Comparisons of Motive in both Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" and J.M. Coetzee's "Waiting for the Barbarians"

John Conrad's Heart of Darkness and J.M. Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbarians are two quite similar books that portray a search for morals about colonization and that question the righteousness in the motives of huge imperial empires, from the Conrad's Imperial Africa to Coetzee's South-African police state, to colonize. Focusing on one character and his internal struggle between what his country thinks is right and what he thinks is right, the two novels ultimately arrive at the same conclusion: colonialism is a terrifying and horrific practice that blurs the line between the civilized and the uncivilized.

Both told from a first-person perspective, the novels ultimately reach this common theme through the way in which they present it. For starters, both novels begin at a restful state, one where the conflict of morals and the physical conflict that initiates it has not yet begun. In Heart of Darkness, this peaceful situation happens when Marlow is simply applying for the job, completing a typical transition from one job and a period of unemployment to the next. Similarly, in Waiting for the Barbarians, the magistrates post is relatively peaceful and, while he is a bit upset and curious about why Colonel Joll has locked up the man and the boy, who appear completely innocent, he himself is completely fine and any doubts about morality are simply pushed aside and the book moves forward.

Then, as the plots move along, a slow, but steady questioning of morality begins to enter the minds of the protagonist. In the magistrate's situation, it is the arrival and his subsequent affair with the barbarian girl that causes him to seriously question the morality of the Empire's actions. He realizes that he more or less has strong feelings for the girl, despite the fact she is of the "inferior race" or a "barbarian," and, as a result, begins to wonder why they are trying to launch a land-confiscating war against a people that can love and be loved just as much as any one of the Empire's citizens. With Marlow's case, this same situation arises as he notices the attitude taken toward the natives in the Congo and, because of his complete naivety to any and all culture of Africa, is quite shocked by the opinions he hears of people who are just as human as he is. For both these people, these situations eventually lead into that greater questioning, in which what each character's employer is doing seems quite wrong. For Marlow, this thinking predisposes him to a view that in arguably takes favor to the natives and sets himself up for the greater, physical challenge ahead. For the magistrate, sleeping with the girl and asking himself why he is so enthralled with her opens up the door to new inquiries, such as what happened in Joll's torture rooms and why the Empire is taking prisoners and torturing and killing them when, in his mind, there is clearly no offense being launched upon the frontier. These events ultimately set the stage for the climatic events that follow.

Finally, sooner or later, each story reaches that breaking point, where the main character is finally challenged in regard to what he believes and put through a test of both endurance and horror in order to see whether or not those beliefs will hold. This point is obvious in Waiting for the Barbarians, as the breaking point is undoubtedly the arrest of the magistrate upon his return from the moral act of returning the barbarian girl. Through torture and captivity, this period of the book is where his beliefs are challenged to the point of abandonment as he asks himself why does he care about the barbarians so much, was does he care about what is right, and why he is opposed to the colonization that the Empire has gone forth with. Luckily for the magistrate, his beliefs stay with him, regardless of the ends they are pushed to and as the story wraps up, they are able to resurface in a better light.

On the other hand, in Heart of Darkness, Conrad pushes Marlow to this point when he finally arrives at the station with Kurtz and Marlow decides that Kurtz's opinions toward the natives are more honorable and righteous than that of the Russian and the manager. As a result, he becomes almost vilified by the two white men, who regard Kurtz as a lost cause who has sadly been consumed by the savage way of thinking. This leads to further difficulties once Kurtz dies as Marlow is now faced with the prospect of figuring out the meaning of Kurtz's last words, while, at the same time, dealing with the death of the only person who had the same perspective on Africa as he did. Thankfully for Marlow, however, he soon becomes ill and it is not long until he is evacuated from the jungle and makes his return to the mainland of Europe.

In the end, both characters ultimately cleanse themselves of their moral dilemmas, with Marlow returning to Europe and the magistrate finally leading an autonomous town that lives at peace and without the moral ignorance of the Empire overhanging its streets, and thus the stories conclude.

From these outlines, it is quite apparent that the two stories are more or less the exact same and thus, their lesson that challenging authority and doing whats right ultimately works out in the end and so should be pursued no matter what is equally supported by both works. While both books may have a few different perspectives, this lesson is still prevalent in equal and whether a reader reads one or another is irrelevant: the message is still the same. Furthermore, the "hero's journey" that both characters go through also add to the theme by giving a process to moral questioning in order to give readers the ability to recognize it both in themselves and also in their own leaders. From this process, people can hopefully better identify the good and the evil in similar situations in the future, whether simply in one's own life or in the government of one's resident country. Therefore, because of these valuable lessons, Waiting for the Barbarians and Heart of Darkness are both amazing works and will continue to probe the topic of morality and empire for centuries.

Initial Impressions on J.M. Coetzee's "Waiting for the Barbarians"

After reading Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness for a few weeks, one would generally not be extremely excited to explore yet another short colonization novel that takes place around the turn of the century; however, after only reading three chapters, I can honestly say I am surprised to find I thoroughly enjoy J.M. Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbarians. Given the long, tedious, and often tangential narration of Conrad's novel and considering the fact the curriculum intends for us to compare the two books, I found myself not at all apprehensive about reading Coetzee's story and constantly procrastinating on the completion of the assignment. Yet, as I began reading, I honestly could not put it down. One of the first things that jumped out at me is simply the style in which Coetzee writes. Using prose, colloquial language and a vivid present tense, the style of the book's narration creates a very captivating discussion effect, as if the Magistrate is actually with you face-to-face, telling you his story. For example, in the very first paragraph of the novel, the book opens with "I have never seen anything like it: two little discs of glass suspended in front of his eyes in loops of wire. Is he blind? I could understand it if he wanted to hide blind eyes. But he is not blind," and thus creating a clear thought dialogue that the reader instantly attaches him or herself to. In fact, this style is relatively similar to that of Marlow's narration in Conrad's book, but without the tedious and somewhat overzealous descriptions.

Furthermore, I was also drawn into the book by the magistrate's character, a quite right-minded man who to seems very sexually-focused as well. The first time we see him, we immediately notice his rather unorthodox position toward Colonel Joll's treatment of the natives. Given the fact the novel takes place around the turn of the century and that we get the impression the magistrate is white, the view he takes is extremely admirable and righteous. When Joll moves to capture as many natives as possible and torture them for answers into the whereabouts of the barbarian forces and the plans to their rumored revolution, the magistrate expresses opposition and feeds, provides doctors, and otherwise supports their well-being and ultimate return to their native lands. Yet, for reasons probably deliberately withheld from the reader, he cannot fully exercise enough power to shoot down the colonel's orders and, at least while he is there, prisoners are still taken and horrendous torture is carried out in their interrogations.

On the other hand, the magistrate also becomes an interesting character because of his intense sexual desires and his apparent love for the ex-prisoner that is now his servant. The fact that he is such an old man but is still sexually driven, sleeping with twenty-year-old girls and the native one, essentially shocks the reader, bringing him or her closer into the book with the hope of discovering more shocking details. As his makeshift love story ensues, the odd nature of it keeps us enthralled and the relative ups and downs of the relationship, from their physical break to his actually sleeping with her, helps the book to move forward fast.

In regards to the story itself, it was simply the weirdness of it that kept me reading. Its essentially a story of an old, white, and politically-powerful governor in his colonial land falling in love with a blind, tortured, and ex-captive native girl who only became the magistrate's servant because he could not have beggars on the streets. This oddly captivating story thus makes you want to continue reading in hopes of discovering anything else that adds to the unusual plot. Thus, between the ease of reading, the interesting protagonist, and the shocking plot, Waiting for the Barbarians is one book I'm very interested to continue reading to see where it leads.

Notes Regarding "The Congo Diary" by Joseph Conrad (My Actual Assigned One)

--Attempts to portray a visual description of the Congo and the African landscape (p. 254)
--Tries to document everyday life in the Congo (how miserable it is, the people, the way the villages and European stations are set up, the living conditions, etc.)
--Various descriptions show the horrors of the colonization of Africa (about the dead bodies and skeletons, etc.)
--Racist tones (p. 255)
--p.260--tells of the African chief who brought a youth with a gunshot wound to the head into the station to receive medical care. Interesting.
--The descriptions of the first few days of the river journey sound like instructions meant for the use of later explorers; almost like a map of words.

Main Points Regarding the "Seclected Letters En Route to the Congo"

• Given reinforcing insight into the parallel connections between Conrad and his character Marlow
• Outlines Conrad's extensive journey prior to his departure for the Congo and who he visited with
• Reflections upon how Conrad felt prior to his departure (ie. his temperment and view on the risks involved with the journey and the job)
• Close connection with family
• Marguerite Poradowska--model for Marlow's aunt in the story
• Expresses those feelings of loyalty and love toward her in the second-to-last letter; she is too him a positive distraction from the problems within his life.

Closure in the Last Section of The Sound and The Fury

In William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, the fourth and last section of the novel delivers an interesting, but atypical conclusion to an already abnormal novel. Upon reading the last section, one might feel as if the novel ends incomplete and without resolution of the Compson family tragedy. Benjy is still treated more like a dog than as a human; Jason still runs the household with an iron fist; Mother remains the selfish, "o-so-pitiful" matriarch; and now both Caddy and Quentin are absent from the novel, after having escaped into the world outside Jefferson. Yet, while in the average story, this conclusion may be regarded as inconclusive, it is, in fact, the exact conclusion that Faulkner wants. According to Lawrence Edward Bowling, a professor at Kenyon College, "The Sound and the Fury is a novel about disorder, disintegration, and the absence of perspective" that is centered around "the internal chaos of the characters,--their intellectual, moral, and spiritual confusion" (Bowling 15). Thus, it is Faulkner's main intention to leave the reader with such a conclusion in order to reflect the chaos and disorder plaguing the family and that he views as his main theme. By leaving all the remaining characters in their current predicaments--Benjy screaming, Luster out of it, mother absent from the rest, and Jason as angry as ever--he effectively demonstrates that this order cannot be resolved and that three decades has done no good to help this chaotic family. Ultimately, on a larger scale, this ending, as well as the book as a whole, shows a tragic transformation of family from the nineteenth to the twentieth century and thus provides modernist critique of twentieth century life.

Examining Faulkner's Use of Time in The Sound and the Fury

This week, I read Lawrence Edward Bowling's 1947 piece entitled "Faulkner: Technique of The Sound and the Fury," which examines the controversial chronological style that makes the novel so famous. In his piece, Bowling attempts to support Faulkner and his style, using a long and thorough argument to dispel accusations that the narrative technique is simply an "unnecessary obstacle" and providing relevant examples to show his reader how crucial the book's chronology is to the theme and the reader.

Essentially, however, Bowling sums his argument up in three main parts. First, he notes that, although utterly confusing, the disorder of time in the novel is necessary for the plot to make sense as a whole. Given the way that it was written, each of the book's four sections ultimately rely on the other three to be understood and if rearranged into chronological order by the dates at the beginning of each section, the novel could not make sense. This is because, peppered throughout the book, there constantly appear small facts and details that help us comprehend the story, yet, those facts are not always presented prior to a particular sections and sometimes are only revealed after the scene has taken place. Secondly, Bowling also argues that the random, stream-of-consciousness narration prevalent is crucial in helping each character develop a certain identity. In this book, we learn of the characters not by facts "but by [being presented] the reactions of certain characters to these facts" (Bowling 11). Therefore, the baffling and un-descriptive narration of Benjy and the soliloquy-esque, complex narration of Quentin are the only ways we as readers get to know the characters and understand how they work and think. Thus, Bowling points out that if all the narration in the book were like Benjy's or like Quentin's, there would be nothing unique and special about those characters and the reader would be left with a lesser understanding of what kind of people they truly are.

Finally, Bowling concludes his article with the point that Faulkner's narrative style is essential to the theme of the book. As he describes it, "The Sound and the Fury is a novel about disorder, disintegration, and the absence of perspective" centered around "the internal chaos of the characters,--their intellectual, moral, and spiritual confusion" (Bowling 15). Given the fact that much of the narration seems, at least to the reader, as chaotic and very confusing, Faulkner's style in this novel perfectly facilitates the novel's main theme and ultimately, we get a full understanding of the disorder in the characters' lives through it. Therefore, as Bowling puts it, "As an introduction to this theme, what could be more appropriate than the flat, perspective-less language of Benjy's section?" (Bowling 15). Thus, in the end, while the language is quite possibly the source of the reader's confusion, it is also the key to his or her complete understanding on the novel; a cruel double-edged sword.

All in all, I thought Bowling's piece on The Sound and the Fury was extremely enlightening and that it adequately explained why an author like Faulkner would use a technique so troublesome for his or her reader. It makes sense now why the story is written in such a fashion and with the information I have learned, such as Faulkner's attempt to use narration to portray disorder, disintegration, and absence of perspective, I can now apply that knowledge to better interpret the novel as I'm reading. Also, I found the article to be an interesting review of stream-of-consciousness as well, helping me to better understand much of what it is about. For example, Bowling, at one point, mentions how, in Quentin's section, Faulkner simplifies the thought processes to make it easier to understand. Given my personal perspective that section two was extremely complicated to begin with, I found it odd that Bowling would say this, but upon further reading, came to understand that if I myself were to write out my conscious thought process, it would also be quite confusing. Thus, it gave more meaning to my understanding of stream-of-consciousness and more credibility to Faulkner's narrative form.

In conclusion, I thought this work was a very thorough, informative, and ultimately enjoyable work on The Sound and the Fury

Article:

Faulkner: Technique of The Sound and the Fury
Lawrence Edward Bowling
The Kenyon Review, Vol. 10, No. 4 (Autumn 1948), pp. 552-566.
Published by: Kenyon College

Wartime Inhumanity: the Effects of War as Illustrated in Tim O'Brien's "The Things They Carried"

In the short story “The Things They Carried,” Tim O’Brien illustrates a grotesque, graphic, but soberingly realistic depiction of war through the demise of the story’s main character, Lieutenant Jimmy Cross, in the setting of the 1960’s Vietnam conflict. Ripped apart by the death of one of the men under his command, in the story, Cross undergoes a transformation in which his idealistic, but obsessed attitude gives way to his formation into a mere machine fighting for the American war effort. Against a background of wartime brutality and horror, Cross’s transformation in many ways illustrates the demoralizing effect of war on the human soul through the eyes of O’Brien and ultimately presents the prevailing theme of the story: that war is a multifaceted destroyer that wreaks havoc on not only the body, but also the mind.

O’Brien conveys this theme through a couple of short steps. First, he begins by breaking the story into a number of short sections, each with its own subject, in order to contrast the horror, senselessness, and brutality of war against the nature of Cross’s character. To do this, the sections more or less switch off between characterizing Cross and his immense love obsession with Martha and creating an elaborate depiction of the war’s horrors. For example, the first paragraph of the story introduces the reader to Martha and Cross’s love for her, illustrating his predicament in that “more than anything, he wanted [her] to love him as he loved her” (1). From this, the reader gets the sense of a hopeless young man who “[is] just a kid at war, in love,” thereby characterizing the lieutenant as a caring, emotional being (22). Once at that understanding, the reader moves onto the next section and instead of finding an intricate description of emotion, discovers a laundry list of the heavy supplies and personal items each soldier carried. In contrast to the one before it, this section is part of O’Brien’s description of war’s brutality, depicting the physical strain each soldier much endure before even getting in a firefight. Later, these descriptions of war are further continued with the vast descriptions of weaponry, representing the ever-present reality of shooting and death in war. Thus, as a result, both of these sections contrast one another incredibly well by juxtaposing two different tones, war and love, thereby driving the conveyance of the theme forward.

With this structure in place, O’Brien then fully develops a contrast between Cross and the other characters, which in many ways represent the effect of war’s brutality, in order to better illustrate the transformation and the theme. Thus, because of the multiple sections describing his unwavering love for Martha, there develops a contrast between the caring and seemingly “humanity” of Cross and the relative indifference to life possessed by his men. As certain sections describe Cross’s good luck pebbles, letters from Martha, and his constant inquiry into her feelings toward him, others describe Norman Bowker’s (one of Cross’s men) good luck thumb, which is cut off the hand of a “VC corpse, a boy of fifteen or sixteen” before another of Cross’s men kicks the dead boy’s head to “[watch] the flies scatter” (28, 34). When some sections document Cross’s daydreaming about attempts he could have made to show Martha how much he loves her, others describe the ways in which the soldiers burned and pillaged the village of Than Khe with airstrikes and then “watched the wreckage,” and how they made jokes about Lavender’s drug use and his death, saying that whole incident was a real “mind blower” for him (40, 72). Also, after Lavender’s death, the reader further sees this contrast by how disturbed Cross is and how his role in the death “he would have to carry like a stone in his stomach for the rest of the war;” however, on the other hand, his men, such as Kiowa, “[wish] [they] could find some great sadness…, but the emotion [isn’t] there” and are just “pleased to be alive” after the incident is all done (42, 60). With contrast effectively established, these vast differences help to portray Cross as a man who still is holding onto his past and has not totally succumbed to the mentality and brutality of war, making him a rare subject on O’Brien’s battlefield.

Yet, sooner or later, the contrast stops and the transformation takes place, finally revealing the theme of war’s multifaceted destruction on the individual. Based around the death of Lavender, the transformation of Lieutenant Cross occurs once he realizes that if he had not been daydreaming about Martha when the sniper killed Lavender, he could have been able to save him. Confronted with this immense amount of guilt and the sense of failing his duties, he is utterly overwhelmed and suddenly any idealism that the lieutenant had vanishes as he finally realizes “she did not love him and never would” (43). With a vengeance against himself, he becomes a changed man, ordering his men to torch the village of Than Khe, burning the pictures and letters of Martha, and vowing to “perform his duties firmly and without negligence” (99). Therefore, in a way, he becomes a machine, giving his complete focus to his responsibilities and pushing out of his mind any hopes or memories from back home. Now, much like his men, he is devoid of emotion and only concerned about humping it and getting their mission accomplished as to “avoid the blush of dishonor” (77). Ultimately, in the end, the transformation shows how war has ruined any optimism within the heart of a certain individual and thus finally O’Brien’s theme is conveyed to the reader.

In the end, “The Things They Carried” is a short, but chilling testament to the effects of war on the human soul and goes to show that, regardless of the mission, war is inevitably a destructive force.