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256 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 1999
For a long, long time I faced an empty world, steeped in an infinity of silence, through which the sunshine poured and flowed for some mysterious purpose. [...] [A]s I emerge on deck the ordered arrangement of the stars meets my eye, unclouded, infinitely wearisome. There they are: stars, sun, sea, light, darkness, space, great waters; the formidable Work of the Seven Days, into which mankind seems to have blundered unbidden. Or else decoyed.As in later existentialist writers like Camus, however, Conrad dismisses the supernatural as aid or explanation and again insists on individual and collective human effort—on "facing it"—to survive and push back the darkness. Captain Giles pronounces the moral when the narrator encounters him again at the end of the novella:
“You will learn soon how not to be faint-hearted. A man has got to learn everything—and that’s what so many of them youngsters don’t understand.”The text is weird and uncanny—the narrator uses both words to describe his trouble—but Conrad was irked at those who read this almost straightforwardly autobiographical novella as a ghost story. In response he wrote an "Author's Note" that expresses contempt for the supernatural, that insists he intended only a psychological study of the subjective effects of a weeks-long stay in windless seas on a captain and sailors, and that conveys such fine aristocratic disgust for superstition that Christopher Hitchens included it in his anthology The Portable Atheist:
But I could never have attempted such a thing, because all my moral and intellectual being is penetrated by an invincible conviction that whatever falls under the dominion of our senses must be in nature and, however exceptional, cannot differ in its essence from all the other effects of the visible and tangible world of which we are a self-conscious part. The world of the living contains enough marvels and mysteries as it is; marvels and mysteries acting upon our emotions and intelligence in ways so inexplicable that it would almost justify the conception of life as an enchanted state. No, I am too firm in my consciousness of the marvellous to be ever fascinated by the mere supernatural, which (take it any way you like) is but a manufactured article, the fabrication of minds insensitive to the intimate delicacies of our relation to the dead and to the living, in their countless multitudes; a desecration of our tenderest memories; an outrage on our dignity.Which returns us to Fredric Jameson, who has recently contributed a small essay on an obscure Polish film adaptation of The Shadow-Line in the London Review of Books. Returning to Conrad's odd politics—his sentimental advocacy of labor from management's point of view; his refusal of Polish nationalism in the name of allegiance to the supra-national British Empire; his doubling of work as content (the described work of sailing) and form (the enacted labor of writing)—Jameson concludes,
To call all this "Toryism" is a gross oversimplication of a complicated existential situation, which obscures the political as well as the historical meaning of Conrad’s texts.I agree. I think in Conrad we find—Chinua Achebe's famous, celebrated, but also regrettably demagogic and willfully oversimplified critique notwithstanding—the progenitor not only of the modern novel, but even of the postmodern and postcolonial novel. Consider the clear line of literary-historical influence, for instance, that runs from Conrad through Faulkner to García Márquez and then to Rushdie and Morrison—and this is without mentioning his haunting omnipresence in the work of Edward Said.
Jameson minimizes as personal...the very kind of "nonsynchronous overlap" that in postpartition Poland and the postbellum South—and, as [Edward] Said extends the analogy in the important essay "On Lost Causes," the more recent experience of many Palestinians, Vietnamese, Cubans, South Africans, Angolans, Armenians, American Indians, Tasmanians, Gypsies, and Jews—was a primary cultural mode...Judging from his recent essay, Jameson appears to have come around to this argument. And if we bristle at finding the Confederacy grouped with the Vietnamese and the Palestinians, we might recall that Karl Marx praised Abraham Lincoln and the British in India for the same reason: from his point of view, both broke the settled order of regressively hierarchical societies, whether in the American South or the Global South. True, these northerly forces introduced new forms of hierarchy, but modern, rational, and centralized ones communism would be able easily to appropriate for the people. (This is why honest Marxists today, if any remain, celebrate corporate monopolization.)