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In this story, a young captain on his first voyage with an
unfamiliar ship and crew meets a strange night swimmer. To
keep this fugitive secret, the captain risks both his job and
his ship. The story begins with a careful, minute, studied
description, at which Joseph Conrad is master. However, in the
extensive introduction of the setting, the identities of
people are, for my taste, too obviously strung out. Only at
the end of his first, quite long, paragraph do we even know
the narrator is on a ship, and only three paragraphs later
that he is captain of it. These are not things that the
narrator would be only slowly aware of. Some forms of
conflict--"appointed to the command only a fortnight before,"
"a stranger to myself"--are too simply and boldly stated. When
the narrator sayd the chief mate had "an almost visible
effect...," that's Conrad's strength, as is the later
statement--"His dominant trait was to take all things into
earnest consideration. He was of a painstaking turn of mind.
Conrad could be describing himself.
But the painstaking becomes painful--too wearing and wearying,
as Conrad goes to exhaustive and exasperating extent in
comparing the narrator and the swimmer. Sometimes the swimmer
is believable, sometimes not. When he says, after having
killed a man on his own boat and now escaped to this one, "God
knows why they locked me in every night," the reader is likely
to say, "Surrrre." Yet, when the swimmer says his previous
captain was afraid of "that second old mate who's been sailing
with him for years--a gray-headed old humbug," both the
narrator and the reader understand. When he says, "No chief
mate [the second in command to the captain on a ship] ever
made more than one voyage on the Sephora, you know. Those two
old chaps ran the ship," we see one reason why some churches
never progress.
The story's main attraction to me was at least three
references to the Brand,or mark, of Cain. The swimmer says
he's "ready enough to go off wandering over the face of the
earth," then says he's being "driven." So does he go of his
own volition or not? Both, of course--he killed of his own
volition and, now, because he killed, he's driven away. But
Conrad's goal of making us identify with the swimmer as the
captain does didn't work for me. The narrator tsks-tsks over
"my other self, now gone...to be a fugitive and a vagabond on
the earth with no brand of the curse on his sane forehead to
stay a slaying hand...to proud to explain." But not too sane
to be proud, of course. Like Cain, instead of just leaving the
company of someone who irritated him, he struck out. As one
comedian pretending to be Cain interviewed on the news said,
"I just got tired of him calling me an aggie, so I bopped him
one." Too bad, Cain. So sorry, swimmer. Get lost, both of you.
The narrator, although he envies the swimmer's "freedom,"
handles his own alienation a lot better than the swimmer did.
He feels that his situation, half way through, is "very much
like being mad, only it was worse because one was aware of
it." Before the end of the story, he makes the crew wonder,
too, if he's mad, but by the end has had his dance with death,
his bout with danger, and has come away, being his own man,
AND with his own command of his own ship. Meanwhile the
swimmer has to slink away into the night.
The only remaining good reason for reading the book was the
reference to "the privilege of defective hearing." Some of my
students when I taught junior high accused me of "selective
hearing," but even they would now probably agree that its
nonvolitional--unlike bopping someone just because you can't
control your irritation at entrenched traditionalism. And the
Cain Brand metaphor doesn't really demonstrate what Conrad's
trying to say. Abel wasn't entrenched in traditionalism; he
just did a better sacrifice--and that was a new, innovative,
progressive act at that time--than Cain did, and Cain got
jealous. Cain was the offended reactionary, not Abel.
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This is a small but valuable book, since never before has
anyone been able to say so much, so quickly, so well.
Excerpts:
- "An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile hoping it will
eat him last."
- "It is no use saying, 'we are doing our best.' You have
got to succeed in doing what is necessary."
- "I found that I could add nearly two hours to my working
by going to bed for an hour after luncheon."
- "A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't
change the subject.":
- "Personally, I am always ready to learn, although I do
not always like being taught."
- "Where does a family start? It starts with a young man
falling in love with a girl. No superior alternative has been
found."
- "There is no finer investment for any community than
putting milk into babies."
- "Golf is an ineffectual attempt to direct an
uncontrollable sphere into an inaccessible hole with
instruments ill-adapted to the purpose."
- "It has been said of Democracy that it is the worst form
of government except all those other forms that have been
tried from time to time."
- "Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with it is a
toy and an amusement, then it becomes a mistress, then it
becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is
that just as you are about to be reconciled to your
servitude, you kill the monster and fling him about to the
public.
- "A prisoner of war is a man who tries to kill you and
fails, and then asks you not to kill him."
- "It is a good thing for an uneducated man to read books
of quotations...The quotations when engraved upon the memory
give you good thoughts. They also make you anxious to read
the authors and look for more."
- "Say what you have to say and the first time you come to
a sentence with a grammatical ending--sit down."
- "Odd things animals. All dogs look up to you. All cats
look down to you. Only a pig looks at you as an equal."
- "In war you can only be killed once, but in politics many
times."
- "There is nothing more exhilarating than to be shot at
without result."
- "Too often the strong, silent man is silent only because
he does not know what to say, and is reputed strong only
because he has remained silent."
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Terry Deary lists the stories in reverse order by popularity,
and presents each in a new way:
| 10. A Midsummer Night's Dream |
... as if narrated by Puck |
| 9. King Lear |
in short drama form |
| 8. Twelfth Night |
point by point, listed |
| 7. The Tempest |
as a diary by Miranda |
| 6. The Merchant of Venice |
in Jewish newpaper accounts |
| 5. Romeo and Juliet |
in comic-book form |
| 4. Julius Caesar |
as a diary by Brutus |
| 3. Taming of the Shrew |
a drama review by a feminist and an agony "aunt" column |
| 2. Macbeth |
as "The Ballad of Big Mac" |
| 1. Hamlet |
as a police inspector's report |
Deary shows the basic silliness and cruelty in the subplot
regarding Malvolio in Twelfth Night, which I've long
considered a weak point of the play. His commentary on The
Merchant of Venice is poor because, true to commentary of the
last fifty years in the wake of the Holocaust, he criticizes
only the Anti-Semitism, and not also the Jewish attitudes and
customs leading to some of the prejudice, probably in fear
lest he himself be belabored with bludgeons of Anti-Semitism
charges. (Apparently, to get a commentary on this play not
bending over backward to be politically correct, we'll have to
read those written before World War II.) On The Taming of the
Shrew, he looks at it through a woman's view, but also shows
that he knows the play was meant as a joke. His treatment of
Hamlet via a police inspector's report reminds me of a story
written by James Thurber entitled, "The Macbeth Murder
Mystery," in which Macbeth is treated as if it were written by
Agatha Christie. Amusing.
In between the plays, he provides a brief biography of
Shakespeare in "ages of man" style, describes the Globe
Playhouse, mentions actors who have presented Shakespeare to
audiences, discusses other world events contemporary with
Shakespeare, Elizabethan Era insults, the debate over who
wrote the plays, behavior of audiences at plays, and other
interesting background. A very good introduction for your
child to Shakespeare.
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Omar Khayyam in the twelfth century wrote in quatrains his
Rubaiyat, joyfully accepting all life brings, perhaps an
easier philosophy for an astronomer-mathematician than for
someone with a rougher lot in life, but when death came, Omar
was no happier for all the pleasure he'd pursued during his
life. Edward Fitzerald, an Englishman, freely and successfully
carried over the Rubaiyat's special flavor of joy, melancholy
and resignation. A publisher in 1859 printed 250 copies, had
trouble selling them, and almost gave up. Then Dante Gabriel
Rosetti found a copy in a "four-penny box" outside a bookshop
one day, and promoted the work. Fitzgerald quickly became
famous. Fitzgerald changed the work many times, sometimes with
a line here or there, sometimes changing whole quatrains, but
never actually improved his first rendering, which became a
classic of Victorian English literature.
Perhaps the most famous two lines of the book are:
"Here with a loaf of bread beneath the bough,
A flask of wine, a book of verse--and thou."
That's only half the stanza. The quatrains follow an A-A-B-A
rhyme scheme. The rest goes:
"Beside me singing in the wilderness--
And wilderness is paradise enow."
My favorite quatrain, which reminds me of university days, is:
"Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and saint, and heard great argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same door as in I went."
(Come to think of it, that describes business sessions at
conference quite well, too.)
Perhaps Khayyam's (as seen through Fitzgerald) most profound
observation in the Rubaiyat comes in a discussion one night by
the pots sitting around a potter's closed shop. Some pots say:
"Then said another--'Surely not in vain
My substance from the common earth was ta'en
That He who subtly wrought me into shape
Should stamp me back to common earth again.'
"Another said-- 'Why, ne'er a peevish boy,
Would break the bowl from which he drank in joy;
Shall He that made the vessel in pure love
And fancy, in an after rage destroy!'
"None answer'd this; but after silence spake
A vessel of a more ungainly make:
'They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
What! did the hand then of the Potter shake?'
Khayyam said this toward the end of his work as he
contemplated death. He felt his age, and tried to look to
pleasure and to love, but death kept staring him in the face,
and he ends in melancholy. Yet, although this shows the
difference between heavenly and merely human happiness, the
book has its golden moments, and I recommend it for a quick
and pleasant read. Settle in a chair or on a hillside, pull up
your favorite fruit juice or tea, and read. If you can manage
the loaf of bread and the appropriate companion, do.
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This book has no particular theme, unless it would be respect
and tolerance for people in cultures other than one's own, and
persistence and enjoyment in the face of adventure. In
chapters seven and eleven, he sails around Cape Horn with
various misadventures which are, to me, the highlight of the
book.
Slocum has no particular reverence for natives of the South
Pacific who want to plunder and probably kill him. The book is
a good story, a biographic narrative, about a rousing good
adventure.
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The second book is a poor imitation of Conan Doyle's Sherlock
Holmes genre, which was popular at the time and which Twain
attempted to emulate, rather unsuccessfully, in my view.
The first book has more to it thematically. It shows the basic
silliness of the crusades. It also shows the influence of
Walter Scott's literature at that time. Twain wrote both books
when he was older, and his agnosticism was more pronounced.
But the book still pales in comparison with The Adventures of
Huckleberry Finn, Twain's masterpiece. Both books are better
than pulp fiction, of course. If you just want a story to
read, go ahead. If you want something to learn from and worth
the time spent, head for the major works.
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The twelve keys are:
- Specific and concrete growth and evangelism goals. Know
exactly where you want to go.
- Weekly visitation by the pastor and church members to
visitors, absentees and the unchurched
- Strong, dynamic--yet compassionate--worship and preaching
services
- Significant emphasis on involving members and converts in
various ministries and small groups
- Strong leadership resources emphasizing training laity
for significant leadership involvement
- Effective organizational stucture including lay leader
participation in decision-making
- Several competent ministries serving membership and
visitors in spiritual growth/discipleship
- Open, accessible location near major traffic patterns and
communities
- High visibility, both in geographic location of facility
and in community life and news
- Adequate parking and land for future expansion. Purchase
land with the future in mind.
- Adequate sanctuary for group worship, and also space for
education/fellowship activities
- Solid financial resources to keep ministries functioning
consistently. Growing churches give.
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Jim (we are never told his family name) comes from a pastor’s
home in England. His childhood reading of cheap adventure
stories makes him want to shine during danger, rescue people
from sinking ships, stop mutinies, be a hero. His family
upbringing teaches him to value honor and devotion to duty. A
romantic idealist, he wants stirring adventure at sea. When he
does, a letter from his father reminds him of home beliefs: “A
single bad act may bring everlasting ruin on a man. Resolve
never, through any possible motives, to do anything which you
believe to be wrong.” Combining familiar, Christian values
with an unfamiliar vocation, he years to earn honor.
Through a series of events he ends up sailing in the
relatively safe Indian ocean on an old ship called the Patna.
Conrad chooses this name well--the ship is as old and
rust-eaten as the values of the ancient Hindu society the city
of Patna led millenia ago. The ship is taking pilgrims, whom
the captain despises, and whom Jim patronizes. The captain is
irresponsible, fat, crude, gross and bullies everyone he
doesn’t fear, but he does fear the condition of the ship. The
chief officer drinks; the second officer has a broken arm and
is a “lower class” person (here you see Conrad’s socially
reactionary views, since for Jim it’s a horrible burden to
associate with a “lower class” person even who’s somewhat
brave and intelligent); the third operates the emergency
engine. When the ship hits something and takes on water, the
captain and Jim both feel that the ship cannot be saved.
Neither can they save the pilgrims, since they have seven
boats and 800 passengers. Jim reasons, “I would prefer to die
quietly.” When he gets back to deck and sees the rest of the
officers all trying to leave the ship in a lifeboat, Jim
hesitates, thinking, All these people trust their lives to me,
and deciding the least he can do is sink with them. But when
the storm hits, he thinks he feels the rotten old ship sinking
beneath him, and he jumps down to the lifeboat.
Only then does he realize what he has done, thinking, I have
tumbled from a height I can never scale again. I wish I could
go back! But he can’t. Sin is a falling from grace, a missing
the mark, and a person who has sinned cannot erase that sin.
For someone with Conrad’s anti-religious views, there’s no
solution.
The rest of the officers, who had urged him to jump, now
despise him for having obtained safety with them by not
fulfilling duty even though he didn’t help lower the lifeboat.
Conrad despised people wanting it easy but not wanting to pay
the price. Another lesson, unconscious to Conrad, is that
compromising with sin doesn’t win friends, or at least the
friends don’t last long.
Days later, when they reach port, they hear that the Patna did
not sink, but was led by the native officers, towed around
into the direction of the storm (which had made it less
visible and also safer), later found, and towed to port. (John
Barnes in an essay says that the native officers prove
themselves superior to Jim because they stay at their posts
even through they don’t know what’s going on. But that’s the
point--they stayed at their posts because they didn’t know
people were leaving. They were not informed, and had no chance
to decide to leave or stay.) The real figure of moral courage
was the French lieutenant of the ship that tows the Patna--the
Patna, if it would sink, could drag the gunboat down, someone
had to watch the towline from the deck of the Patna and be
ready to cut the rope. He’ll share the fate of the pilgrims if
the ship goes down. When asked about fear, the lieutenant
says, sure it’s frightening, but “what life may be worth when
the honor is gone...I can offer no opinion, because, monsieur,
I know nothing of it.” Although unlike Jim he did not contract
to ship the pilgrims to their holy city, he he got them there
and so won’t consider the dilemma of someone who hasn’t kept
honor.
By the time of the investigation, the captain has fled, the
other officers are in hospital, and Jim hears the decision
alone. The captain appointed over the investigation, Captain
Brierly, decides: “The officers of the Patna acted in
cowardice and utter disregard of duty. Sailing certificates of
all concerned are hereby cancelled.” (Captain Brierly later
commits suicide, since too many things he once thought were
certain he decides are unreliable, and he can’t live with
that.)
Jim is horrified that he has abandoned all he believed in. As
they leave the courtroom, one man notices a mangy dog and
says, “Look at that wretched cur.” Jim thinks the man means
him.
He confides to the man, whom he finds is named Marlow, “Ever
since I was a little chap, I’ve dreamed of being able to meet
any emergency, any adventure. It’s all in being ready, I know,
yet I wasn’t....What a chance missed!” He tells the man, “Do
you think I was afraid of death? I swear, I was not! When I
stood there on the bridge, I wanted it to sink! I wanted it
over!” But he’s wrong. He only wanted it to sink as long as it
wasn’t sinking, but when he felt it was, he wanted, and got,
out.
As Marlow says, “But you did--at the last.” Marlow then asks
what Jim will do to get his certificate back, but Jim is
concerned about honor more than certification: “Hang the
certificate! I jumped, didn’t I! That’s what I have to live
down. The proper thing now is to face it out--wait for another
chance to prove myself.” This is the idea of salvation most
people have--save yourself. It’s a heavy burden.
The next day, Marlow gets Jim a job in a rice mill by
recommending Jim, “I have said I consider you honest--and
trustworthy.” Jim works there under the owner, who regards him
as a son, until one of the officers from the Patna shows up,
also employed there. Jim can’t stand that memory of his past
with him, and he leaves. The rice-mill owner is terribly hurt
and loses faith in humanity. Marlow hears about Jim’s
departure and says, “It’s only himself he’s running away
from.”
Jim gets a job at a ship-supplies firm in a port 100 miles
away, and is so bright and quick that Engstrom, one of the
partners in the business, says, “Best water clerk we ever had.
Don’t think he’d mind going out to sea in an old shoes to nab
a ship’s trade for the firm.” But one day while Jim’s eating
lunch, someone asks his boss, “Ever hear about the Patna
thing?” and the boss responds, “Who hasn’t heard about those
men deserting it?” And old codger sitting nearby by rises out
of his chair, shakes his cane and says, “Skunks! Everyone of
them! I’d despise being in the same room with one of them.” As
soon as they leave, Jim resigns. The boss offers a raise, but
he says he can’t stay.
This happens over and over. Every time someone looks at him
suspiciously, or he thinks they do, or everytime someone
brings up the Patna case in conversation, he moves on, further
east, still carrying doubts about his own courage. When
Marlow, meeting him, says, “You have wasted many
opportunities,” Jim responds, “They have merely been
opportunities to earn my bread. I must have something
else...an opportunity to prove myself.” We can all escort
pilgrims to Jesus Christ, even when the ship of the church
looks weak and shaky and and storms of persecution run high.
In fact, this same metaphor exists in the Bible in several
places--in Acts 27, where Paul faces shipwreck as a prisoner;
in Mark 4, where Jesus calms the sea, and in Jonah’s life.
Finally, Marlow meets an old friend, Stein, who collected
butterflies as a scientist’s assistant and, after the
scientist returned home, went to work for a trader, and now,
much later, owns many trading posts. Marlow tells him Jim’s
story. “He has to go somewhere where he can leave his
reputation behind him.” Stein recommends Patusan, a remote
district of a small nation in the Malay islands (now
Indonesia) where Stein’s agent is worthless and needs to be
replaced. that Doramin once gave Stein for saving Doramin’s
life.
Jim arrives, and the natives won’t take him inland out of fear
of what Rajah Tunku Allang will do to them if they bring in a
white man, but Jim gets so angry that they give in and take
him upriver to Rajah Allang’s mud hut-filled log stockade,
then jump and run. Jim is taken prisoner. The rajah asks, “Why
has the white man come? I am master here!” and his underlings
suggest killing Jim. When they ask if he’d like to back down
the river, he feels he can’t lose this chance to prove
himself, so he runs, vaults over the stockade wall, falls,
runs, tries to leap the creek, falls short and into soft,
sticky mudbank, grabs a treeroot and finally tears himself
loose from the slime. He runs into a settlement and into the
arms of several startled natives, whom he asks to take him to
Doramin. Half-carried to Doramin, he gives the chief the ring,
which leads the chief to say, “You are welcome here.” Jim
collapses, and is cared for by Doramin’s wife, who treats him
as a son. Jim befriends Doramin’s only son, Dain Waris, whom
Jim says thinks like a European.
Due to his duty to look after Stein’s business, Jim stays with
Stein’s agent, Cornelius, who charges him. Jim tries to check
Cornelius’ books, but finds pages torn or missing. Cornelius
blames his late, Eurasian wife. Jim tries to inventory trade
goods, but finds them missing. Cornelius blames the
natives--“thieves--all of them.” Stein had wanted the woman to
run the business, but when she died, Cornelius took over. When
Cornelius also calls Stein a thief, Jim knows Cornelius is
lying. But Jim has a letter from Stein firing Cornelius and
giving Jim his job.
Cornelius also has a stepdaughter, whom he beats terribly,
shouting, “Call me father--and with respect. I am a
respectable man!” Jim offers to stop him, but the stepdaughter
says, “No, he’s unhappy. If I did not feel sorry for him, I
would kill him with my own hands.” Jim feels that he can’t
help Stein--there are no books and no goods, but that he can’t
desert the damsel in distress. His chivalry comes to the
fore--for a time being.
However, as long as Jim stayed with Cornelius, Doramin
couldn’t protect Jim. Jim has a young Bugis, strong and
intelligent, named Tamb’Itam as a servant. He’s silent, loyal,
deadly in a fight, the consummate follower, like the Lone
Ranger’s Tonto, Huck Finn’s Jim or Batman’s Robin.
Rajah Allang and Sherif Ali both consider Jim a threat.
Cornelius offers to save Jim’s life--for a fee, of course:
“What’s eighty dollars? A mere trifle--while I’m courting
death by giving you this chance.” Jim declines, “I’m going to
live here, in Patusan.” Cornelius responds, “You are going to
die here, in Patusan,” and he’s right--not morally, just
practically.
The next night, the stepdaughter wakes up Jim, hands him a
revolver, and tells him, “Four of Sherif Ali’s men are in the
storeroom waiting for the signal that you are asleep. They
were going to kill you.” In answer to his question as to who
was to give the signal, she says, “Cornelius. Only I watched
your sleep, too.” When he responds, “You!,” she answeres, “Do
you think I watched on this night only?” and she urges him,
“Fly! Go to Doramin! Think of tomorrow night, of the night
after. Can I always be watching?” Again, he rejects the urge
to run from danger, but goes to the storehouse. At his signal,
she holds the torch through the window. He pushes open the
door and fires, killing one man. The rest surrender. He lets
them go, telling them to tell Sherif Ali that he, Jim, will
come after him. Then Jim leaves with the stepdaughter, going
to Doramin’s. By this time, Jim and Jewel (his name for
Cornelius; stepdaughter) obviously consider themselves
married.
Jim plans an attack against Sherif Ali. Doramin and Dain Waris,
after initial misgivings, join. The dawn attack works--in five
minutes, the stockade is destroyed and the victory complete.
Sherif Ali flees.
With this defeat, Jim becomes virtual ruler of Patusan. The
Bugis do a lot of the work, and the people of Patusan knew
already it needed to be done. Due to his military triumph,
people begin to call him Lord Jim, create legends of him, even
make him something of a god. Conrad shows well how the pagan
gods evolved from heroic humans whose deeds were exaggerated
over time. But their faith in Jim, like faith in pagan gods,
is misplaced--Jim and they are limited and can make mistakes.
Meanwhile, Rajah Allang is not happy, merely afraid, calling
Jim a devil. Meanwhile, the natives trust him implicitely,
just as the pilgrims on the Patna had. He mediates their
disputes, and the natives trust his judgment.
He builds a house and is happy, but Jewel asks, “You will
never leave me, will you?” He says No, “This is where I
belong. I am needed here. Here, I am--trusted. Look, my Jewel.
Those people sleep peacefully because they believe in me.
There is not one house here in which I am not trusted. If you
ask them who is brave, who is true, who is just, who is it
they would trust with their lives, what would they say?” She
answers, “Tuan Jim.” He says, “That is what I want. That is
what I must have. That is why I will never leave Patusan.” Jim
has redeemed himself--but only because the people here are
unaware of his past. Marlow visits, and Jewel asks him why Jim
stays there, since she’s afraid he’ll leave her. Marlow tell
her that Jim is there because he did something shameful in his
past and can’t bear to be seen by his fellow white men. She
won’t believe Marlow.
After Marlow’s departure, a hungry, beaten pirate who also has
only one name, “Gentleman” Brown, arrives. Only this man has
just his family name, just his heredity, only his past. He
brings his cutthroats to steal provisions, commanding them:
“Shoot the first native you see. Then we’ll burn a few houses.
That will put the proper fear in them.” He’s the “bad, white
man” whose only goal is to plunder and despoil (he’s amazed
when he later finds out that Jim isn’t doing this, since it’s
the only reason he can think of for going to a backward area).
But the pirates have been noticed, and are ambushed. They
flee, bank, abandon their boat, run up to a knoll, build
breastworks and prepare to take a stand. Only no one shows up
because Jim is in the back country and Doramin decides not to
storm the hill until Jim arrives. Dain Waris decides to take
some men to be able to cut off retreat.
Cornelius comes and tells them all about Jim and Patusan, “All
you have to do is kill Jim, and then you’ll be king here.” The
pirate has the same opinion of Cornelius that Jim has, “What a
mean little skunk this beggar is!”, but doesn’t kill Cornelius
then and there as a possible traitor.
When Jim returns, he asks the pirate, “What made you come
here?” The pirate answers, “Hunger,” and returns the question.
Jim doesn’t answer. Brown asks either for a fight or for a
clear road to go back where they came from. Jim says, “If I
let you clear out, will you surrender your arms?” The pirate
answers, “You think I’ve gone crazy? That and the rags I stand
in is all I have got in this world.” Jim makes a fatal mistake
of trying to be fair and aboveboard with people who are not.
Doramin and the natives want to fight and destroy the pirates,
but Jim says Doramin knows Jim has only the people’s welfare
at heart and has decided to let the pirates go, concluding,
“If any harm comes to you because of this, I will answer with
my life.” He speaks; they believe; little does he know the
truth of what he has said.
Cornelius was right when he said, “Jim will come here...and
order you to leave his people alone. Everybody must leave his
people alone. He is just like a little child.” Even
discounting for Cornelius’ own rotten character, the statement
is true. Jim often has a better heart than he has head. Jim
says, “I am responsible for every life in this land” and, when
Jewel asks if the white men are very bad, Jim says, “Men act
badly sometimes without being much worse than others.” This
wishful thinking about the pirates is going to destroy “Jim’s”
own people--one of his values is going to destroy another one
of his values.
Jim tells Dain Waris to let the white men pass unharmed. He
foolishly trusts Cornelius to deliver a truthful message to
Brown that the pirates can leave at dawn. Cornelius tells
Brown that he’s to be betrayed, and suggests they go to the
river by a secret channel. Conrad says, “Brown did not believe
Jim intended treachery, but he hated the world, and he wanted
revenge.” Says essayist John Barnes, “He also clearly embodies
the dangerous forces of envy, sheer spite and cruelty that
Conrad sees as always lurking just below the surface of
civilization.” Brown, guided by Cornelius, leads a pre-dawn
attack on Dain Waris, who has set weapons by in obedience to
Jim’s order. Dain Waris and others are killed. Brown’s men
flee. Cornelius gets left behind. Jim’s servant sees and kills
Cornelius (which should have happened long before), then
reports to Jim. Jim tells the servant to tell Doramin to
assemble boats to pursue Brown. The servant feels he can’t go
safely: “There is much weeping. Much anger, too.” Conrad says,
“Then Jim understood. He who had been once unfaithful to his
trust had again lost all men’s confidence.” But the first loss
of trust is not like the second: the first time, he lost
because of fear that the ship would sink under him; the second
time, he lost trust because his nobility got in the way of his
common sense.
Jim says, “I shall go to Doramin.” Jewel says, “No! We have
gunpowder! Rifles! We must fight for our lives!” Jim had once
before rejected personal safety for Jewel’s sake, willing to
die for her. But his martyr’s complex has turned
selfish--since he feels, as he tells her, “I have no life,” he
is willing to give up both his life and possibly hers--and not
for honor, but for guilt. So he loves not his life unto death,
and he loves her better, but more than that he loves his
honor, and still above even honor, he clings to his guilt when
even honor is gone.
She says, “Thou art mine! Don’t leave me! If you will not
fight, then let us flee!” But he says, “I cannot flee--not
again. If I ran now, I would not be worth having.” He has
confused his own honor, which he already says he has lost, and
his own life, which he has always been ready to give up, with
hers. A basic selfishness takes over, and he leaves Jewel,
too.
When he returns to Doramin’s village, he hears the villagers
say, “He came. He has taken it on his own head.” Jim is happy
they understand. Doramin, understandably full of rage at his
son’s death, rose, and aimed his gun at Jim. Conrad says, “Jim
faced him with a proud and unflinching look. Who could tell
what forms, what visions, what faces, what forgiveness he
could see.” Doramin fires, and Jim falls dead. Progressive
Patusan collapses right back into misery, and the only
difference is that Jim and Dain Waris are dead. Maybe Conrad
didn’t feel that white civilization had much hope in the long
run.
Tamb’Itam safely conducts Jewel back to Stein and tells him
what happened. Tamb has left his own Bugis tribal boss to do
this, and shows more honor than Jim did. Jim, trying to be
true to himself, has been false to the people dearest to him,
but he does not see that his redemption lies in saving the
lives of the people who remain. Marlow, who thought he was a
good judge of people and would have trusted Jim, sees that Jim
is not trustworthy.
When Marlow years later meets the dying Brown, the old pirate
rejoices in the knowledge that his deeds cost Jim his life.
Conrad’s story of high adventure questions the difference
between imagined adventure and real life. Jim tries to make
life work like adventure fiction. His idea of himself is
false, yet he tries to live up to his ideal. Also, the story
is not told as smoothly as mentioned here. Conrad tells it as
Marlow receives the news and tries to piece the story
together. It’s not about Jim and what happened to him, and
rather a detective story, about how Marlow, Stein the narrator
and others see the meaning of what happened and why Jim’s
story matters profoundly. You really must read the ingenious
way in which Conrad pieces the story together. Almost all
characters have characteristics reminding us that they had
lives before we saw them in the book, and also afterward.We
open the book for light holiday reading as a young man goes to
adventure at sea, but finish it thinking about action, life,
love, loyalty and honor.
The book involves symbolism, first using boats: the book has a
lot of getting into and out of boats, each adding it’s own
special version of “getting into a boat to get away.” Many
people try to sail away from the past and into a new life--Jim
has trouble doing either. Second, the phrase “he was one of
us” is mentioned, indicating competence, incompetence,
cultural affinity. Third, many people show Marlow the courage
and steadfastness that Jim lacks. Fourth, Brierly functions as
a symbol of doubt and fear--he knows, even though he must
judge Jim, that he could have done the same thing.
Conrad was born Jozef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski in Berdyczow,
in what was then Poland, and is now Ukraine. Konrad means
knight or warrior. In Joseph’s childhood, his father was
involved in revolt against Russia, which ruled eastern Poland
at the time. This revolutionary activity led to exile, during
which Joseph’s parents died--his mother when he was seven, his
father when Joseph was twelve. Joseph moved to his uncle’s
house.
At age 16, he moved to Marseilles, France, to attend school
and perhaps to avoid being drafted into the Russian army. In
France he spent much time with Baptistin Solary, who had
sailed the South Seas a few years before, and knew many
captains and companies. In his four years at Marseilles,
Joseph spent an accummulated toral of about a year and a half
at sea, mostly trading between Marseilles and French colonies
in the Caribbean. And while ashore, he became involved with
Spanish exiles in the city in their conspiracies to put Carlos
on the throne of Spain. Finally, Joseph spent a lot of time
carousing with painters and poets. He read a lot of French
literature in the 1870s (a good time to be doing it), kept
writing to his uncle and asking for more money.
In late 1877, French police noticed that that the
twenty-year-old Konrad could not legally work on a French
ship. Now he really needed money, so he invested his remaining
funds in a Spanish smuggling operation. First he made a
profit, but by the end of the year had lost all his money. He
borrowed money and tried to make his fortune gambling at Monte
Carlo, but lost the borrowed money, too. In February, 1878, he
tried to commit suicide, but the bullet missed his heart by
less than an inch and came out the other side. After his
recovery, he joined the English ship Mavis, and for the next
twelve years was an officer in the British merchant fleet.
Eventually he became a captain of a ship trading between
Southeast Asia and Australia. During his travels, he spent
almost all his time with other white Europeans. This
profoundly affected him.
Ships at that time needed iron discipline--sailors obeyed
every order. The officers’ skill and the sailors’ obedience
kept everyone on ship surviving. Konrad also saw tough, hard,
male white Europeans managing trading companies, commanding
local police, running the colonies. They maintained law,
brought modern technology, ruled by military force and
brutally punished opposition. Konrad felt that only white
people could successfully operate the railroads, telegraphs,
factories and other modern machinery, and also maintain law,
civilization and peace, and therefore that Europeans should
govern Asia, Africa and Latin America--mostly by force.
Konrad perhaps thought that all society should be run as a
tight ship. Konrad in trying to make civilian society follow
the ill-fitting military model perhaps made the same error
Lord Jim did in trying to make real life follow imaginary
adventure.
During the late 1880s, after having learned English, Konrad
became more and more interested in writing, but his English
wasn’t good enough and his prospects as a writer too uncertain
for him to give up his career. Hoping to make a fortune, he
too the high-pay, high-risk job of contracting with the
Belgian company, owned by King Leopold, that ran the colony of
the Congo (now Zaire) to run a river steamer past all the
hostile tribes and through all the sunken logs and rocks of
the uncharted Congo River. That mission became the basis of
his novel, Heart of Darkness.
He finished more than half of his first novel, Almayer’s
Folly, during the Congo voyage, but then fell sick to
dysentery and tropical fevers. After the first attack of
illness, he wrote more continuously. He took a job as first
mate of the Torrens, a freight and passenger ship working
mainly around Australia. In 1893, John Galsworthy took a trip
the the Torrens, developed a friendship with Konrad, and
strongly encouraged Konrad to keep writing.
In 1894, Konrad, stranded by illness, took a job as second
mate on a French ship (a step down from being a captain for
several years), was stranded again at Rouens without a job or
a ship, met Jessie George (whom he eventually married) and
contacted Edward Garnett, a “first reader” (the editor who
looks at manuscripts that arrive in mail) at an English
publishing house. Garnett accepted Almayer’s Folly for
publication. Surprised and delighted, and thinking that
English readers would prefer an English-sounding writer,
Konrad Korzeniowski legally changed his name to Joseph Conrad.
Garnett and Galsworthy introduced Conrad to Ford Madox Ford,
H.G. Wells, Henry James, Arthur Symons, Paul Valery, and W.B.
Yeats. Many writers were changing what people expected of the
novel, and Conrad strongly identified with trying to make
radically new art.
His first two books sold very few copies and failed
commercially, but his third novel, The Nigger of the
“Narcissus,” succeeded with the critics and sold enough to
make Conrad a full-time writer. (The use of “nigger” reflects
how people talked back then, and they used it for almost all
nonwhites: Malays, Arabs, and Indonesians. Europeans of
Conrad’s day casually assumed racial superiority. This idea
today offends far more than accurately representing the way
people talked.)
As late as 1895 he still thought of finding work as a ship’s
officer, but the voyage to Rouen turned out to be his last. as
a professional sailor. He was happily married, and wrote Lord
Jim and Heart of Darkness. In the second novel, he used the
character Marlow again, this time as a retired sea captain
thinking about life’s meaning and telling the story to
illustrate the difficulty and complexity of life’s meaning.
Conrad also wrote The Secret Agent, Nostromo, and Under
Western Eyes, which brought fame and security. In 1913, he had
a bestseller, Chance (rarely remembered today). He wrote one
more important novel, Victory, before his death in 1924.
Conrad, being ultraconservative, was also pessimistic. He
admired the accomplishments of Europeans of his day--conquest
of the earth, scientific discovery, far-flung exploration,
amazing technological advances, law and order. But he felt
that barbarism lay just beneath the surface, and asked, “If
civilization fails, how do we live?” His pessimistic answer,
“We don’t. We just give up.”
Conrad had seen Poland fall, Spanish Carlist revolution fail,
and independence movements in several countries reject
colonial rule. He probably sensed the colonial rule couldn’t
last indefinitely, although he felt it should. He came from a
revolutionary family wanting freedom for Poland, yet he wanted
the powerful to rule, which Russia was doing in Poland. This
basic conflict may or may not have occurred to him--if not, it
should have: Should the strong rule? Then Russia should rule
Poland. Or should everyone have self-determination? Then so
should the colonialized nations.
The solution to Conrad’s dilemma lay in democratic ideals
being taught to all peoples before democracy is introduced.
The solution to Jim’s lay in loving others before himself.
These are Christian virtues not in tune with the lives of the
colonial military and industrial leaders Conrad honored. In
fact, Conrad hated missionaries and any other reformers who
wanted to soften the oppression of the colonies. He frequently
said they all depended for their civilized, gentle and
peaceful existence on the colonial brutality they condemned.
This is simply false--the colonialism is gone, but the
missionaries are still there, held up not by foreign
governmental power, but by the love of people in their home
countries and in the adopted countries for the work they
together do, and much more than that for the Savior they all
worship. Conrad didn’t know anything about that--his carousing
and sailing nd fortune-seeking had taught him only to look out
for his own interests. He said the refined white upper- and
middle-class life of European nations rested on brutal working
conditions in their own factories in the home countries, and
on cheap natural resources extracted at gunpoint from the
colonies. And he thought that was all right, and despised
people who he felt wanted a soft life without having to admit
it was paid for in blood. Again, the end of colonialism has
simply proved him wrong. But back to the ironically titled
Lord Jim:
Questions you can ask yourself while and after you read: What
is it really like to be there when courage is suddenly called
for? How does an unsuccessful but generous person feel, deep
in his or her heart, about someone else’s success? What does a
person do, moment by moment and day by day, until they become
a completely different person? What is the relation between
ideals and actions? What happens when one’s idea of oneself is
false, but one just try to live up to it?
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The author doesn’t attempt another theory, but reviews the
existing ones: Hitler apologist David Irving cosies up to
neo-Nazis, Swiss psychologist says Hitler’s father beat him,
Nazi-hunter Simon Wiesenthal says Hitler got syphilis from a
Jewish prostitute, others say Hitler suspected he had Jewish
blood, or that his personality changed after a case of
encephalitis. Historian H.R. Trevor-Roper says Hitler was
convinced he was right, while historian Alan Bullock calls
Hitler an actor who sometimes believed his role. Christopher
Browning calls Hilter Hamlet-like in his “hesitation” and
“uncertainty.” Historian Lucy Dawidowicdz says Hitler was a
laughing, double-talking schemer who single-mindedly planned
to wipe out the Jews, and scholar Milton Himmelfarb calls
Hitler simply “evil.” But, asks David Gates in “Figuring Out
the Fuhrer” Newsweek 20 July 1998, p. 52, “Was Hitler uniquely
evil, beyond the human continuum? This is unacceptable to
rationalists, and tough for believers in a just God. Or was he
somebody we could have been had enough gone wrong? This is
unacceptable to almost everybody.” People simply don’t want to
believe that they could be evil.
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