The Nigger of the Narcissus and Other Stories

by Joseph Conrad, Gail Fraser (Introduction), Allan H. Simmons (Editor)

The Nigger of the 'Narcissus' and Other Stories is a collection of seven shorter works by Joseph Conrad. The titular story is the tale of James Wait, a West Indian black sailor on board the merchant ship 'Narcissus' who falls ill during a voyage from Bombay to London. In "Youth" we have a semi-autobiographical short story which tells the story of the first voyage of Charles Marlow, the narrator of Conrad's most famous novel Heart of Darkness. In "An Outpost of Progress" we find Kayerts and Carlier, two European agents who have been assigned to a remote trading post in the African jungle. In "The Secret Sharer" we have the story of a nameless captain who discovers a stow-away clinging to the side of his ship and secretly brings him aboard and harbors him in his cabin. Also contained in this edition are the following other short stories: "Il Conde", "The Duel", and "The Lagoon". Fans of Conrad will delight in this classic collection of his shorter works.

Genres: Fiction, Classics, Short Stories, Literature, Literary Fiction, British Literature, Novels

528 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1908

About the author

Joseph Conrad was a Polish-British novelist and story writer. He is regarded as one of the greatest writers in the English language and, although he did not speak English fluently until his twenties, he became a master prose stylist who brought a non-English sensibility into English literature. He wrote novels and stories, many in nautical settings, that depict crises of human individuality in the midst of what he saw as an indifferent, inscrutable, and amoral world.
Conrad is considered a literary impressionist by some and an early modernist by others, though his works also contain elements of 19th-century realism. His narrative style and anti-heroic characters, as in Lord Jim, for example, have influenced numerous authors. Many dramatic films have been adapted from and inspired by his works. Numerous writers and critics have commented that his fictional works, written largely in the first two decades of the 20th century, seem to have anticipated later world events.
Writing near the peak of the British Empire, Conrad drew on the national experiences of his native Poland—during nearly all his life, parceled out among three occupying empires—and on his own experiences in the French and British merchant navies, to create short stories and novels that reflect aspects of a European-dominated world—including imperialism and colonialism—and that profoundly explore the human psyche.

Reviews

[Jillian · Rating 4 out of 5]

Undeniable racism, but stunningly beautiful prose.
I will never tire of reading Conrad.

--My favorite quotes:

"It was his deserved misfortune that those rags which nobody could possibly be supposed to own looked on him as if they had been stolen."

"At the other end of the ship the forecastle, with only one lamp burning now, was going to sleep in a dim emptiness traversed by loud breathings, by sudden short sighs. The double row of berths yawned black, like graves tenanted by uneasy corpses. Here and there a curtain of gaudy chintz, half drawn, marked the resting-place of a sybarite. A leg hung over the edge very white and lifeless. An arm stuck straight out with a dark palm turned up, and thick fingers half closed. Two light snores, that did not synchronise, quarreled in funny dialogue."

"He asked for paregoric. They sent him a big bottle; enough to poison a wilderness of babies."

"Hung-up suits of oilskin swung out and in, lively and disquieting like reckless ghosts of decapitated seamen dancing in a tempest."

"Mr. Baker grunted encouragingly in our midst, spluttering and blowing amongst the tangled ropes like an energetic porpoise."

"The icy south wind howled exultingly under the sombre splendour of the sky... Short moans were swept unheard off the stiff lips."

"The confused voices of men talking amidships mingled with the wash of the sea, ascended between the silent and distended sails - seemed to flow away into the night, further than the horizon, higher than the sky. The stars burned steadily over the inclined mastheads. Trails of light lay on the water, broke before the advancing hull, and, after she had passed, trembled for a long time as if in awe of the murmuring sea."

"A gone shipmate, like any other man, is gone for ever; and I never saw one of them again. But at times the spring-flood of memory sets with force up the dark River of the Nine Bends. Then on the waters of the forlorn stream drifts a ship -- a shadowy ship manned by a crew of Shades. They pass and make a sign, in a shadowy hail. Haven't we, together and upon the immortal sea, wrung out a meaning from our sinful lives? Good-bye, brothers! You were a good crowd. As good a crowd as ever fisted with wild cries the beating canvas of a heavy foresail; or tossing aloft, invisible in the night, gave back yell for yell to a westerly gale."

[Gary · Rating 5 out of 5]

Minor spoilers ahead.
In Typhoon a steamship, the Nan-Shan is carrying 200 Chinese workmen (‘coolies’ in the language of the time) back to China; these are not passengers, per se, but incidental to the real cargo of the ship so just an additional source of income to the owners. As such their rights and comfort are not high on the captain’s list of priorities. When a typhoon hits the ship, he must make decisions taking their welfare into account.

The temperature in the engine-room had gone up to a hundred and seventeen degrees. Irritated voices were ascending through the skylight and through the fiddle of the stokehold in a harsh and resonant uproar, mingled with angry clangs and scrapes of metal, as if men with limbs of iron and throats of bronze had been quarrelling down there. The second engineer was falling foul of the stokers for letting the steam go down. He was a man with arms like a blacksmith, and generally feared; but that afternoon the stokers were answering him back recklessly, and slammed the furnace doors with the fury of despair. Then the noise ceased suddenly, and the second engineer appeared, emerging out of the stokehold streaked with grime and soaking wet like a chimneysweep coming out of a well. As soon as his head was clear of the fiddle he began to scold Jukes for not trimming properly the stokehold ventilators; and in answer Jukes made with his hands deprecatory soothing signs meaning: no wind––can’t be helped––you can see for yourself. But the other wouldn’t hear reason. His teeth flashed angrily in his dirty face. He didn’t mind, he said, the trouble of punching their blanked heads down there, blank his soul, but did the condemned sailors think you could keep steam up in the God-forsaken boilers simply by knocking the blank stokers about? No, by George! You had to get some draught too––may he be everlastingly blanked for a swab-headed deck-hand if you didn’t! And the chief, too, rampaging before the steam-gauge and carrying on like a lunatic up and down the engine-room ever since noon. What did Jukes think he was stuck up there for, if he couldn’t get one of his decayed, good-for-nothing deck-cripples to turn the ventilators to the wind?

A pretty frank exchange of views and it’s all explained as the result of each man’s perceptions & experiences at the time. To me, it is very realistic.


Amy Foster is the story of the life of a simple country woman told by a doctor to his friend, the narrator. He describes her thus:

She’s the eldest of a large family. At the age of fifteen they put her out to service at the New Barns Farm. I attended Mrs Smith, the tenant’s wife, and saw that girl there for the first time. Mrs Smith, a genteel person with a sharp nose, made her put on a black dress every afternoon. I don’t know what induced me to notice her at all. There are faces that call your attention by a curious want of definiteness in their whole aspect, as, walking in a mist, you peer attentively at a vague shape which, after all, may be nothing more curious or strange than a signpost. The only peculiarity I perceived in her was a slight hesitation in her utterance, a sort of preliminary stammer which passes away with the first word. When sharply spoken to, she was apt to lose her head at once; but her heart was of the kindest. She had never been heard to express a dislike for a single human being, and she was tender to every living creature. She was devoted to Mrs Smith, to Mr Smith, to their dogs, cats, canaries; and as to Mrs Smith’s grey parrot, its peculiarities exercised upon her a positive fascination. Nevertheless, when that outlandish bird, attacked by the cat, shrieked for help in human accents, she ran out into the yard stopping her ears, and did not prevent the crime. For Mrs Smith this was another evidence of her stupidity; on the other hand, her want of charm, in view of Smith’s well-known frivolousness, was a great recommendation. Her short-sighted eyes would swim with pity for a poor mouse in a trap, and she had been seen once by some boys on her knees in the wet grass helping a toad in difficulties. If it’s true, as some German fellow has said, that without phosphorous there is no thought, it is still more true that there is no kindness of heart without a certain imagination. She had some. She had even more than is necessary to understand suffering and to be moved by pity. She fell in love under circumstances that leave no room for doubt in the matter; for you need imagination to form a notion of beauty at all, and still more to discover your ideal in an unfamiliar shape.

Conrad gets quite philosophical like this but it’s good stuff that makes you think about the essence of humanity and how people are put together.


Falk: a Reminiscence is about the captain of a paddle steamer in the Far East – a tug that tows cargo ships downriver to the sea, an essential service because the river winds and has many mud banks/sand bars, so a loaded ship must stick to the deep water channel (which isn’t actually all that deep) or become stuck. This is a small port and Falk has a monopoly on this business, which he exploits to the fullest extent. He is gruff, unfriendly, uncaring, and charges the earth. This story concerns his relationships with the other ships’ Masters and the local hotel/bar owner, and how the narrator discovers more about the man over & above his outward appearance/attitudes. The narrator is a young man given command of a ship because the captain died, and he has problems before he ever has to deal with Falk, as here:

… I had a rather worrying time on board my own ship. I had been appointed ex officio by the British Consul to take charge of her after a man who had died suddenly, leaving for the guidance of his successor some suspiciously unreceipted bills, a few dry-dock estimates hinting at bribery, and a quantity of vouchers for three years’ extravagant expenditure; all these mixed up together in a dusty old violin-case lined with ruby velvet. I found besides a large account book, which, when opened hopefully, turned out to my infinite consternation to be filled with verses––page after page of rhymed doggerel of a jovial and improper character, written in the neatest minute hand I ever did see. In the same fiddle-case a photograph of my predecessor, taken lately in Saigon, represented in front of a garden view, and in company of a female in strange draperies, an elderly, squat, rugged man of stern aspect in a clumsy suit of black broadcloth, and with the hair brushed forward above the temples in a manner reminding one of a boar’s tusks. Of a fiddle, however, the only trace on board was the case, its empty husk as it were; but of the two last freights the ship had indubitably earned of late, there were not even the husks left. It was impossible to say where all that money had gone to. It wasn’t on board. It had not been remitted home; for a letter from the owners, preserved in a desk evidently by the merest accident, complained mildly enough that they had not been favoured by a scratch of the pen for the last eighteen months. There were next to no stores on board, not an inch of spare rope or a yard of canvas. The ship had been run bare, and I foresaw no end of difficulties before I could get her ready for sea.

Then he met Falk …


Tomorrow concerns a retired sea captain living in a cottage who waits for his son, who went to sea against his wishes, to return home. He wants to see him settled with a wife & family. He fancies that he will be ‘home tomorrow’ so lives in a perpetual state of anticipation and mental disturbance. The young woman who lives next door to him looks after her elderly and infirm father; they begin to converse, and she wonders how much of what he says is fantasy and how much could be true. Here is part of a conversation:

In their intimacy of backyard and front garden he talked with her paternally, reasonably, and dogmatically, with a touch of arbitrariness. They met on the ground of unreserved confidence, which was authenticated by an affectionate wink now and then. Miss Carvil had come to look forward rather to these winks. At first they had discomposed her: the poor fellow was mad. Afterwards she had learned to laugh at them: there was no harm in him. Now she was aware of an unacknowledged, pleasurable, incredulous emotion, expressed by a faint blush. He winked not in the least vulgarly; his thin red face with a well-modelled curved nose had a sort of distinction––the more so that when he talked to her he looked with a steadier and more intelligent glance. A handsome, hale, upright, capable man, with a white beard. You did not think of his age. His son, he affirmed, had resembled him amazingly from his earliest babyhood.

Harry would be one-and-thirty next July, he declared. Proper age to get married with a nice, sensible girl that could appreciate a good home. He was a very high-spirited boy. High-spirited husbands were the easiest to manage. These mean, soft chaps, that you would think butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, were the ones to make a woman thoroughly miserable. And there was nothing like home––a fireside––a good roof: no turning out of your warm bed in all sorts of weather. ‘Eh, my dear?’

This doesn’t seem like much of a plot but Conrad has a way of presenting a person’s innermost thoughts/worries, their prejudices, viewpoints and beliefs, that you feel you know the person, and they seem real and plausible. Conrad is all about psychology.


Finally comes The Nigger of the Narcissus, a story with, to our eyes, an unfortunate, offensive, unnecessary title although in 1897 when it was published as a serial, I don’t suppose anyone had a problem with it. When I began reading this story, this disturbed me more than I expected and, although it is a great tale, I struggled with the use of the ‘N’ word. We are told the man's name and Conrad does refer to him by name, but he also refers to him as, 'the n***ger'. Perhaps it's just that he felt he needed to remind his readership of how this man was thought of by the other characters but I didn't like it. I was even tempted to think they should edit the book to remove it (some uses, however, in dialogue or the characters’ thoughts, are appropriate) but, in general and as a matter of principle, I am opposed to revising books – they are a product of their time and anything in them that offends our sensibilities should serve as an education to us – it is important for people to be able to see the progress of human development and how some things that once were normal must change to reflect a better educated/more caring world – we still have a long way to travel on that road. I am glad to say, despite a revival of the use of it at the end of the book, it was mostly confined to beginning/end; in the main, the man is referred to by his name.

Do not let the title put you off this book; it is well crafted and is a powerful work that sincerely reflects many aspects of life and human nature, and relationships between people, whether comrades, co-workers, bosses/subordinates. Conrad has the most marvellous way of describing people, in all their states and moods, their desires and motives, warts and all, that all his characters come across as whole, flawed but genuine individuals who think, speak and act in ways we can accept as reflections of real life. Likewise, he describes scenes, the ship, the weather, the sea and the sky in a multi-faceted detailed way that makes you hear the creaking of the rigging, the snap of the sails and the swoosh of the sea as the ship courses through the waves, and you can almost smell the sea, the wet ropes, tobacco and the reek of the crew’s quarters.

There are 3 main protagonists in this story – the gentleman of the title, James Wait, who does no work because he is sick – or is he? another sailor, Donkin, who winds everyone up regarding their ‘rights’ and creates another strand of tension that runs throughout. Other characters are fleshed out well, too, but these 2 have a profound effect upon the other men, and contribute to the feeling that this is just like real life – too complex and multi-layered for ordinary mortals to want to have to deal with, causing troubled minds and, perhaps, out-of-character actions. The sailors have to do extra work because Jimmy Wait is sick and they are not convinced he is genuine – but what if, as he claims, he is grievously ill? They give Jimmy a lot of sympathy/help but are always wary in case their sympathy is misplaced and they are being taken for mugs. This feeling of uncertainty and distrust pervades the story. Here is the scene when he declares his status:

It began a week after leaving Bombay and came on us stealthily like any other great misfortune. Everyone had remarked that Jimmy from the first was very slack at his work; but we thought it simply the outcome of his philosophy of life. Donkin said:––‘You put no more weight on a rope than a bloody sparrer.’ He disdained him. Belfast, ready for a fight, exclaimed provokingly:––‘You don’t kill yourself, old man!’––‘Would YOU?’ he retorted, with extreme scorn––Belfast retired. One morning, as we were washing decks, Mr Baker called to him:––‘Bring your broom over here, Wait.’ He strolled languidly. ‘Move yourself! Ough!’ grunted Mr Baker; ‘what’s the matter with your hind legs?’ He stopped dead short. He gazed slowly with eyes that bulged out with an expression audacious and sad.––‘It isn’t my legs,’ he said, ‘it’s my lungs.’ Everybody listened.––‘What’s … Ough! … What’s wrong with them?’ enquired Mr Baker. All the watch stood around on the wet deck, grinning, and with brooms or buckets in their hands. He said mournfully:––‘Going––or gone. Can’t you see I’m a dying man? I know it!’ Mr Baker was disgusted. ––‘Then why the devil did you ship aboard here?’––‘I must live till I die––mustn’t I?’ he replied. The grins became audible. ‘Go off the deck––get out of my sight,’ said Mr Baker. He was nonplussed. It was a unique experience. James Wait, obedient, dropped his broom, and walked slowly forward. A burst of laughter followed him. It was too funny. All hands laughed … They laughed! … Alas!

The third main character is the weather. There is a storm that creates overwhelming tension, feelings of helplessness and doom, and a calm that leaves the ship literally ‘in the Doldrums’ – not necessarily in that order.

At times Conrad spends so long in descriptive prose – enormous paragraphs that go on for pages with no break, I felt he’d overdone it, but they impart such a wealth of feeling about their circumstances, thoughts & surroundings, it is worth persevering. As with the ‘N’ word; don’t let it stop you reading these amazing stories of the sea, the ships and men who sailed them because it is a wonderful book, and you will be glad that you did.

[Kevin McAllister · Rating 4 out of 5]

Earlier this year there was a lot of talk of taking the N word out of Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn. While I don't condone the use of the N word in our day in age, taking it out of a book written in the 19th century just doesn't make sense to me. Doing so would be like something out of another book; George Orwell's 1984. So when I came across a book with the N word in the title itself I thought I'd give it a read to see how Conrad felt about African Americans. And while the word is used early and often, Conrad meant absolutely no disrespect by it. The main character of the novel Jimmy Wait, is the only African American sailor aboard a ship. He is liked and respected by virtually the entire crew. Early in the novel a number of men risk their lives to save Jimmy's life during a severe storm. Later the crew mutinies after The Captain comes down hard on Jimmy. And at the end after Jim falls ill and becomes bed ridden,the entire crew goes out of their way to console and take care of him. The book clearly shows there's no need to go around censoring 19th century literature. Let sleeping dogs lie.

[Lesley Tilling · Rating 5 out of 5]

Like Dickens, Conrad's writing has the power of the cinema to make you believe you were there.

The West Indian of the title is by no means a cowed or bullied sailor speaking in patois, quite the reverse, he speaks very good English and is superior in his manners to the other sailors. The poor and cramped life of the sailors in the forecastle is quite brilliantly depicted.

This ship is tried hard by its passage home and in the action of the ship's calamities, the power that is held by the Captain comes to be questioned.

The next story in the book is called Typhoon and it simply concerns a Captain who drives his (steam) ship into a typhoon. To a modern reader the clues are there that the man in on the autistic spectrum - he doesn't understand figures of speech, he cannot imagine that there is weather so bad that he should avoid it. He thinks only in straight lines. The sheer power of the weather is clearly and horribly depicted. It would be worth reading just for that, but there is also a small aspect of the story about how the Captain deals with the losses suffered by the Chinese workmen, or cargo, that is interesting and uplifting.

[Francis Bruynseels · Rating 4 out of 5]

A brilliant book - the n word is an historical relic not relevant to today. The whole thing is managed like a great stage production. Despite a couple of Gallicisms this is the product of a confident writer who knows his own great abilities.

However, it took a while to read because like other Conrad works it seems to get repetitive. For example after fifteen pages the storm starts to loose interest

[David Sterritt]

Reading or rereading the pieces in Penguin’s edition of “The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ and Other Stories” has reaffirmed my already deep respect for Joseph Conrad, a superb stylist and provocative thinker. “The Secret Sharer” is still a favorite, but “The Idiots” and “Il Conde” and the title story are all striking achievements, and “An Outpost of Progress” intriguingly foreshadows “Heart of Darkness,” not included here but for me one of his greatest works. Although aspects of his language and ideas contravene today’s sensibilities in obvious ways, he is still a towering author whose insights are well worth pondering.

[RUDOLF NAGEL · Rating 5 out of 5]

A very neatly prepared edition. The nigger of the Narcissus, for me is definately the best story written about life on a sailing schooner at the end of the 19th century. The description of the rounding of the cape of Good Hope is amazing. The other stories in this book are equally good. This is from an unconditional fan of Joseph Conrad! Highly recommended book.

[Shane · Rating 5 out of 5]

The short stories Youth and An Outpost of Progress were written very well and really conveyed a sense of being in the story, but the title story was in a class of its own. Conrad is a master of the language.

[John Guild · Rating 5 out of 5]

An amazing collection. Conrad can be tough, but he always gives more than he takes. If you've only read Heart of Darkness , then try this collection (especially "Youth" and the title story).

[Dario · Rating 3 out of 5]

Eine solide, aber keineswegs repräsentative Auswahl aus Conrads frühestens und spätesten Erzählungen.

Am stärksten wirkt tatsächlich noch die titelgebende Novelle, welche zwar noch im überschwänglich romantischen Ton seiner ersten Werke daherkommt, jedoch (ganz ähnlich wie z B Henry James) Perspektivik und Erzählhaltung clever nutzt, um ein gekonnt ein Spiel mit dem Leser voller Ambiguitäten zu inszenieren.

Die anderen Werke hingegen lesen sich (leider) eher wie technische Vorübungen zu den größer ambitionierten Romanen und Novellen.

"Youth" ist in seiner Haltung und durch den Erzähler Marlowe eine Vorstudie zu "Lord Jim", vor allem in der Behandlung des Ostasien Themas.

"An Outpost of Progress" hingegen ist mehr eine Übung für "Heart of Darkness", obwohl die Anlehnung an Flauberts "Bouvard e Pécouchet" dem ganzen eher einen grotesk, komischen Ton verleiht.

"The Idiots" und "The Informer" wiederum standen für "The Secret Agent" Pate. Sowohl in der Behandlung des Sujets an sich, wie auch durch die Figur des behinderten Kindes (was wiederum leicht Turgenjews Erzählung "Mumu" entnommen ist).

Mit "Il Conde" und "The Duell" steuert der Band zudem auch noch zwei kleine, wenn auch unbedeutende Spätwerke bei.

[Michael Martin]

For Conrad, it seemed a bit slow to get started (noticeable in a short novel). The voice of the narrator was lost in a vague 'we'. But what made the story intriguing, was the strangeness of the tale set beside the ordinariness of the sailors. The main subject of the title appears to be a malingerer but one with a powerful presence. The other characters are defined by their relationship to him: trying to subjugate him, serve him, betray him and convert him. But none of them makes any impression on the self obsessed patient whose real companion, we're told, is death.

[Eider Sánchez · Rating 4 out of 5]

I'm pretty sure a lot of people won't be able to go beyond the title and will judge, literally, a book by its cover. But Conrad is a master storyteller who managed to turn his own life, as well as the anecdotes of his own time, into valuable pieces of thought provoking literature.

[Mshelton50 · Rating 4 out of 5]

Read all but the unfortunately named novella that supplied the title of this work. Especially enjoyed "The Duel," "Il Conde," and "The Idiots." Conrad was an amazing writer, esp. given that English was his third language.

[Daniel · Rating 5 out of 5]

Absolutely incredible writing. Conrad's writing is beautiful and places you right in the setting.

[Andrew Fielding · Rating 4 out of 5]

A beautifully written book about the trials and tribulations of seafarers in thr late 19th century. the depictions of the weather and how the sailors interact are incredibly well done.

[Peter · Rating 5 out of 5]

What are our obligations to our fellow man? Conrad’s eloquent allegory argues that society (a ship’s crew) intent upon the care and feeding of an ill crewmate (the welfare of individuals) might get a feeling of redemption from the act, but it makes no difference in this harsh and indifferent world. James Wait, a black West Indian, ships out on the Narcissus, a schooner leaving Bombay bound for London. He boards ship with a cough that probably reflects early tuberculosis. He is both loved and hated by his mates—loved because he is ill and calls on their better instincts; hated because he is a burden. Is he a malingerer, as he admits, or is he really sick, thus worthy of concerned care? Will the care he gets make any difference? Another crewmate, Donkin—allergic to work, constantly feeling set upon, hateful of authority, and fomenting mutiny—takes on the care of Wait; it releases Donkin from the yardarms, feeds his “woe is the working class” fervor, reflects his love for fellow malingerers, and gives him a chance to rob Wait. A hurricane almost sinks the boat, destroying food and water stores and heightening the on-board tension. The ship survives but the crew’s darker side appears. In this 1897 novella, reprinted in 1914, Conrad records nature’s indifference to the human condition and the futility of society’s aid for the disadvantaged. This is a glorious display of virtuosity. The book first came out as a magazine series titled Children of the Sea, not because the N-word was considered offensive but because the publisher thought nobody would read about a Negro.

[OskariF · Rating 4 out of 5]

A good book, although it took me a while to read it. The edition is very tightly printed which makes the book longer than it looks.

All the stories relate to the sea somehow. Even though I have never sailed on anything fancier than a cruise ship, sea-stories have something magical about them. The book is packed with very authentic feel (Conrad was a sailor himself) of seaman-culture that really doesn't exist anymore.

Even though Conrad's first language is not English, he has very firm command of the language. His writing is always a joy to read. The last story of the book, "Tomorrow", also shows that he is quite good at producing different registries.

The name of the book is very unfortunate. The title story was published in 1897 and even back then there was plenty of criticism of the name, because it was considered very distasteful. I agree. The name is more disgusting than the story itself, even though the story (and the one after it) is also rife with racism. The name probably drives away potential readers, which is unfortunate.

[Ben · Rating 3 out of 5]

I didn't actually finish this book, that I inherited from family. Got halfway through the second story "Typhoon" and gave up. It has good moments but is a bit slow going for me.

Despite the title, unacceptable language by today's standards, Conrad is generally known as a critic of imperialism. It was interesting that the character referred to in the title, an Afro-Caribbean man, actually points out in the text the inhumanity of this racist term applied to him. A point Conrad seems to have missed even while himself writing it maybe? This first story, with its unfortunate title, was nevertheless quite readable. It's hard for me to fathom whether there is some peculiar symbolism in the various characters (such as the ill-fated Afro-Caribbean), or if it's just a yarn about life on the sea and sailors' superstitions.

[J.D · Rating 4 out of 5]

This only came into my scope because I read ‘The Dirty Dozen’ by E. M. Nathanson. In that tome, Major John Reisman (Lee Marvins’ character) gets Jim Brown (Robert T. Jeffersons’ character) to read it for some reason. I remember Jim’s critique of it being so good I marked the book down to read. That got me to reading quite a few more of Conrad. I haven’t devoured them with the ravenousness of say Graham Greene or W. Somerset Maugham but I’ve enjoyed most of what I have read of his. I knew the title was racist but it wasn’t really a word in my lexicon, only something one heard in North American TV shows, films and music. We ruefully have our own bigoted vocabulary. Despite the appellation of the novel, Conrad has a prose that is impressive for a man with English as his first language, let alone his second.

[Chris Gager · Rating 4 out of 5]

Probably read in prep school though not necessarily this same book or edition. Included other stories like "The Secret Sharer". Date read is a guess.

[Dana · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very good collection of novellas and short stories, forms in which I think Conrad is particularly effective.

[Sjors · Rating 4 out of 5]

Typhoon!