N a r r a t i v e1 0 9to call the novel after its protagonist, but changed her mind and
called it after his less disreputable daughter Mary instead.
With the advent of modernism, then, it is becoming increasingly
difficult to tell even the simplest of tales straight. Take the case of
Joseph Conrad, who as a former seaman is renowned for his ability
to spin a rattling good yarn. Heart of Darkness is among other
things a gripping detective story. Yet as the fable unfolds, it begins
to blur, dissolve and crumble at the edges. The story is told in a
vividly concretising style, but there is an aura of mistiness about it
which no degree of meticulous detail can dispel. Marlow, the
protagonist, does not seem to be getting anywhere. As he moves
upriver into the centre of Africa he is also journeying deeper inside
himself, into some timeless realm of myth and the unconscious. So
his journey is more inward than forward. At the same time, as he
sails away from civilisation towards so- called savagery, he is travel-
ling into the primeval past. To push forward into the heart of Africa
is to revert to the ‘primitive’ origins of humanity. So the narrative
moves forward and backward at the same time. Progress is purely
illusory. There is no hope in history. History, to adapt the words of
Joyce’s Stephen Dedalus, is a nightmare from which modernism is
trying to awaken. If Conrad’s narrative is in trouble, it is partly
because the nineteenth- century belief in progress – of a continuous
upward trek from barbarism to civilisation – has taken an almighty
battering.
It therefore comes as no surprise that Kurtz, the monstrously
depraved figure whom Marlow is in search of, first came to Africa
as ‘an emissary of pity, and science, and progress, and devil knows
what else’. (One might expect that last phrase to read ‘and the devil
knows what else’, but English was not Conrad’s native language,
and his prose sometimes reminds us of the fact.) Kurtz, a colonial