real World? Really? Really? This is so far from real that any and all of the participants would get their asses kicked on a daily basis if they were in the real world. What makes things even worse is the fact that at any given time one can turn on his or her television and be inundated with reality-based show after reality-based show, and most of them are pretty horrendous. Every network seems to have its own Coonass mascot, and those that don't have asses of a different sort--the Jersy-ites--polluting the airwaves. Yesterday I saw advertisements for two new reality-based shows--Farm Kings, about corn farmers; and Hard Parts, about working in a car parts store. Working in a car parts store!--The ideas for these two are almost as stupid as...oh, I don't know. Doing a show about finding things with a metal detector, or parking cars, or being stupid, sixteen, and knocked up, or being a Kardashian (and it's either watch this crap or Sex and the City, which seems to be on every other channel). The thing is, the whole idea of reality-based programming has lost its luster, and we can surmise that it is easier to say, "Let's do a show about pig farmers" than to actually write a good tele-play. When all is said and done, this is but one more thing I will just have to bend over and accept, because it doesn't look like it's going to be changing any time soon.

The Old Double-Standard; or Denial Through Penis Envy

          It's funny how a thought just strikes a person like a bolt of lightning, bringing insight where only doubt and confusion once reigned. A good example of this is Franklin's adage, "A stitch in time saves nine." Up until about two years ago I lived my life wondering, "Nine WHAT?" Then one day it hit me: nine stitches. The comment was about preventative maintenance, how easy it is to keep something maintained instead of allowing it to fall into disrepair and then spending more time and money attempting to refurbish. Verbose as I admit to being, this does set up the true intent of this post.
          I am puzzled by lesbians. It is not that they choose to pursue same-gender relationships, nor is it that they prefer sex with a woman over a man. What puzzles me is that a lesbian will say that she does not need a penis, and yet every lesbian I have made the acquaintance of has admitted to employing the use of a dildo in her sexual practices, be it solo--masturbation--or with their partner, which, when all is said and done, is still masturbation.
          Another point to be made is penis size. Although there truly are women in this world who care not for the size of the boat but the motion of the ocean, most women do have a preconceived notion as to what constitutes normality. Can the same be said of a lesbian, when making reference to her own or another's clitoris? I believe that, initially, so little emphasis is put on clitoris size--you never hear of a woman wishing she had a few extra inches down there like men are wont to do--but that is not to say that the sentiment does not exist. In fact--again, staying with those lesbians with whom I have been acquainted--all have stated that they prefer a large clitoris; some have said an inch is nice, while others have said, "The larger, the better."
          My point to all this is that I do not understand how a lesbian can use a phallic symbol to achieve orgasm and dream of some monstrously large clitoris while denouncing a man's penis; when all is said and done, one is looking at approximately the same thing.

Freedom of Expression

It has been a while since I last posted anything, and as with all other contributions this entry is not meant to illicit bad feelings or cram my views down others' throat, but more to promote logic, understanding, and tolerance amongst those who read my words. If you should find offense then I suggest the fault lies not in what I have written, but the truths these words may invoke. That being said...
“Everyone is in favor of free speech. Hardly a day passes without its being extolled, but some people's idea of it is that they are free to say what they like, but if anyone else says anything back, that is an outrage.” This quote by Winston Churchill speaks a truth we all adhere to in one fashion or another, and it is safe to say that there are many who do not welcome responses to the comments they make simply because they do not like to be told their way of thinking is flawed, or at the very least not indicative of the all-inclusivity we should consider when taking a stand for one thing or against another. Then again, we are dealing with opinions so I suppose logic and rationale are subject to take a back seat to passion (although this in and of itself is not good policy). Another (viewed) problem is not so much the response made, but the person from whom the response originates. Let us say a person who promotes gay marriage speaks out against the wholesale slaughter of animals so we humans can enjoy wearing their fur. The fur industry may not agree with gay marriage, so they rebuke the person even though this person's ideologies bring awareness to the plight. Should this occur?
Churchill also said, "Your freedom of expression ends where my nose begins." We definitely do not have to be careful of what we say, but we have to keep in mind that there is a time and place for everything, and if we do not adhere to certain precepts that govern society--in short, if our way of thinking is "I-I-I, Me-Me-Me, My-My-My" with no consideration given to the fallout this may cause--then we might as well paint a bullseye on our butts because karma will always be waiting in the wings to take a big bite out of us.
Did something happen recently to warrant me blogging about this? Am I, in my usual fashion, providing examples in the hope of bringing better understanding before hitting upon the real heart of the matter? The answer to both is a resounding yes.
Yesterday my daughter made a post saying she should not have to "like" and "share" someone else's post to prove she loved and believed in the Judeo-Christian God. I responded that I believed as she did, but my reason for NOT saying the same is that because I am an atheist people would take what I said the wrong way. Well, by simple virtue of the fact that I "publically" announced my atheism, she took offense to me agreeing with her. Barely two weeks ago I made a similar observation to a post my brother made. My brother had liked and shared a picture that asked all fathers who loved their sons to like and share the post. I commented that one does not have to like and share something such as that in order for it to remain true. He never made a comment to my comment, so I don't know if he agreed or if he took offense to me stating as much. Beyond that, I am inundated with shares and comments all my Facebook "friends" contribute asking me as well as their other "friends" to like and share if I know a cancer survivor, believe in equal rights, support Obama or Romney, like Dunkin' Doughnuts, believe the South will rise again...you get the idea. They all are sharing opinions, informing us of the philosophies that govern their lives. If I like any of these, I will express my like--or dislike--for it. If I choose to share, then I will do so. I should not have to be told to do something as simple as use common sense. The bottom line is this, though: Whenever something is posted on Facebook we all are given the choices of "like," "comment," and "share." We certainly do not have to do any of the three, but if we choose to do so, especially in the case of "comment," should the provider of the original quote or share not respect our opinions as much as they wish theirs to be respected? I will be the first to admit that I wonder why people sit in front of their computer and spend 45 minutes sharing 50 things i could care less about, but I respect the fact that they care enough to share these things. I do not have to like or share them simply because they come from a "friend," but if I choose to comment, then all I ask is that you respect me enough to allow the comment to stand, and that goes out not only to my daughter, but to the scores of people who have deleted my comments over the years simply because I did not agree with them, or worse yet, because they did not agree with me. One cannot expect to make a post and receive no differing opinion. If you do not want your post commented on, then do not post it in the first place; or is expressing your opinion--right or wrong as it may be--and seeing your words on the screen more important than that?

Not Censorship, Just Civility

I was channel-surfing the other night and came across a program on Comedy Central. I was curious as to what it was--and desperate for something good to watch--so I held off turning further until I could discern what it was I was watching. So there I was, looking at a man trying to convince his girlfriend/wife/whatever to not break up with him and just then 4 men came out of the closet. I immediately knew I was watching Workaholics as I recognized three of the four men. I never really had interest in the show, and after lqaying witness to what happened next, I'm sure I won't ever. The first man says to his woman, "What, is this what you want from me? You want me to blow these guys? Cuz I'll do it." He then turned to face the guys, got on his knees and said, "Come on, all of you. Pull your dicks out and put them in my mouth." I wouldn't be so upset over this if it wasn't for the fact that Cameron was sitting right there, witnessing this whole thing. The fact that we both saw it was, when all is said and done, an accident and nothing more as we were not familiar with the show because we do not watch the show, thus the arguement that "All you have to do is turn the channel if you don't want to watch it" was lost on us. I am against censorship, but I think television has a responsibility to its viewers. Leave it to Beaver, Dobie Gillis, The Brady Bunch, Family Ties...These shows did not have toi be crude to be enjoyable. Jackass is another prime example. When it first aired, it was just stupidity at its finest, but with every new movie that comes out it is less on what is funny and more on what is sick. I mean, the onje where Preston goes into the Porta-Potty and Wee-Man comes out was funny, but a Poo Volcano most certainly is not. This is nowhere the quality of a post as I would like, but I am still recuperating and my patience grows weary.

HRT ATK

I vividly recall the conversation; it was one of those things where one believes he is gaining great insight and understanding, but finds out that the outcome is as nothing he has imagined. Such was the case back in early 1999 when I was talking with a fellow employee on the topic of heart attacks. He had asked me if I  had ever had one, and when I answered no he said, "Believe me, it brings on a pain you will never forget." I did not know then that by the waning months of that same year that he and I would share a common frame of reference; I had had my heart attack, and more importantly I had experienced the most unique, hurtful pain in my jaws than any other pain I had ever experienced--broken bones and surgery included. Four stents and thirteen years later the memory of the heart attack has endured, yes, but the pain in my joints, especially my jaws, never left me, which is why--on April 17 2012, at approximately 10:00 p.m.--I knew I was having a heart attack. My wrists and elbows had been hurting since around 6:00 p.m., and my chest felt fiery, painful, and to some extent numb. I had my mother take me to the hospital where, after extensive testing, it had been determined that I been symptomatic of a heart attack, so I was kept overnight for observation. At around 6:00 a.m. Wednesday morning I had had another, and a heart cath determined that I had five blocked arteries. I was told I would be kept in the hospital until the 23rd, at which point I would undergo quintuple bypass surgery. I came out of the surgery okay for the most part--just sore from having my chest cut open. I took part in what little rehab was offered at Cardiac ICU, and I excelled. I was determined to get better and leave that hospital, which I did yearerday, April 29. So here I am now, at home and blogging about this experience. I have had a few people try to convert me to Christianity because of this, but as Dennis pointed out on my FB page "well my friend I wont waste any time prayin as I know you," and he is right. I have no newfound need for that in which I did not believe prior to this happening, no new insight into my spiritual needs, no ephipanies...nothing. The only thing I know is that I have to do away with butter, mayonnaise, and pork cracklins (all bad foods), I must exercise more, and I need to quit smoking. Being in the hospital for two weeks forced me to jump-start this, so continuing to adhere to it now that I am out will be the big thing. I am 46 years old; it looks like I would have understood this enough back in 1999 when I had my first heart attack, or 2008 when I had my second stent put in, or 2010 when I had my 3rd and 4th stents put in, but I suppose I held onto that belief that I would live forever. A quintuple bypass is the last option, and it does force me to realize that if I do not do this for myself, then I should do it for my children, all of whom acted like there was just a little too much going on in their lives these past two weeks to really give a damn if Daddy pulled through or not.