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Chance
"It is a mighty force that of mere chance, absolutely irresistible yet manifesting itself often in delicate forms such for instance as the charm, true or illusory, of a human being"
In Flora de Barral, the slender, dreamy, morbidly charming daughter of a parvenu financier, Conrad creates his most complex heroine and one of his most unrelenting, but not unhopeful, novels of emotional isolation. Neglected by her bankrupt father and rejected by her governess, drifting into abstraction and despair, Flora takes refuge at sea on Captain Anthony's ship, where tragedy and her transformation begin. When published in 1913, Chance was an immediate success. Arnold Bennett wrote that "this is a discouraging book for a writer because he damn well knows he can't write as well as this"; while an anonymous reviewer in Punch declared that "the whole thing is much nearer wizardry than workmanship."
For more than seventy years, Penguin has been the leading publisher of classic literature in the English-speaking world. With more than 1,700 titles, Penguin Classics represents a global bookshelf of the best works throughout history and across genres and disciplines. Readers trust the series to provide authoritative texts enhanced by introductions and notes by distinguished scholars and contemporary authors, as well as up-to-date translations by award-winning translators.
In Flora de Barral, the slender, dreamy, morbidly charming daughter of a parvenu financier, Conrad creates his most complex heroine and one of his most unrelenting, but not unhopeful, novels of emotional isolation. Neglected by her bankrupt father and rejected by her governess, drifting into abstraction and despair, Flora takes refuge at sea on Captain Anthony's ship, where tragedy and her transformation begin. When published in 1913, Chance was an immediate success. Arnold Bennett wrote that "this is a discouraging book for a writer because he damn well knows he can't write as well as this"; while an anonymous reviewer in Punch declared that "the whole thing is much nearer wizardry than workmanship."
For more than seventy years, Penguin has been the leading publisher of classic literature in the English-speaking world. With more than 1,700 titles, Penguin Classics represents a global bookshelf of the best works throughout history and across genres and disciplines. Readers trust the series to provide authoritative texts enhanced by introductions and notes by distinguished scholars and contemporary authors, as well as up-to-date translations by award-winning translators.
368 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1913
About the author
Joseph Conrad
3,039 books4,269 followersJoseph Conrad (born
Józef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski
) was a Polish-born English novelist who today is most famous for Heart of Darkness, his fictionalized account of Colonial Africa.
Conrad left his native Poland in his middle teens to avoid conscription into the Russian Army. He joined the French Merchant Marine and briefly employed himself as a wartime gunrunner. He then began to work aboard British ships, learning English from his shipmates. He was made a Master Mariner, and served more than sixteen years before an event inspired him to try his hand at writing.
He was hired to take a steamship into Africa, and according to Conrad, the experience of seeing firsthand the horrors of colonial rule left him a changed man.
Joseph Conrad settled in England in 1894, the year before he published his first novel. He was deeply interested in a small number of writers both in French and English whose work he studied carefully. This was useful when, because a need to come to terms with his experience, lead him to write Heart of Darkness, in 1899, which was followed by other fictionalized explorations of his life.
He has been lauded as one of the most powerful, insightful, and disturbing novelists in the English canon despite coming to English later in life, which allowed him to combine it with the sensibilities of French, Russian, and Polish literature.
Conrad left his native Poland in his middle teens to avoid conscription into the Russian Army. He joined the French Merchant Marine and briefly employed himself as a wartime gunrunner. He then began to work aboard British ships, learning English from his shipmates. He was made a Master Mariner, and served more than sixteen years before an event inspired him to try his hand at writing.
He was hired to take a steamship into Africa, and according to Conrad, the experience of seeing firsthand the horrors of colonial rule left him a changed man.
Joseph Conrad settled in England in 1894, the year before he published his first novel. He was deeply interested in a small number of writers both in French and English whose work he studied carefully. This was useful when, because a need to come to terms with his experience, lead him to write Heart of Darkness, in 1899, which was followed by other fictionalized explorations of his life.
He has been lauded as one of the most powerful, insightful, and disturbing novelists in the English canon despite coming to English later in life, which allowed him to combine it with the sensibilities of French, Russian, and Polish literature.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 95 reviews
February 2, 2013
Conrad's moral imagination is unparalleled, except by Henry James, of whose influence this book bears some signs. Also breathtaking in its technical handling of the mechanics of narrative. Anyone wishing to study or write a novel could do no better than to start here.
October 28, 2022
"Blandete in pasiune! Ce putea fi mai seducator pentru infometata si zdrobita inima a fetei?"
"O tanara fata, stii, e ca un templu. Treci pe langa el si te intrebi ce misterioase ritualuri se petrec acolo inauntru, ce rugaciuni, ce viziuni?"
Ca de fiecare data citesc cu placere, emotie si curiozitate romanele lui Conrad. Desi ma astept sa gasesc o lume a marii si a corabiilor descrisa cu splendoare si melancolie, imaginile create de el ma suprind de fiecare data fiind din ce in ce mai frumoase.
Eroul conradian, un romantic visator, singuratic, curajos si demn, gata sa iubeasca si sa moara pentru o femeie sau un ideal este atat de masculin si bland in acelasi timp.
In romanul de fata Conrad evita finalul tragic in care si-au gasit sfarsitul eroi atat de dragi noua ca Peyrol, Heyst sau celebrul Kurtz si avem parte de un deznodamant fericit. De asemenea, o alta bucurie o reprezinta faptul ca il regasim aici pe indragitul capitan Marlow din "Inima intunericului" si "Lord Jim".
"Chance" a aparut in 1914 si capitanul Marlow impreuna cu alti 2 marinari stau la discutii despre viata pe mare, despre ofiterii pe care i-au intalnit, corabiile pe care au navigat si intamplarile la care au participat. Unul dintre cei trei este marinarul Powell care le povesteste cum a ajuns el pe primul sau vas, Ferndale, pe cand era foarte tanar. Legat de acest vas Marlow isi aduce aminte ca stie o intamplare care il are in centru pe capitanul corabiei si astfel ii cunoastem pe sotii Fyne si pe incantatoarea domnisoara Flora de Barral. Aceasta are un trecut nefericit pentru ca tatal ei fusese acuzat de o excrocherie de genul Caritas numita "Economia".
Marlow, in timp ce povesteste, face o analiza profunda si amanuntita a caracterului protagonistilor, a situatiilor de viata pe care le infrunta, trecandu-le prin filtrul sau emotional si rational si raportandu-le la propria sa scara de valori si principii. Aceasta analiza atat de rece si aproape tehnica mi-a adus aminte de Henry James.
De asemenea il cunoastem mai bine aici pe Marlow decat in "Inima intunericului", portretul sau intregindu-se. El este eroul pe care Conrad a ales sa-l crute si cred ca l-a indragit ca personaj. Desigur, putem observa evolutia sa, fiind marcat probabil de intamplarea din Africa unde il pierduse pe Kurtz. Acum il gasim cinic, realist si fara idealuri.
Pentru ca am amintit despre tehnica narativa a autorului in recenzia mea la "Victory" si aici este foarte interesant de observat ca avem parte de trei naratori: Powell, Marlow si inca cineva la persoana intai despre care presupunem ca ar fi un tovaras marinar.
Mi-ar placea sa inchei aceasta recenzie cu o referire la Powell cum ca ar fi un prieten al tinerilor si la replica ce succede aceasta afirmatie: "Atunci dati-mi un Powell in fiecare zi." In acelasi fel as zice si eu: "Atunci dati-mi sa citesc un Conrad in fiecare zi."
Anexez si cateva citate pline de intelepciune si aforisme pe care Marlow le presara cu generozitate de-a lungul cartii:
"In general e foarte greu pentru cineva sa devina remarcabil. Lumea, stiti, nu-si prea opreste atentia asupra cuiva."
"Caracteristica noastra este mediocritatea. Si poate ca e drept sa fie asa deoarece de cele mai multe ori nu putem fi siguri de efectul actiunilor noastre."
"Bunele intentii stau adesea in propria lor cale. Pe cand atunci cand vrei sa faci rau cuiva, n-ai nevoie sa eziti."
"Inteligenta cerea in primul rand prudenta. Cred ca prudenta e prima datorie a inteligentei."
"... in prezenta unei tinere fete sunt intotdeauna convins ca visurile sentimentale sunt invincibile; ca niciodata, niciodata nu e ratiunea aceea care guverneaza pe barbati si pe femei."
"Tine minte, domnisoara de Barral, ca sa fii onesta, trebuie sa te increzi intr-un om cu totul - sau deloc."
"O tanara fata, stii, e ca un templu. Treci pe langa el si te intrebi ce misterioase ritualuri se petrec acolo inauntru, ce rugaciuni, ce viziuni?"
Ca de fiecare data citesc cu placere, emotie si curiozitate romanele lui Conrad. Desi ma astept sa gasesc o lume a marii si a corabiilor descrisa cu splendoare si melancolie, imaginile create de el ma suprind de fiecare data fiind din ce in ce mai frumoase.
Eroul conradian, un romantic visator, singuratic, curajos si demn, gata sa iubeasca si sa moara pentru o femeie sau un ideal este atat de masculin si bland in acelasi timp.
In romanul de fata Conrad evita finalul tragic in care si-au gasit sfarsitul eroi atat de dragi noua ca Peyrol, Heyst sau celebrul Kurtz si avem parte de un deznodamant fericit. De asemenea, o alta bucurie o reprezinta faptul ca il regasim aici pe indragitul capitan Marlow din "Inima intunericului" si "Lord Jim".
"Chance" a aparut in 1914 si capitanul Marlow impreuna cu alti 2 marinari stau la discutii despre viata pe mare, despre ofiterii pe care i-au intalnit, corabiile pe care au navigat si intamplarile la care au participat. Unul dintre cei trei este marinarul Powell care le povesteste cum a ajuns el pe primul sau vas, Ferndale, pe cand era foarte tanar. Legat de acest vas Marlow isi aduce aminte ca stie o intamplare care il are in centru pe capitanul corabiei si astfel ii cunoastem pe sotii Fyne si pe incantatoarea domnisoara Flora de Barral. Aceasta are un trecut nefericit pentru ca tatal ei fusese acuzat de o excrocherie de genul Caritas numita "Economia".
Marlow, in timp ce povesteste, face o analiza profunda si amanuntita a caracterului protagonistilor, a situatiilor de viata pe care le infrunta, trecandu-le prin filtrul sau emotional si rational si raportandu-le la propria sa scara de valori si principii. Aceasta analiza atat de rece si aproape tehnica mi-a adus aminte de Henry James.
De asemenea il cunoastem mai bine aici pe Marlow decat in "Inima intunericului", portretul sau intregindu-se. El este eroul pe care Conrad a ales sa-l crute si cred ca l-a indragit ca personaj. Desigur, putem observa evolutia sa, fiind marcat probabil de intamplarea din Africa unde il pierduse pe Kurtz. Acum il gasim cinic, realist si fara idealuri.
Pentru ca am amintit despre tehnica narativa a autorului in recenzia mea la "Victory" si aici este foarte interesant de observat ca avem parte de trei naratori: Powell, Marlow si inca cineva la persoana intai despre care presupunem ca ar fi un tovaras marinar.
Mi-ar placea sa inchei aceasta recenzie cu o referire la Powell cum ca ar fi un prieten al tinerilor si la replica ce succede aceasta afirmatie: "Atunci dati-mi un Powell in fiecare zi." In acelasi fel as zice si eu: "Atunci dati-mi sa citesc un Conrad in fiecare zi."
Anexez si cateva citate pline de intelepciune si aforisme pe care Marlow le presara cu generozitate de-a lungul cartii:
"In general e foarte greu pentru cineva sa devina remarcabil. Lumea, stiti, nu-si prea opreste atentia asupra cuiva."
"Caracteristica noastra este mediocritatea. Si poate ca e drept sa fie asa deoarece de cele mai multe ori nu putem fi siguri de efectul actiunilor noastre."
"Bunele intentii stau adesea in propria lor cale. Pe cand atunci cand vrei sa faci rau cuiva, n-ai nevoie sa eziti."
"Inteligenta cerea in primul rand prudenta. Cred ca prudenta e prima datorie a inteligentei."
"... in prezenta unei tinere fete sunt intotdeauna convins ca visurile sentimentale sunt invincibile; ca niciodata, niciodata nu e ratiunea aceea care guverneaza pe barbati si pe femei."
"Tine minte, domnisoara de Barral, ca sa fii onesta, trebuie sa te increzi intr-un om cu totul - sau deloc."
September 30, 2022
Es dürften mehrere Regalkilometer sein, die im Laufe der vergangenen Einhundert Jahre über Joseph Conrads Schreiben, seinen Stil, die besonderen Elemente der Erzählerposition in vielen seiner Geschichten und Romanen geschrieben wurden. Häufiger bricht er die Geschichten durch verschiedene Perspektiven: Ein Ich-Erzähler, meist unbestimmter Identität, sitzt mit dem eigentlichen Erzähler zusammen – dies ist dann meist Charles Marlow, ein ehemaliger Seemann, dessen Position allerdings ebenfalls prekär ist, tritt er doch oft wie ein omnipräsenter, nahezu auktorialer Erzähler auf, der auch von Dingen zu berichten weiß, die er unmöglich aus eigenem Erleben wissen kann. So werden in Texten wie YOUTH (1898) oder LORD JIM (1900) die Erzählungen mehrfach gebrochen und stellen sich selbst in Frage.
Ob sich Conrad dieses fast schon postmodernen Drehs in seinen Geschichten bis in die letzten Winkel der Möglichkeiten, die es eröffnet, bewusst gewesen ist, sei einmal dahingestellt. Vielleicht wollte er auch einer ganz anderen Gattung von Erzählungen seinen Respekt zollen, einer Gattung, die heute wahrscheinlich unter „Oral History“, vielleicht auch unter „Märchen“ fiele – dem Seemannsgarn. Ein wenig mutet Marlows Sprechen nämlich genau so an. Er hat einmal eine Geschichte gehört oder war am Rande selbst involviert und gibt nun nicht nur teils unfassbar genau memorierte Gespräche und Details wieder, sondern auch seine Interpretationen des Erzählten. Lediglich in HEART OF DARKNESS (1899), Conrads in den Augen Vieler bestem Text, allerdings auch einem seiner umstrittensten, ist Marlow integraler Bestandteil der Handlung, hier erzählt er aus eigenem Erleben.
SPIEL DES ZUFALLS (CHANCE 1913; Dt. hier in der Übersetzung von Ernst Wolfgang Freissler 1913/Berlin, 2020) ist in vielerlei Hinsicht ein Roman, der Conrads ganze Bandbreite an erzählerischem Potential exemplarisch vor Augen führt, sowohl die Stärken als auch die Schwächen seiner Stilelemente ausstellt und bis in die Extreme zu führen scheint. Dies fällt umso mehr auf, da die Story des Romans – vielleicht sollte man ihn als Markierung zum Alterswerk des Autors betrachten – eher schwach ist und der Stil umso mehr ins Auge sticht.
Auch wenn es eine Seefahrergeschichte ist – zumindest im weitesten Sinne – erzählt Conrad hier vor allem von einer Liebe, die dem im deutschen Titel angegebenen Spiel des Zufalls unterworfen ist und daran zu zerbrechen droht, bevor sie sich überhaupt zu voller Blüte entwickelt. Marlow ist hier zumindest am Rande selbst involviert, da er die Hauptfigur seiner Erzählung, Flora de Barral, in einer für sie äußerst prekären Situation kennenlernt: Sie steht kurz vor dem Selbstmord und droht, sich eine Klippe hinabzustürzen an deren Fuß sich der urlaubende Marlow zufällig auf einem Spaziergang befindet. Von diesem Punkt aus – allerdings weitaus verschlungener und in der chronologischen Abfolge in einem steten Vor und Zurück – entblättert Marlow dem namenlosen Ich-Erzähler die Geschichte der Liebe der jungen Frau zu dem Kapitän Roderick Anthony, den sie – zufällig – kennengelernt hat, als dieser nach fünfzehn Jahren Abwesenheit seine Schwester besucht, bei der Flora untergekommen ist. Da ihr Vater einen großangelegten Betrug begangen hat und dafür zu einer mehrjährigen Haftstrafe verurteilt wurde, haben sich die Fynes, wie das Paar heißt, ihrer angenommen, um sie aus den Klauen einer seltsamen Familienkonstellation zu befreien. Allerdings stehen die Fynes der Verbindung sehr skeptisch gegenüber. Dies ist, grob gesprochen, der erste Teil der Erzählung.
Der zweite Teil erzählt dann die Ereignisse auf See. Kapitän Anthony nimmt Flora und deren Vater mit auf Reisen, was an sich ungewöhnlich ist und bei der Mannschaft der Ferndale nicht gut ankommt. Auf der Reise, um die es geht und deren Verlauf Marlow nun seinerseits von dem damaligen zweiten Offizier Powell, der selbst nur durch einen Zufall an diese Position gekommen ist, erzählt bekam, kulminieren die Entwicklungen, da es zwischen dem Kapitän und ihrem Vater zu einem mehr oder weniger offenen Kampf um Flora kommt. Nachdem ihr Vater versucht hat, Anthony zu vergiften, dieser aber durch Powell gerettet werden konnte, richtet er sich selbst. Erst durch diesen Verlust, der zugleich eine Befreiung ist, können der Kapitän und Flora de Barral sich schließlich zueinander bekennen und sich ihre Liebe ohne Einschränkungen eingestehen.
Wie so häufig ist es kaum die äußere Erzählung, die hier zählt, vielmehr sind es die psychologischen und moralischen Aspekte, die sich an spezifischen Stellen in der Geschichte in die Quere kommen und einander aufheben, bzw. sich gegenseitig unterlaufen. Flora wird von nahezu allen Beteiligten behütet, soll möglichst nicht erfahren, was ihr Vater getan hat und folgt so nahezu kritiklos seinem Narrativ, er sei Opfer einer Verschwörung. Doch spürt sie, daß die Welt ihr feindlich gegenüber eingestellt ist und beginnt, sich selbst als nicht liebenswert zu betrachten. Anthony wiederum ist ein Seebär, ein Mann, der die Liebe nie als einen für ihn gültigen Zustand betrachtet hat und nun dieser jungen Frau, fast noch ein jugendliches Mädchen, verfällt. Doch ist die Sprache kaum sein Medium, weshalb er sich ihr gegenüber nie angemessen erklären kann. Die Kette an Missverständnissen und Fehlinterpretationen setzt sich nahezu ungehindert fort und wird von Conrad in der Komplexität der Erzählstruktur gespiegelt. Marlow kennt Powell, aber nur durch Zufall (by chance), ebenso zufällig wird er Zeuge von Floras Fast-Selbstmord, Powell wird durch den Zufall einer Namensverwandtschaft mit dem Angestellten im Heuerbüro zum zweiten Offizier auf der Ferndale, letztlich ist es auch Zufall, daß Powell Zeuge des versuchten Mordes an Kapitän Anthony wird. Marlow gibt nun seine Erkenntnisse – sowohl die reine Erzählung als auch seine Reflektionen darüber – nur grob chronologisch wieder und der Leser verliert irgendwann den Überblick, wer wem was wann erzählt hat. Dies, muss man annehmen, ist von Conrad genau so gewollt.
Die eigentliche Geschichte ist auch – gerade für heutige Leser – nur noch schwer nachzuvollziehen. Es ist die Geschichte einer verhinderten Liebe. Verhindert wird sie durch gesellschaftliche Normen ebenso, wie durch die innere Spannung der Figuren, ihre Psyche. Und letztlich durch gängige Vorstellungen von Moral, davon, was sich gehört und was nicht. Interessanter ist da schon, wie Marlow sie reflektiert. Denn er hält sich hier kaum zurück. Er meditiert und sinniert über Frauenrechte und das Wesen und den Charakter von Frauen generell. Dabei gibt Conrad einen Marlow preis, der zwar durchaus die Rechte der Frauen befürwortet, sich aber auch – bei ständigem Hinweis darauf, daß er selbst ja Junggeselle sei und eigentlich keine Ahnung von den Frauen habe – als recht selbstgefälliger Frauenverächter präsentiert. Ständig erklärt er dem Leser das Wesen der Frauen im Allgemeinen, das von Flora de Barral im Besonderen. Er setzt dabei einfach voraus, was Frauen können und was nicht, hier und da wird deutlich, daß Marlow ganz selbstverständlich der Meinung ist, daß Frauen gewisse Arbeiten nicht erledigen können und selbst, wenn sie es sich anmaßen und es dann auch noch schaffen, dies noch lange nicht den gleichen Wert wie von Männern verrichtete Arbeit habe. Solche Passagen sind vom heutigen Standpunkt natürlich kaum mehr zu ertragen.
Hier macht sich ein ähnliches Interpretationsfeld auf, wie es schon seit geraumer Zeit um die Frage beackert wird, wie Conrad es denn nun mit Kolonialismus, Imperialismus und daraus folgend Rassismus hält. Gerade weiße, westliche Leser, die Conrad auch gern gegen den Anwurf verteidigten, er sei einfach ein Autor von Abenteuergeschichten für Männer, besser: große Jungs, weisen gern und häufig darauf hin, daß er auf seinen vielen Reisen das Elend und die Not gesehen habe, die Imperialismus und mehr noch der Kolonialismus über weite Gegenden der Welt gebracht hat. Es ist ein Argument, das sicherlich nicht gänzlich von der Hand zu weisen ist, zugleich muß man aber immer den historischen Kontext mitdenken. Auch Conrad war ein privilegierter Weißer, zwar qua Geburt dem osteuropäischen Raum entstammend, doch durch seinen Lebenslauf hatte er eine Karriere in der britischen Marine gemacht. Und sicher war er bei aller Aufgeschlossenheit gegenüber neuen Ideen kein Progressiver. Vielleicht war er liberaler als viele seiner Zeit- und Generationsgenossen. Das wird nicht zuletzt dadurch verdeutlicht, daß viele Literaturwissenschaftler ihm einen weiteren Horizont attestierten, als er für andere Autoren seiner Generation üblich war. Proust schrieb über Paris, Joyce über Dublin, Hardy über eine erfundene Grafschaft – Wessex – so wie Faulkner, etwas jünger als die genannten Schriftsteller, über ein imaginäres County in Mississippi schrieb. Sie schrieben über das, was sie kannten. Überschaubare Gesellschaften in relativ klar abgezirkelten Welten. Conrad, aufgrund seines Lebenslaufs, hatte weitaus mehr von der Welt gesehen und wahrscheinlich wirklich besser begriffen, was die europäische Expansion für diese Welt bedeutete. Daß er die europäische Überlegenheit in Frage stellte, kann man aus seinen Schriften allerdings nur schwerlich ableiten. Und nicht zuletzt deshalb wurde gerade HEART OF DARKNESS von schwarzen Literaturwissenschaftlern harsch kritisiert und als durch und durch rassistisch beschrieben.
Ähnlich muß man es wohl hinsichtlich der Frauenrechte betrachten, denen Conrad in CHANCE angeblich das Wort redet. Liest man es im historischen Kontext, könnte man es als reine Leistung betrachten, daß er in einem längeren Text überhaupt über Fragen wie diese reflektiert; betrachtet man es aus dem zeitgenössischen Kontext des heutigen Lesers, strotzt der Text nur so vor frauenverachtenden und frauenfeindlichen Ansichten. Zumindest durch Marlows Mund kundgetan. Der nie namentlich markierte Ich-Erzähler, der Marlows ausgesprochen detailreiche Erzählung ebenso detailreich wiedergibt, fungiert hier allerdings als Korrektiv und stellt Marlows Äußerungen gelegentlich in Frage. Genau dies ist eins der besten Beispiele für die prekäre Erzählsituation, die Conrad so meisterlich herzustellen versteht.
Im Conrad´schen Kosmos ist SPIEL DES ZUFALLS sicher nicht als Meisterwerk zu bewerten. Es ist eher für die Aficionados und die Komplettisten interessant. Für den Literaturwissenschaftler wiederum ist es deshalb von Interesse, weil hier Conrads Vorgehensweise, sein schriftstellerisches Programm so hervorragend zu beobachten sind. Anders als viele seiner früheren Stories, Romane und Novellen weist es auch ein veritables Happyend auf, denn nachdem sich Floras Vater selbst gerichtet hat, können sie und Kapitän Anthony – dessen Vater, ein besonderes Schmankerl, das Conrad in den Text einbaut, ein national berühmter Dichter gewesen sein soll – zumindest bis zu seinem vorzeitigen Ableben beim Untergang der Ferndale glücklich miteinander leben. Und wenn Marlow auf den letzten Seiten davon berichtet, wie er Flora erst kürzlich wiedergetroffen habe und schnell noch als Ehestifter zwischen der jungen Witwe und dem sie anhimmelnden Powell fungieren konnte, wird der Leser mit einem rundum wohligen Gefühl aus diesem Roman entlassen.
Für Conrad, zumindest das scheint außer Frage zu stehen, ist alles menschliche Ausgreifen, sind sein gewolltes Streben, seine Pläne und Vorhaben immer einem höheren Schicksal unterworfen, das wir entweder so benennen können oder aber als Zufall deklarieren. Letzteres deutet auf eine Welt hin, aus der ein lenkender Gott mindestens verschwunden ist. Eine Welt, in der das Individuum den Unbilden der Natur – bspw. auf See – ebenso ausgesetzt ist, wie denen der Zeit und des Ortes, an den uns unser Schicksal stellt. Und den Unbilden der eigenen Seele. Flora de Barral ist die Tochter eines Betrügers, Kapitän Anthony und seine Schwester, Mrs. Fyne, sind die Kinder eines Dichters. Sie alle sind also auch Kinder einer bestimmten Prägung, sozialer wie seelischer Natur. Das kann dazu führen, daß man sich selbst verachtet, wie es bei Flora der Fall ist, es kann dazu führen, daß man sich in der Einsamkeit einrichtet, wie es der Kapitän zu tun pflegte, bis er eben Flora kennenlernt, es kann aber auch dazu führen, daß man das sprachliche Vermögen, welches einem mitgegeben wurde, nutzt, um sich für so unerhörte Dinge einzusetzen wie die Rechte der Frauen. So macht es Mrs. Fyne und wird dafür zumindest von Marlow reichlich abschätzig beurteilt.
Eines ist sicher: Daß Flora nicht über die Klippe springt, daß wir die ganze aus ihrer Begegnung mit Marlow am Fuße eben jener Klippe sich ergebenden Geschichte überhaupt zu lesen bekommen, weil Marlow Powell kennt, daß dieser im rechten Augenblick sieht, wie Floras Vater den Kapitän vergiften will – diese und etliche andere Begebenheiten dieses Romans entspringen schlicht dem Spiel des Zufalls.
Ob sich Conrad dieses fast schon postmodernen Drehs in seinen Geschichten bis in die letzten Winkel der Möglichkeiten, die es eröffnet, bewusst gewesen ist, sei einmal dahingestellt. Vielleicht wollte er auch einer ganz anderen Gattung von Erzählungen seinen Respekt zollen, einer Gattung, die heute wahrscheinlich unter „Oral History“, vielleicht auch unter „Märchen“ fiele – dem Seemannsgarn. Ein wenig mutet Marlows Sprechen nämlich genau so an. Er hat einmal eine Geschichte gehört oder war am Rande selbst involviert und gibt nun nicht nur teils unfassbar genau memorierte Gespräche und Details wieder, sondern auch seine Interpretationen des Erzählten. Lediglich in HEART OF DARKNESS (1899), Conrads in den Augen Vieler bestem Text, allerdings auch einem seiner umstrittensten, ist Marlow integraler Bestandteil der Handlung, hier erzählt er aus eigenem Erleben.
SPIEL DES ZUFALLS (CHANCE 1913; Dt. hier in der Übersetzung von Ernst Wolfgang Freissler 1913/Berlin, 2020) ist in vielerlei Hinsicht ein Roman, der Conrads ganze Bandbreite an erzählerischem Potential exemplarisch vor Augen führt, sowohl die Stärken als auch die Schwächen seiner Stilelemente ausstellt und bis in die Extreme zu führen scheint. Dies fällt umso mehr auf, da die Story des Romans – vielleicht sollte man ihn als Markierung zum Alterswerk des Autors betrachten – eher schwach ist und der Stil umso mehr ins Auge sticht.
Auch wenn es eine Seefahrergeschichte ist – zumindest im weitesten Sinne – erzählt Conrad hier vor allem von einer Liebe, die dem im deutschen Titel angegebenen Spiel des Zufalls unterworfen ist und daran zu zerbrechen droht, bevor sie sich überhaupt zu voller Blüte entwickelt. Marlow ist hier zumindest am Rande selbst involviert, da er die Hauptfigur seiner Erzählung, Flora de Barral, in einer für sie äußerst prekären Situation kennenlernt: Sie steht kurz vor dem Selbstmord und droht, sich eine Klippe hinabzustürzen an deren Fuß sich der urlaubende Marlow zufällig auf einem Spaziergang befindet. Von diesem Punkt aus – allerdings weitaus verschlungener und in der chronologischen Abfolge in einem steten Vor und Zurück – entblättert Marlow dem namenlosen Ich-Erzähler die Geschichte der Liebe der jungen Frau zu dem Kapitän Roderick Anthony, den sie – zufällig – kennengelernt hat, als dieser nach fünfzehn Jahren Abwesenheit seine Schwester besucht, bei der Flora untergekommen ist. Da ihr Vater einen großangelegten Betrug begangen hat und dafür zu einer mehrjährigen Haftstrafe verurteilt wurde, haben sich die Fynes, wie das Paar heißt, ihrer angenommen, um sie aus den Klauen einer seltsamen Familienkonstellation zu befreien. Allerdings stehen die Fynes der Verbindung sehr skeptisch gegenüber. Dies ist, grob gesprochen, der erste Teil der Erzählung.
Der zweite Teil erzählt dann die Ereignisse auf See. Kapitän Anthony nimmt Flora und deren Vater mit auf Reisen, was an sich ungewöhnlich ist und bei der Mannschaft der Ferndale nicht gut ankommt. Auf der Reise, um die es geht und deren Verlauf Marlow nun seinerseits von dem damaligen zweiten Offizier Powell, der selbst nur durch einen Zufall an diese Position gekommen ist, erzählt bekam, kulminieren die Entwicklungen, da es zwischen dem Kapitän und ihrem Vater zu einem mehr oder weniger offenen Kampf um Flora kommt. Nachdem ihr Vater versucht hat, Anthony zu vergiften, dieser aber durch Powell gerettet werden konnte, richtet er sich selbst. Erst durch diesen Verlust, der zugleich eine Befreiung ist, können der Kapitän und Flora de Barral sich schließlich zueinander bekennen und sich ihre Liebe ohne Einschränkungen eingestehen.
Wie so häufig ist es kaum die äußere Erzählung, die hier zählt, vielmehr sind es die psychologischen und moralischen Aspekte, die sich an spezifischen Stellen in der Geschichte in die Quere kommen und einander aufheben, bzw. sich gegenseitig unterlaufen. Flora wird von nahezu allen Beteiligten behütet, soll möglichst nicht erfahren, was ihr Vater getan hat und folgt so nahezu kritiklos seinem Narrativ, er sei Opfer einer Verschwörung. Doch spürt sie, daß die Welt ihr feindlich gegenüber eingestellt ist und beginnt, sich selbst als nicht liebenswert zu betrachten. Anthony wiederum ist ein Seebär, ein Mann, der die Liebe nie als einen für ihn gültigen Zustand betrachtet hat und nun dieser jungen Frau, fast noch ein jugendliches Mädchen, verfällt. Doch ist die Sprache kaum sein Medium, weshalb er sich ihr gegenüber nie angemessen erklären kann. Die Kette an Missverständnissen und Fehlinterpretationen setzt sich nahezu ungehindert fort und wird von Conrad in der Komplexität der Erzählstruktur gespiegelt. Marlow kennt Powell, aber nur durch Zufall (by chance), ebenso zufällig wird er Zeuge von Floras Fast-Selbstmord, Powell wird durch den Zufall einer Namensverwandtschaft mit dem Angestellten im Heuerbüro zum zweiten Offizier auf der Ferndale, letztlich ist es auch Zufall, daß Powell Zeuge des versuchten Mordes an Kapitän Anthony wird. Marlow gibt nun seine Erkenntnisse – sowohl die reine Erzählung als auch seine Reflektionen darüber – nur grob chronologisch wieder und der Leser verliert irgendwann den Überblick, wer wem was wann erzählt hat. Dies, muss man annehmen, ist von Conrad genau so gewollt.
Die eigentliche Geschichte ist auch – gerade für heutige Leser – nur noch schwer nachzuvollziehen. Es ist die Geschichte einer verhinderten Liebe. Verhindert wird sie durch gesellschaftliche Normen ebenso, wie durch die innere Spannung der Figuren, ihre Psyche. Und letztlich durch gängige Vorstellungen von Moral, davon, was sich gehört und was nicht. Interessanter ist da schon, wie Marlow sie reflektiert. Denn er hält sich hier kaum zurück. Er meditiert und sinniert über Frauenrechte und das Wesen und den Charakter von Frauen generell. Dabei gibt Conrad einen Marlow preis, der zwar durchaus die Rechte der Frauen befürwortet, sich aber auch – bei ständigem Hinweis darauf, daß er selbst ja Junggeselle sei und eigentlich keine Ahnung von den Frauen habe – als recht selbstgefälliger Frauenverächter präsentiert. Ständig erklärt er dem Leser das Wesen der Frauen im Allgemeinen, das von Flora de Barral im Besonderen. Er setzt dabei einfach voraus, was Frauen können und was nicht, hier und da wird deutlich, daß Marlow ganz selbstverständlich der Meinung ist, daß Frauen gewisse Arbeiten nicht erledigen können und selbst, wenn sie es sich anmaßen und es dann auch noch schaffen, dies noch lange nicht den gleichen Wert wie von Männern verrichtete Arbeit habe. Solche Passagen sind vom heutigen Standpunkt natürlich kaum mehr zu ertragen.
Hier macht sich ein ähnliches Interpretationsfeld auf, wie es schon seit geraumer Zeit um die Frage beackert wird, wie Conrad es denn nun mit Kolonialismus, Imperialismus und daraus folgend Rassismus hält. Gerade weiße, westliche Leser, die Conrad auch gern gegen den Anwurf verteidigten, er sei einfach ein Autor von Abenteuergeschichten für Männer, besser: große Jungs, weisen gern und häufig darauf hin, daß er auf seinen vielen Reisen das Elend und die Not gesehen habe, die Imperialismus und mehr noch der Kolonialismus über weite Gegenden der Welt gebracht hat. Es ist ein Argument, das sicherlich nicht gänzlich von der Hand zu weisen ist, zugleich muß man aber immer den historischen Kontext mitdenken. Auch Conrad war ein privilegierter Weißer, zwar qua Geburt dem osteuropäischen Raum entstammend, doch durch seinen Lebenslauf hatte er eine Karriere in der britischen Marine gemacht. Und sicher war er bei aller Aufgeschlossenheit gegenüber neuen Ideen kein Progressiver. Vielleicht war er liberaler als viele seiner Zeit- und Generationsgenossen. Das wird nicht zuletzt dadurch verdeutlicht, daß viele Literaturwissenschaftler ihm einen weiteren Horizont attestierten, als er für andere Autoren seiner Generation üblich war. Proust schrieb über Paris, Joyce über Dublin, Hardy über eine erfundene Grafschaft – Wessex – so wie Faulkner, etwas jünger als die genannten Schriftsteller, über ein imaginäres County in Mississippi schrieb. Sie schrieben über das, was sie kannten. Überschaubare Gesellschaften in relativ klar abgezirkelten Welten. Conrad, aufgrund seines Lebenslaufs, hatte weitaus mehr von der Welt gesehen und wahrscheinlich wirklich besser begriffen, was die europäische Expansion für diese Welt bedeutete. Daß er die europäische Überlegenheit in Frage stellte, kann man aus seinen Schriften allerdings nur schwerlich ableiten. Und nicht zuletzt deshalb wurde gerade HEART OF DARKNESS von schwarzen Literaturwissenschaftlern harsch kritisiert und als durch und durch rassistisch beschrieben.
Ähnlich muß man es wohl hinsichtlich der Frauenrechte betrachten, denen Conrad in CHANCE angeblich das Wort redet. Liest man es im historischen Kontext, könnte man es als reine Leistung betrachten, daß er in einem längeren Text überhaupt über Fragen wie diese reflektiert; betrachtet man es aus dem zeitgenössischen Kontext des heutigen Lesers, strotzt der Text nur so vor frauenverachtenden und frauenfeindlichen Ansichten. Zumindest durch Marlows Mund kundgetan. Der nie namentlich markierte Ich-Erzähler, der Marlows ausgesprochen detailreiche Erzählung ebenso detailreich wiedergibt, fungiert hier allerdings als Korrektiv und stellt Marlows Äußerungen gelegentlich in Frage. Genau dies ist eins der besten Beispiele für die prekäre Erzählsituation, die Conrad so meisterlich herzustellen versteht.
Im Conrad´schen Kosmos ist SPIEL DES ZUFALLS sicher nicht als Meisterwerk zu bewerten. Es ist eher für die Aficionados und die Komplettisten interessant. Für den Literaturwissenschaftler wiederum ist es deshalb von Interesse, weil hier Conrads Vorgehensweise, sein schriftstellerisches Programm so hervorragend zu beobachten sind. Anders als viele seiner früheren Stories, Romane und Novellen weist es auch ein veritables Happyend auf, denn nachdem sich Floras Vater selbst gerichtet hat, können sie und Kapitän Anthony – dessen Vater, ein besonderes Schmankerl, das Conrad in den Text einbaut, ein national berühmter Dichter gewesen sein soll – zumindest bis zu seinem vorzeitigen Ableben beim Untergang der Ferndale glücklich miteinander leben. Und wenn Marlow auf den letzten Seiten davon berichtet, wie er Flora erst kürzlich wiedergetroffen habe und schnell noch als Ehestifter zwischen der jungen Witwe und dem sie anhimmelnden Powell fungieren konnte, wird der Leser mit einem rundum wohligen Gefühl aus diesem Roman entlassen.
Für Conrad, zumindest das scheint außer Frage zu stehen, ist alles menschliche Ausgreifen, sind sein gewolltes Streben, seine Pläne und Vorhaben immer einem höheren Schicksal unterworfen, das wir entweder so benennen können oder aber als Zufall deklarieren. Letzteres deutet auf eine Welt hin, aus der ein lenkender Gott mindestens verschwunden ist. Eine Welt, in der das Individuum den Unbilden der Natur – bspw. auf See – ebenso ausgesetzt ist, wie denen der Zeit und des Ortes, an den uns unser Schicksal stellt. Und den Unbilden der eigenen Seele. Flora de Barral ist die Tochter eines Betrügers, Kapitän Anthony und seine Schwester, Mrs. Fyne, sind die Kinder eines Dichters. Sie alle sind also auch Kinder einer bestimmten Prägung, sozialer wie seelischer Natur. Das kann dazu führen, daß man sich selbst verachtet, wie es bei Flora der Fall ist, es kann dazu führen, daß man sich in der Einsamkeit einrichtet, wie es der Kapitän zu tun pflegte, bis er eben Flora kennenlernt, es kann aber auch dazu führen, daß man das sprachliche Vermögen, welches einem mitgegeben wurde, nutzt, um sich für so unerhörte Dinge einzusetzen wie die Rechte der Frauen. So macht es Mrs. Fyne und wird dafür zumindest von Marlow reichlich abschätzig beurteilt.
Eines ist sicher: Daß Flora nicht über die Klippe springt, daß wir die ganze aus ihrer Begegnung mit Marlow am Fuße eben jener Klippe sich ergebenden Geschichte überhaupt zu lesen bekommen, weil Marlow Powell kennt, daß dieser im rechten Augenblick sieht, wie Floras Vater den Kapitän vergiften will – diese und etliche andere Begebenheiten dieses Romans entspringen schlicht dem Spiel des Zufalls.
July 25, 2009
Enjoyed it thoroughly for its excellent psychological portrayal. It had just a touch of the thriller without being sensational. Poignant, and reminds me of some real-life situations, not least of which is the Madoff scandal.
I haven't read any Conrad since high school, so this was a nice reintroduction. A little hard to follow at first, due to layers of narration, but worth the effort.
I haven't read any Conrad since high school, so this was a nice reintroduction. A little hard to follow at first, due to layers of narration, but worth the effort.
December 17, 2008
Mediocre Joseph Conrad, only recommended for die-hard fans or completests. Basically a slow moving story of how chance plays into the lives of the main characters and brings about a minor miracle.
In typical Conrad fashion, he employs an awkward narrative device. It's basically in 1st person although we never know who "I" is. On top of this most of the story is narrated by the trusty Marlow (Heart of Darness, Lord Jim) over the course of an evening, in this case perhaps 12 hours straight. And of course he knows things that only the protagonist would know, kind of a proxy for 3rd person omniscient which is what Conrad should have used in the first place. Sometimes Marlow is narrating what another character told him and this gets rather confusing for no good reason.
OK, there are good things. The characters are interesting although the female protagonist is a little artificial (Conrad does better with strong male characters with a tragic flaw). His descriptions of the psychological underpinnings of every word and action is pretty fun if you're patient. And the culmination of all the plot threads is satisfying.
So, what I should have said at the outset...read Lord Jim or Victory instead.
In typical Conrad fashion, he employs an awkward narrative device. It's basically in 1st person although we never know who "I" is. On top of this most of the story is narrated by the trusty Marlow (Heart of Darness, Lord Jim) over the course of an evening, in this case perhaps 12 hours straight. And of course he knows things that only the protagonist would know, kind of a proxy for 3rd person omniscient which is what Conrad should have used in the first place. Sometimes Marlow is narrating what another character told him and this gets rather confusing for no good reason.
OK, there are good things. The characters are interesting although the female protagonist is a little artificial (Conrad does better with strong male characters with a tragic flaw). His descriptions of the psychological underpinnings of every word and action is pretty fun if you're patient. And the culmination of all the plot threads is satisfying.
So, what I should have said at the outset...read Lord Jim or Victory instead.
August 16, 2010
This is now my favourite Conrad novel, completely different than any of his other books and a most pleasant surprise. A unique love story, its quirkiness suggests it was ahead of its time with the unique and strong female character. A great love story!
October 10, 2023
Αριστούργημα! Και τι άλλο θα μπορούσε να είναι άλλωστε ένα μυθιστόρημα του Τζόζεφ Κόντραντ; Αρκετά διαφορετικό από τα πιο γνωστά του και κυρίως την πολυδιαβασμένη Καρδιά του Σκότους, με κάθε σελίδα που γυρίζεις νιώθεις ότι διαβάζεις αυτό που συνηθίζουμε (ορθά) να αποκαλούμε "καλή κλασική λογοτεχνία".
March 18, 2017
Absorbing plot in the first chapter, somewhat predictable second chapter. I find the multiple narrators confusing. The third chapter tells of a pyramid scheme and is told by Marlowe to Powell, I presume.
The narrators are becoming quite confusing by Chapter 4: the Fynes told it to Marlowe who is telling it to Powell or whoever he is and he's telling it with all the details, gestures of the characters as if he were there himself. After that point I get lost to whom Marlow is telling the story and who the narrator is and am disregarding the issue. No narrator other than an omniscient one could details of an intimate affair between two people.
I was continually drawn to the mystery of who is narrating and met with several surprises. Just when I read that Marlowe is talking I thought to Powell I find Marlowe is talking about Powell to someone else, but to whom? There have been scholarly papers written on this issue but this novel is not interesting enough for me to pursue that. I am a Conrad reader and this most successful novel in his lifetime is not a favorite at all out of a dozen I read by him. Now near the conclusion I come again to a predictable outcome about one of the main characters but I did not predict all of the ending.
Favorite quote: “It is difficult to retain the memory of the conflicts, miseries, temptations and crimes of men’s self-seeking existence when one is alone with the charming serenity of the unconscious nature.”
The narrators are becoming quite confusing by Chapter 4: the Fynes told it to Marlowe who is telling it to Powell or whoever he is and he's telling it with all the details, gestures of the characters as if he were there himself. After that point I get lost to whom Marlow is telling the story and who the narrator is and am disregarding the issue. No narrator other than an omniscient one could details of an intimate affair between two people.
I was continually drawn to the mystery of who is narrating and met with several surprises. Just when I read that Marlowe is talking I thought to Powell I find Marlowe is talking about Powell to someone else, but to whom? There have been scholarly papers written on this issue but this novel is not interesting enough for me to pursue that. I am a Conrad reader and this most successful novel in his lifetime is not a favorite at all out of a dozen I read by him. Now near the conclusion I come again to a predictable outcome about one of the main characters but I did not predict all of the ending.
Favorite quote: “It is difficult to retain the memory of the conflicts, miseries, temptations and crimes of men’s self-seeking existence when one is alone with the charming serenity of the unconscious nature.”
March 7, 2020
This novel, more than any other work of Conrad I've read, advances the author's exploration of literary modernism to his limits. Its elliptical storyline, with multiple narrators, glides through time and sublunary (one of Conrad's favorite and recurring words) space. Doing so, it becomes perhaps his most ambitious work in exploring the form of the novel. Otherwise, it's a strange work in many ways. It carries a lighthearted and even humorous feel through many parts. In contemporary terms, it might even be said to be snarky on occasion. Yet by novel's end, that mood has dissipated thoroughly. A looming tragedy works its way into the narrative and the final feeling is one familiar to readers of Conrad, melancholy. Conrad is the master of that feeling. Here, it centers on the life not only of a young woman and her husband but, indirectly, on the young man who comes to observe her relationship with her husband. Too, there is Marlow, the often present narrator in many of Conrad's works. And it is the conversation between Marlow and the young man, Powell, that powers the story: a clash between the pensive observer of worldly events and human interactions and the role of the young activist who revels in the momentary and the encounter with luck or accident in life's journey. The role, that is, of chance in fashioning human destiny.
March 10, 2014
Superb
A master story teller shows why he is still popular all these many years later. A psychological story that keeps one on the edge oh one's seat from beginning to end. It is stunning to think that English was not Conrad's first language.
A master story teller shows why he is still popular all these many years later. A psychological story that keeps one on the edge oh one's seat from beginning to end. It is stunning to think that English was not Conrad's first language.
October 14, 2021
Marlow necessita di una curetta?
Uno di quei libri che sempre più spesso – sarà l’età con le sue gioie e i suoi dolori ( esperienza e pazienza; amnesie e pensiero fuggitivo ) – ha avuto bisogno di decantazione e assimilazione. Strano, perché mai come di questi “miei” tempi avrei bisogno del mordi e fuggi, viste le pile di libri che non potrò mai evadere.
Ma Conrad è Conrad e chi me l’ha regalato, sapendo quanto ami il detto autore, non è persona di “passaggio”.
Subito è nato un problema. Anzi il Problema, che ha ritardato la mia solita stesura di impressioni e sensazioni : Marlow, l’uomo per tutti i meridiani che passano per l’ equatore e dintorni, il narratore “intrusivo”, diventa il protagonista assoluto di questo romanzo, versione raffinata e ante litteram di “Schiava o regina” ( dei mitici Delly) che tanto mi appassionò ad undici anni, quando le prime molecole ormonali cominciavano a scorrere disorientate nelle mie vene di bambina.
Beh, ora sono vecchia e ho visto passare tante storie sotto le connessioni neuroniche che trovarmi davanti questa versione, scritta dal mio secondo scrittore preferito, mi ha spiazzata e delusa. E anche offesa per lo straripante antifemminismo.
Avevo incontrato Marlow in ‘Cuore di Tenebra’ e in ‘Lord Jim’. Non mi era sfuggita la puzza sotto il naso dell’eurocentrico pieno di sé e della sua cultura superiore alle prese con il diverso e l’indicibile. Diversità e “Orrore” che, grazie alle sue celluline grigie, non lo tangeranno mai e che, purtroppo, sopravvivono e affascinano a causa del fallimento della razionalità occidentale generato da frange estremistiche irrazionali, i vari colonialismi del civile occidente, che possono essere emarginate: basta riprendere le redini immarcescibili dell’homo faber, emblema del vero progresso degli uomini eletti. Dote che lui, savansadir, ha.
Ex navigatore come il Conrad autore, solitamente non è mai un protagonista, ma un testimone dei fatti o il confidente di a person of interest in this case: voce dietro cui Conrad si nasconde per pudore di dire “Io” , come sembra a Levi? O forse è solo chi vorrebbe essere e non è,il dotato di quel pizzico di cinismo e ironia british che lui, polacco, non ha?
Beh, magari il cinismo no ma il sessismo sicuramente li accomuna, a quanto letto un po’ in giro. Sembra che Conrad, nevrotico qual era, giudicasse mediocre la maggior parte dell’umanità, uomini e specialmente le donne ( tra cui la povera moglie), che nel libro in questione appella come specialiste dell’irrilevante a cui non frega niente dell’essenza delle cose: cosa che non si può sentire.
E per una volta che ha tra le mani una donna come protagonista, Flora de Barral, ce ne da una descrizione, per bocca di Marlow e dei suoi informatori, di ragazza-fantasma, indecifrabile, dolente sì ma di un dolore sproporzionato alle vicende di cui è vittima collaterale.
A meno che non sia la melanconica Flora il vero alter ego di Conrad che i suoi problemi con la depressione li ebbe, eccome.
Chi sono gli eletti di Conrad? Quelli che sono capaci di vivere all’estremo, nel bene e nel male: esseri “trascendenti” che hanno un’idea davanti alla quale si inginocchiano, come ha detto in Cuore di tenebra. Ma un uomo (o una donna) simile, se mai esistesse, non potrebbe mai raccontare o lasciare all’autore la libertà di dare voce alla loro profonda essenza: svelarsi per quello che sono ma che forse non sanno di essere non è dovuto.
Devono rimanere attaccati al “si dice” dello stesso Marlow o dei suoi confidenti. Il caso, che ha retto la vita di queste persone “eccezionali”, e che le ha fatte incontrare con i loro biografi, diventa narrazione ordinata, quella che inscatola i miti nei canti degli aedi.
E non c’è dubbio che Kurtz sia diventato un mito per bocca di Marlow.
Ma Flora che c’entra con Kurtz e Jim?
Le concatenazioni del caso hanno voluto che si trovasse in un gorgo di disgrazie ma l’opportunità di sganciarsi e finirla in un bel volemose bene l’ha avuta almeno duecento pagine prima della parola fine, suggellata dai motti “filosofici” del solito Marlow.
“Il Caso”, più che il coronamento della felicissima opera di un gigante, è il riassunto delle puntate precedenti: un Marlow che finalmente si prende la scena, che da la stura a tutte le sue elucubrazioni sulla vita lasciata alla deriva del caso, che dice e non dice su Flora e i suoi sodali e che rende sibillini anche i racconti dei suoi informatori. Un Marlow che alla fine si sbarazza anche di quel povero anonimo narratore che non mette lingua e che pende dalle sue labbra stenografando ciò che lui gli narra per narrarcelo a sua volta ( un intricato sistema di narratori, una matriosca) e diventa colui che tutto sa, il testimone che c'è senza esserci, regalandoci un lieto fine: i cattivi che soccombono vittime della loro stessa malvagità e i buoni che coronano le loro storie d’amore. Che la donna sia sempre la stessa non ci scandalizzi. L’autore ha provveduto a renderla vedova e permettere a Marlow di fingersi anche paraninfo. Un uomo per tutte le latitudini, l’ho già detto.
Un romanzo d’appendice ma di lusso.
Mi dispiace, ma solo tre stelle.
Uno di quei libri che sempre più spesso – sarà l’età con le sue gioie e i suoi dolori ( esperienza e pazienza; amnesie e pensiero fuggitivo ) – ha avuto bisogno di decantazione e assimilazione. Strano, perché mai come di questi “miei” tempi avrei bisogno del mordi e fuggi, viste le pile di libri che non potrò mai evadere.
Ma Conrad è Conrad e chi me l’ha regalato, sapendo quanto ami il detto autore, non è persona di “passaggio”.
Subito è nato un problema. Anzi il Problema, che ha ritardato la mia solita stesura di impressioni e sensazioni : Marlow, l’uomo per tutti i meridiani che passano per l’ equatore e dintorni, il narratore “intrusivo”, diventa il protagonista assoluto di questo romanzo, versione raffinata e ante litteram di “Schiava o regina” ( dei mitici Delly) che tanto mi appassionò ad undici anni, quando le prime molecole ormonali cominciavano a scorrere disorientate nelle mie vene di bambina.
Beh, ora sono vecchia e ho visto passare tante storie sotto le connessioni neuroniche che trovarmi davanti questa versione, scritta dal mio secondo scrittore preferito, mi ha spiazzata e delusa. E anche offesa per lo straripante antifemminismo.
Avevo incontrato Marlow in ‘Cuore di Tenebra’ e in ‘Lord Jim’. Non mi era sfuggita la puzza sotto il naso dell’eurocentrico pieno di sé e della sua cultura superiore alle prese con il diverso e l’indicibile. Diversità e “Orrore” che, grazie alle sue celluline grigie, non lo tangeranno mai e che, purtroppo, sopravvivono e affascinano a causa del fallimento della razionalità occidentale generato da frange estremistiche irrazionali, i vari colonialismi del civile occidente, che possono essere emarginate: basta riprendere le redini immarcescibili dell’homo faber, emblema del vero progresso degli uomini eletti. Dote che lui, savansadir, ha.
Ex navigatore come il Conrad autore, solitamente non è mai un protagonista, ma un testimone dei fatti o il confidente di a person of interest in this case: voce dietro cui Conrad si nasconde per pudore di dire “Io” , come sembra a Levi? O forse è solo chi vorrebbe essere e non è,il dotato di quel pizzico di cinismo e ironia british che lui, polacco, non ha?
Beh, magari il cinismo no ma il sessismo sicuramente li accomuna, a quanto letto un po’ in giro. Sembra che Conrad, nevrotico qual era, giudicasse mediocre la maggior parte dell’umanità, uomini e specialmente le donne ( tra cui la povera moglie), che nel libro in questione appella come specialiste dell’irrilevante a cui non frega niente dell’essenza delle cose: cosa che non si può sentire.
E per una volta che ha tra le mani una donna come protagonista, Flora de Barral, ce ne da una descrizione, per bocca di Marlow e dei suoi informatori, di ragazza-fantasma, indecifrabile, dolente sì ma di un dolore sproporzionato alle vicende di cui è vittima collaterale.
A meno che non sia la melanconica Flora il vero alter ego di Conrad che i suoi problemi con la depressione li ebbe, eccome.
Chi sono gli eletti di Conrad? Quelli che sono capaci di vivere all’estremo, nel bene e nel male: esseri “trascendenti” che hanno un’idea davanti alla quale si inginocchiano, come ha detto in Cuore di tenebra. Ma un uomo (o una donna) simile, se mai esistesse, non potrebbe mai raccontare o lasciare all’autore la libertà di dare voce alla loro profonda essenza: svelarsi per quello che sono ma che forse non sanno di essere non è dovuto.
Devono rimanere attaccati al “si dice” dello stesso Marlow o dei suoi confidenti. Il caso, che ha retto la vita di queste persone “eccezionali”, e che le ha fatte incontrare con i loro biografi, diventa narrazione ordinata, quella che inscatola i miti nei canti degli aedi.
E non c’è dubbio che Kurtz sia diventato un mito per bocca di Marlow.
Ma Flora che c’entra con Kurtz e Jim?
Le concatenazioni del caso hanno voluto che si trovasse in un gorgo di disgrazie ma l’opportunità di sganciarsi e finirla in un bel volemose bene l’ha avuta almeno duecento pagine prima della parola fine, suggellata dai motti “filosofici” del solito Marlow.
“Il Caso”, più che il coronamento della felicissima opera di un gigante, è il riassunto delle puntate precedenti: un Marlow che finalmente si prende la scena, che da la stura a tutte le sue elucubrazioni sulla vita lasciata alla deriva del caso, che dice e non dice su Flora e i suoi sodali e che rende sibillini anche i racconti dei suoi informatori. Un Marlow che alla fine si sbarazza anche di quel povero anonimo narratore che non mette lingua e che pende dalle sue labbra stenografando ciò che lui gli narra per narrarcelo a sua volta ( un intricato sistema di narratori, una matriosca) e diventa colui che tutto sa, il testimone che c'è senza esserci, regalandoci un lieto fine: i cattivi che soccombono vittime della loro stessa malvagità e i buoni che coronano le loro storie d’amore. Che la donna sia sempre la stessa non ci scandalizzi. L’autore ha provveduto a renderla vedova e permettere a Marlow di fingersi anche paraninfo. Un uomo per tutte le latitudini, l’ho già detto.
Un romanzo d’appendice ma di lusso.
Mi dispiace, ma solo tre stelle.
October 22, 2016
Many of Joseph Conrad’s novels deal with loneliness. Often the hero is isolated by chance circumstances and his own actions, and he is left to struggle to some kind of redemption. In Chance, the isolated figure is a woman, and this is the only one of Conrad’s full-length novels to put a female character at its centre. Appropriately enough, it is in part a novel about the position of women, and Conrad succeeds (almost in spite of himself) in giving us a glimpse of the predicament of women in his society.
The heroine is Flora de Barral, and she is presented to our eyes by Marlow, the narrator of several Conrad stories. Flora is the son of a businessman who falls into disgrace after he corruptly plays the markets, and is sent to prison. His disgrace rebounds on the luckless Flora. She is spitefully attacked by her disappointed governess who had marital designs on de Barral, and Flora carries away the belief that she is unlovable.
This position is not helped by living with her cousins who behave badly towards her, and she is finally taken under the wing of the Fynes, a strait-laced couple with feminist ideals. Mrs Fyne gives Flora support until Flora elopes with her brother, Captain Anthony (whom Marlow never meets, curiously.) The angry Fynes say enough negative remarks about Flora to convince Anthony that she does not love him, and she is held back by her own belief that she cannot be loved. Anthony honourably agrees to marry her, and takes her and her father (who has just been released from prison) away on his ship.
Flora soon finds that even the crew do not like her, and her position is complicated by her father’s self-centred resentment against her attachment to Anthony. Finally de Barral tries to poison his son-in-law, but he is seen by the young officer Powell who has become fond of Flora himself. Powell warns Anthony. Anthony decides to release Flora from her attachment to him, but Flora makes it clear that she does not wish to leave. De Barral instead drinks the poison, and the couple are free.
In a peculiar coda, we are informed that Anthony died six years later when his ship was sunk. However, the spell has been broken. Flora has finally found that she is capable of being loved by someone, and at the end Marlow is gently nudging her in the direction of the ardent Powell.
Conrad was fond of the books of Charles Dickens, and this is the most Dickensian work of the least Dickensian of novelists. The figure of a daughter and child (often pictured in Marlow’s mind as walking hand in hand) is redolent of The Old Curiosity Shop. Indeed Chance contains a few elements that might have stepped out of a Dickens book – a renowned businessman who turns out to be a fraud, a petulant scheming governess with unsuccessful designs on her master, the melodramatic climax to the Anthony-Flora-de Barral triangle.
As in a number of Dickens novels, Chance portrays a few examples of children at the mercy of bad parents. Anthony and Mrs Fyne were both brought up in the household of a cruel father (a poet, as we are constantly reminded), and they were finally obliged to run away. Flora’s father is reminiscent of Mr Dorrit, a jailbird, ungrateful for the help he receives, unable to admit he has ever done anything wrong, and holding his daughter back.
In that sense, the chance of who their parents were is part of the problem that initially prevents Anthony and Flora from finding happiness, and a number of other unfortunate happenings are down to chance. However the book’s title is something of a misnomer, as chance hardly plays any greater part in the action here than in any other book.
It seems likely that Conrad harped on about chance so much here because it was a fashionable notion at the time. Certainly Chance was a surprise bestseller, even though it is not one of Conrad’s best novels. The semi-happy ending was added to sell books, though in true Conrad fashion he cannot help cruelly snatching it away from us, at least in part.
The other fashionable aspect that Conrad included in the book is discussion of ‘the woman issue’, and we can only regard this as a partial success. Conrad was not the best person to discuss women’s issues. Like Marlow, he was no feminist, and many of his works feature barely any female characters, though his portrayal of women had greatly improved over the course of his writing.
What we are left with is Marlow’s frequent and crude generalisations about the personalities of women, some of them outrageous and bordering on misogyny. As if a little ashamed of his outbursts, Conrad tempers them with the half-hearted protests of the anonymous listener to Marlow’s tale. However, there is no serious attempt to present any different opinion, so we can only conclude that Marlow’s assertions are Conrad’s.
Conrad is also somewhat ambivalent in his presentation of the Fynes. They are feminists, and they are not presented as especially likeable characters. Indeed, we feel that Marlow (and by extension) Conrad simply cannot make up his mind what to think of them. Mrs Fyne is the more enthusiastic feminist, and we are told that she often has female proteges that she seeks to mould into her own model of feminism. Her husband seems indifferent to the women who pass through his wife’s care, and we may be inclined to wonder if her interest in these women is inspired by lesbianism.
Her most harmful tenet is the irresponsible notion that women are free from normal moral constraints because they are controlled by men in this world. Naturally Mrs Fyne does not extend this moral freedom to eloping with her own brother, and the Fynes behave badly, accusing Flora of a being an adventuress, thus poisoning the Anthony’s early marriage.
However, while Marlow is frequently impatient with both the husband and wife, we have to acknowledge that they are not bad people according to their own lights. They have a strong moral sense of what is right, and Mrs Fyne does show some creditable humanitarian impulses to Flora at a difficult time in her life.
As I have said elsewhere, I feel that Conrad may have harboured some resentment towards women for their lack of understanding of the male world. He had spent much of his life on a ship or in parts of the world dominated by masculine professions, and he may have felt that women had no real comprehension of what really went on, a thought process perhaps compounded by his marriage to a wife who was his intellectual inferior.
Certainly for all of Marlow’s generalised comments about women, Flora’s behaviour is entirely explicable on its own terms, and not just because she is a woman. Of course her position in the book is affected by her gender. She is abandoned after her father’s imprisonment, unprepared for surviving or working on her own, and at the mercy of people’s judgements. Hence Conrad manages to make some point about the plight of women in his time, even if it not entirely the point that he often seems to be making.
Aside from resentment against women, the book also contains resentment against people who live on the land. Several characters make disparaging comments about the people who live on land, and the way that they make situations more complicated with negative behaviour, as compared to those on the sea.
Indeed it seems as if making the transition from sailor to home-based novelist put a strain on some of Conrad’s attitudes. At sea he learnt that problems can be solved by strong leadership, male solidarity and low tolerance towards dependency. However, as Conrad’s political novels show, he was becoming aware that these values did not always translate well when applied to governance and the state, or the way of life of people who live on land. This may explain the exasperation that is often expressed for land folk in Chance.
Chance is an unsatisfactory novel in some respects. The first chapter has little to do with what follows, and seems to have been tacked on to the story, giving the book a false start. The ending is rather melodramatic, and Conrad’s abrupt decision to kill off his hero as a final postscript does not play fair with the reader.
There is far too much cod-philosophising on various subjects, especially women, and this level of dense description slows the book down, often a problem when Marlow is narrating. There are other flaws with Marlow’s narration too. It depends heavily on a wide range of voices as other characters repeat things to Marlow, but some of Marlow’s insights are those of an omniscient narrator, not those of a man who is repeating the events described by eyewitnesses.
However, while Chance is not in the top drawer of Conrad novels, it is one that improves with each reading. There is some complex characterisation, and a serious attempt to present the problems of women, and the problems of marriage. It is a pity that it was Chance rather than one of Conrad’s better novels that finally brought him the sales that he deserved, but perhaps the subject matter and style of Chance was easier for readers to grasp.
The heroine is Flora de Barral, and she is presented to our eyes by Marlow, the narrator of several Conrad stories. Flora is the son of a businessman who falls into disgrace after he corruptly plays the markets, and is sent to prison. His disgrace rebounds on the luckless Flora. She is spitefully attacked by her disappointed governess who had marital designs on de Barral, and Flora carries away the belief that she is unlovable.
This position is not helped by living with her cousins who behave badly towards her, and she is finally taken under the wing of the Fynes, a strait-laced couple with feminist ideals. Mrs Fyne gives Flora support until Flora elopes with her brother, Captain Anthony (whom Marlow never meets, curiously.) The angry Fynes say enough negative remarks about Flora to convince Anthony that she does not love him, and she is held back by her own belief that she cannot be loved. Anthony honourably agrees to marry her, and takes her and her father (who has just been released from prison) away on his ship.
Flora soon finds that even the crew do not like her, and her position is complicated by her father’s self-centred resentment against her attachment to Anthony. Finally de Barral tries to poison his son-in-law, but he is seen by the young officer Powell who has become fond of Flora himself. Powell warns Anthony. Anthony decides to release Flora from her attachment to him, but Flora makes it clear that she does not wish to leave. De Barral instead drinks the poison, and the couple are free.
In a peculiar coda, we are informed that Anthony died six years later when his ship was sunk. However, the spell has been broken. Flora has finally found that she is capable of being loved by someone, and at the end Marlow is gently nudging her in the direction of the ardent Powell.
Conrad was fond of the books of Charles Dickens, and this is the most Dickensian work of the least Dickensian of novelists. The figure of a daughter and child (often pictured in Marlow’s mind as walking hand in hand) is redolent of The Old Curiosity Shop. Indeed Chance contains a few elements that might have stepped out of a Dickens book – a renowned businessman who turns out to be a fraud, a petulant scheming governess with unsuccessful designs on her master, the melodramatic climax to the Anthony-Flora-de Barral triangle.
As in a number of Dickens novels, Chance portrays a few examples of children at the mercy of bad parents. Anthony and Mrs Fyne were both brought up in the household of a cruel father (a poet, as we are constantly reminded), and they were finally obliged to run away. Flora’s father is reminiscent of Mr Dorrit, a jailbird, ungrateful for the help he receives, unable to admit he has ever done anything wrong, and holding his daughter back.
In that sense, the chance of who their parents were is part of the problem that initially prevents Anthony and Flora from finding happiness, and a number of other unfortunate happenings are down to chance. However the book’s title is something of a misnomer, as chance hardly plays any greater part in the action here than in any other book.
It seems likely that Conrad harped on about chance so much here because it was a fashionable notion at the time. Certainly Chance was a surprise bestseller, even though it is not one of Conrad’s best novels. The semi-happy ending was added to sell books, though in true Conrad fashion he cannot help cruelly snatching it away from us, at least in part.
The other fashionable aspect that Conrad included in the book is discussion of ‘the woman issue’, and we can only regard this as a partial success. Conrad was not the best person to discuss women’s issues. Like Marlow, he was no feminist, and many of his works feature barely any female characters, though his portrayal of women had greatly improved over the course of his writing.
What we are left with is Marlow’s frequent and crude generalisations about the personalities of women, some of them outrageous and bordering on misogyny. As if a little ashamed of his outbursts, Conrad tempers them with the half-hearted protests of the anonymous listener to Marlow’s tale. However, there is no serious attempt to present any different opinion, so we can only conclude that Marlow’s assertions are Conrad’s.
Conrad is also somewhat ambivalent in his presentation of the Fynes. They are feminists, and they are not presented as especially likeable characters. Indeed, we feel that Marlow (and by extension) Conrad simply cannot make up his mind what to think of them. Mrs Fyne is the more enthusiastic feminist, and we are told that she often has female proteges that she seeks to mould into her own model of feminism. Her husband seems indifferent to the women who pass through his wife’s care, and we may be inclined to wonder if her interest in these women is inspired by lesbianism.
Her most harmful tenet is the irresponsible notion that women are free from normal moral constraints because they are controlled by men in this world. Naturally Mrs Fyne does not extend this moral freedom to eloping with her own brother, and the Fynes behave badly, accusing Flora of a being an adventuress, thus poisoning the Anthony’s early marriage.
However, while Marlow is frequently impatient with both the husband and wife, we have to acknowledge that they are not bad people according to their own lights. They have a strong moral sense of what is right, and Mrs Fyne does show some creditable humanitarian impulses to Flora at a difficult time in her life.
As I have said elsewhere, I feel that Conrad may have harboured some resentment towards women for their lack of understanding of the male world. He had spent much of his life on a ship or in parts of the world dominated by masculine professions, and he may have felt that women had no real comprehension of what really went on, a thought process perhaps compounded by his marriage to a wife who was his intellectual inferior.
Certainly for all of Marlow’s generalised comments about women, Flora’s behaviour is entirely explicable on its own terms, and not just because she is a woman. Of course her position in the book is affected by her gender. She is abandoned after her father’s imprisonment, unprepared for surviving or working on her own, and at the mercy of people’s judgements. Hence Conrad manages to make some point about the plight of women in his time, even if it not entirely the point that he often seems to be making.
Aside from resentment against women, the book also contains resentment against people who live on the land. Several characters make disparaging comments about the people who live on land, and the way that they make situations more complicated with negative behaviour, as compared to those on the sea.
Indeed it seems as if making the transition from sailor to home-based novelist put a strain on some of Conrad’s attitudes. At sea he learnt that problems can be solved by strong leadership, male solidarity and low tolerance towards dependency. However, as Conrad’s political novels show, he was becoming aware that these values did not always translate well when applied to governance and the state, or the way of life of people who live on land. This may explain the exasperation that is often expressed for land folk in Chance.
Chance is an unsatisfactory novel in some respects. The first chapter has little to do with what follows, and seems to have been tacked on to the story, giving the book a false start. The ending is rather melodramatic, and Conrad’s abrupt decision to kill off his hero as a final postscript does not play fair with the reader.
There is far too much cod-philosophising on various subjects, especially women, and this level of dense description slows the book down, often a problem when Marlow is narrating. There are other flaws with Marlow’s narration too. It depends heavily on a wide range of voices as other characters repeat things to Marlow, but some of Marlow’s insights are those of an omniscient narrator, not those of a man who is repeating the events described by eyewitnesses.
However, while Chance is not in the top drawer of Conrad novels, it is one that improves with each reading. There is some complex characterisation, and a serious attempt to present the problems of women, and the problems of marriage. It is a pity that it was Chance rather than one of Conrad’s better novels that finally brought him the sales that he deserved, but perhaps the subject matter and style of Chance was easier for readers to grasp.
December 7, 2013
I think the fact that this was a commercial success whereas the Great Reading Public ignored Lord Jim says a lot about the taste of the early 20th century. I'm reading through Conrad, chronologically, and this was such a disappointment. If this had been my introduction, I'd have read no further. The absurdity of the narrator device intrudes constantly, Flora is just too unlucky to be credible, and the scenes at sea may just as well have been in a London hotel for all the atmosphere created. I did like the intrusive dog, though.
December 14, 2011
If you're looking for a great book (i.e. entertaining and thought-provoking) by an author you respect, but who you may be avoiding for whatever reason, this is the book for you. If may seem at first like another gloomy "Marlow, tell us a story..." sort of yarn, but don't worry: most of the action takes place on land and revolves around the attempts by a young woman (Flora de Barral) to overcome her tragic and debilitating childhood.
December 13, 2019
Érzelmi háromszög egy hajóskapitány, egy hányattatott sorsú ifjú hölgy és a hölgy börtönviselt apja között. Mindez azonban a conradi többszörös elbeszélői módszeren keresztül átszűrve válik igazán tartalmassá – ez az az elem, amivel Conrad hozzátette a magáét ahhoz, hogy a szépirodalom úgy nézzen ki, mint amilyennek a XXI. században látjuk. Mert ugye (és az itt következők megértéséhez – lehet – szükség lesz középiskolai matematikatanulmányaink felelevenítésére) először is van az első számú elbeszélő, akit nevezzünk „A”-nak – ő közvetíti az olvasónak a történetet. „A” találkozik egy hajóskapitánnyal*, Powellel, aki elmeséli neki (és rajta keresztül az olvasónak), hogyan került első hajójára, és ott hogyan ismerkedett meg Anthony kapitánnyal, valamint annak hitvesével – Powellt hívjuk „B” elbeszélőnek. „B” elbeszélő ezután diszkréten háttérbe vonul, és átadja a helyét egy régi ismerősnek, Marlowe-nak („C” elbeszélő), akivel a Conrad-regények szerelmesei már találkozhattak, és aki bizony szintén hallott harangozni valamit erről az Anthony kapitányról, csak éppen más oldalról közelíti meg személyét – „C” és „A” beszélgetése alkotja innentől kezdve a mű gerincét. (Tegyük hozzá, „C” – aki természetesen maga is ex-hajóskapitány –, szintúgy elsősorban másodkézből származó információkkal traktálja „A”-t, vagyis az ő elbeszélése is tele van „D”, „E”, „F”, stb. elbeszélőkkel, akiktől felcsipegette mondandóját.)
Mindez pedig igazán gazdag prózát eredményez, ahol maga „A” puszta moderátorként tartja mederben a többi elbeszélőt**, karaktere pedig teljesen háttérbe szorul a jóval markánsabb jellemvonásokkal bíró „B” és „C” mögött (hogy a valódi főszereplőkről, Anthony kapitányról és társairól ne is beszéljünk). A módszer megfizethetetlen hozadéka, hogy általa az író lemond a mindentudás hatalmáról – ő csak annyit közöl jól-rosszul az olvasóval, amit másoktól hall, ezzel pedig kiemeli kozmikus esendőségét: hogy hőseinek szenvedélyeiről csak közvetett és töredékes információkkal bír. Az egyetlen pedig, aki egészt alkothat (ha bírja szusszal), az az olvasó.
Megvallom, a technika a későbbi Conradokhoz képest még eléggé csikorog, néha nehéz követni, mikor melyik elbeszélő hangját halljuk, és hát való igaz, egyes elemeiben erősen túlbeszéltnek is tűnik a könyv. Ugyanakkor mégis kellemes volt elsüppedni benne, talán mert a regényirodalmi újításokon túl van benne egy finom, igen finom hangulat, ami abból fakad, hogy itt végig két ember egymással való társalkodását halljuk. Következésképpen azon túl, hogy ez a regény a megszállottságról és a sérülékenységről szól, és arról, hogy megválthatóak vagyunk-e, bizony a felszín alatt „A” és „C” barátságának regénye is, akik 480 oldalon keresztül csak beszélnek és beszélnek egymáshoz – és hát akik ennyi ideig nem unják meg ezt, azok biztosan nagyon kedvelik egymást.
* A kötet hajóskapitány/négyzetméter tekintetében is kiemelkedő prózának minősül.
** A moderátori szerep már csak azért is szükséges, mert Marlowe-nak meglehetősen karcos véleménye van a női nemről (bocsássuk ezt meg neki – gondolom, a hajóskapitányi szakma, a tengeren, férfitársaságban eltöltött hosszú idő sűrűn oka, esetleg okozata lehet ennek az attitűdnek), úgyhogy „A” többször kénytelen rá is pirítani.
Mindez pedig igazán gazdag prózát eredményez, ahol maga „A” puszta moderátorként tartja mederben a többi elbeszélőt**, karaktere pedig teljesen háttérbe szorul a jóval markánsabb jellemvonásokkal bíró „B” és „C” mögött (hogy a valódi főszereplőkről, Anthony kapitányról és társairól ne is beszéljünk). A módszer megfizethetetlen hozadéka, hogy általa az író lemond a mindentudás hatalmáról – ő csak annyit közöl jól-rosszul az olvasóval, amit másoktól hall, ezzel pedig kiemeli kozmikus esendőségét: hogy hőseinek szenvedélyeiről csak közvetett és töredékes információkkal bír. Az egyetlen pedig, aki egészt alkothat (ha bírja szusszal), az az olvasó.
Megvallom, a technika a későbbi Conradokhoz képest még eléggé csikorog, néha nehéz követni, mikor melyik elbeszélő hangját halljuk, és hát való igaz, egyes elemeiben erősen túlbeszéltnek is tűnik a könyv. Ugyanakkor mégis kellemes volt elsüppedni benne, talán mert a regényirodalmi újításokon túl van benne egy finom, igen finom hangulat, ami abból fakad, hogy itt végig két ember egymással való társalkodását halljuk. Következésképpen azon túl, hogy ez a regény a megszállottságról és a sérülékenységről szól, és arról, hogy megválthatóak vagyunk-e, bizony a felszín alatt „A” és „C” barátságának regénye is, akik 480 oldalon keresztül csak beszélnek és beszélnek egymáshoz – és hát akik ennyi ideig nem unják meg ezt, azok biztosan nagyon kedvelik egymást.
* A kötet hajóskapitány/négyzetméter tekintetében is kiemelkedő prózának minősül.
** A moderátori szerep már csak azért is szükséges, mert Marlowe-nak meglehetősen karcos véleménye van a női nemről (bocsássuk ezt meg neki – gondolom, a hajóskapitányi szakma, a tengeren, férfitársaságban eltöltött hosszú idő sűrűn oka, esetleg okozata lehet ennek az attitűdnek), úgyhogy „A” többször kénytelen rá is pirítani.
February 20, 2024
"Good intentions stand in their own way so much."
—Joseph Conrad
—Joseph Conrad
February 9, 2019
review of
Joseph Conrad's Chance
by tENTATIVELY, a cONVENIENCE - February 7-8, 2019
For the complete review go here: https://www.goodreads.com/story/show/...
Despite my knowing about Joseph Conrad for 40 or 50 yrs, despite my having seen at least 4 movies based on his stories, Lord Jim (1965), Apocalypse Now (1979) (based on Heart of Darkness), Heart of Darkness (1993), & The Secret Agent (1996); & despite my thinking of Conrad as a rugged individualist writer of note along w/ Jack London, I haven't read anything by him until now w/ Chance. What a weird place to start. This is the 9th of his novels & novellas, out of a total of 15 — w/ the last unfinished.
It was 1st serialized in 1912 & published as a bk in 1913. Not having read anything else by him it's a bit hard for me to place it. In other words, I don't know if he was trying to strike off in a more experimental style or what?! It seems that that might be the case. I'm often annoyed by stories in wch the main narrative is the recitation of a story found told in a ms, or something weird that's written off as a dream at the end. These devices seem to cheat the reader of total immersion in the fantasy w/o serving any purpose of awakening the reader to critical reading.
In this case, the main narrator, the 1st-person narrator, recounts what his friend tells him about what other people have told him, etc, etc. It's almost like in-depth gossip more than it is a narrative that one can suspend disbelief in. That made it particularly hard for me to enjoy it as a novel. Making matters even stranger is that the 2nd narrator, Marlow, the one who tells the bulk of his story by quoting others who quote others, frequently propounds a somewhat misogynistic philosophy wch the main 1st person narrator occasionally sees fit to scoff at.
Marlow & his 1st person friend, both sailors, are eating at a shoreside restaurant where they spot another man, Powell, who they recognize as a kindred spirit & strike up an acquaintance w/.
""If we at sea," he declared, "went about our work as people ashore high and low go about theirs we should never make a living. No one would employ us. And moreover no ship navigated and sailed in the happy-go-lucky manner people conduct ther business on shore would ever arrive into port."" - p 1
That cd be taken as an argument in favor of living on the land where there's less stress revolving around discipline for survival.
Powell recounts his 1st posting as a 2nd Mate on the ship that Roderick Anthony skippers. Anthony becomes a central character that the narrative dances around in an elliptical way. In the meantime, Powell risk falling prey to some denizens of the dockside.
"A dock policeman strode into the light on the other side of the gate, very broad-chested and stern.
""Hallo! What's up here?"
""He was really surprised, but after some palaver he let me in together with the two loafers carrying my luggage. He grumbled at them however and slammed the gate violently with a loud clang. I was startled to discover how many night prowlers had collected in the darkness of the street in such a short time and without my being aware of it. Directly they were through they came surging against the bars, silent, like a mob of ungly spectres. But suddenly, up the street somewhere, perhaps near that public-house, a row started as if Bedlam had broken loose: shouts, yells, an awful shrill shriek—and at that noise all these heads vanished from behind the bars.
""Look at this," marvelled the constable. "It's a wonder to me that they didn't make off with your things while you were waiting."
""I would've taken good care of that," I said defiantly. But the constable wasn't impressed.
""Much you would have done. The bag going off round one dark corner; the chest round another. Would you have run two ways at once? And anyhow you'd have been tripped up and jumped upon before you had run three yards. I tell you you've had a most extraordinary chance that there wasn't one of them regular boys about to-night, in the High Street, to twig your loaded cab go by. Ted here is honest . . . You are the honest lay, Ted, ain't you?" " - p 14
The constable's observations seem wise & educational.
Narrator #1 comments that "Later on I asked Marlow why he wished to cultivate this chance acquaintance. He confessed apologetically that it was the commonest sort of curiosity. I flatter myself that I understand all sorts of curiosity. Curiosity about daily facts, about daily things, about daily men. It is the most respectable faculty of the human mind—in fact I cannot conceive the uses of an incurious mind. It would be like a chamber perpetually locked up." (p 22) Indeed. But I wonder how many incurious minds there are out there today in this age of readily available information — are people reacting by withdrawing into incuriosity?
Perhaps the central character of this story is Flora de Barral, a character rarely heard from 'directly' in this labyrinth of nested narratives. Flora has disappeared from the hospitality of the Fynes after having been recently witnessed to be on the brink of suicide by Marlow. Here's Marlow's 1st-person acct of how to begin searching for her:
"But I really wanted to help poor Fyne; and as I could see that, manlike, he suffered from the present inability to act, the passive waiting, I said: "Nothing of this can be done till to-morrow. But as you have given me an insight into the nature of your thoughts I can tell you what may be done at once. We may go and look at the bottom of the old quarry which is on the level of the road, about a mile from here."" - p 28
At this point, I wasn't really sure where this was all going: was the story about the experiences of the 1st narrator? of Marlow? of Powell? of the Fynes? of Flora de Barral? of all of them intertwined? It was somewhat difficult for me to pick thru these threads & to see a strong direction forming, all sorts of possibilities seemed inherent. Perhaps that was Conrad's intention, to have the tale form as the clues accumulated. That's not, of course, an unusual strategy in & of itself, but the way in wch casual encounters accumulated to form a drama was made unusual for me by the almost complete absence of an omniscient perspective. More confusingly, it began to appear to be some sort of male speculation on the nature of women. Marlow:
"I asked Mrs. Fyne if she did not think it was a sort of duty to show elementary consideration not only for the natural feelings but even for the prejudices of one's fellow-creatures.
"Her answer knocked me over.
""Not for a woman."
"Just like that. I confess that I went down flat. And while in that collapsed state I learned the true nature of Mrs. Fyne's feminist doctrine. It was not political, it was not social. It was a knock-me-down doctrine—a practical individualistic doctrine. You would not thank me for expounding it to you at large. Indeed I think she herself did not enlighten me fully. There must have been things not fit for a man to hear. But shortly, and as far as my bewilderment allowed me to grasp its naïve atrociousness, it was something like this: that no consideration, no delicacy, no tenderness, no scruples should stand in the way of a woman (who by the mere fact of her sex was the predestined victim of conditions created by man's selfish passions, their vices and their abominable tyranny) from taking the shortest cut towards securing for herself the easiest possible existence." - p 32
The irony of this being that she later falsely accuses Flora of doing just that — something Mrs. Fyne finds unacceptable b/c the man involved is her brother. It's this sort of thing that perhaps distinguishes Conrad's novel as a 'psychological' one, one in wch people play out their lives in a complex of conflicting emotions & philosophies that they're never completely aware of.
"But Mrs. Fyne's individualist woman-doctrine, naïvely unscrupulous, flitted through my mind. The salad of unprincipled notions she put into these girl-friends' heads! Good innocent creature, worthy wife, excellent mother (of the strict governess type), she was as guileless of consequences as any determinist philosopher ever was."
[..]
""Do you expect me to agree to all this?" I interrupted." - p 34
"Like her husband she too had published a little book. Much later on I came upon it. It had nothing to do with pedestrianism. It was a sort of hand-book for women with grievances (and all women had them), a sort of compendious theory and practice of feminine free morality. It made you laugh at its transparent simplicity." - p 36
One of the things that interests me about this is the use of the word "feminism" in 1912. When I think of feminism I tend to think of a movement starting around 1970. I tend to think of early 20th century feminists as sufragettes. Instead, I'm surprised to learn that the term is credited w/ having originated w/ 'my old friend' Charles Fourier. I have a Fourier archibras tattooed on my lower back.
"The term “feminism” originated from the French word “feminisme,” coined by the utopian socialist Charles Fourier, and was first used in English in the 1890s, in association with the movement for equal political and legal rights for women." - http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/e...
The narrative's meandering takes us to a new phase, the collapse of the financial empire of Flora's father, something that considerably predates the time at wch the reader meets Flora "Smith" by way of Marlow by way of Narrator 1.
"Its consort The Sceptre collapsed within a week. I won't say in American parlance that suddenly the bottom fell out of the whole de Barral concerns. There never had been any bottom to it. It was like the cask of Danaides into which the public had been pleased to pour its deposits. That they were gone was clear; and the bankruptcy proceedings which followed were like a sinister farce, bursts of laughter in a setting of mute anguish—that of the depositors; hundreds of thousands of them. The laughter was irresistible; the accompaniment of the bankrupt's public examination." - p 44
""I call a woman sincere," Marlow began again after giving me a cigar and lighting one himself, "I call a woman sincere when she volunteers a statement resembling remotely in form what she really would like to say, what she really thinks ought to be said if it were not for the necessity to spare the stupid sensitiveness of men. The women's rougher, simpler, more upright judgment, embraces the whole truth, which their tact, their mistrust of maculine idealism, ever prevents them from speaking in its entirety. And their tact is unerring. We could not stand women speaking the truth. We could not bear it. It would cause infinite misery and bring about most awful disturbances in this rather mediocre, but still idealistic fool's paradise in which most of us lives his own little life—the unit in the great sum of existence. And they know it. They are merciful." - p 78
I don't perceive Marlow as speaking as an avatar for the writer. The 1st narrator seems to be more that & he says very little about himself. The character of Marlow seems to be being used as an affable but highly opinionated observer. How many people, men or women, wd agree w/ his descriptions above? It almost stands on its head sterotypes about the sexes: men are presented as "sensitive", people to keep the truth from, & women are presented as rough. I think most people, men & women, don't often speak everything that's on their mind in order to avoid conflict w/ others. Not many men, e.g., wd openly speak about a 'good rack' when around women as easily as they wd around other men. "The women's rougher, simpler, more upright judgment, embraces the whole truth, which their tact, their mistrust of maculine idealism, ever prevents them from speaking in its entirety. And their tact is unerring." Their tact? I've certainly had plenty of women say ridiculously hateful things to me that were tactless. I don't think anyone "embraces the whole truth" — how can we? We're not omniscient beings for one thing. For another, people construct their personal world views according to personal needs. Marlow continues about women. Perhaps as a sailor he's spent too little time around them to have a well-rounded perspective.
"["]For myself, it's towards women that I feel vindictive mostly, in my small way. I admit that it is small. But then the occasions in themselves are not great. Mainly I resent that pretense of winding us round their dear little fingers, as of right. Not that the result ever amounts to much generally. There are so few momentous opportunities. It is the assumption that each of us is a combination of a kid and an imbecile which I find provoking—in a small way; in a very small way. You needn't stare as though I were breathing fire and smoke out of my nostrils. I am not a woman-devouring monster. I am not even what is technically called "a brute."["]" - p 82
Then again, his resentment of "that pretense of winding us round their dear little fingers" seems fair enuf to me. I've always maintained that the physically weaker creature will develop means of pscyhological manipulation. Marlow's slightly misogynistic positioning is found to be at odds w/ Mrs. Fyne's ostensibly feminist one not b/c he's attacking women & she's defending them but b/c she's attacking a specific woman in a way that Marlow finds indefensible. Hence, the complexity of the novel.
"I interrupted Mrs. Fyne here. I had heard. Fyne was not very communicative in general, but he was proud of his father-in-law—"Carleon Anthony, the poet, you know." Proud of his celebrity without approving of his character. It was on that account, I strongly suspect, that he seized with avidity upon the theory of poetical genius being allied to madness, which he got hold of in some idiotic book everybody was reading a few years ago." - p 100
This recurring satirical trope of "Carleon Anthony, the poet, you know." seems so pointed that I have to wonder whether Conrad was basing it on an actual public figure.
What do YOU think of the idea of "genius being allied to madness"? I don't think that all 'madness' is anything remotely close to what I, personally, might consider to be 'genius'. On the other hand I think that there have been & are now plenty of people that I might consider to be geniuses who the general public wd've relegated to being 'mad' simply b/c they were too stupid to understand the person.
Marlow eventually concludes that Mrs. Fyne's hostility to Flora was simply a cunning act.
"And musing thus on the general inclination of our instincts toward injustice I met unexpectedly, at the turn of the road, as it were, a shape of duplicity. It might have been unconscious on Mrs. Fyne's part, but her leading idea appeared to me to be not to keep, not to preserve her brother, but to get rid of him definitely. She did not hope to stop anything. She had too much sense for that. Almost anyone out of an idiot asylum would have had enough sense for that. She wanted the protest to be made, emphatically, with Fyne's fullest concurrence in order to make all intercourse for the future impossible. Such an action would estrange the pair forever from the Fynes. She understood her brother and the girl too. Happy together, they would never forgive that outspoken hostility—and should the marriage turn out badly . . . Well, it would be just the same. Neither of them would be likely to bring their troubles to such a good prophet of evil." - p 105
Of course, Marlow's reading of the situation isn't necessarily correct. Conrad shows us his biases. What if Mrs. Fyne simply cdn't stand it when people did things w/o her matriarchical pre-approval?
The father de Barral has been in prison for banking malfeasance. His release from prison marks even more malignance into Flora's life than she's already had to suffer thru. Marlow muses further on prisons.
"Prisons are wonderful contrivances. Shut—open. Very neat. Shut—open. And out comes some sort of corpse, to wander awfully in a world in which it has no possible connections and carrying with it the appalling tainted atmosphere of its silent abode. Marvellous arrangement. It works automatically, and when you look at it, the perfection makes you sick; which for a mere mechanism is no mean triumph. Sick and scared." - p 135
The end of Part I of this puzzling collection of accumulated fragments of nested narratives ends along these lines: "We also looked at each other, he rather angrily, I fancy, and I with wonder. I may also mention that it was for the last time. From that day I never set eyes on the Fynes. As usual the unexpected happened to me. It had nothing to do woth Flora de Barral. The fact is that I went away." - p 139
Part II is a recontruction of the events surrounding Flora & her new husband Captain Anthony, the brother of Mrs. Fyne, on board the captain's ship. Unfortunately, they're joined by Flora's father, fresh out of prison & hell-bent on poisoning the marriage of his daughter. Powell is the main teller here, as filtered thru Marlow.
""Mr. Franklin," said the captain, "we have been more than six years together, it is true, but I didn't know you for a reader of faces. You are not a correct reader though. It's very far from being wrong. You understand? As far from being wrong as it can very well be. It ought to teach you not to make rash surmises. You should leave that to the shore people. They are great hands at spying out something that's wrong. I dare say they know what they have made of the world. A dam' poor job of it and that's plain. It's a confoundedly ugly place, Mr. Franklin. You don't know anything of it? Well—no, we sailors don't. Only now and then one of us runs against something cruel or underhand, enough to make your hair stand on end. And when you do see a piece of their wickedness you find that to set it right is not as easy as it looks . . . Oh! I called you back to tell you that there will be a whole lot of workmen, joiners and all that sent down on board first thing tomorrow morning to start making alterations in the cabin. You will see to it that they don't loaf. There isn't much time.""
"Franklin was impressed by this unexpected lecture upon the wickedness of the solid world surrounded by the salt, uncorruptible waters on which he and his captain had dwelt all their lives in happy innocence." - p 148
Powell recounts how Franklin, the mate, laments Captain Anthony's changed personality now that his new wife & her father are aboard.
"["]he thought I would suit him very well—we two, and thirty-one days out at sea, and it's no good! It's like talking to a man standing on shore. I can't get him back. I can't get at him. I feel sometimes as if I must shake him by the arm: "Wake up! You are wanted, sir . . . !"
"Young Powell recognized the expression of a true sentiment, a thing so rare in this world where there are so many mutes and so many excellent reasons even at sea for an articulate man not to give himself away, that he felt something like respect for this outburst." - p 164
For the complete review go here: https://www.goodreads.com/story/show/...
Joseph Conrad's Chance
by tENTATIVELY, a cONVENIENCE - February 7-8, 2019
For the complete review go here: https://www.goodreads.com/story/show/...
Despite my knowing about Joseph Conrad for 40 or 50 yrs, despite my having seen at least 4 movies based on his stories, Lord Jim (1965), Apocalypse Now (1979) (based on Heart of Darkness), Heart of Darkness (1993), & The Secret Agent (1996); & despite my thinking of Conrad as a rugged individualist writer of note along w/ Jack London, I haven't read anything by him until now w/ Chance. What a weird place to start. This is the 9th of his novels & novellas, out of a total of 15 — w/ the last unfinished.
It was 1st serialized in 1912 & published as a bk in 1913. Not having read anything else by him it's a bit hard for me to place it. In other words, I don't know if he was trying to strike off in a more experimental style or what?! It seems that that might be the case. I'm often annoyed by stories in wch the main narrative is the recitation of a story found told in a ms, or something weird that's written off as a dream at the end. These devices seem to cheat the reader of total immersion in the fantasy w/o serving any purpose of awakening the reader to critical reading.
In this case, the main narrator, the 1st-person narrator, recounts what his friend tells him about what other people have told him, etc, etc. It's almost like in-depth gossip more than it is a narrative that one can suspend disbelief in. That made it particularly hard for me to enjoy it as a novel. Making matters even stranger is that the 2nd narrator, Marlow, the one who tells the bulk of his story by quoting others who quote others, frequently propounds a somewhat misogynistic philosophy wch the main 1st person narrator occasionally sees fit to scoff at.
Marlow & his 1st person friend, both sailors, are eating at a shoreside restaurant where they spot another man, Powell, who they recognize as a kindred spirit & strike up an acquaintance w/.
""If we at sea," he declared, "went about our work as people ashore high and low go about theirs we should never make a living. No one would employ us. And moreover no ship navigated and sailed in the happy-go-lucky manner people conduct ther business on shore would ever arrive into port."" - p 1
That cd be taken as an argument in favor of living on the land where there's less stress revolving around discipline for survival.
Powell recounts his 1st posting as a 2nd Mate on the ship that Roderick Anthony skippers. Anthony becomes a central character that the narrative dances around in an elliptical way. In the meantime, Powell risk falling prey to some denizens of the dockside.
"A dock policeman strode into the light on the other side of the gate, very broad-chested and stern.
""Hallo! What's up here?"
""He was really surprised, but after some palaver he let me in together with the two loafers carrying my luggage. He grumbled at them however and slammed the gate violently with a loud clang. I was startled to discover how many night prowlers had collected in the darkness of the street in such a short time and without my being aware of it. Directly they were through they came surging against the bars, silent, like a mob of ungly spectres. But suddenly, up the street somewhere, perhaps near that public-house, a row started as if Bedlam had broken loose: shouts, yells, an awful shrill shriek—and at that noise all these heads vanished from behind the bars.
""Look at this," marvelled the constable. "It's a wonder to me that they didn't make off with your things while you were waiting."
""I would've taken good care of that," I said defiantly. But the constable wasn't impressed.
""Much you would have done. The bag going off round one dark corner; the chest round another. Would you have run two ways at once? And anyhow you'd have been tripped up and jumped upon before you had run three yards. I tell you you've had a most extraordinary chance that there wasn't one of them regular boys about to-night, in the High Street, to twig your loaded cab go by. Ted here is honest . . . You are the honest lay, Ted, ain't you?" " - p 14
The constable's observations seem wise & educational.
Narrator #1 comments that "Later on I asked Marlow why he wished to cultivate this chance acquaintance. He confessed apologetically that it was the commonest sort of curiosity. I flatter myself that I understand all sorts of curiosity. Curiosity about daily facts, about daily things, about daily men. It is the most respectable faculty of the human mind—in fact I cannot conceive the uses of an incurious mind. It would be like a chamber perpetually locked up." (p 22) Indeed. But I wonder how many incurious minds there are out there today in this age of readily available information — are people reacting by withdrawing into incuriosity?
Perhaps the central character of this story is Flora de Barral, a character rarely heard from 'directly' in this labyrinth of nested narratives. Flora has disappeared from the hospitality of the Fynes after having been recently witnessed to be on the brink of suicide by Marlow. Here's Marlow's 1st-person acct of how to begin searching for her:
"But I really wanted to help poor Fyne; and as I could see that, manlike, he suffered from the present inability to act, the passive waiting, I said: "Nothing of this can be done till to-morrow. But as you have given me an insight into the nature of your thoughts I can tell you what may be done at once. We may go and look at the bottom of the old quarry which is on the level of the road, about a mile from here."" - p 28
At this point, I wasn't really sure where this was all going: was the story about the experiences of the 1st narrator? of Marlow? of Powell? of the Fynes? of Flora de Barral? of all of them intertwined? It was somewhat difficult for me to pick thru these threads & to see a strong direction forming, all sorts of possibilities seemed inherent. Perhaps that was Conrad's intention, to have the tale form as the clues accumulated. That's not, of course, an unusual strategy in & of itself, but the way in wch casual encounters accumulated to form a drama was made unusual for me by the almost complete absence of an omniscient perspective. More confusingly, it began to appear to be some sort of male speculation on the nature of women. Marlow:
"I asked Mrs. Fyne if she did not think it was a sort of duty to show elementary consideration not only for the natural feelings but even for the prejudices of one's fellow-creatures.
"Her answer knocked me over.
""Not for a woman."
"Just like that. I confess that I went down flat. And while in that collapsed state I learned the true nature of Mrs. Fyne's feminist doctrine. It was not political, it was not social. It was a knock-me-down doctrine—a practical individualistic doctrine. You would not thank me for expounding it to you at large. Indeed I think she herself did not enlighten me fully. There must have been things not fit for a man to hear. But shortly, and as far as my bewilderment allowed me to grasp its naïve atrociousness, it was something like this: that no consideration, no delicacy, no tenderness, no scruples should stand in the way of a woman (who by the mere fact of her sex was the predestined victim of conditions created by man's selfish passions, their vices and their abominable tyranny) from taking the shortest cut towards securing for herself the easiest possible existence." - p 32
The irony of this being that she later falsely accuses Flora of doing just that — something Mrs. Fyne finds unacceptable b/c the man involved is her brother. It's this sort of thing that perhaps distinguishes Conrad's novel as a 'psychological' one, one in wch people play out their lives in a complex of conflicting emotions & philosophies that they're never completely aware of.
"But Mrs. Fyne's individualist woman-doctrine, naïvely unscrupulous, flitted through my mind. The salad of unprincipled notions she put into these girl-friends' heads! Good innocent creature, worthy wife, excellent mother (of the strict governess type), she was as guileless of consequences as any determinist philosopher ever was."
[..]
""Do you expect me to agree to all this?" I interrupted." - p 34
"Like her husband she too had published a little book. Much later on I came upon it. It had nothing to do with pedestrianism. It was a sort of hand-book for women with grievances (and all women had them), a sort of compendious theory and practice of feminine free morality. It made you laugh at its transparent simplicity." - p 36
One of the things that interests me about this is the use of the word "feminism" in 1912. When I think of feminism I tend to think of a movement starting around 1970. I tend to think of early 20th century feminists as sufragettes. Instead, I'm surprised to learn that the term is credited w/ having originated w/ 'my old friend' Charles Fourier. I have a Fourier archibras tattooed on my lower back.
"The term “feminism” originated from the French word “feminisme,” coined by the utopian socialist Charles Fourier, and was first used in English in the 1890s, in association with the movement for equal political and legal rights for women." - http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/e...
The narrative's meandering takes us to a new phase, the collapse of the financial empire of Flora's father, something that considerably predates the time at wch the reader meets Flora "Smith" by way of Marlow by way of Narrator 1.
"Its consort The Sceptre collapsed within a week. I won't say in American parlance that suddenly the bottom fell out of the whole de Barral concerns. There never had been any bottom to it. It was like the cask of Danaides into which the public had been pleased to pour its deposits. That they were gone was clear; and the bankruptcy proceedings which followed were like a sinister farce, bursts of laughter in a setting of mute anguish—that of the depositors; hundreds of thousands of them. The laughter was irresistible; the accompaniment of the bankrupt's public examination." - p 44
""I call a woman sincere," Marlow began again after giving me a cigar and lighting one himself, "I call a woman sincere when she volunteers a statement resembling remotely in form what she really would like to say, what she really thinks ought to be said if it were not for the necessity to spare the stupid sensitiveness of men. The women's rougher, simpler, more upright judgment, embraces the whole truth, which their tact, their mistrust of maculine idealism, ever prevents them from speaking in its entirety. And their tact is unerring. We could not stand women speaking the truth. We could not bear it. It would cause infinite misery and bring about most awful disturbances in this rather mediocre, but still idealistic fool's paradise in which most of us lives his own little life—the unit in the great sum of existence. And they know it. They are merciful." - p 78
I don't perceive Marlow as speaking as an avatar for the writer. The 1st narrator seems to be more that & he says very little about himself. The character of Marlow seems to be being used as an affable but highly opinionated observer. How many people, men or women, wd agree w/ his descriptions above? It almost stands on its head sterotypes about the sexes: men are presented as "sensitive", people to keep the truth from, & women are presented as rough. I think most people, men & women, don't often speak everything that's on their mind in order to avoid conflict w/ others. Not many men, e.g., wd openly speak about a 'good rack' when around women as easily as they wd around other men. "The women's rougher, simpler, more upright judgment, embraces the whole truth, which their tact, their mistrust of maculine idealism, ever prevents them from speaking in its entirety. And their tact is unerring." Their tact? I've certainly had plenty of women say ridiculously hateful things to me that were tactless. I don't think anyone "embraces the whole truth" — how can we? We're not omniscient beings for one thing. For another, people construct their personal world views according to personal needs. Marlow continues about women. Perhaps as a sailor he's spent too little time around them to have a well-rounded perspective.
"["]For myself, it's towards women that I feel vindictive mostly, in my small way. I admit that it is small. But then the occasions in themselves are not great. Mainly I resent that pretense of winding us round their dear little fingers, as of right. Not that the result ever amounts to much generally. There are so few momentous opportunities. It is the assumption that each of us is a combination of a kid and an imbecile which I find provoking—in a small way; in a very small way. You needn't stare as though I were breathing fire and smoke out of my nostrils. I am not a woman-devouring monster. I am not even what is technically called "a brute."["]" - p 82
Then again, his resentment of "that pretense of winding us round their dear little fingers" seems fair enuf to me. I've always maintained that the physically weaker creature will develop means of pscyhological manipulation. Marlow's slightly misogynistic positioning is found to be at odds w/ Mrs. Fyne's ostensibly feminist one not b/c he's attacking women & she's defending them but b/c she's attacking a specific woman in a way that Marlow finds indefensible. Hence, the complexity of the novel.
"I interrupted Mrs. Fyne here. I had heard. Fyne was not very communicative in general, but he was proud of his father-in-law—"Carleon Anthony, the poet, you know." Proud of his celebrity without approving of his character. It was on that account, I strongly suspect, that he seized with avidity upon the theory of poetical genius being allied to madness, which he got hold of in some idiotic book everybody was reading a few years ago." - p 100
This recurring satirical trope of "Carleon Anthony, the poet, you know." seems so pointed that I have to wonder whether Conrad was basing it on an actual public figure.
What do YOU think of the idea of "genius being allied to madness"? I don't think that all 'madness' is anything remotely close to what I, personally, might consider to be 'genius'. On the other hand I think that there have been & are now plenty of people that I might consider to be geniuses who the general public wd've relegated to being 'mad' simply b/c they were too stupid to understand the person.
Marlow eventually concludes that Mrs. Fyne's hostility to Flora was simply a cunning act.
"And musing thus on the general inclination of our instincts toward injustice I met unexpectedly, at the turn of the road, as it were, a shape of duplicity. It might have been unconscious on Mrs. Fyne's part, but her leading idea appeared to me to be not to keep, not to preserve her brother, but to get rid of him definitely. She did not hope to stop anything. She had too much sense for that. Almost anyone out of an idiot asylum would have had enough sense for that. She wanted the protest to be made, emphatically, with Fyne's fullest concurrence in order to make all intercourse for the future impossible. Such an action would estrange the pair forever from the Fynes. She understood her brother and the girl too. Happy together, they would never forgive that outspoken hostility—and should the marriage turn out badly . . . Well, it would be just the same. Neither of them would be likely to bring their troubles to such a good prophet of evil." - p 105
Of course, Marlow's reading of the situation isn't necessarily correct. Conrad shows us his biases. What if Mrs. Fyne simply cdn't stand it when people did things w/o her matriarchical pre-approval?
The father de Barral has been in prison for banking malfeasance. His release from prison marks even more malignance into Flora's life than she's already had to suffer thru. Marlow muses further on prisons.
"Prisons are wonderful contrivances. Shut—open. Very neat. Shut—open. And out comes some sort of corpse, to wander awfully in a world in which it has no possible connections and carrying with it the appalling tainted atmosphere of its silent abode. Marvellous arrangement. It works automatically, and when you look at it, the perfection makes you sick; which for a mere mechanism is no mean triumph. Sick and scared." - p 135
The end of Part I of this puzzling collection of accumulated fragments of nested narratives ends along these lines: "We also looked at each other, he rather angrily, I fancy, and I with wonder. I may also mention that it was for the last time. From that day I never set eyes on the Fynes. As usual the unexpected happened to me. It had nothing to do woth Flora de Barral. The fact is that I went away." - p 139
Part II is a recontruction of the events surrounding Flora & her new husband Captain Anthony, the brother of Mrs. Fyne, on board the captain's ship. Unfortunately, they're joined by Flora's father, fresh out of prison & hell-bent on poisoning the marriage of his daughter. Powell is the main teller here, as filtered thru Marlow.
""Mr. Franklin," said the captain, "we have been more than six years together, it is true, but I didn't know you for a reader of faces. You are not a correct reader though. It's very far from being wrong. You understand? As far from being wrong as it can very well be. It ought to teach you not to make rash surmises. You should leave that to the shore people. They are great hands at spying out something that's wrong. I dare say they know what they have made of the world. A dam' poor job of it and that's plain. It's a confoundedly ugly place, Mr. Franklin. You don't know anything of it? Well—no, we sailors don't. Only now and then one of us runs against something cruel or underhand, enough to make your hair stand on end. And when you do see a piece of their wickedness you find that to set it right is not as easy as it looks . . . Oh! I called you back to tell you that there will be a whole lot of workmen, joiners and all that sent down on board first thing tomorrow morning to start making alterations in the cabin. You will see to it that they don't loaf. There isn't much time.""
"Franklin was impressed by this unexpected lecture upon the wickedness of the solid world surrounded by the salt, uncorruptible waters on which he and his captain had dwelt all their lives in happy innocence." - p 148
Powell recounts how Franklin, the mate, laments Captain Anthony's changed personality now that his new wife & her father are aboard.
"["]he thought I would suit him very well—we two, and thirty-one days out at sea, and it's no good! It's like talking to a man standing on shore. I can't get him back. I can't get at him. I feel sometimes as if I must shake him by the arm: "Wake up! You are wanted, sir . . . !"
"Young Powell recognized the expression of a true sentiment, a thing so rare in this world where there are so many mutes and so many excellent reasons even at sea for an articulate man not to give himself away, that he felt something like respect for this outburst." - p 164
For the complete review go here: https://www.goodreads.com/story/show/...
October 27, 2020
Conrad è una mia antica lacuna: non avevo mai letto nessuno dei suoi romanzi: a trattenermi è sempre stata la fama di autore pesante, faticoso e difficile, e la mancanza di personaggi femminili; e prima di giudicarmi chiedetevi, voi lettori maschi, se leggereste volentieri un romanzo senza uomini.
Ma non si può rimandare all’infinito: ho scelto perciò questo, come primo approccio, avendo saputo che è la storia di una ragazza; anche se è ovviamente un’opera minore.
La vicenda di Flora de Barral, sperduta nel mondo e salvata dal caso, è effettivamente bella e appassionante; Conrad però la racconta in modo così tortuoso da mettere a dura prova, io credo, un lettore incallito. Noi non leggiamo la sua storia direttamente: sono prima i signori Fyne, amici della ragazza, e poi l’ufficiale Powell, testimone finale, a raccontarla all’amico Marlow, e Marlow la racconta al narratore, che non ha nome, e il narratore la racconta a noi. Il motivo di tutti questi passaggi, che rendono la lettura lentissima e complicata perché ognuno dei narratori vi aggiunge le proprie considerazioni, le proprie ipotesi e le proprie sentenze sulle donne, per me è del tutto incomprensibile, e appesantisce il romanzo oltre ogni dire. E tuttavia, ho resistito fino alla fine per sapere come si conclude la rocambolesca avventura di Flora de Barral. E il finale, a suo modo sorprendente, merita.
Ma non si può rimandare all’infinito: ho scelto perciò questo, come primo approccio, avendo saputo che è la storia di una ragazza; anche se è ovviamente un’opera minore.
La vicenda di Flora de Barral, sperduta nel mondo e salvata dal caso, è effettivamente bella e appassionante; Conrad però la racconta in modo così tortuoso da mettere a dura prova, io credo, un lettore incallito. Noi non leggiamo la sua storia direttamente: sono prima i signori Fyne, amici della ragazza, e poi l’ufficiale Powell, testimone finale, a raccontarla all’amico Marlow, e Marlow la racconta al narratore, che non ha nome, e il narratore la racconta a noi. Il motivo di tutti questi passaggi, che rendono la lettura lentissima e complicata perché ognuno dei narratori vi aggiunge le proprie considerazioni, le proprie ipotesi e le proprie sentenze sulle donne, per me è del tutto incomprensibile, e appesantisce il romanzo oltre ogni dire. E tuttavia, ho resistito fino alla fine per sapere come si conclude la rocambolesca avventura di Flora de Barral. E il finale, a suo modo sorprendente, merita.
September 13, 2016
Much easier, less "modernist" than the other works, and yet Conrad's genius shows through, mostly in the psychological insight. The characters are intensely real, and I loved the ending. The only real disappointment is that so much it takes place on land as opposed to sea, where Conrad is not as much in his element.
January 1, 2016
Fabulous, fabulous book
I needed to be patient reading through this detailed and slowly unfolding novel but rewarded with a great love story. And if you sail on the Thames, recognising the creeks and landscape is a bonus.
I needed to be patient reading through this detailed and slowly unfolding novel but rewarded with a great love story. And if you sail on the Thames, recognising the creeks and landscape is a bonus.
April 29, 2011
A great fan of Conrad in my youth. This one is my personal favourite.
April 28, 2021
The anonymous narrator in Chance chides the storyteller Marlow for the extremity of his expression of events, the gaudy coloring he gives to his description of hidden causes and emotions. As a mouthpiece for Conrad’s stories, Marlow has often been guilty of trying to express the ineffable in high-flown extravagance—even (or especially) in Conrad’s best-known novel, The Heart of Darkness—but in Chance that anonymous narrator several times tut-tuts the extremity of Marlow’s expression. It’s a clever self-aware disclaimer, a wink to the reader that Conrad knows he’s nearing the brink (of overstatement or melodrama). If you like this sort of thing and are willing to spend time mulling how the story’s being told just as much as the facts of the story, Chance might be just the ticket. And it’s got a happy ending!
Chance tells the story of Flora de Barral—daughter of the great financier Smith de Barral—whose gilded young life is taken from her at age sixteen when her father is imprisoned for mismanaging the millions of dollars entrusted to him. De Barral had risen out of lower working-class origins as a bank clerk with the audacious idea of advertizing his new bank, which quickly grew and led millions of depositors to trust his simple annual 10% interest scheme. While her father conducts business out of rented rooms in London, her mother dies, and Flora is brought up in Brighton by a calculating governess who despises Flora for her ignorance and good fortune. In all, de Barral’s ascendancy spans less than a decade, but it is enough to irrevocably shape their characters.
Shunted to and from cruel and opportunistic relatives and various other inappropriate guardians, Flora feels she has little to live for, has taken to heart the malign departing words of the governess that she is weak and worthless. In a desperate bid to persist and even to give succor to her father, whom she believes was railroaded into prison, Flora acts on the principles her friend and guardian Mrs. Fyne expounds in her feminist manifesto, ie, take what you can. In so doing, she elopes with Mrs. Fyne’s brother, sea captain Roderick Anthony, arousing Mrs. Fyne’s ire and setting in motion a bizarre shipboard psychological drama.
Captain Anthony is a late-blooming romantic, thirty-five years old, suddenly aware of his loneliness and aware of Flora’s plight and her worthiness to be saved. At the same time, he forbears pressing Flora emotionally or in any amatory fashion, even after they are married. This fact, along with her father’s presence and his disdain for Captain Anthony and his “imprisonment” on the ship, makes Flora unsure of her emotions, makes her suspect that she is unworthy of love, that Captain Anthony is daily growing dissatisfied. The two are unable to articulate any sort of rapprochement, each leary of presuming any influence on the other.
De Barral attempts to poison Captain Anthony, and while the captain discreetly makes no charge against de Barral for Flora’s sake, he declares he must set Flora free. When Flora impetuously demurs and rushes to embrace her husband, de Barral drinks the poison he’d intended for the captain. Circumstances allow Captain Anthony to disguise the cause of de Barral’s death, and Flora and he have seven happy years of marriage voyaging over the seas. Captain Anthony dies tragically/unnecessarily, and Flora, still in her early 30s, is once more alone, but happy in memories that she means to preserve for years to come. Chance has it, though, that she may find further happiness.
Conrad’s manner of narration entails many levels and many removes from the characters themselves, enabling him to dwell on the highlights and the psychological dimensions of the story. The novel’s narrator is anonymous, and he introduces the old seaman Marlow to narrate what he knows about Flora when an accidental encounter with another seaman, Powell, brings the subject up. Marlow initially narrates all that he knows about Flora from first- and second-hand sources, up to the point she, her father, and Captain Anthony set sail on the Ferndale. The narrator says that several months elapse before he and Marlow again speak, and it’s at this time that Marlow is able to speak further about Powell’s relationship to Flora’s story, since he served on the Ferndale as second- and then first-mate.
Even when Flora and Marlow speak in the novel’s concluding pages, there is still a removal from the immediacy of events in motion, and even the matrimony between Flora and Powell is kept at a distance as being an imminence. Chance has a complex structure, and it forces a reader to wonder whether it is the story or its manner of exposition that matters most. Conrad employs this technique in many of his novels, and it’s almost a signature move. The several levels enable a ruminative aspect to Marlow’s narration of what he knows, as if he has long mulled the few facts he’s got in order to make them significant. Based on the complexity of the summary I felt obliged to provide in this account of the novel, Marlow’s contributions do add psychological/dramatic depth to the story, even as Marlow is forced to employ, in the name of his theme of “chance”, melodramatic gambits to achieve a happy end (which, in fact, is not usual for Conrad’s novels).
Chance tells the story of Flora de Barral—daughter of the great financier Smith de Barral—whose gilded young life is taken from her at age sixteen when her father is imprisoned for mismanaging the millions of dollars entrusted to him. De Barral had risen out of lower working-class origins as a bank clerk with the audacious idea of advertizing his new bank, which quickly grew and led millions of depositors to trust his simple annual 10% interest scheme. While her father conducts business out of rented rooms in London, her mother dies, and Flora is brought up in Brighton by a calculating governess who despises Flora for her ignorance and good fortune. In all, de Barral’s ascendancy spans less than a decade, but it is enough to irrevocably shape their characters.
Shunted to and from cruel and opportunistic relatives and various other inappropriate guardians, Flora feels she has little to live for, has taken to heart the malign departing words of the governess that she is weak and worthless. In a desperate bid to persist and even to give succor to her father, whom she believes was railroaded into prison, Flora acts on the principles her friend and guardian Mrs. Fyne expounds in her feminist manifesto, ie, take what you can. In so doing, she elopes with Mrs. Fyne’s brother, sea captain Roderick Anthony, arousing Mrs. Fyne’s ire and setting in motion a bizarre shipboard psychological drama.
Captain Anthony is a late-blooming romantic, thirty-five years old, suddenly aware of his loneliness and aware of Flora’s plight and her worthiness to be saved. At the same time, he forbears pressing Flora emotionally or in any amatory fashion, even after they are married. This fact, along with her father’s presence and his disdain for Captain Anthony and his “imprisonment” on the ship, makes Flora unsure of her emotions, makes her suspect that she is unworthy of love, that Captain Anthony is daily growing dissatisfied. The two are unable to articulate any sort of rapprochement, each leary of presuming any influence on the other.
De Barral attempts to poison Captain Anthony, and while the captain discreetly makes no charge against de Barral for Flora’s sake, he declares he must set Flora free. When Flora impetuously demurs and rushes to embrace her husband, de Barral drinks the poison he’d intended for the captain. Circumstances allow Captain Anthony to disguise the cause of de Barral’s death, and Flora and he have seven happy years of marriage voyaging over the seas. Captain Anthony dies tragically/unnecessarily, and Flora, still in her early 30s, is once more alone, but happy in memories that she means to preserve for years to come. Chance has it, though, that she may find further happiness.
Conrad’s manner of narration entails many levels and many removes from the characters themselves, enabling him to dwell on the highlights and the psychological dimensions of the story. The novel’s narrator is anonymous, and he introduces the old seaman Marlow to narrate what he knows about Flora when an accidental encounter with another seaman, Powell, brings the subject up. Marlow initially narrates all that he knows about Flora from first- and second-hand sources, up to the point she, her father, and Captain Anthony set sail on the Ferndale. The narrator says that several months elapse before he and Marlow again speak, and it’s at this time that Marlow is able to speak further about Powell’s relationship to Flora’s story, since he served on the Ferndale as second- and then first-mate.
Even when Flora and Marlow speak in the novel’s concluding pages, there is still a removal from the immediacy of events in motion, and even the matrimony between Flora and Powell is kept at a distance as being an imminence. Chance has a complex structure, and it forces a reader to wonder whether it is the story or its manner of exposition that matters most. Conrad employs this technique in many of his novels, and it’s almost a signature move. The several levels enable a ruminative aspect to Marlow’s narration of what he knows, as if he has long mulled the few facts he’s got in order to make them significant. Based on the complexity of the summary I felt obliged to provide in this account of the novel, Marlow’s contributions do add psychological/dramatic depth to the story, even as Marlow is forced to employ, in the name of his theme of “chance”, melodramatic gambits to achieve a happy end (which, in fact, is not usual for Conrad’s novels).
November 25, 2023
It's an important novel for Conrad because it sold and made his name. Narrated by Marlow and told in rich prose and and complex narrative, I think it's clear that it's not phoned in, it's a really good Conrad novel thats psychological and has deep feeling.
June 12, 2014
I didn’t like Heart of Darkness – found it strangely insubstantial in an exceedingly dense way – and was somehow encouraged to try this on the basis that I’d never heard of it. It’s one of those books that’s Another-Author-Lite but still manages to be its own thing. It’s Henry James with a dash of Trollope – the heroine’s father reminding me of Melmotte in situation, with the same emphasis on the belief in non-existent money generating its own temporary wealth. Conrad and James seem to have the same way of dramatising almost indefinable moral realities and shades of character. I often stopped to notice how much Conrad was making out of little, which is perhaps hard to make sound admiring, but I usually was. I like there to be somewhere things are given their due. James feels very soft to me, and Conrad feels colder and harder edged.
The difference is effected by Marlow, who prides himself both on being cynical and outside the absurdities of everyday life and, I think, on respecting the things he values more than others. Marlow contributes sexism in one of the ways that sets my teeth on edge most: intrusive remarks about the limitations of women. This sort of thing always seems like the author was so overflowing with their tiresome opinions they simply couldn’t keep them to themselves long enough to write a story. In this case, of course, I was only able to take a dislike to Marlow rather than Conrad, as Marlow is, nominally at least, a character rather than an author. I can’t say I especially care for Marlow, but filtering the story through him does give it a particular flavour.
Flora, the heroine of a ruined, disgraced financier, is a bit like a Thomas Hardy heroine to start with, in the sense that it is her tragic difficultness which makes her strangely alluring, with her white little face and sense of damage and things left unsaid. Conrad is more ironic about it though and doesn’t intend to see it through. She’s really just a nice girl who’s had a hard time. Dependant on menial spare woman type positions gained through the charitable interposition of an earnest couple, the drama of the first part of the story turns on her engagement to the brother of the earnest woman. His intervention in her life is made to represent her salvation, but she can only barely accept it and it is greeted with horror by his sister and brother-in-law. The second part of the story turns on the postponement on the salvation, as Flora and her husband, a captain, are joined on his ship by Flora’s ex convict father.
I didn’t enjoy a lot of the bit on the ship with Flora and Anthony and de Barral all almost hypnotised into stasis by each other, or at least de Barall hypnotising the other two. It clarified what I didn’t like about Heart of Darkness; the effect of stagnation. I actually find descriptions of emotional stalemate and apathy viscerally suffocating when the atmosphere is really captured, and Conrad seems to have his own version which almost disappears in nullness. So I was pleased enough, if a little bemused, when this apparently insoluble situation is dissolved very quickly at the end.
I very much enjoyed a lot of the writing and will try something else by Conrad.
The difference is effected by Marlow, who prides himself both on being cynical and outside the absurdities of everyday life and, I think, on respecting the things he values more than others. Marlow contributes sexism in one of the ways that sets my teeth on edge most: intrusive remarks about the limitations of women. This sort of thing always seems like the author was so overflowing with their tiresome opinions they simply couldn’t keep them to themselves long enough to write a story. In this case, of course, I was only able to take a dislike to Marlow rather than Conrad, as Marlow is, nominally at least, a character rather than an author. I can’t say I especially care for Marlow, but filtering the story through him does give it a particular flavour.
Flora, the heroine of a ruined, disgraced financier, is a bit like a Thomas Hardy heroine to start with, in the sense that it is her tragic difficultness which makes her strangely alluring, with her white little face and sense of damage and things left unsaid. Conrad is more ironic about it though and doesn’t intend to see it through. She’s really just a nice girl who’s had a hard time. Dependant on menial spare woman type positions gained through the charitable interposition of an earnest couple, the drama of the first part of the story turns on her engagement to the brother of the earnest woman. His intervention in her life is made to represent her salvation, but she can only barely accept it and it is greeted with horror by his sister and brother-in-law. The second part of the story turns on the postponement on the salvation, as Flora and her husband, a captain, are joined on his ship by Flora’s ex convict father.
I didn’t enjoy a lot of the bit on the ship with Flora and Anthony and de Barral all almost hypnotised into stasis by each other, or at least de Barall hypnotising the other two. It clarified what I didn’t like about Heart of Darkness; the effect of stagnation. I actually find descriptions of emotional stalemate and apathy viscerally suffocating when the atmosphere is really captured, and Conrad seems to have his own version which almost disappears in nullness. So I was pleased enough, if a little bemused, when this apparently insoluble situation is dissolved very quickly at the end.
I very much enjoyed a lot of the writing and will try something else by Conrad.
April 19, 2016
My new fave sentence ever - "Franklin's grotesque mortal envelope had disappeared from the poop to seek its needful repose, if only the worried soul would let it rest a while."
I cannot write a coherent review about this book. This man's words astound me. When I read a Joseph Conrad book I feel like I really am sitting by the fire with him listening to him spin a slow and beautiful yarn, and I just can't get enough. He knew how to tell a story, that's for sure. This is officially one of my favourites.
Loved this passage -
The notorious de Barral did not laugh because he was indignant. He was impervious to words, to facts, to inferences. It would have been impossible to make him see his guilt or his folly -- either by evidence or argument -- if anybody had tried to argue.
Neither did his daughter Flora try to argue with him. The cruelty of her position was so great, its complications so thorny, if I may express myself so, that a passive attitude was yet her best refuge -- as it had been before her of so many women.
For that sort of inertia in woman is always enigmatic and therefore menacing. It makes one pause. A woman may be a fool, a sleepy fool, an agitated fool, a too awfully noxious fool, and she may even be simply stupid. But she is never dense. She's never made of wood through and through as some men are. There is in woman always, somewhere, a spring. Whatever men don't know about women (and it may be a lot or it may be very little) men and even fathers do know that much. And that is why so many men are afraid of them.
I cannot write a coherent review about this book. This man's words astound me. When I read a Joseph Conrad book I feel like I really am sitting by the fire with him listening to him spin a slow and beautiful yarn, and I just can't get enough. He knew how to tell a story, that's for sure. This is officially one of my favourites.
Loved this passage -
The notorious de Barral did not laugh because he was indignant. He was impervious to words, to facts, to inferences. It would have been impossible to make him see his guilt or his folly -- either by evidence or argument -- if anybody had tried to argue.
Neither did his daughter Flora try to argue with him. The cruelty of her position was so great, its complications so thorny, if I may express myself so, that a passive attitude was yet her best refuge -- as it had been before her of so many women.
For that sort of inertia in woman is always enigmatic and therefore menacing. It makes one pause. A woman may be a fool, a sleepy fool, an agitated fool, a too awfully noxious fool, and she may even be simply stupid. But she is never dense. She's never made of wood through and through as some men are. There is in woman always, somewhere, a spring. Whatever men don't know about women (and it may be a lot or it may be very little) men and even fathers do know that much. And that is why so many men are afraid of them.
April 2, 2019
Preposterous. Horribly overwritten. Ask (at almost any point once the telling of the central story has begun) who is speaking. Why do we need the story told at 3rd hand? How could we get the interior observation we get when the story is supposed to be related to us at 3rd hand? Why do this? The writing is stiff, ugly and tangled and far too much is used to do far too little. This was a miserable slog. I recall enjoying Heart of Darkness then I read Lord Jim (which was just awful - similar criticisms about the writing as about Chance) and I hated it and thought I'd give him a third shot. Never again. I feel abused. Conrad sucks.
March 29, 2010
Once again, off to a good start, but gets pretty bloody boring pretty soon. Not sure if I'll finish this. I'm sure I'll miss a few nice paragraphs and interesting observations by Marlow, but I'll also save a great deal of time and skip a lot of over-elaborate narration of pretty melodramatic plot twists.
January 23, 2022
Some people believe in guardian angels, others in luck or chance. Whatever you call it, Flora needs help. It's not that she's crazy, though there are times she makes people wonder about that. She is suicidal. Detached emotionally. And in pain. She's hard to like. Yet, in the end, she is her own source of strength. Tough and able finally to help herself. No Cinderella here.
September 25, 2007
Second only to Heart of Darkness in the Conrad oeuvre. For me, you know. :)
October 15, 2023
Πρωταγωνίστρια στην ιστορία μας είναι η Φλόρα ντε Μπαράλ που σε τρυφερή ηλικία έχασε την μητέρα της και στερήθηκε στην ενηλικίωση της τον πατέρα της που οδηγήθηκε στην φυλακή λόγω χρεών. Το ζεύγος Φάιν ήταν η ηλιαχτίδα που έδυσε στο σκοτάδι που επικρατούσε στην μονότονη και συναισθηματικά αποστερημένη της ζωή. Αυτά τα δύο πρόσωπα στάθηκαν δίπλα της ώσπου εμφανίστηκε στην ζωή της ο αδελφός της κυρίας Φάιν και τα δεδομένα άλλαξαν,
Ο Conrad στο πρόσωπο της Φλόρας παρουσιάζει κάθε γυναίκα που αναγκάζεται να υπομένει τον αρνητισμό και την νουθεσία προσώπων που θέλουν να της στερήσουν την φωνή και την αξιοπρέπεια της. Αφηγητής μας είναι ο Μάρλοου που ως παρατηρητής φωτίζει κάθε σκοτεινή πτυχή των γεγονότων.
Ένα βιβλίο που μου κέντρισε το ενδιαφέρον καθώς αγαπώ τα κοινωνικά μυθιστορήματα που στοχεύουν στην ενδελεχή ανάλυση των ψυχολογικών διακυμάνσεων των χαρακτήρων της ιστορίας.
Κεντρικό θέμα στο μυθιστόρημα είναι το αντίχτυπο που έχουν οι πράξεις των ανθρώπων στην ζωή μας και πως αυτές επηρεάζουν την εξέλιξη και την τροπή των γεγονότων. Η Τύχη μας οδηγεί πάντα σε ασφαλείς συνθήκες;
Αναζητήστε το και καλή ανάγνωση.
Ο Conrad στο πρόσωπο της Φλόρας παρουσιάζει κάθε γυναίκα που αναγκάζεται να υπομένει τον αρνητισμό και την νουθεσία προσώπων που θέλουν να της στερήσουν την φωνή και την αξιοπρέπεια της. Αφηγητής μας είναι ο Μάρλοου που ως παρατηρητής φωτίζει κάθε σκοτεινή πτυχή των γεγονότων.
Ένα βιβλίο που μου κέντρισε το ενδιαφέρον καθώς αγαπώ τα κοινωνικά μυθιστορήματα που στοχεύουν στην ενδελεχή ανάλυση των ψυχολογικών διακυμάνσεων των χαρακτήρων της ιστορίας.
Κεντρικό θέμα στο μυθιστόρημα είναι το αντίχτυπο που έχουν οι πράξεις των ανθρώπων στην ζωή μας και πως αυτές επηρεάζουν την εξέλιξη και την τροπή των γεγονότων. Η Τύχη μας οδηγεί πάντα σε ασφαλείς συνθήκες;
Αναζητήστε το και καλή ανάγνωση.
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