Cuore di tenebra

Di Joseph Conrad

Il lungo racconto Cuore di Tenebra di Joseph Conrad, scritto nel 1902, è uno dei capolavori della letteratura mondiale del XX° secolo. La storia del marinaio Marlow, che risale il fiume verso l’interno dell’Africa nera alla ricerca del mitico e misterioso Kurtz, ex comandante della Compagnia dove lavora dedita al commercio dell’avorio. Risalendo il fiume il protagonista verrà a contatto con la barbarie e l’orrore del colonialismo, nelle sue forme più degeneri, compiuto dagli occidentali e dalla loro pretesa di dominio in nome di una civiltà ‘superiore’. La figura emblematica di Kurtz è la dimostrazione del fatto che l'uomo occidentale moderno si muta in un mostro quando nessuna regola o convenzione esterna impedisce che la sua libertà si spinga oltre ogni limite, coronando il grande sogno (inconfessato, ma coltivato appunto dalla cultura occidentale dall'illuminismo in poi) di sostituirsi a Dio.

• Lingua: Italiano
• Editore: REA Multimedia
• Data di uscita: 18 ago 2012
• ISBN: 9788874171606

Joseph Conrad

Polish-born Joseph Conrad is regarded as a highly influential author, and his works are seen as a precursor to modernist literature. His often tragic insight into the human condition in novels such as Heart of Darkness and The Secret Agent is unrivalled by his contemporaries.

Anteprima del libro

Informazioni

In copertina: William Turner, Barche recanti ancore e cavi a navi da guerra olandesi nel 1695

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Questo e-book è un’edizione rivista, rielaborata e corretta, basata su una traduzione del 1934 di Mario Benzi. La casa editrice rimane comunque a disposizione di chiunque avesse a vantare ragioni in proposito.

Cuore di tenebra

La Nellie, una nave in legno d’alto mare, girò sull’ancora senza un movimento di vela e si fermò. La marea saliva e il vento era quasi fermo; cosicché, dovendo scendere il fiume, non le restava altro da fare che attendere il riflusso.

La foce del Tamigi si apriva dinanzi a noi come l’inizio d’una sterminata via d’acqua. In fondo, il cielo e il mare s’univano senza una crepa e nello spazio luminoso, le conciate vele delle barche da pesca sembravano immobilizzate in rosse scogliere di tela, scomposte in punte aguzze. Una nebbiolina assolata s’indugiava sulla bassa spiaggia, che si stemperava nel mare in un uguale piattume. L’aria era tetra sopra Gravesend e più giù s’addensava in una caligine, incombente e immobile sulla più estesa e popolata città del mondo.

Il direttore delle Compagnie era capitano e nostro ospite. Noi quattro guardavamo con affetto le sue spalle, mentre lui guardava il mare da prua. Su tutto il fiume non c’era né cosa né uomo che avesse un’aria simile da uomo di mare. Sembrava un pilota, cioè una pers­ona meritevole della massima fiducia. Sembrava impossibile che la sua attività non si svolgesse fuori del lu­ minoso estuario, bensì laggiù, sotto la tetra caligine.

Tra noi c’erano, come ho già detto in una precedente circostanza, i vincoli del mare, i quali, oltre a tenere i nostri cuori uniti durante le lunghe separa­zioni, rendevano ciascuno tollerante verso le filastroc­che — e anche le convinzioni — degli altri. L’Av­vocato, il più simpatico vecchio che si possa imma­ginare, si godeva, in considerazione dei suoi molti anni e di altrettante virtù, l’unico cuscino esi­stente a bordo, e giaceva sull’unico tappeto. Il Con­tabile aveva già portato sopra coperta una scatola di domino ed ora si divertiva ad accatastare architetto­nicamente gli ossicini. Marlow sedeva a gambe incro­ciate a poppa, con le spalle appoggiate all’albero di mezzana. Aveva le gote magre e gialle, la schiena diritta, un’aria d’asceta e, con le pendule mani dalle palme in fuori, sembrava un idolo. Il Direttore, soddisfatto dell'ancoraggio, tornò a poppa e sedette tra noi. Scambiammo alcune parole stancamente. Seguì un lungo silenzio. Per una ragione o per l’altra, non gio­cammo a domino. Restammo pensierosi e buoni a null’altro se non a guardarci a vicenda. Il giorno terminava sereno in una calma luminosità, squisita. L’acqua riluceva placidamente; il cielo, senza una macchia, era una benigna immensità di luce incontaminata e le brume stese sopra le paludi dell’Essex erano come veli radianti sospesi alle alture boscose dell’interno e ravvolgenti le basse spiagge in pieghe diàfane. Solo la tetra caligine ammucchiata a valle del fiume diventava sempre più cupa di minuto in minuto, come corrucciata dal battere del sole.

Infine, nel suo curvo e impercettibile declinare, il sole scese sull’orizzonte e da splendente divenne opacamente rosso, senza più né raggi né calore, come mortalmente colpito dal contatto di quella caligine incombente su una moltitudine d’uomini.

Di conseguenza, anche le acque cambiarono e la se­renità di prima divenne meno brillante, ma più pro­fonda. Il vecchio fiume, dopo i molti secoli di ottimi servizi resi agli abitanti delle due rive, riposava nel­l'ampio letto, lungo disteso nella dignità d’una via d’acqua conducente in capo al mondo. Guardammo quel venerabile fiume, non al bagliore d'un breve gior­no che scompare per sempre, ma nell'augusta luce delle memorie eterne. Per uno che ha, come di­ciamo noi, « seguito il mare » con riverenza ed af­fetto, è facilissimo evocare il grande spirito del passato nei pressi della foce del Tamigi. Le correnti dei flussi e dei riflussi vi corrono su e giù in un servizio incessante, affollate dal ricordo degli uomini che hanno portato a riposare in patria o a combattere in alto mare. Hanno conosciuto e servito tutti gli uomini di cui la Nazione è fiera, da sir Francis Drake a sir John Franklin, tutti cavalieri, sia titolati che non — grandi cavalieri erranti del mare. Hanno portato tutte le navi dai nomi ri­denti come gemme nella notte del tempo, dal Golden Hind, rimpatriato coi tondi fianchi rigonfi di tesori per essere visitato da S. M. la Regina e quindi uscire dal novero dei giganti, all’ Erebus e al Terror, partiti alla volta di mille conquiste, per poi non tornare mai più. Hanno conosciuto le navi e gli uomini, tutti quelli partiti da Deptford, da Greenwich, da Erith, gli avventurieri e i coloni, le navi del re e le navi dei sudditi, ammiragli, capitani, oscuri trafficanti dei mari d’Oriente, e generali commissionari delle flotte dell’india Orientale. Uomini a caccia dell’oro o in cerca di gloria, tutti erano usciti da quel fiume, chi con la spada, chi con la torcia mano, messaggeri della potenza dell'interno, e ciascuno recava in sé una scintilla del fuoco sacro. Quanta grandezza è uscita da quel fiume per avventurarsi nel mistero d'una Terra sconosciuta!... Sogni d’uomini, semi di grande benessere, germi d'imperi.

Il sole tramontò, le ombre s’addensarono sul fiume e rare luci si accesero lungo le rive. Il faro Chapman, una costruzione a tre gambe alzato su di una secca, bril­lò forte. Luci di navi si mossero in un gran brulichio che andava su e giù. E più giù, a ponente, a monte del fiume, la mostruosa città era sempre se­gnata sul cielo: tetra caligine alla luce del sole e fosco vivore sotto le stelle.

- E anche questa — disse bruscamente Marlow - è stata un tempo una buia parte del mondo.

Era l’unico di noi che ancora « seguisse il mare ». Il peggio che si poteva dire di lui era ch’egli non rap­presentava la sua categoria. Era un marinaio, sì, ma anche un vagabondo, mentre la maggioranza dei marinai conducono, per modo di dire, una vita se­dentaria. La mentalità del marinaio è dell’ordine di quelli che stanno a casa, infatti stanno sempre nella loro casa: la nave; e sempre nello stesso paese: il mare. Le navi sono quasi tutte uguali e il mare è sempre lo stesso. Nell’immutabilità di tale ambiente, i paesi nuovi, le facce nuove, la grande varietà della vita passa loro davanti nascosta, non da un senso di mistero, ma da un’ignoranza lievemente sprez­zante, non essendovi nulla di misterioso per il ma­rinaio, se non lo stesso mare, padrone della sua esi­stenza e imperscrutabile quanto il Destino. Quanto al resto, un giretto a riva, dopo le ore di lavoro, con o senza sbornia, basta a fargli scoprire il segreto d’un in­tero continente, il quale, generalmente, lo lascia in­differente. E le sue storie sono, in generale, molto semplici, con significati comprensibili come il contenuto d’una noce schiacciata. Ma Marlow, a parte la sua propensione a risolvere problemi, non era un marinaio tipico e per lui il significato d’un episodio non era dentro, ma fuori, tutt’intorno, indeterminato e luminoso come una scia lunare.

La sua osservazione non sorprese nessuno. Era una delle sue solite affermazioni. Fu quindi accettata in silenzio. Nes­suno si prese nemmeno la pena di emettere un bron­tolio di assenso. E poco dopo egli disse lentamente:

- Stavo pensando ai tempi antichi, quando i Ro­mani vennero qui per la prima volta, diciannove se­coli fa... l’altro giorno. Da allora in poi, molta luce è passata da questo fiume... Cavalieri? Chiamateli pure in questo modo. Ma è come l’incendio d’una prateria, come il guizzo d’un lampo tra le nubi. Viviamo in un ba­gliore... anche se dura quanto la nostra vecchia Terra. Qui, ieri, c’erano le tenebre. Immaginate l’im­pressione del comandante d’una bella... come si chia­mavano?... triremi del Mediterraneo, improvvisamente costretto a far vela verso nord e a correre in fretta e furia oltre la Gallia, per prendere legionari, gente straordinariamente concreta, che costruiva centinaia di case in un mese o due, se dobbiamo credere a quello che leggiamo. Immaginatelo qui, in capo al mondo, su un mare plumbeo, sotto un cielo nebbioso, con una nave rigida, costretto a risalire questo fiume con vettovaglie, o ordini, o quello che volete. Secche, paludi, foreste, selvaggi, con pochissimo di che soddisfare lo stomaco d’un uomo civ ile e nient’altro da bere che acqua del Tamigi. Nien­te vini di Falerno da queste parti, niente passeggiate a terra. Qua e là un campo militare perduto nel paese selvaggio e deserto come un ago in un fienile... freddo, nebbia, tempeste, malanni, esilio e morte... la Morte in agguato nell’aria, nell’acqua, nella boscaglia. Dovevano morire come le mosche. Certo che sarà andato avanti lo stesso e benissimo e anche senza tanto pensarci su, se non dopo, forse, per vantarsi delle vicende trascorse. Quelli erano abbastanza uomini per combattere le tenebre. Forse, se aveva buoni amici a Roma, si sarà consolato te­nendo d’occhio una possibile promozione nella flotta di Ravenna, nel caso che resistesse a quel terribile clima. Oppure immaginate un giovane ed elegante cittadino in toga, uno di quelli un po’ troppo abbigliati, sapete?... sbarcare qui col seguito di qualche prefetto o raccoglitore d’imposte, o mercante, per rifarsi una fortuna. Approdare in una palude, marciare at­traverso foreste e sentire in qualche colonia dell’interno l’assoluta primitività chiusa intorno a lui, la misteriosa vita selvaggia che vibra nelle foreste, nelle giungle e nel cuore dell’uomo primitivo. Non c’è esperienza di tali misteri. Gli tocca vivere in mezzo all’incomprensibile, il quale è anche detesta­bile. E che ha poi anche un suo fascino, che non mancherà di agire su di lui. Il fascino dell’abo­minevole, sapete? Immaginate i crescenti rimpianti, la voglia sempre più intensa di fuggire, l’impotente di­sgusto, la resa, l’odio.

Lasciò correre una pausa. Poi, alzando una mano aperta con il palmo in fuori, in modo che, seduto a gambe incrociate, sembrava un Budda predicante in vesti eu­ropee e senza fior di loto, riprese a dire:

- Pensate che nessuno di noi verrebbe a sentirsi precisamente così. Quello che ci salva è l’efficienza, la nostra devozione all’efficienza. Quelli non erano co­lonizzatori. Credo che per loro, amministrare signi­ficasse spremere, e nient’altro. Erano conquistatori, e per quello basta la forza brutale... della quale poi, quando la si ha, c’è poco da vantarsi, non essendo che un particolare derivante dalla debolezza altrui. Prendevano tutto quello che c’era da prendere, uni­camente per soddisfare la propria avidità. Erano ra­pine violente, aggravate da assassinii su grande scala, con uomini che vi si dedicavano cecamente... per forza, date le tenebre che li circondavano. La conquista della terra, che quasi sempre significa strapparla a quelli che sono d’un colore diverso

Recensioni su Cuore di tenebra

[eilonwy_anne · Valutazione: 5 su 5 stelle]

This book is so very well written that many aspects of it seem to me to verge on perfection. It springs to mind a hundred times in discussing writing craft, in discussing what a story should do, how framing can work, or indeed, when contemplating John Gardner's theory that novellas at their best have a "glassy perfection". This book manages to be an experience as well as a literary work, and the effect of its final pages is profound, worthwhile, and haunting.

[miaculpa-1 · Valutazione: 4 su 5 stelle]

One of the finest novels of the twentieth century, "Heart of Darkness" is a moody masterpiece following a man's journey down the Congo in search of a Captain Kurtz. I saw the loose film adaptation "Apocalypse Now" before reading "Heart of Darkness" and feared seeing "Apocalypse Now" would detrimentally affect my reading experience. I need not have worried as the two are different enough to ensure the Congo's Kurtz was still full of surprises.

[xiaomarlo · Valutazione: 5 su 5 stelle]

Strange and excellent. Conrad's use of the language is masterful. Full of incredible symbolism, and a very powerful anti-colonial screed.

[mhanover10 · Valutazione: 2 su 5 stelle]

This was pretty boring. The reader was fantastic but I just never could get into the story. Not my cup of tea.

[malexmave · Valutazione: 4 su 5 stelle]

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 - Heart of Darkness

This is a book that is difficult to rate. On the one hand, it is very hard to read. The perspective of the book is a person listening to another person telling the story, which means that almost all paragraphs are in quotes, which can and will get confusing if the narrator starts quoting people, and gets worse once he starts quoting people who are quoting people themselves. Add to that the slightly chaotic narration, the long sentences and paragraphs, and an almost complete lack of chapters (the book is structured into only 3 chapters), and then add some jumps in causality in the narration for good measure, and you have a recipe for headaches.

On the other hand, the book has a good story. It has no clear antagonist, all characters except for the narrator are in one way or another unlikeable idiots, brutal savages (and I am talking about the white people, not the natives). It is hard to like any of them, and, strangely, the character who is probably the worst of the lot was the one I liked best, just because he was honest about his actions and did not try to hide behind concepts like "bringing the civilization to these people". He was brutal, yes. He was (probably) racist, yes. But they all are. He seems to show an awareness of his actions, of the wrongness of it, in the end, while all the others remain focussed on their personal political and material gain.

I am not a big fan of books that are considered "classics". They usually do not interest me, and being forced to read them by your teachers will probably not improve your view of the books. I am not sure if I liked this book, and that in itself is an achievement on the part of this book: I am unable to give it a personal rating compared to my other books, because it is so different.

There are many people who have liked the book. There are many who have hated it. I cannot recommend it, because I know that many people will not like it. Some would say that these people "don't get it", but that would be wrong as well. You need a special interest in the topics of the book, or a special connection to the book itself, to properly enjoy it. But I also would not discourage anyone to read it either.

It is part of the public domain, so it is free. If you are interested, start reading it. You can still shout "this is bullsh*t" and drop it at any point.

[ecataldi-1 · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

I was expecting a little more out of this. Overall, I felt it was a little lackluster. I needed more meat to the story, it lacked...... something that I can't quite verbalize. Heart of Darkness describes one captain's journey up the Congo River into the "heart of Africa." It's dark, brooding, and ominous; nothing goes according to plan. The narrator upon arriving at his African destination; has a strange fascination with a man named Kurtz, an English brute with odd ways who is no longer in control of all his faculties. Marlow, the captain, is in awe at the darkness that lurks in the jungle and in men's hearts. Sigh. I'm not doing a very good job describing it because I couldn't really get into it.

[solitaryfossil · Valutazione: 2 su 5 stelle]

I finished Joseph Conrad’s novella, “Heart of Darkness” this morning. I’m really a bit Ho-hum about it, can’t really recommend it.

[firewild · Valutazione: 5 su 5 stelle]

This book has been recommended to me by a friend and was sitting on my to read list for years. When I saw that most of its reviews are either 5 star or 1 star I was intrigued. The book did not disappoint. Beautiful, evocative, mesmerizing, horrifying, revolting, it describes an abyss of a human soul. A story within a story, narrator's description sets the stage and his story takes you away into then disappearing and now non-existent primal world thus forcing you to see the events through his lenses.

[crom74 · Valutazione: 4 su 5 stelle]

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.

[lilyfathersjoy · Valutazione: 2 su 5 stelle]

Oh dear, I always feel so guilty when I don't care for a classic.I'm not sure how much difference there was between Joseph Conrad and his protagonist Marlow, but it is very difficult for my twenty-first century sensibility to get around the casual racism and misogynism which is further compounded by Marlow's unrelenting contempt for his fellow white men both in the Congo and in England. In fact, the only people he has any admiration for are Kurtz and Kurtz's "intended". We are told repeatedly about Kurtz's specialness, magnetism and great plans, but no details as to why this should be so, other than his talents as a musician, painter, and thinker. Furthermore, when Marlow meets Kurtz's fiancée, he waxes lyrically on her character and motives, all based only on a fleeting interview.There are some wonderful descriptive moments; I particularly liked the image of two station employees dragging their shadows behind them. Also, the ending, which I will not give away, has a certain poignancy. However, I have no plans to tackle this again.I should point out that this particular audio edition won awards, no doubt deserved. Otherwise, I might have loathed this book.

[dougcornelius_1 · Valutazione: 5 su 5 stelle]

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

[pilgrimjess · Valutazione: 4 su 5 stelle]

“Your strength is just an accident arising from the weakness of others.”I remember reading this book many years ago when I realised that one of my favourite all-time books, Thomas Kenneally's "The Playmaker", had taken it's inspiration from it and I remember it having a powerful affect on me. Re-reading years later it still has that same affect.Most readers will know the story centres around Marlow and his journey up the Congo River where he meets Kurtz, an agent for the Belgian Government in Africa. Marlow is beguiled with the image of the River Congo and dreams of travelling up it. To fulfil this ambition he takes a job as a riverboat captain with a Belgian concern organized to trade in the Congo. On his travels Marlow encounters widespread inefficiency and brutality. The native inhabitants of the region suffer terribly from overwork and ill treatment at the hands of their European overseers. The cruelty and squalor of imperial enterprise contrasts sharply with the majestic jungle that surrounds the white man’s settlements, making them appear to be tiny islands amidst a vast darkness.This novella explores the issues surrounding imperialism. On his journey Marlow encounters scenes of torture, cruelty, and slavery. The men who work for the Company describe what they do as “trade,” and their treatment of native Africans is part of a benevolent project of “civilization.” In contrast Kurtz admits that he takes ivory by force nor does not hide the fact that he rules through violence and intimidation. His perverse honesty leads to his downfall, as his success threatens to expose the evil practices behind European activity in Africa. Africans in this book are mostly objects: Marlow himself refers to his helmsman as a piece of machinery so is not totally blameless on this point. However, the brutal honesty shown by Kurtz as compared with the hypocrisy shown by the other Europeans leads Marlow and thus the reader to begin to sympathize with Kurtz and view the Company with suspicion. The insanity that Kurtz is obviously suffering from is explicit and easy to see whereas that of the European Governments, whilst no doubt there, is much more implicit. In this book therefore, madness is linked to absolute power. Up country Kurtz has no authority to whom he answers to other himself and this comes to over-whelm him whereas it is more of a collective madness shown by the other Europeans.As such this book then becomes an exploration of hypocrisy, ambiguity, and moral confusion in as much Marlow is forced to align himself with either the hypocritical and malicious colonial bureaucracy or the openly tyrannical Kurtz. To try and describe either alternative as the lesser of two evils seems to be absolute madness.This is not some rip-roaring read and at times it is hard going but it does challenge some very uncomfortable truths and as such deserves to be regarded rightly as a true classic.

[msaucier818 · Valutazione: 2 su 5 stelle]

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.

[dottiehaase · Valutazione: 1 su 5 stelle]

Read together with State of Wonder for book club. Heart of Darkness, set in the early 1900s, is narrated by Marlow, a sailor who journeys to Africa under the employment of the Company, a Belgian outfit conducting trade in the Congo. Marlow’s journey is a journey into “the horror” of imperialism. Natives of the Congo are brutalized by Company agents and forced into Company service; the resplendent natural resources of the country are raped for profit. In the heart of the Congo, Marlow meets Kurtz, a reputed Company Chief who represents humanity’s capacity for evil. They return to port and then onto Europe.Marlow listens to Kurtz talk while he pilots the ship, and Kurtz entrusts Marlow with a packet of personal documents, including an eloquent pamphlet on civilizing the savages which ends with a scrawled message that says, “Exterminate all the brutes!” The steamer breaks down, and they have to stop for repairs. Kurtz dies, uttering his last words—“The horror! The horror!”—in the presence of the confused Marlow. Marlow falls ill soon after and barely survives. Eventually he returns to Europe and goes to see Kurtz’s Intended (his fiancée). She is still in mourning, even though it has been over a year since Kurtz’s death, and she praises him as a paragon of virtue and achievement. She asks what his last words were, but Marlow cannot bring himself to shatter her illusions with the truth. Instead, he tells her that Kurtz’s last word was her name..

[lindsay7564 · Valutazione: 2 su 5 stelle]

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

[lit_chick_2 · Valutazione: 4 su 5 stelle]

2005, Blackstone Audiobooks, Read by Frederick DavidsonHeart of Darkness, set in the early 1900s, is narrated by Marlow, a sailor who journeys to Africa under the employment of the Company, a Belgian outfit conducting trade in the Congo. Marlow’s journey is a journey into “the horror” of imperialism. Natives of the Congo are brutalized by Company agents and forced into Company service; the resplendent natural resources of the country are raped for profit. In the heart of the Congo, Marlow meets Kurtz, a reputed Company Chief who represents humanity’s capacity for evil.I think Conrad’s accomplishment with Heart of Darkness is that he called imperialism so well. Whatever benefit proponents of imperialism might have professed, the fact of the matter is that one race invaded the country of another, brutalized and made criminals of its people, and pillaged all that could be had for profit. Conrad’s style of writing is perfect for his subject; it is stark and frank, its images dark and grotesque.“A slight clinking behind me made me turn my head. Six black men advanced in a file, toiling up the path. They walked erect, and slow, balancing small baskets full of earth on their heads – and the clink kept time with their footsteps. Black rags were wrapped around their loins, and the short ends behind waggled to and fro like tails. I could see every rib; the joints in their limbs were like knots in a rope. Each had an iron collar on his neck, and all were connected together with a chain whose bights swung between them, rhythmically clinking … but these men could by no stretch of imagination be called enemies. They were called criminals, and the outraged law, like the bursting shells, had come to them, an insoluble mystery from the sea. All their meagre breasts panted together, the violently dilated nostrils quivered, the eyes stared stonily uphill. They passed me within six inches, without a glance, with that complete, deathlike indifference of unhappy savages.” (1/4)

[crowyhead · Valutazione: 4 su 5 stelle]

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 · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

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.

[cinesnail88 · Valutazione: 4 su 5 stelle]

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 · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

Damn good catalyst.

[lisa.johnson.james · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

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

[aricana_1 · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

The day I met him, however, something was troubling him greatly. He began to speal as soon as he saw me. Even though I had arrived at the camp after walking 35 kilometres that day, he did not even invite me to sit down. The situation, he told me, is very serious. The up-river stations must be relieved. We cannot wait. We don´t even know who is alive and who is dead up there.

[leslie398 · Valutazione: 4 su 5 stelle]

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 · Valutazione: 5 su 5 stelle]

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.

[santhony_35 · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

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.

[antao-3 · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

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?

[greatrakes · Valutazione: 5 su 5 stelle]

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 · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

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.

[theoclarke · Valutazione: 4 su 5 stelle]

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 · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

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.