The first person narrative is commonly employed in literature, and for many good reasons. The most important one is that it adds immediacy to the story, although it also offers the reader a safety platform since it is usually unlikely that the narrator’s fate will be too bad since s/he is alive to write the narrative.
However, there are certain problems with a book being narrated by one of its characters. The first of these is that it may leave the reader wondering why someone has chosen to write the book at all. We can understand it better in Victorian literature since people lived in an age where letters and diaries were a more common form of correspondence, and the narrated story is only a small extension to this.
We can also understand it better in books where the reader is given a reason for the narrative. For example, we are told that Dr Watson wrote his stories in part to give pleasure to his friend, Sherlock Holmes. Alas, the cold and calculating Holmes was somewhat unappreciative of his friend’s romantic and sensational style.
However sometimes the narrator’s purpose is mystifying. In Day of the Triffids, Bill Masen is intending a personal history, but a writer of a history, biography or memoirs would not have included so much dialogue and description in a mere account of events, including at least one scene in which he is not present.
In the case of detectives such as Hammett’s Continental Operative or Chandler’s Philip Marlowe, the motive for writing up their cases in a detailed and literary manner is even more obscure. As for Richard, the backpacker who narrates The Beach (Alex Garland’s novel), it is difficult to see why he would wish to write up events that were traumatic and which put him in such a bad light. Admittedly his narrative lacks any self-awareness.
John Kemp, the hero of Romance, is another such narrator. He writes of romantic events (we know they are romantic because the book insistently tells us so), but his own part in them is so unfailingly foolish that it’s hard not to wonder why he would wish to share them.
This would be pardonable if we had any sense that Kemp’s version of events was intended to be ironic and the authors wished us to view him as an unreliable narrator, this would be understandable. However, there appears to be no suggestion that we are supposed to view Kemp’s chronicle as anything other than an honest recounting of events.
The book follows Kemp’s many misfortunes. After being mistaken for a smuggler he is forced to leave England with his adventurer cousin Carlos, and Carlos’ companion, the (possibly) piratical Castro. After arriving in Jamaica, Kemp parts ways with them, fearing they have dishonest connections. However after nearly getting arrested, and then nearly killed by a fanatical Irish nationalist called O’Brien, he is finally forced to rejoin them.
They take refuge at the Casa Riego, where the dying Carlos has Kemp betrothed to the beautiful Serafina. However, O’Brien wishes to marry Serafina himself, and his followers besiege the Casa Riego with the intention of killing Kemp. Kemp, Serafina and Castro escape in a boat, and are rescued by the friendly British crew of the Lion, a passing ship that Kemp is able to warn about approaching pirates.
Kemp, Serafina and Castro hide out on an island, but they are pursued by O’Brien’s followers, and Castro is killed. Later Kemp is arrested whilst trying to return to the Lion, and O’Brien seeks to frame him by telling the authorities that he is a notorious buccaneer. O’Brien is killed by an enemy of his and Kemp is brought back to England, where he is finally acquitted by the evidence of the crew of the Lion.
Kemp’s problems are often brought about by bad luck, but it’s fair to say that he is often the architect of his own misfortunes. We might forgive him the schoolboyish sense of honour that forbids him from killing O’Brien or Manuel, a follower of O’Brien, when he has the chance. If Kemp had killed them, he would have saved himself and Serafina much suffering, and a few of the characters in the book might have made it out alive.
However, Kemp is too soft-hearted to murder in cold blood, and this at least can be forgiven him. What is less pardonable is the many times that Kemp’s blurts out stupid things that put his life in danger. It is a miracle that he makes it through the book without being executed by the authorities or murdered by rebels and criminals, something that seems about to imminently happen on a number of occasions.
To some extent it is a necessity that the narrator of a book should not be its shining light. A narrator who constantly describes his own genius or enormous talent is one that will seem boastful, arrogant or dishonest to the reader. A good narrator is usually the person who is more like you or I, an ordinary person who may be capable of brave and resourceful acts, but is usually second fiddle to the more impressive characters in the novel.
What Romance lacks however is any of those greater characters with whom we can compare Kemp, and Kemp’s unerring ability to blunder into every mess makes him a rather irritating figure. Also while we might allow Kemp some lenity on account of his youth and inexperience, there is no sign of him learning from his mistakes, and he continues to blunder in the same way at regular intervals from the beginning to the end of the book.
The book was a joint venture between Joseph Conrad and Ford Madox Hueffer, often known as Ford Madox Ford. I am hard pressed to think of any great classic that was a joint venture between two writers, and Romance is no exception. The first and final sections were probably Hueffer’s work, and the middle sections mainly Conrad’s work.
This would explain why the middle of the book is the best part. However the book is flawed throughout. It has not enough serious content to be considered as anything more than an adventure story, but the writing is too slow to work well on this level. The characters are diverting enough, but there is no great depth in any of them. They are merely romanticised figures, devoid from any reality.
This is not to say that there are not some characteristic Conradian flourishes. When the seemingly indestructible Castro is the one who is lured out of hiding and to his death by thirst, we are reminded of how often Conrad’s books show us the fallibility of human nature, even in those who seem steadfast or great.
The book also demonstrates a certain sneaking sympathy for those who stand outside the law and society. The smugglers and Jack Rangsley are presented in an entirely positive way, and Carlos too is a figure of romance. Even Castro, for all his sinister appearance and ruthless morals, is a romanticised figure who is on the side of good.
In keeping with Conrad’s writing elsewhere, there is far less sympathy for those who are rebellious. Hence O’Brien is a dangerous fanatic who is willing to destroy those who get in the way of his designs against the English. His followers too are seedy and unpleasant, and we do not feel too much grief when any of them are killed.
Usually Conrad has a certain amount of sympathy with nationalists, but the influence of Hueffer may explain why the Irish nationalist leader is here portrayed in an entirely hostile manner. Indeed it is refreshing to see an Irish rebel who is free from the tiresome twentieth century clichés – O’Brien does not drink whisky, write poems and win young girl’s hearts. He is simply a ruthless villain.
However, there is a certain amount of English chauvinism in O’Brien’s characterisation. The book is unashamedly patriotic, and there is no space for those who seek to undermine the homeland. Notably the most sympathetic characters are the simple-minded and caring British crew of the appropriately named Lion. Even the womanising Captain Williams and his narrow-minded religious wife are viewed indulgently.
Romance is certainly not a terrible book, but it is a rather weak contribution to the collection of novels written by Joseph Conrad. His collaboration with Hueffer served only to dilute the merits of his solo work, and it is perhaps a pity that Conrad spent so much time with Hueffer at a time when his writing skills were at their peak.