Category: Reviews

Review of Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad

In Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, Marlow’s apathetic voice is Conrad’s gift to readers.  Through this apathy readers have a defibrillator to use on their hearts, which have slowed to a stop after contemplating the full meaning of the tale.  Without this literary device, countless souls would be unable to return to their pleasant state of existence.

Conrad introduces Marlow as the novella opens.  Within two pages we discover Marlow has decided to tell an unrequested tale containing an uncommon bleakness that offers no immediate value to the audience.  By the end, we are left feeling despondent, depressed, and largely in a state of wonder.  We ask ourselves, “If this horror happened to a man such as Kurtz, it surely would happen to little ol’ me.  And that being the case, what’s the point of even trying?”

Add to these feelings the fact that the story is only 70-pages, and we find ourselves returning to page one with a singular goal.  We long to discover that we overlooked the hope.  Returning to page one with this new sense of purpose, we begin to notice that Marlow’s story is preempted by the notion that “the bond of sea…had the effect of making us tolerant of each other’s yarns—and even convictions.”  Likewise, Conrad demonstrates his value by creating this tolerance in those of us without this bond.

Marlow’s apathy is palpable throughout the tale—evidenced by his ability to remain a detached observer.  During this re-read we notice that this apathy, then, is Conrad’s gift to us.  This apathy lights the path which will lead us out of darkness.  Conrad doesn’t intend for us to remain in darkness.  He wants us to take Marlow’s journey; not believe that we’re Marlow.  The key to coming out whole is to remember this–remember that, unlike Marlow, we still care.

****

Conrad, Joseph. Heart of Darkness. New York: Dover, 1990. Print.

Review of The Diving Bell and The Butterfly, by Jean-Dominique Bauby

In The Autobiography of Mark Twain, Twain quotes John Hay regarding the imperative to write an autobiography.  Hays says,

And he will tell the truth in spite of himself, for his facts and his fictions will work loyally together for the protection of the reader: each fact and each fiction will be a dab of paint, each will fall in its right place, and together they will paint his portrait; not the portrait he thinks they are painting, but his real portrait, the inside of him, the soul of him, his character (223).

Likewise, Bauby’s The Diving Bell and The Butterfly uses, perhaps unknowingly, modernistic techniques to embody his essence.  Like Twain before him, though likely for different reasons, Bauby discards the stifling form of realism.  Bauby’s condition renders him able to write only through arduous dictation.  Bauby foregoes strict chronology, instead opting for the easier, modernistic stream of consciousness form.  As Hay predicted, this form captured Bauby.  Lacking any appreciable context, we discover a man full of life.  More than that, we find simply a man.  Absent is the big-shot editor, the fashion mogul, the womanizer, the playboy, the failed husband, and the absentee father.  These simplistic generalizations vanish precisely because Bauby writes within the shattering framework that is modernism.

Beginning with the title’s juxtaposition of the movement continuum’s two ends, Bauby transports the reader to the depths—and heights—which he experiences after entering his condition.  Necessarily, Bauby begins with how he learned of his condition.  When the story reaches terminal velocity, the slightest thread of a chronological timeline acts as a scarcely visible trace of footsteps which keep us certain that we’ve never strayed far enough to become lost.  Besides this, Bauby’s style has the effect of placing us on the wing of his butterfly.  We climb, we fall, we climb again; flight without consequence.  What does a man like Bauby have to lose if the truth he tells is rejected?  Through the book Bauby proves what should–but never will–be common knowledge: the uniting power of truth–not just truth, but being comfortable telling your truth.  Through his memoir, then, Jean-Dominique Bauby proves like many before him that courageously announcing to the world that you exist has the power to break down the barriers we build for ourselves over a lifetime.  The only question remaining is why won’t we let Bauby move us to act on this lesson?

****

Twain, Mark, Harriet Elinor. Smith, and Benjamin Griffin. Autobiography of Mark Twain. Vol. 1. Berkeley: University of California, 2010. Print.