Joseph Conrad did not begin to learn English until he was 21 years old. He was born Teodor Jozef Konrad Korzeniowski on Dec. 3, 1857, in the Polish Ukraine. His father was an esteemed literary figure, who was exiled to Siberia on suspicion of plotting against the Russian government, and Conrad and his mother went with him. Conrad's mother was a frail woman and died when he was 8 years old. Conrad's father sent him to his mother's brother in Krakow to be educated. Conrad never again saw his father. Conrad traveled to Marseilles when he was 17 and spent the next 20 years as a sailor. He signed on to an English ship in 1878, and 8 years later he became a British subject. In 1889, Conrad began his first novel, Almayer's Folly, and began actively searching for a way to fulfill his boyhood dream of traveling to the Congo River in Africa. He took command of a steamship in the Belgian Congo and began taking notes for what would be one of his greatest masterpieces. His time in Africa wreaked havoc on his health, however, and he returned to England to recover. He returned to sea twice before finishing Almayer's Folly in 1894 and wrote several other books, including one about Marlow called Youth: A Narrativebefore beginning Heart of Darkness in 1898. He wrote many of his other major works (including Lord Jim, Nostromo, and The Secret Agent) after this and lived a happy, successful life with his wife and children until his death in 1924.

Conrad was already well established in the literary world when he wrote Heart of Darkness, but this work represents a radically new course in his style. His earlier works were comparatively straightforward and objective, but Heart of Darkness is intensely psychological and analytical. It includes a great deal of highly personal autobiographical details as well as purely symbolic elements.

Heart of Darkness centers around Marlow, an introspective sailor, and his journey up the Congo River to meet Kurtz, a reportedly idealistic man of great abilities. Marlow takes a job with the Company piloting a steamship in the Belgian Congo. Marlow encounters widespread idiocy and absurd inefficiency in the Company's stations. The native inhabitants of the region have been impressed into service for the Company, and they suffer terribly from overwork and ill-treatment at the hands of the Company's agents.

When Marlow arrives at the Central Station, under the control of the general manager , an unwholesome, conspiratorial character, he finds that his steamship has been sunk and spends several months waiting for parts to repair it. His interest in Kurtz grows during this period. The manager and his favorite, the brickmaker, seem to fear Kurtz as a threat to their position. Kurtz is rumored to be ill, making the delays all the more costly. Marlow eventually gets the parts he needs to repair his ship, and he and the manager set out with a few agents (whom Marlow calls pilgrimsbecause of their strange habit of carrying long, wooden staves wherever they go) and a crew of cannibals on a long, difficult voyage up the river.

They come across a hut with firewood stacked and a note saying it is for them but to approach cautiously. They are attacked by natives and the helmsman is killed before Marlow frightens the natives away with the steam whistle. They come to Kurtz's Inner Station, expecting to find him dead, but a Russian traderthere assures them everything is alright and reveals that he is the one who left the wood. The Russian claims Kurtz has enlarged his mind and cannot be subjected to the same moral judgments as normal people. Kurtz has established himself as a god with the natives and gone out on brutal raids in the surrounding territory in search of ivory. The pilgrims bring Kurtz out of the station-house on a stretcher, and a large group of native warriors pours out of the forest and surrounds them. Kurtz speaks to them and they disappear into the woods.

They bring Kurtz aboard. A beautiful native woman appears on the shore and stares out at the ship; the Russian implies that she is somehow involved with Kurtz and has caused trouble before with her influence over him. The Russian reveals to Marlow, under promise of secrecy, that Kurtz had ordered the attack on the steamer in order to make them believe he was dead and turn back so he could stay. Then he leaves, as the pilgrims do not trust him, and the manager has plotted to have him hanged. Kurtz disappears in the night, and Marlow goes out to find him crawling on all fours towards the native camp. Marlow stops him and convinces him to return to the ship. They set off down the river, but Kurtz's health is failing fast.

Marlow listens to him talk while he pilots the ship, and Kurtz entrusts him with a packet of personal documents, including an eloquent pamphlet on civilizing the savages which ends (as Kurtz seems to have forgotten) with a scrawled message that says, "Exterminate all the brutes!" The steamer breaks down and they have to stop for repairs. Kurtz dies, uttering his last words while Marlow is present: "The horror! The horror!" Marlow falls ill soon after and just barely pulls through. He returns to Europe and goes to see Kurtz's Intended .

She is still in mourning, even though it has been over a year since Kurtz's death, and she praises him as a paragon of virtue and achievements. She asks what his last words were, but Marlow cannot bring himself to shatter her illusions with the truth. Instead, he tells her Kurtz's last word was her name.

Joseph Conrad's 1902 novel Heart of Darkness is about many things: seafaring, riverboating, trade and exploration, imperialism and colonialism, race relations, the attempt to find meaning in the universe while trying to get at the mysteries of the subconscious mind. We read this novel from perspectives unavailable to its first audience: we question assumptions about race and self-government which that audience didn't -- we live in a different world with different maps, and different cultural and political orders.

The framing narrative of Heart of Darkness is presented by an unnamed, undefined speaker, who is one of a group of men, former sailors, now professionals, probably middle-aged, on the deck of a yacht at the mouth of the Thames River, London England. The time is probably contemporary with the writing and publication of the novel, so around the turn of the 20th century. One among the group, Charlie Marlow, a mysterious figure who is still a sailor, tells the story of something that happened to him several years before, when he piloted a steamboat up a river in Africa to locate an agent for a Belgian company involved in the lucrative ivory trade. Most of the novel is Marlow's narration, although Conrad sometimes brings us back to the yacht and ends the novel there. This framing setting introduces some important motifs of Marlow's tale: sailing, exploration, imagery of light and darkness, the contrast of "civilization" and "primitivism" and of appearance and reality (Part 1; "Forthwith a change came over the waters....He broke off" pp. 16-20). Also, as in Wuthering Heights, the technique of a framing narrative brings up questions of memory: how reliable is a story when related by someone many years after the fact, then reported by someone else. The narrative is basically chronological with some forward-jumping (for example, Marlow, anticipates the conclusion of his tale when he mentions the Intended in Part 2; "I laid the ghost of his gifts at last with a lie" p. 80).

Remember that mostly this is a tale being told aloud. Ideally, you should be able to "hear" in your head while reading whatever you imagine Marlow's voice to sound like, especially if you identify yourself to any extent with the unidentified framing narrator. Is Marlow simply telling a story which is mystifying to his companions, or is he himself trying once again to figure out its meaning while he talks? The description of people and landscape is much more figurative than literal: it doesn't push the plot along or explain things, but then neither does the dialogue, which tends to introduce and reinforce some of the principal thematic motifs suggested above (see for example the steamboat journey towards Kurtz's station -- Part 2; "Trees, trees, millions of trees....Fine sentiments be hanged! I had no time" pp. 61-63).

Marlow as principal narrator, the teller of the story-within-a-story, has a perspective at once intriguing and questionable. He's like the Ancient Mariner of Coleridge's poem; he grips you with his storytelling skills. However, unlike the Mariner, he doesn't have a specific lesson to teach; his moral position is more ambiguous and uncertain. Marlow is a white middle-class European male of the 19th century, with all that cultural baggage (for all his sympathy towards the mistreated Africans, Marlow remains an imperialist -- his quarrel is less with colonialism than with the undeniably atrocious Belgian variety, and he himself often describes Africans with condescension or contempt). He is also a knight on a grail-less quest (or one with a false grail), a cynic and a critic, and a keen observer of the depravities and corruption of his fellow men yet literally speechless before Africa and Africans. Throughout his journey, he is confronted by signs which are more and more unrecognizable, because he and the others cannot impose meanings on them, or because the meanings they impose reflect their own anxieties more than anything else (descriptions of darkness and fog and the weird cry when nearing Kurtz's station in Part 2; "Towards the evening of the second day....without leaving a whisper or a shadow behind" pp. 67-68). Interestingly, Marlow as a storyteller has a frustrating reputation for fascinating people but never getting at the meaning of things; he keeps asking questions and suggesting mysteries rather than explaining and revealing.

Kurtz gradually embodies for Marlow this problem of meaning. He never gets to be a flesh-and-blood person: he's a word (introduced quite casually by the whiter-than-white Accountant in Part 1; "One day he remarked....mean him to be" pp. 37-38), then a voice, then a set of ideals: always an abstraction. Kurtz has gone into circumstances which call into question how much judgement depends on recognizable contexts (does "civilization" rob people of survival skills?). But Marlow doesn't know this: in the chaos of the journey, he retains hope that Kurtz will provide a clue to a universe with meaning, something more revelatory and profound than all these managers and pilgrims, these mean-spirited profit-driven Great White Hunters can provide. Is Kurtz important in himself, or in his effect on Marlow?

Like a knight of the Round Table, Marlow sets off in search of strange adventures. He only gradually acquires a grail, as he picks up more and more hints about Kurtz. Like a knight he is frequently tested by signs he must confront, question and interpret. Signs are things you see or experience or are told which have meaning beyond the literal: old women knitting black wool might simply be relatives of the company personnel given some position of respect and usefulness, or the sombre colour of their wool and clothing, and their serious demeanour, might suggest that they mind the gateway to a mysterious underworld. You might take as signs the following:

Even before he sets out, omens present themselves to Marlow: the old women knitting black wool in the Belgian office, the phrenologist measuring Marlow's skull and warning of changes to take place inside, the tale of how his predecessor died in an uncharacteristic dispute over hens.

The book opens with the Nellie, a pleasure ship, anchored at sundown on the Thames waiting for the tide to go out. Five men relax on the deck of the ship: the Director of Companies , who is hosting the cruise, the Lawyer, the Accountant, Marlow, and the unnamed Narrator .

As darkness begins to fall, Marlow suddenly says that this was once one of the dark places of the earth. He explains that when the Romans first came to England, it was a great, savage wilderness to them. He goes on to begin a story about how he once took a job as captain of a steamship going up the Congo River. He first got the idea when he saw a map of Africa in a shop window, and he got the job with a Belgian company through an aunt who interceded on his behalf with someone she knew in the administration. Marlow quickly receives an appointment, as one of the Company's steamer captains has recently been killed in a scuffle with the natives. He travels across the channel to a city that reminds him of a whited sepulchre (probably Brussels) to sign the contract at the Company's office. He finds two women there knitting, one of whom admits him to a waiting room, where a secretary takes him into the inner office for a cursory meeting with the head of the Company. Marlow signs his contract, and the secretary takes him off to be checked over by a doctor. The doctor takes measurements of his skull and warns him to avoid irritation in the wilderness even more than exposure to the sun. Marlow stops off to say goodbye to his Aunt, who expresses her hopes for him to aid in the civilization and salvation of the wretched savages in the service of the Company. He takes his leave of her and experiences a moment of trepidation about his journey before embarking on a French steamer.

The main story of Heart of Darkness is encompassed in a framing story told by an unnamed narrator about how Marlow told his story to a group of men on a boat on the Thames estuary. Thus, Heart of Darkness is on one level the story of the telling of a story. The theme of communication and speech is an important one to Heart of Darkness, making the framing story an important aspect of the novel. The question of the reliability of sources comes up again and again in the book, and Marlow is in no way exempt from suspicion (one might even question the objectivity of the unnamed narrator). No one except Marlow is named in the framing story; like many other characters in the book, they are identified only by their jobs (accountant, lawyer, etc.) In the framing story, this gives them an aura of being somehow symbolic or archetypal, as their identity comes from their position in society. Marlow later complains that as wholly civilized people, they cannot understand precisely what he is talking about when he speaks of his feelings in the heart of the wilderness.

The theme of civilization versus savagery is central to Heart of Darkness, and begins developing almost immediately. Marlow's sudden assertion that England was once one of the dark places of the earth and subsequent explanation introduces this theme explicitly, although the narrator touches on it earlier with his discussion of the Thames as a gateway of explorers and ambassadors of civilization. It also introduces the closely related theme of light versus dark, or white versus black. Light and dark have traditionally represented good and evil respectively, and civilization has generally been viewed as good while savagery has normally been seen as evil (with notable exceptions, of course). Conrad plays with this theme extensively, sometimes using the imagery in traditional ways and sometimes creating surprising and meaningful reversals. Especially notable in this section is the narrator's description of the brightness of the waterway that leads out to a horizon that merges seamlessly with the sky, contrasted with the brooding gloom over the city. London is west of the mouth of the Thames, and the sun sets into this gloom, which the narrator says looks like it kills the sun. At night, the city is covered with a garish glare. So the city, the symbol of civilization (the best of civilization, according to the narrator), always forms a contrast with its surroundings. The city comes across as somewhat ominous and foreboding in this section, instead of as some grand symbol of light and culture, despite the narrator's early attempts to make it so.

The narrator's comment that for Marlow, "the meaning of an episode was not inside like a kernel but outside, enveloping the tale which brought it out only as a glow brings out a haze" is important, as Marlow is the main storyteller of the book. Marlow's tale has no clear meaning, even to him, and he struggles throughout to decipher some meaning in his experiences. This influences his method of discourse, which is sometimes disjointed and halting, and frequently tangential, as one thought leads to another without strict regard to chronology. (Another important stylistic device to note here is that the narrator quotes only Marlow, so the reader sees Marlow's reactions to comments made by other characters in the frame story without seeing the comments themselves.) Marlow describes his journey on several occasions as one of self-discovery. His narrative has a certain dreamlike quality about it (which he admits and struggles with at one point), and his story and its individual components possess an importance that lies hidden beneath the surface.

Throughout his story, figures and events arise which seem to carry some meaning for him to interpret. Such omens include: the city that reminds him of a sepulchre; the story of the untimely death of his predecessor; the women knitting black wool who remind him of mythical Fates (and whom he mentally addresses with the traditional invocation of Roman gladiators going into battle, "Morituri te salutant," or "We who are about to die salute you."); and the doctor who measures his cranium and inquires into his mental health. Marlow hesitates before embarking on his journey and has the strange feeling that he is setting off not for the center of a continent, but for the center of the earth itself. In the end, it becomes apparent that his real journey has been to the center of the human spirit.

The steamer takes Marlow along the coast of Africa, stopping periodically to land soldiers and custom-house officers. Marlow finds his idleness vexing, and the trip seems vaguely nightmarish to him. At one point, they come across a French man-of-war ineffectually shelling an unseen camp of natives. They finally arrive at the mouth of the Congo River, where Marlow boards another steamship bound for a point 30 miles up the river. The captain of the ship, a young Swede, recognizes Marlow as a seaman and invites him on the bridge. The Swede criticizes the colonial officials and tells Marlow about another Swede who recently hanged himself on his way into the interior. Marlow disembarks at the Company's station, which is in a terrible state of disrepair. He sees piles of decaying machinery and a cliff being blasted for no useful purpose. He sees a group of black prisoners walking along in chains under the guard of another black man in a shoddy uniform with a rifle. He comes to a grove of trees in which he finds a group of dying native laborers. He offers a biscuit to one of them and sees a bit of white European yarn tied around his neck and wonders at its meaning. He meets a nattily dressed white man, the Company's chief accountant.

Marlow spends ten days here waiting for a caravan to the next station. The accountant tells him one day that he will undoubtedly meet Mr. Kurtz in the interior, a first-class agent who sends in as much ivory as all the others put together and is bound for advancement. He tells Marlow to let Kurtz know that everything is satisfactory at the Outer Station when he meets him; he is afraid to send a written message for fear it will be intercepted by undesirable elements at the Central Station.

This section marks the introduction of the "flabby, pretending, weak-eyed devil" of colonialism. Marlow contrasts the colonial officials' evils of ineffectiveness and stupidity and fumbling greed with the stronger, fiercer devils he had encountered before that drove real men along to corruption. The flabby devil's hand is apparent in the many travesties of administration and widespread decay in the Company's stations. The colonials in the coastal station spend all their time blasting a cliff for no apparent reason, machinery lies broken all around, and supplies are poorly apportioned, resting in abundance where they are not needed and never sent to where they are needed. Marlow is so disgusted by the inefficiency of the colonials that he comes to admire the accountant for his foppery, as it represents a certain strength of character, misdirected as it may be.

The direct victims of the colonials' wicked bumbling are the native inhabitants of the region. The encounter with the French warship that fires blindly into the wilderness, in effect making war on the continent itself, crystallizes the colonials' aimless and largely ineffectual hostility towards the natives. Marlow rejects the colonial terminology for the natives which characterizes them as "enemies" and "criminals" and treats them as nothing more than economic factors. (The colonials often even think of each other in these heartless economic terms, such as when no one shows any particular interest in the reports of the drowned soldiers and customs clerks.) Marlow serves as a fairly objective observer of the natives' conditions. He has been brought up with European ideas and uses the derogatory term "nigger" on many occasions, but he does sympathize with the natives' plight and tries to relate to their situation.

Marlow is appalled by the ghastly, infernal spectacle of the grove of death, while the other colonials show no concern over it at all. He even makes some ironic reversals of European prejudices to emphasize the humanity of the natives, as when he says it is hard to tell white men apart from each other, speaking in the persona of the guard who hoists his rifle when he sees Marlow approaching. Another important theme that develops in this section is Marlow's perception of the environment in the Congo region (which is never named). His first impression of the African coast is seductive and taunting, like some grand enigma. The monotony of the scenery and the seeming animation and fantastic repulsiveness of the environment is somewhat dreamlike, and Marlow senses an inner truth to it all which is inaccessible to him. Also important are the contrasted images of light and dark, especially in the grove of death, with the piece of white worsted around the black laborer's neck, the meaning of which Marlow attempts in vain to grasp. Less obvious examples of the light and dark contrasts include descriptions of the white colonials contrasted with the black natives, especially when they switch abruptly from one to the other, as when the native laborer crawls off on all fours like an animal to drink and the fastidious accountant comes on the scene, or when Marlow leaves the room with the sick colonial lying on a cot and looks down towards the grove of death.

Marlow travels overland for 200 miles with a caravan of 60 men. He has one white companion who falls ill and must be carried by the native bearers, who start to desert because of the added burden. After 15 days, they arrive at the dilapidated Central Station. Marlow finds the steamer he is supposed to take charge of has sunk. The general manager had taken the boat out two days before under the charge of a volunteer skipper and they had torn the bottom out on some rocks. Marlow meets with the manager, who strikes him as an extremely average man that leads by inspiring an odd uneasiness in those around him, and whose authority derives merely from his resistance to tropical disease. The manager tells Marlow he took the boat out in a hurry to relieve the inner stations, especially the one belonging to Kurtz, who is rumored to be ill. He praises Kurtz as an exceptional agent and takes note that Kurtz is talked about on the coast. Marlow sets to work dredging his ship out of the river and repairing it, which ends up taking three months. One day during this time, a grass shed housing some trade goods burns down, and the native laborers dance delightedly as it burns. One of the natives is accused of causing the fire and beaten severely; he disappears into the forest after he recovers. Marlow overhears the manager talking with the brickmaker about Kurtz at the site of the burned hut. He enters into conversation with the brickmaker after the manager leaves and goes back to his quarters, which are noticeably nicer than those of the other agents. Marlow realizes after a while that the brickmaker is pumping him for information about the intentions of the Company's board of directors in Europe, which, of course, he knows nothing about. Marlow sees a painting on the wall that Kurtz had painted, and asks about him. The brickmaker tells him Kurtz is a prodigy, sent as a special emissary of Western ideals by the Company's directors and bound for quick advancement. He reveals that he has seen confidential correspondence dealing with Marlow's appointment, from which he has construed that Marlow is also a darling of the administration.

They go outside, and the brickmaker tries to get himself into Marlow's good graces (and Kurtz's, by proxy). Marlow realizes the brickmaker had planned on being assistant manager, and Kurtz's arrival had upset his chances. He lets him believe he really does have influence in Europe and tells him that he wants a quantity of rivets from the coast to repair his ship. The brickmaker leaves him with a veiled threat on his life, but Marlow enjoys his obvious distress and confusion. Marlow finds his foreman sitting on the deck of the ship and tells him they will have rivets in three weeks, and they both dance around exuberantly. The rivets do not come, however. Instead comes the Eldorado Exploring Expedition, led by the manager's uncle, who spends his entire time at the station talking conspiratorially with his nephew. Marlow gives up on ever receiving the rivets he needs to repair his ship, and turns to wondering disinterestedly about Kurtz and his ideals.

This section shows the beginnings of Marlow's obsession with Kurtz. He first heard about him in the last section from the chief accountant, but the continual mention of his name in this section and all the distress he causes the corrupt agents piques Marlow's interest in him much more than the accountant's brief summation of his abilities. Still, Marlow's interest in Kurtz is primarily passive at this point, giving rise to a vague desire to find out more about him without possessing his mind too thoroughly. Kurtz's reputation as an idealist with lofty goals for using the stations as bastions of civilization and progress forms a direct contrast with the petty, backbiting pilgrims (as Marlow ironically calls them because of their ever-present staves an their near-religious devotion to ivory), who are motivated entirely by self-interest.

The pilgrims and the manager have no morality but the superficial demands of propriety, and Marlow muses that the manager and the brickmaker must be hollow. Marlow repeatedly stresses the importance of inner strength throughout the book, so this hollowness (which he also eventually comes to see in Kurtz) is a fatal flaw. The manager himself is a kind of flabby devil, as he leads through nothing more than a good constitution and a capacity for making those around him feel strangely uneasy, and Marlow describes the brickmaker as a "papier-mache Mephistopheles." The manager's praise of Kurtz seems insincere, and Marlow, in retrospect, wonders if the accident with the steamer may have been intentional. So far, all Marlow's information about Kurtz has come secondhand through sources of varying reliability, and it has given him no real image of the man for him to grasp. He expresses this trouble in communication to his fellows in the frame story, and says they at least have the advantage of knowing him and being able to see him in his narrative (although ironically, the night has fallen at that point and they can not actually see him; he is just a voice for them now, as Kurtz later becomes just a voice for Marlow). Marlow struggles with the problem of the incompleteness of communication at one point, and says it is impossible for him to fully express what he was feeling at the time, that it is as futile as trying to fully express a dream (which develops further the dreamlike quality of his journey).

Marlow does get one direct glimpse into Kurtz's character with the painting hanging in the brickmaker's room. The figure is obviously intended as some allegorical representation of Western ideals, but the shadows cast by the light from her symbolic torch create a sinister effect which hints at the failings of Kurtz's (and colonialism's) good intentions. Also in this section, Marlow espouses his theory of the importance of work as an opportunity to learn about oneself; work later becomes important for him as a protection from the temptations of the wilderness. Marlow repeatedly looks at the wilderness in this section (and the others) as an entity with some sort of intelligence and motives of its own, and he tries unsuccessfully to discern just what the wilderness is plotting to deal with its human invaders. Marlow thinks of the natives as belonging to the wilderness and being a part of it; they suffer and die in colonial civilization just as the colonials suffer and die in the wilderness.

One evening as Marlow lies on the deck of his wrecked steamer, the manager and his uncle appear within earshot and discuss Kurtz. The manager complains that Kurtz came with plans to turn the stations into beacons of civilization and moral improvement and wants to take over his position. He says Kurtz sent down a huge load of ivory of the highest quality by canoe with his clerk, but that he himself had turned back to his station after coming 300 miles. The clerk reported that Kurtz had been very ill and recovered imperfectly. The manager mentions another man that he finds troublesome, a wandering trader. His uncle tells him to go ahead and have him hanged if he likes, that no one will challenge his authority here, as he can stand the climate better than anyone else. He reassures him that the climate may take care of all his difficulties for him. Marlow is alarmed by the seeming conspiracy between the two men and the wilderness and leaps to his feet, revealing himself to the two men below. They are startled and move off without acknowledging his presence. Soon after, the Eldorado Expedition disappears into the wilderness. Much later, word comes that all their donkeys have died. By that time, though, Marlow is preparing to leave on a two- month trip up the river to Kurtz, along with the manager and several pilgrims. The river is treacherous and the trip is difficult, and the ship proceeds only with the help of a crew of cannibals, who prove to be quite reasonable people. They hear drums at night and occasionally see primitive displays of the natives during the day, but they can only guess at their meaning. Marlow recognizes the kinship between himself and the savages on the shore, but his work in keeping the ship afloat and steaming keeps him safely occupied and prevents him from brooding too much.

This section explicitly develops the manager's conflict with Kurtz and his plotting to take steps to cement his power. Marlow is shocked by their reliance on the wilderness's dark power (a variation on the title is used here to describe the wilderness, as in many other instances in the book) to aid them in their sinister activities, and he wonders if the wilderness is helping them in order to advance its own interests and will eventually turn on them, too. No one can determine Kurtz's motive in returning to his station, which had by that time been cleared of supplies and trade goods, but the image of Kurtz turning back from civilization to his work in the wilderness is the first impression of him that truly resonates with Marlow.

The themeof the importance of work to Marlow arises repeatedly in the book, as when he says he values the donkeys over the people in the Eldorado Expedition (aptly named after the illusory golden cities for which the Spanish conquistadors searched) because they are more useful. Marlow even applies religious terms to his work, describing scraping the bottom of his ship as an unpardonable sin. The diversion of work and its surface truths protects Marlow from the dark inner realities of the world. He mockingly applies this to his fellows in the frame story, implying that those same frightening hidden truths that lurk in the wilderness also exist in society and must be avoided with the superficial trappings of a career. At this point comes the only time in the book in which the narratorof the frame story quotes another character besides Marlow (except for one inconsequential quote from the Director in the very last paragraph). The character is not even identified; he is simply a voice in the darkness telling Marlow to try to be civil, as if he is the voice of civilization itself.

The journey up the river is a journey back in time for Marlow (as he explicitly says at one point), to the very beginnings of human existence. Marlow says the mind of man is capable of anything because it contains all the past and all the future; thus, the journey back in time up the river is a journey into the human mind as well. Marlow admits that he feels a certain kinship with the savages on the shore, despite their unfamiliar customs and wild displays. The strangely intense unfamiliarity of the forest and the land (things which Marlow expects to hold some degree of familiarity) perhaps facilitates the disclosure of the kinship between familiar civilized peoples and unfamiliar savage ones. The theme of the intentionality and agency of the wilderness is further developed in this section, and Marlow feels tiny and lost within the immensity of the forest, although he finds this feeling not altogether depressing.

50 miles away from Kurtz's Inner Station, they come across a hut with a stack of firewood and a note that says, "Wood for you. Hurry up. Approach cautiously." The signature is illegible, but it is a longer name than Kurtz. Inside the hut, Marlow finds a battered old book on seamanship with notes in the margin in what looks like cipher. The manager concludes the wood must have been left by the trader he had been plotting against earlier with his uncle. They continue up the river, the steamer struggling and threatening at every moment to give out completely. Marlow ponders Kurtz constantly as they crawl along towards him.

By the evening of the second day after finding the hut, they are eight miles away from Kurtz's station. Marlow wants to press on, but the manager tells him to wait for daylight, as the waters are dangerous here. The night is strangely still and silent, and dawn brings an oppressive fog. The fog lifts suddenly, and then falls again just as abruptly. They hear a loud, desolate cry, followed by a clamor of savage voices, and then silence again. They prepare for attack. The whites are badly shaken, but the blacks respond with quiet alertness. The headman of the cannibals tells Marlow matter-of- factly that his people want to eat the owners of the voices in the fog. Marlow realizes the cannibals must be terribly hungry, as they haven't been allowed to go ashore to trade for supplies, and their only food, a supply of rotting hippo-meat, was thrown overboard by the pilgrims.

The manager authorizes Marlow to take every risk in continuing on in the fog, and Marlow refuses to do so, as they would surely crash if they proceeded blindly. Marlow says he does not think the natives will attack for various reasons, particularly because the nature of their cry was more sorrowful than warlike. After the fog lifts, at a spot a mile and a half from the station, the natives attempt to repulse the invaders. The steamer is in a narrow channel, moving along slowly next to a high bank overgrown with bushes, when suddenly the air is filled with arrows. Marlow rushes inside the pilot-house; when he leans out to close the shutter on the window, he sees that the brush is swarming with natives. Marlow notices a snag in the river a short way ahead of the steamer.

Just then, the pilgrims open fire with Winchesters below him, and the cloud of smoke they produce obscures his sight. The helmsman leaves the wheel to open the shutter and shoot out with a one-shot rifle, and then stands at the open window yelling out at the shore. Marlow grabs the wheel and crowds the steamer close to the bank to avoid the snag. The helmsman takes a spear in his side and falls on Marlow's feet. Marlow frightens the natives away by sounding the steam whistle repeatedly, and they give off a prolonged cry of fear and despair. One of the pilgrims enters the pilot-house and is shocked to see the wounded helmsman. The two whites stand over him as he dies quietly. Marlow makes the pilgrim steer while he changes his shoes and socks. Marlow says he expects Kurtz is dead now as well, and he feels a terrible disappointment at this thought.

Marlow breaks the narrative here and goes into a lengthy digression on Kurtz. He says Kurtz had been entrusted to write a report for the International Society for the Suppression of Savage Customs. He wrote 17 pages of elegant, vivid writing before he gave in to the temptation of savagery and began presiding over fiendish rituals performed in his honor. At some point, he scrawled on the bottom of the last page the note "Exterminate all the brutes!"

Marlow continues his narrative by telling how he dragged the dead helmsman out of the pilot-house and threw him overboard. The other people on board are all scandalized by this action--the pilgrims because they wanted to give him a decent burial, presumably, and the cannibals because they wanted to eat him. The pilgrims conclude Kurtz must be dead and the station burned, but just then they see the station ahead, still standing, although somewhat decayed. A white man stands on the shore beckoning them to land, and tells them cheerfully that everything is alright now when they tell him they have been attacked. He has a boyish face and his clothes are patched all over in bright colors, so that he reminds Marlow of a harlequin. He informs them that Kurtz is in the station, and he comes on board and talks with Marlow as the pilgrims go up to retrieve him. He says the natives that are all around don't mean any harm, exactly, but to be prepared with the steam whistle just in case. He tells Marlow that he is Russian and that some time ago he persuaded a Dutch trading-house to fit him out with supplies for a trade expedition into the interior, and that the hut with the wood was his. Marlow gives him the book on seamanship, with its notes in Russian (which he had taken for cipher). The Russian tells him he has had trouble keeping the natives off because they don't want Kurtz to go, and then adds that Kurtz has enlarged his mind.

Marlow's obsession with Kurtz reaches its peak in this section. As the steamer nears the Inner Station, Marlow can think only of Kurtz, and he contemplates whether or not he will speak openly to him. Suddenly he comes to the realization that nothing he does or doesn't do really matters, that it doesn't matter what any one of them knows or doesn't know or who is manager, and that the essential truth of the whole affair lies deep beneath the surface beyond his comprehension or power to change it in any way. When the helmsman dies, Marlow's thoughts (and narrative) turn immediately to Kurtz and his probable demise. Marlow feels an unexplainably excessive grief at the thought that he will never hear Kurtz who is only a voice for him, as he imagines him not doing but only speaking and he recognizes the same note of intense sorrow in the natives' cry. The cry of the natives seems to be the voice of the wilderness itself, coming as it does from out of the fog, so that it seems to Marlow like the mist itself is screaming.

The theme of voices and communication is extremely important to this section, as Marlow describes the stunning effect of Kurtz's eloquence on him and how he now regards many of the characters in his experiences as no more than so many disembodied voices (he also emphasizes the importance of language, as Kurtz could only impart his trust to Marlow because he could speak English). He foreshadows the importance of a girl (whom he does not yet identify) as he struggles to communicate his feelings to the other characters in the frame story. Marlow complains that they cannot fully understand his meaning because they lead such normal, civilized lives, free from fever or the fear of unknown barbarism, protected from the inherent darkness of mankind by layers of civilization. The importance of this part of the narrative is marked by one of the few times the frame narrator breaks in, here with a description of Marlow as he lights a pipe in the darkness.

The fantastic obstacles surrounding Kurtz remind Marlow of those involved in a fairy-tale quest, contributing to the dream-like atmosphere of his journey. The senses repeatedly fail in this section, sight and hearing with the unnatural stillness of the night, and sight with the fog, which isolates the ship and seems to make the rest of reality dissolve into nothingness. The profound silence after the shrieking of the natives is almost as unnerving as the shrieking itself in its switch from one extreme to the other.

Communication also repeatedly fails in this section. Marlow and the pilgrims complain at the incompleteness of the warning in the note left on the wood, Marlow mistakes the Russian writing in the book for some kind of code, and the pilgrims fail to grasp the meaning of the natives' cries. The Russian's book is well-worn, and he is delighted to have it restored to him. Marlow even hates to break off reading it, despite its dreadful dullness. It acts as a connection with the world of civilization, and seems like "an old friend" to Marlow (who also admires the book for its singleness of purpose and devotion to work). The native African crew of the steamer are better adapted to wilderness life than the whites and respond better to the tension created by the cries in the fog, even though they are just as much foreigners to the place as the whites. Marlow is surprised by the incredible restraint of the cannibals in not eating the white men, as they must be very hungry, and hunger is a force that can be resisted only by a truly remarkable inner strength. Marlow had not expected to find that strength in the cannibals that is lacking in the whites.

Marlow definitely suffers from the same prejudices as other Europeans, but he holds them to much lesser degree than any other white on board the steamer. The pilgrims' dismay at Marlow's quick disposal of the helmsman's body stems merely from a superficial devotion to propriety. The manager's devotion to these rules of propriety convince Marlow of his sincerity when he expresses a hope of reaching Kurtz before it is too late, as it would reflect badly on him if they didn't. This same force drives the Company's officials to pay out a salary of brass wire to the crew with impressive regularity, even though they show no real concern for their well- being and give them no opportunity to trade for supplies. Marlow possesses the faculty to empathize with the natives however, and feels a commonality of human experience with them at several points, especially with the helmsman's profound dying glance. The helmsman's death not only brings about a feeling of kinship in Marlow, it also makes him appreciate him at last; although this appreciation is in the terms of a working relationship, almost like the appreciation of a worker for a tool.

The Russian trader tells Marlow to take Kurtz away quickly. He tells how he met Kurtz and how he spent one night camped in the forest with him listening to him discourse on a broad range of topics, greatly enlarging his mind. His connection to Kurtz underwent periods of rise and decline. He nursed him through two illnesses but sometimes did not see him for long periods of time while he was out raiding the countryside for ivory with a native tribe he had gotten to follow him. Kurtz threatened to shoot him once for a small batch of ivory he had been given by a local chieftain, but he insists that Kurtz cannot be judged as one would judge a normal man. He had tried to get Kurtz to leave, but he would change his mind after every time he agreed to go. The Russian tells Marlow that Kurtz is extremely ill now. Marlow looks through his binoculars and sees that what he had originally taken for ornamental balls on the tops of fence posts in the station compound are actually severed heads turned to face the house. The Russian apologetically explains that these are the heads of rebels, an explanation that makes Marlow laugh out loud. The Russian complains that he has had no medicine or supplies with which to treat Kurtz, and that he has been shamefully abandoned by the Company.

The pilgrims emerge from the station-house with Kurtz on an improvised stretcher, and natives rush out of the forest with a piercing cry. Kurtz speaks to the natives, and the natives withdraw and allow the party to pass. They lay Kurtz in one of the ship's cabins and give him the back stock of his mail. Someone has written to Kurtz about Marlow, and Kurtz expressess his gladness at seeing him. The manager goes in to speak with Kurtz, and Marlow comes out to see two natives standing near the river with impressive headdresses and spears, and a beautiful native woman pacing gracefully along the shore. She stops and stares out at the steamer for a while and then moves away into the forest. The Russian says she has given him trouble before and that he would have tried to shoot her if she had offered to come aboard. They hear Kurtz yelling at the manager inside the cabin, saying that they are just there for the ivory and are interfering with his plans.

The manager comes out and leads Marlow aside and tells him that they have done everything possible for Kurtz, but his unsound methods have closed the district off to the Company for the time being. He says he plans on reporting Kurtz's imprudence to the Company's directors. The Russian confides in Marlow that Kurtz ordered the attack on the steamer, thinking that they would assume he was dead and turn back. Marlow tells the Russian he is in danger with the manager and the pilgrims, and he asks Marlow for some bullets, tobacco, and a pair of shoes and leaves in a canoe with some native paddlers.

Marlow is fascinated by the Russian trader in his colorfully-patched clothes that give him the appearance of a harlequin. His very existence so deep in the wilderness astonishes Marlow. He seems to live entirely on youth and a love of adventure, and Marlow finds himself envying him. The Russian and Marlow are much alike in that they both came to Africa not for material gain, but in search of adventure and personal enlightenment. For the Russian, enlightenment came in the form of Kurtz. He insists that Kurtz is a great man who has enlarged his mind. Marlow is skeptical and feels the Russian's devotion to Kurtz is dangerous for him; later in the book, Marlow will find enlightenment as a result of meeting Kurtz as well and will become devoted to him in a much different way. The Russian is so utterly selfless that Marlow begins to forget that he is even talking about himself as he describes his adventures. The Russian hesitates to speak of Kurtz when he feels his words may damage others' opinions of him, like when he becomes ashamed as to the reason for the natives' desire to keep him there or when he reveals to Marlow that Kurtz ordered the attack on the steamer. The Russian recognizes on some level that Kurtz has become completely amoral, but he defends him in this, saying he has a right to be so because he is not like other men. Kurtz's voracious appetites have gotten the better of him, and he has set himself up as a god among the natives (and he is repeatedly described by Marlow and the Russian in terms of a mythical deity with firearms as his lightning bolts).

Marlow's impression of him when he sees him speak for the first time is that he seems to open his mouth wide in order to swallow all before him, and he takes the severed heads as evidence that Kurtz has overindulged his appetites. (Marlow scoffs at the Russian's insistence that these heads belonged to rebels, and places Kurtz's designation of the natives as rebels on a par with the other colonials' designations of enemy and criminal, implying that Kurtz and the other corrupt colonials have more in common than they realize.) Kurtz seems to be feeble not from disease, but from being completely sated with earthly experience. The Russian maintains that Kurtz cannot be mad because of his eloquent speech, but Marlow realizes Kurtz's eloquence merely disguises some deficiency in his character that the wilderness could exploit.

Marlow resents being at the mercy of Kurtz's words when he speaks to the natives. Marlow uses naturalness as a justification at several points throughout the book, saying something has a right to exist because it is natural or belongs in a given setting (the transgression of the colonials is, on some level, that they do not belong in this environment). Marlow is not completely shocked or disgusted by the severed heads because they are an example of "pure, uncomplicated savagery," which has a natural right to exist "in the sunshine," but he is violently opposed to hearing about the rituals for honoring Kurtz because he regards them as "subtle horrors" which belong to some "lightless region." Marlow said at one point in the first chapter that he hates lies, and he picks out Kurtz's name, which means short in German, as an example of the untruthfulness common to all aspects of his life (since Kurtz is actually quite tall).

Marlow believes Kurtz will die very soon. Already he speaks of him in terms of death and immateriality, calling him a phantom and a shade and saying his body emerges from its covering on the stretcher as if from a shroud and that he looks like an animated image of death carved out of ivory. Marlow often describes Kurtz's complexion as ivory, which is significant for the connection it draws between Kurtz and the object of his desire as well as its importance in the theme of light and dark. This is one of Conrad's reversals of traditional imagery, as Kurtz is now the servant of the dark powers of the wilderness. Marlow equates both Kurtz and the stately native woman with the wilderness. The manager's concern for Kurtz is obviously affected, and his eagerness to discredit Kurtz and the economic glibness of his terminology in saying Kurtz practiced "unsound methods" disgusts Marlow. Marlow implies that the manager has been in league with the brickmaker against Kurtz and tells him he feels Kurtz is a remarkable man despite his failings, and the manager withdraws the brief period of favor he had granted Marlow. Speaking with the manager makes Marlow feel that he is oppressed by darkness and corruption all around, and he takes comfort in having at least "a choice of nightmares." Marlow consciously throws his lot in with Kurtz, even though he sees him as wholly evil, perhaps because the devils which drive him are more awful and impressive than the one that drives the pilgrims. When the Russian imparts the trust of Kurtz's reputation to Marlow (which he only does because they are both seamen and so share a common bond through their work), Marlow assures him he is Kurtz's friend, "in a way," and that his reputation will be safe with him. He comments then, in a bit of foreshadowing , "I did not know how truly I spoke."

Remembering the Russian's warning, Marlow gets up in the middle of the night and goes out to look around for any sign of trouble. He sees one of the pilgrims with a group of the cannibals keeping guard over the ivory, and sees the fires back off in the forest of the natives' camp. He hears a drum and a steady chanting, which lulls him into sleep. He is awoken by a sudden outburst of yells, which abruptly subsides into chanting again. Marlow looks into Kurtz 's cabin and finds that he is gone. He is shocked and afraid, but he does not raise an alarm, and instead goes off in search of Kurtz himself. He finds a trail in the grass and realizes Kurtz is crawling on all fours. He runs along the trail after him; Kurtz hears him coming and rises to his feet. They are close now to the fires of the native camp, and Marlow realizes the danger of his situation, as Kurtz can easily call out to the natives and have him killed. Kurtz tells him to go away and hide, and Marlow looks over and sees the imposing figure of some native sorcerer silhouetted fiendishly against the fire. Marlow asks Kurtz if he knows what he is doing, and he replies emphatically that he does. Marlow tells Kurtz he will be lost if he continues on. Kurtz's resolution falters, and Marlow eventually goads him back to the ship. They leave the next day at noon, and the natives appear on the shore to watch them go. Three men painted with red earth and wearing horned headdresses wave charms and shout incantations at the ship as it steams away. Kurtz has been placed in the pilot-house to get some air, and he watches through the open window as the native woman rushes down to the shore and shouts, and the crowd shouts along with her.

Marlow sounds the whistle as he sees the pilgrims get out their rifles, and the crowd scatters. Only the woman remains standing on the shore as the pilgrims open fire and Marlow's view is obscured by smoke. The current speeds the steamer along, but it is apparent that Kurtz will soon be dead. The manager is satisfied with the way the affair has gone off, and Marlow looks forward to when he will be free of the company of the greedy pilgrims. He talks with Kurtz, who dreams of accomplishing great, profitable things in some ambiguous region and achieving great fame and acclamation. The steamer breaks down and they have to stop for repairs; this shakes Kurtz's confidence, and he entrusts a packet of papers and a photograph to Marlow's keeping, as he fears the manager will pry into his personal affects. Marlow works at repairing the ship and is hampered by bouts of sickness. One day Marlow comes into the pilot-house and Kurtz tells him he is waiting for death. Marlow looks down at him and sees a range of expressions pass over his face from pride to terror and despair. Kurtz cries out in a whisper, "The horror! The horror!" and dies. The pilgrims bury him the next day.

This section focuses on Kurtz's struggle with evil, and Marlow's reluctant loyalty to him. When Marlow finds that Kurtz is gone, he experiences a moment of abstract terror at the presentation of something purely evil; compared to this initial fear, the fear of physical danger seems comforting to him. Some shadow of Kurtz's former self must remain in him, however, because a struggle does take place, and Marlow plays a major role in it. The scene with Marlow standing between Kurtz and the natives' hellish camp with its fiendish-looking, horned witch-man seems symbolic of Marlow's position in holding Kurtz back from the final plunge into death and darkness. Marlow says it was decreed that he should not betray Kurtz and that he alone should deal with him, and this is why he does not raise an alarm when he sets out to find him (he does not say who made the decree). He considers falling on Kurtz and beating him as he runs along, but he dismisses this idea for various reasons, including a feeling of sympathy for Kurtz's tormented existence. Marlow remembers the old woman with the cat sitting in the Company's office in Europe and regards her as an unlikely person to sit at the beginning of such an affair, and he remembers the scene of the pilgrims shooting ineffectually into the woods, and he imagines himself living alone and unarmed in the forest, and then finally he mistakes the beating of the natives' drums for the beating of his heart. This seems to indicate the beginnings of a merging going on in Marlow with the wilderness and with Kurtz. When he finds Kurtz and confronts him, the bond cements further. As Marlow expresses the experience (in an extremely poetic way that indicates he is still under Kurtz's spell), "the foundations of our intimacy were being laid--to endure--to endure--even to the end--even beyond."

Marlow describes Kurtz as a vapor, indistinct and immaterial, and says his voice is loud but sounds far off, perhaps indicating that he is already removed considerably from the world. Marlow realizes the danger of his position lies in that voice, which remains vigorous after all Kurtz's other faculties have fallen away. Marlow says the real terror of his position, however, was not in the immediate physical danger, but in dealing with a soul that had freed itself from the normal moral hierarchy, made itself completely independent, without an earth below or a heaven above. Kurtz was now a completely amoral being, and as such could only be appealed to in his own name, "his own exalted and incredible degradation." Marlow stands before him and wonders at the implications for his own moral grounding ("I before him did not know whether I stood on the ground or floated in the air"). Marlow says that telling Kurtz he would be lost if he went back to the natives was a flash of inspiration and the right thing to say, even though Kurtz was already lost. Kurtz laments the failure of all his great plans. Marlow tells him his success in Europe is assured as he tries to break the wilderness's spell over him, its silent appeal to his base passions and brutal instincts.

Marlow judges Kurtz's soul as having been enticed "beyond the bounds of permitted aspirations," implying the existence of strict moral boundaries and spiritual punishment for transgression. Marlow complains that relating the words that passed between them in their confrontation is not enough, that they were mundane enough, but seemed to carry with them the bizarre suggestiveness of the language of dreams and nightmares. He claims that he struggled directly with Kurtz's soul, which had gone mad with its independence because it had only itself to focus on; Marlow muses that he had to go through the ordeal of looking into Kurtz's soul as penance for his sins. His only chance lies in appealing to Kurtz's intelligence, which remains intact, although focused with maddening intensity upon himself. He finally prevails upon Kurtz to return to the ship, and he feels an excessive strain from the confrontation (his complaint of Kurtz's illusory heaviness recalls his description of the dead helmsman as heavier than any other man). In the days that follow, Kurtz's soul struggles with itself, even though it knows no restraint or faith or fear to guide it in its conflict.

Kurtz is torn between love and hate of the barbarous mysteries he had discovered in the wilderness. He cries out to the wilderness and promises to wring its heart, but he is losing in his struggle, being conquered by the heart of darkness. They hear the natives chanting in unfamiliar words on the shore in what Marlow calls a sort of satanic litany (the inverse of a familiar religious practice). Kurtz is the only character in the book who speaks both European languages, the voices of civilization, and the native dialect, the voice of savagery, and he refuses to translate for Marlow. Marlow falls into disfavor with the pilgrims, who regard him as Kurtz's ally, but he accepts this partnership, as he prefers Kurtz, with all his evils, to the manager and his lot. Kurtz's powerful voice, which disguises with eloquence the darkness of his heart, finally gives way in a sudden moment of supreme, horrified knowledge, a burst of sincerity which withers Marlow's belief in mankind. Marlow considers Kurtz gone completely when his voice goes, and so regards the body that is buried as insignificant. Marlow goes down to the mess room after hearing Kurtz's last words, more in search of light than of food. Kurtz was unable to see the candle in his final moments, perhaps because his inner darkness had at last consumed him. Marlow mentions the continuous stream of flies at dinner before he tells how the manager's boy came in and announced Kurtz's death with the words, "Mistah Kurtz - he dead"; perhaps these flies are symbolic of the triumph of the flabby, greedy, pestering devil in the end.

Marlow falls ill, but he survives and returns to the sepulchral city. He resents the people there for their petty self-importance and confidence in their safety. His aunt nurses him back to health, but he feels more troubled emotionally than physically. A bespectacled representative of the Company comes to him to retrieve the packet of papers Kurtz had entrusted to him, but Marlow will only give him the pamphlet on the "Suppression of Savage Customs" with the postscriptum torn off. The man refuses this and threatens legal action to obtain the rest of the packet's contents. Another man calling himself Kurtz's cousin appears and takes some letters to the family. A journalist colleague of Kurtz's appears and takes the pamphlet for publication. Marlow is left with a few letters and a picture of Kurtz's Intended , and he goes to see her without really knowing why. Kurtz's memory comes flooding back to him as he stands on the doorstep. He finds the Intended still in mourning, though it has been over a year now since Kurtz's death. He gives her the packet and she asks if he knew Kurtz well; he replies that he knew him as well as it is possible for one man to know another.

His presence soothes her need for a sympathetic ear, and she continually praises Kurtz. Her high praise of him begins to anger Marlow, but he holds back his annoyance until it gives way to pity. She says she will mourn him forever, and asks Marlow to repeat his last words to give her something to live with. Marlow tells her that Kurtz's last word was her name. Marlow ends his story here, and the narrator looks off and sees the early morning sky is dark and overcast, making the waterway seem to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.

Marlow says that the most one can hope for out of life is a knowledge of himself. He decides that perhaps the most complete knowledge comes just at the moment of death, as seems to have happened with Kurtz. Marlow's illness and brush with death (a contest he maintains is the most unexciting imaginable, as there is no glory nor even any real fear of defeat) gives him a better understanding of Kurtz. It also gives him a profound admiration of Kurtz's last words, which he takes as a judgment on his soul's earthly exploits and a resolute belief, with the aspect of the discovery of a truth with its mixture of hate and desire. Marlow realizes he had nothing especially interesting to say as his time seemed to be approaching. The fundamental difference between Marlow's experience, in which he feels nothing but careless contempt of all temporal things, and Kurtz's, in which he produces a great moral victory over the things of his life, is that Marlow does not go all the way. He does not die, but is permitted "to draw back [his] hesitating foot."

Kurtz is often read as a potential self for Marlow, a possible end product of Marlow if things had turned out differently, so the statement that Marlow was allowed to turn back seems to apply not only to death, but to spiritual corruption as well. Marlow says he remains loyal to Kurtz because of his last words, which, coupled with Marlow's stated aversion to lies, makes his lie to the Intended especially significant. Marlow resents the people back in Europe for their pettiness in the face of his near- supreme knowledge of life and death. Kurtz is praised in this section by everyone who speaks to Marlow as a universal genius. The journalist hints at Kurtz's fatal flaw, though (who may not even see it as a flaw), when he says Kurtz could make himself believe anything. The Intended seems to exist outside of time, and Marlow's experiences with Kurtz come flooding back to him with a sense of renewed immediacy when he goes to her house (which continues the black and white color scheme and the sepulchral aspect of the city). Marlow does not know quite why he goes to see the Intended; he thinks afterwards perhaps it was to rid himself of the last remnants of Kurtz. The Intended's overwhelming praise of Kurtz wounds Marlow, but he refrains from giving Kurtz the justice he once asked for (he was asking in regard to his ivory) because the Intended's beautiful illusions are the only thing protecting her from the darkness within. He permits himself only to say that Kurtz's death was worthy of his life, which she of course takes as a positive comment.

Marlow's lie to her that Kurtz's last thoughts were of her is compounded by his suspicion that the bundle Kurtz gave him with her photograph wasn't even the right one, that there was another bundle which he had valued more that fell into the manager's hands. At the end of Marlow's inconclusive tale, the narrator looks out and sees the Thames which he described at the beginning of the book as a bright, shining highway of righteousness. The river is now covered in gloom and leading into a foreboding darkness, as if his very sight has been clouded by the eerie uneasiness of Marlow's story.

A ship called the Nellie is cruising down the Thames‹it will rest there as it awaits a change in tide. The narrator is an unidentified guest aboard the ship. He describes at length the appearance of the Thames as an interminable waterway, and then he moves on to describing the inhabitants of the ship. The Director of Companies doubles as Captain and host. They all regard him with affection, trust and respect. The Lawyer is advanced in years and possesses many virtues. The Accountant is toying with dominoes, trying to begin a game. Between them already is the "bond of the sea." They are tolerant of one another. Then there is Marlow. He has an emaciated appearance‹sunken cheeks and a yellow complexion. The ship drops anchor, but nobody wants to begin the dominoes game. They sit and meditatively at the sun, and the narrator takes great notice of how the water changes as the sun sets. Marlow suddenly speaks, noting that "this also has been one of the dark places of the earth." He is a man who does not represent his class: he is a seaman but also a wanderer, which is disdainful and odd, since most seamen live sedentary lives aboard the ship that is their home. No one responds to the remark, and Marlow continues to talk of olden times when the Romans arrived and brought light, which even now is constantly flickering. He says those people were not colonists but conquerors, taking everything by brute force. This "taking of the earth is not a pretty thing" when examined too closely; it is the idea behind it which people find redeeming. Then, to the dismay of his bored listeners, he switches into narration of a life experience, how he decided to be a fresh water sailor and had come into contact with colonization.

After a number of voyages in the Orient and India, Marlow began to look for a ship, but he was having hard luck in finding a position. As a child, he had a passion for maps, and would lose himself in the blank spaces, which gradually turned into dark ones as they became peopled. He is especially taken with the picture of a long coiling river. Marlow thinks to get charge of the steamboats that must go up and down that river for trade. His aunt has connections in the Administration, and writes to have him appointed a steamboat skipper. The appointment comes through very quickly, as Marlow is to take the place of Fresleven, a captain who has been killed in a scuffle with the natives. He crosses the Channel to sign the contract with his employers. Their office appears to him like a white sepulchre. The reception area is dimly lit, and two women sullenly man the area. Marlow notes an unfinished map, and he is going into the yellow section, the central area that holds the river. He signs, but feels very uneasy as the women look at him meaningfully. Then there is a visit to the doctor. Marlow questions him on why he is not with the Company on its business. The doctor becomes cool and says he is no fool. Changes take place out there. He asks his patient whether there is madness in the family. With a clean bill of health and a long goodbye chat with his aunt, Marlow sets out on a French steamer, feeling like an "impostor."

Watching the coast as it slips by, our newly named skipper marvels at its enigmatic quality‹it tempts and invites the seer to come ashore, but in a grim way. The weather is fierce, for the sun beats down strongly. The ship picks up others along the way: soldiers and clerks mainly. The trade names they pass on ships and on land seem almost farcical. There is a uniformly somber atmosphere. After a month, Marlow arrives at the mouth of the big river, and takes his passage on a little steamer. Once aboard he learns that a man picked up the other day hanged himself recently. He is taken to his Company's station. He walks through pieces of "decaying machinery" and observes a stream of black people walking slowly, very thin and indifferent. One of the "reclaimed" carries a rifle at "it's middle." Marlow walks around to avoid this chain gang and finds a shade to rest. He sees more black people working, some who look like they are dying. One young man looks particularly hungry, and Marlow goes to offer him the ship biscuit in his pocket. He notices that the boy is wearing white worsted around his neck, and wonders what this is for. Marlow hastily makes his way towards the station. He meets a white man dressed elegantly and in perfect fashion. He is "amazing" and a "miracle." After learning that he is the chief accountant of the Company, Marlow respects him. The station is a muddle of activity. The new skipper waits there for ten days, living in a hut. Frequently he visits the accountant, who tells him that he will meet Mr. Kurtz, a remarkable man in charge of the trading-post in the ivory-country. The accountant is irritated that a bed station for a dying man has been set up in his office. He remarks that he begins to "hate the savages to death." He asks Marlow to tell Kurtz that everything is satisfactory.

The next day Marlow begins a 200 mile tramp into the interior. He crosses many paths, many deserted dwellings, and mysterious "niggers." His white companion becomes ill on the journey, which makes Marlow impatient but attentive. Finally they arrive at the Central Station, and Marlow must see the General Manager. The meeting is strange. The Manager has a stealthy smile. He is obeyed, but he does not inspire love or fear. He only inspires uneasiness. The trading had begun without Marlow, who was late. There were rumors that an important station was jeopardy, and that its chief, Kurtz, was ill. A shipwreck on Marlow's boat has set them back. The manager is anxious, and says it will be three months before they can make a start in the trading. Marlow begins work in the station. Whispers of "ivory" punctuate the air throughout the days. One evening a shed almost burns down. A black man is beaten for this, and Marlow overhears: "KurtzŠtake advantage of this incident." The manager's main spy, a first-class agent, befriends the new skipper and begins to question him extensively about Europe and the people he knows there. Marlow is confused about what this man hopes to learn. The agent becomes "furiously annoyed." There is a dark sketch on his wall of a woman blindfolded and carrying a lighted torch. The agent says that Kurtz painted it. Upon Marlow's inquiry as to who this man is, he says that he is a prodigy, an "emissary of pity and science." They want Europe to entrust the guidance of the cause to them. The agent talks precipitately, wanting Marlow to give Kurtz a favorable report about his disposition because he believes Marlow has more influence in Europe than he actually does.

The narrator breaks off for an instant and returns to his listeners on the ship, saying that they should be able to see more in retrospect than he could in the moment. Back in the story, he is bored by the droning of the agent. Marlow wants rivets to stop the hole and get on with the work on his ship. He clambers aboard. The ship is the one thing that truly excites him. He notes the foreman of the mechanics sitting on board. They cavort and talk happily of rivets that should arrive in three weeks. Instead of rivets, however, the receive an "invasion" of "sulky niggers" with their white expedition leader, who is the Manager's uncle. Marlow meditates for a bit on Kurtz, wondering if he will be promoted to the General Manger position and how he will set about his work when there.

The logical point from which to begin analyzing this story is by applying the title to the novel. "Darkness" is a problematic word with several meanings. It is initially referred to in the context of maps‹places of darkness have been colored in; therefore they have been settled by explorers and colonialists. The idea of a map is an important symbol. They are guides, records of exploration. They have dual purposes in that they unlock mysteries by laying out the geography of unknown lands and they create more mystery by inspiring curiosity about unknown lands on and off the map. The river is another important symbol. Always moving, not very predictable, the gateway to a wider world, it is an excellent metaphor for Marlow's life. Marlow says as a child he had a "passion" for maps, for the "glories of exploration." Although this description seems very positive, it sounds ominous. The tone is of one who recalls childhood notions with bitterness and regret. The reader can extrapolate these ideas simply by taking into account the first description of Marlow. The sallow skin and sunken cheeks do not portray him as healthy or happy. He has had the chance to explore, and apparently the experience has ruined him in some respect. This is Conrad's way of arranging the overall structure of the novel. The audience understands that it is to be a recollection, a tale that will account for Marlow's presently shaky, impenetrable state. The author is also presupposing knowledge of colonialism. The bitterness of Marlow's recollection demonstrates Conrad's own strong bias against colonialism, which he wants to impart to the reader. The imagery of light and dark very clearly corresponds to the tension that is arranged between civilization and savagery. The Thames River is called a "gateway to civilization" because it connects to the civilized city of London. It is important to note that the city is always described in stark contrast to its dark surroundings, which may be water or land, they are so amorphous.

The vivid language of maps becomes more interesting when we consider that the word darkness still retains its traditional meaning of evil and dread. The fact that Marlow applies the concept of darkness to conquered territories once again indicates his negative view of colonialism. He clearly states that colonists are only exploiting the weakness of others. Their spreading over the world is no more noble than other types of violence and thievery. On the map, places that are blank and devoid of outside interference are apparently the most desirable. Darkness has another application‹a color of skin. Much of this chapter is spent discussing Marlow's primary encounters with and observations of the natives of the African Congo. The darkness of their skin is always mentioned. At first glance, Marlow describes them as "mostly black and naked, moving about like ants." While in the shade, "dark things" seem to stir feebly. There is absolutely no differentiation between dark animals and dark people. Even the rags worn by the native people are described as tails. The constant dehumanization of black people is almost obsessive on the author's part. He is looking to build a very closed-minded picture of the colonists. "Black shapes" crouch on the ground, "creatures" walk on all fours to get a drink from the river. They are called shadows: reflections of humans, but not substantial enough to be real. Marlow observes the piece of white string on a young man, and he is taken aback by how much the whiteness stands out against the darkness. He cannot seem to conceive of mixing black and white.

As ignorant as Marlow's perceptions may appear to our modern reading, it is crucial to realize that even before he experiences the African jungle, he exists in a class of his own, separate from everyone else. It is not accidental that he is the only person on the Thames boat who is named‹all the others are presented as titles of their occupation. He is distinct from them because he has no category that fits him. He is a man "who does not represent his class" because he crosses boundaries. His reaction to the African natives may not be sensitive by our modern standards, but he is more kindly than the other officers at the stations. The chief accountant dismisses the cries of a dying black man as annoying. Clearly he has no respect for the lives of the Africans. The offering of a biscuit to the young boy with the white string is a nice gesture with deeper meaning. It appears to be somewhat considerate, but it is also degrading. Marlow does this because he can think of nothing else to do as he looks into the boy's vacant eyes. The action is analogous to giving a dog some meat, that he might be content and retreat back into his corner. Marlow means well, but he is definitely a product of the society in which he was raised. Immediately following the encounter with the young boy, he meets the chief accountant who is perfectly attired with collar, cuffs, jacket, and all the rest. He refers to him as "amazing" and a "miracle." We observe at this moment the distinctions between savagery and civilization, at least through Marlow's narrow definitions. The diction demonstrates a type of hero worship for this man. His starched collars and cuffs are achievements of character, and Marlow respects him on this basis. Taking account the colonialism factor, however, creates bitter irony‹to the author, those who look the most civilized in this novel are actually the most savage. Indeed, the institution of colonialism is referred to as a "flabby, pretending, weak-eyed devil." Everything it touches turns sour‹the station is an administrative nightmare, and decaying machinery lies everywhere. Marlow takes this as an indication of poor work ethic, which he despises. For this reason he is drawn to the blustering accountant, who is a hard worker if nothing else. The natives are the most affected people, and Marlow in his own bumbling way tries to relate to them.

The sense of time throughout the chapter is highly controlled. Conrad purposely glides over certain events while he examines others in minute detail. He does this in order to build suspicion about the place to which Marlow has committed himself. Notice that he painstakingly describes precursor events such as the doctor's visit and all conversations that involve the unseen character Kurtz. Thus begins Marlow's consuming obsession with this man. At the moment, it is more or less inactive, and does not inspire fear. Perfectly placed leading questions such as the one about a history of family insanity have the desired effect of alerting readers to a rather fishy situation. That Marlow ignores all of these warnings creates some dramatic irony‹it will take him longer to arrive at the conclusion which the reader has already reached. One level of speech and communication in this novel exists in the fact that Marlow is telling a story. His recollections have a hazy, dreamy quality. The narrative is surely an examination of human spirit. As all stories are subjective, we have to question how trustworthy both narrative speakers are. The outside narrator only refers to what Marlow says and does‹all others are ignored. There is a definite selection of fact that occurs. Marlow's perception of the African environment, which develops into a larger theme, illustrates this idea.

As far as Kurtz is concerned, there is incomplete communication‹Marlow and the reader know him, and yet not really. He obviously painted as a sinister character. People discuss him in a hushed sense, always complimenting him. However, the fact that nobody has anything negative to say about him is suspicious, as if they are all terribly anxious to stay on his good side. The portrait in the brickmaker/first agent's room, of the blind woman holding a torch, suggests the failing of Kurtz: that he has blindly traveled into s situation and become absorbed in it, much as the woman is absorbed into the darkness of the painting (with the exception of a torch‹insufficient light). This preemptive warning is useful to keep in mind for the subsequent chapters.

While lying on the deck of his steamboat one evening, Marlow overhears a conversation between the Manager and his uncle, leader of the Expedition group that has arrived. Snatches of talk indicate that the two are conferring about Kurtz. The Manager says he was "forced to send him there." They say his influence is frightful, and that he is alone, having sent away all his assistants. The word "ivory" is also overheard. The two men are wondering how all this ivory has arrived, and why Kurtz did not return to the main station as he should have. Marlow believes this fact allows him to see Kurtz for the first time. The Manager and his uncle say that either Kurtz or his assistant must be hanged as an example, so that they can get rid of unfair competition. Realizing that Marlow is nearby, they stop talking.

In the next few days, the Expedition goes into the wilderness and loses all their donkeys. As they arrive at the bank below Kurtz's station, Marlow is excited at the prospect of meeting him soon. To Marlow, travelling up the river is like going to the beginning of the world. He sees no joy in the sunshine, however. The past comes back to haunt him on this river. There is a stillness that does not resemble peace. It is alive and watching Marlow. He is concerned about scraping the bottom of his steamship on the river floor‹this is disgraceful for seamen. Twenty "cannibals" are his crew. The Manager and some pilgrims are also onboard. Sailing by stations, they hear the word "ivory" resonating. The trees are massive and make you feel very small. The earth appears "unearthly." The men are monstrous but not inhuman. This scares Marlow greatly. He believes the mind of man is capable of anything. They creep on towards Kurtz. The ship comes across a deserted dwelling. Marlow finds a well-kept book about seamanship. It has notes in a language he cannot understand. Back on the boat, he pushes ahead.

Eight miles from Kurtz's station, the Manager decides they will stay put for the evening. No sounds are heard. The sun rises, and "complaining clamor" with "savage discord" fills the air. Everyone fears an attack. One of the black crew members says that the attackers should be handed over to them and eaten. Marlow wonders why he and the other whites have not been eaten. The Manager insincerely worries that something might have happened to Kurtz. Marlow does not believe there will be an attack‹the jungle and fog seem impenetrable. No one believes him. Some men go and investigate the shore. A pattering sound is audible: flying arrows! The helmsman on the ship panics and does not steer properly. The crew is firing rifles into the bushes. A black man is shot and lays at Marlow's feet. He tries to talk and dies before he can get any words out. Marlow supposes that Kurtz has perished in this attack. He is exceedingly upset: talking to the mythical man has become a major point of interest. In a fit of distress Marlow throws his shoes overboard. He tells the listeners on the Thames ship that the privilege of talking to Kurtz was waiting for him. Marlow relates that Kurtz mentioned a girl, and how his shanty was busting with ivory. Kurtz has taken position of "devil of the land." Originally he was well-educated, but he has become entirely native in Africa, participating in rituals and rites. Kurtz is anything but common. Back in the battle, the helmsman is killed. Marlow throws the body overboard. After a simple funeral, the steamer continues moving. Miraculously they spy Kurtz's station, which they had assumed to be lost. They see the figure of a man who resembles a harlequin. This man says that Kurtz is present, and assures them that they need not fear the natives, who are simple people. He speaks with Marlow, introducing himself as a Russian. The book Marlow holds is actually his, and he is grateful to have it returned. The Russian says the ship was attacked because the natives do not want Kurtz to leave with the crew‹he has broadened everybody's mind.

It is important to see that even in this chaotic jungle, there exists a twisted sense of morality. As the Manager and his uncle discuss Kurtz, they are willing to do anything that will get him or his assistant the Russian hanged, that the trading field might be leveled to their advantage, since "anything can be done in this country." They both still retain a sense of law, but the most base components of their personalities control all their intentions; therefore the civilized law of the European continent is discarded for a more vigilante existence. The revealing of such predatory nature points to the theme of instilled savagery. Modern novels such as Lord of the Flies borrow much from Conrad's piece. There is an integral connection between mind, body and nature. Again, however, the lines between civilized and savage are blurred. These two men propose a very savage solution to a seemingly civilized problem of economic competition. The Congo has a metamorphic effect on the Europeans. Marlow observes the evil uncle "extend his short flipper of an arm for a gesture. . .that seemed to beckon with a dishonouring flourish before the sunlit face of the land a treacherous appeal to the lurking death, to the hidden evil, to the profound darkness of its heart." There is one of the few instances in which a white man is animalized. The land is a living entity, one which has the potential to create evil. The proprieties observed by the Manager are all completely fake‹Marlows takes this as an illustration of his hollowness. Conrad is making a general commentary on human nature. One of Marlow's more personally distressing thoughts is the realization that the "monstrous" tendencies of the black "cannibals" are not inhuman tendencies‹the white men possess them in a different form. The African land behaves as an equalizer: in this setting, all that matters is wit and determination. It appears that living here allows nature to perform a trick on the inhabitants of the land. While travelling Marlow becomes somewhat delusional‹river travel brings back the past, enlarges and distorts it until it becomes an uncontrollable paranoia that he is being watched. The telling of the tale takes on the tone of an epic quest that is larger than life. There is pregnant silence and a failing of the senses. Marlow appears to be traveling deeply into his own mind. His fanatic interest in the proper working of things is evident when he states that scraping a ship on the river bottom is "sinful." The religious language demonstrates a mounting kind of panic. This paranoia in turn diminishes his sense of reality, leaving him searching for a sense of truth and stability. This in part helps to explain his obsession with Kurtz. Behind the myth of this mysterious figure must lie a real, substantial person. He is the most logical entity on which Marlow can fixate. Being lost in this manner, however, does not seem to be so terrible.

The inferiority of the natives is a thread that runs throughout the story. About the fireman on his ship, Marlow remarks "he was there below me. . .to look at him was as edifying as seeing a dog in a parody of breeches." The physical position of the body corresponds to a mental and social state. The author creates a sense of what might be termed inherent inferiority of the blacks‹in all possible aspects they are subservient to the white man, and even seeing them wear pants amounts to no more than a warped joke. The one time that a native actually speaks is when the ship approaches the brush, right before the attack, and all he has to say is that any prisoners should be given to the crew as a meal. More than anything the comment is laughable. An attack is about to occur, and this man is concerned about eating? It is Conrad's underhanded means of demonstrating the simplicity of the natives. The narrator cannot understand why the white men were not eaten. He cannot credit the blacks with any intelligence beyond instinct. During the battle, one native is shot, with Marlow and the Manager watching: "I declare it looked as though he would presently put to us some question in an understandable language, but he died without uttering a sound." There is never any comprehension of blacks. They are always evaluated and silenced before they can speak. Marlow does feel a real kinship to his "savage" crew, which places him above all other whites. However, he has also has shortcomings‹his appreciation of the helmsman after he has died seems more appropriate to a machine than a person.

The figure of Kurtz grows more enigmatic this chapter, and we return to the theme of voices and communication. Communication fails when Marlow cannot decipher the book and when the note has an incomplete warning. Marlow's obsession with Kurtz has reached its height. Talking to this has become the entire reason for Marlow's passage through this jungle. The fact that authoritative, unpleasant figures such as the Manager dislike Kurtz make the reader more receptive to liking him. Notice that Marlow and Kurtz are the only two characters in the entire story who are named. Everyone else is titled, detached and therefore dehumanized. This is an effective means of drawing a relationship between the two characters before they even meet. As soon as Marlow believes that Kurtz is dead, his presence begins to dominate him more vividly‹Marlow hears his voice, sees him in action. Kurtz is even stronger than death. The reason Kurtz affects Marlow so deeply is that he has turned his back on his roots and essentially become native. This demonstrates that there is much more to Marlow's personality than what appears. He is not the average European. The reader understands that we will receive the most accurate portrait of Marlow through his interactions with Kurtz.

Marlow is astonished at the Russian's words. He is gathering a clearer picture of Kurtz. The Russian says that he has gone so far that he doesn't know if he will ever get back. Apparently he has been alone with Kurtz for many months. His sense of adventure is pure, and glamour urges him onward. The Russian remembers the first night he spoke to Kurtz‹he forgot to sleep, he was so captivated. Kurtz made him "see things." He has nursed this great man through illnesses, and accompanied him on explorations to villages. Kurtz has raided the country by getting the cooperation of the nearby tribe, who all adore him. He loses himself in ivory hunts for weeks at a time, and forgets himself. The Russian disagrees that Kurtz is mad. Even when this bright-eyed adventurer was told to leave by his mentor, he refused to go. Kurtz went down the river alone to make another ivory raid. His illness acted up, so the Russian joined him in order to take care of him. Presently, Kurtz lies in a hut surrounded by heads on stakes. Marlow is not very shocked at the sight. He takes this as an indication that Kurtz lacks restraint in the gratification of his lusts, a condition for which the wilderness is culpable. Marlow assumes that Kurtz was hollow inside and needed something to fill that. The Russian is perturbed by Marlow's attitude of skepticism. He has heard enough about the ceremonies surrounding this revered man.

Suddenly around the house appears a group of men. They convene around the stretcher that holds the dying Kurtz. He looks gaunt, and tells the natives to leave. The pilgrims carry him to another cabin, and give him his correspondence. In a raspy voice he says he is glad to meet Marlow. The Manager comes in to talk privately with Kurtz. Waiting on the boat with the Russian, Marlow spies the "apparition" of a gorgeous woman. She glitters with gold, paint, and she looks savage. She steps to the edge of the shore and eyes the steamer. She gestures violently toward the sky, turns and disappears into the thicket. The harlequin man fears her. They overhear Kurtz telling the Manager that he is interfering with plans. The Manager emerges. Taking Marlow aside, he says they have done all they can for Kurtz, and that he did more harm than good to the Company. His actions were too "vigorous" for the moment. Marlow does not agree that Kurtz's method was unsound. To him, Kurtz is a remarkable man, and a friend in some way. Marlow warns the Russian to escape before he can be hanged; he states that he will keep Kurtz's reputation safe. It was Kurtz who ordered the attack on the steamer‹he did not want to be taken away, and thought to fake his death.

While Marlow dozes, drumbeats and incantations fill the air. He looks into the cabin that holds Kurtz, and discovers he is missing. Marlow sees his trail, and goes after him. The two men face one another. Kurtz pleads that he has plans. Marlow replies that his fame in Europe is assured; he realizes that this man's soul has gone mad. He is able to bring Kurtz back to the cabin. The ship departs the next day amongst a crowd of natives. Kurtz is brought into the pilot-house of the ship. The "tide of brown" runs swiftly out of the "heart of darkness." The life of Kurtz is ebbing. Marlow is in disfavor, lumped into the same category as Kurtz. The Manager is now content. Marlow listens endlessly to Kurtz's bedside talk. He accepts a packet of papers and a photograph that his friend gives him, in order to keep them out of the Manager's hands. A few evenings later, Kurtz dies, with one phrase on his lips: "The horror!"

Marlow returns to Europe, but is plagued by the memory of his friend. He is disrespectful to all he encounters. The Manager demands the papers that Kurtz entrusted to Marlow. Marlow relinquishes the technical papers, but not the private letters and photograph. All that remains of Kurtz is his memory and that picture of his Intended. Kurtz is very much a living figure to Marlow. He goes and visits the woman in the picture. She embraces and welcomes him. She has silently mourned for the past year, and needs to profess her love and how she knew him better than anyone. Marlow perceives the room to darken when she says this. She speaks of Kurtz's amazing ability to draw people through incredibly eloquent speech. The woman says she will be unhappy for life. Marlow states that they can always remember him. She expresses a desperate need to keep his memory alive, and guilt that she was not with him when he died. When the woman asks Marlow what Kurtz's final words were, he lies and says it was her name. The woman weeps in triumph. Marlow states that to tell the truth would be too dark. Back on the Thames River ship, a tranquil waterway leads into the heart of darkness.

The Russian says it best: "I went a little fartherŠtill I had gone so far that I don't know how I'll ever get back." The Russian and Marlow are the same, both looking for epiphany and enlightenment. This is the basic catchphrase of Conrad's novel, and it gives us much insight into the character of Kurtz. It is fascinating that he is the most powerful figure in the story, even though he does not appear until the end. The author is setting forth a challenge‹rather than directly describing Kurtz, he provides various clues that we must piece together in order to understand who Kurtz is. The first conversation that the Russian has with his mentor, about "everything" in life, including love, points to a man who is sensitive and introspective. Kurtz speaks in civil and savage tongues. His eloquence is his trump card, because it disguises his darkness from sweet people like the Russian. The woman back in Europe who mourns for him speaks of a generous heart, a noble mind and greatness. The impressions of these two people, however, strongly contrast with the opinion of people such as the Manager, who say that Kurtz was unethically gathering ivory by exploiting the locals. Marlow must stand in for the reader's perspective. From what he sees and reports, the reader realizes that indeed all accounts are true. Yet Marlow does not see Kurtz as evil for his actions toward the natives because of the idea of intentions. People such as the Manager truly care only about fulfilling an ivory quota and becoming wealthy. While Kurtz is certainly consumed with his search for ivory (his face and body are described in terms of this precious resource), Conrad does not provide any evidence that he is concerned with the material aspects‹his house and existence are extremely simple, despite all of the ivory he has recovered. If money and fame were the only important entities, he could have returned to England long ago. The Russian states that Kurtz "would lose himself among the people." The staked heads around his home demonstrate a lack of restraint "in the gratification of various lusts." They are necessary for a man with a bog appetite. Apparently, the time in the African Congo has been a time of letting go for Kurtz, a time in which passions and appetites become unbridled, and in which the past no longer matters. Undeniably this is a type of sickness. The image of Kurtz on his deathbed, opening his mouth wide, gives him a "voracious aspect" as if he wants to absorb and swallow everything. His need to plan and consume, however, has consumed his mind and spirit. It is a remarkable case of colonialism gone awry‹"the wilderness had found him out early, and had taken on him a terrible vengeance for the fantastic invasion." Curiosity that leads to exploration can also lead, more tragically, to a loss of self. Herein lies a sociopolitical message behind the novel, one that cautions against trying to control something that is not originally a part of you, lest it winds up controlling you.

Marlow does not condemn Kurtz because he pities him, sympathizes with his tortured existence. This is the reader's response as well. The moment when Marlow stands between Kurtz and the horned, demonic-looking man is critical‹this figure symbolizes the death and darkness of Kurtz, and he only turns away from complete desolation because Marlow is there to help him back. Marlow's loyalty allies with Kurtz because his demons are much more evil than those of, say, the Manager or the Pilgrims. He clearly needs help. Despite the sad circumstances, however, there is an undercurrent of history that quietly says Kurtz deserves what he gets. The devotion shown to him by the natives illustrates an almost reciprocal relationship between them. While it is most likely that they help Kurtz without understanding the material benefits behind the ivory, it is clear that Kurtz enjoys being a part of them as much as they enjoy having him there. He is definitely the least biased character in the whole book, which speaks highly for him in the eyes of a modern reader. Unfortunately, he loses himself, detaches from everything earthly. Kurtz's soul has broken forbidden boundaries because it only concentrated on itself. He dies painfully both because his obsessive tasks were not complete, and because his soul has been sold. The "horror" he pronounces on his deathbed is a judgement upon how he has lived his life. We can definitely see Kurtz's demise as a possible end for Marlow if he had not left the Congo. As it was, the wilderness was certainly creeping and merging into his psyche‹there was a moment when he could not tell the difference between a drum beat and his own heartbeat. He appears to have escaped in time. Marlow's lie at the end of the story is both cruel and compassionate. While the woman is comforted, she will have to continue believing in an illusion. She will never know what Kurtz became. As Marlow states, the truth is "too dark" to tell. Truly, his terrible decline is in vain if no one learns of it. This is completely the point of Marlow's telling the tale the people aboard the Thames river ship. The river, which once led to civilization, now leads into darkness.

Marlow :

The protagonist and main narrator of the story, who stumbles into Africa looking to sail a steamboat and finds much more. He possesses a strong sense of the past and a good work ethic: working hard is a means of achieving sanity. In many respects, the world view of Marlow is that of a typical European. Still, he is intended to be a versatile character, one of the few who does not belong to a distinct class, and can thus relate to different kinds of people with more ease than his peers in the story.

Kurtz :

He is in charge of the most productive ivory station in the Congo. Hailed universally for his genius and eloquence, Kurtz becomes the focus of Marlow's journey into Africa. He is the unique victim of colonization; the wilderness captures him and he turns his back on all people and customs that were a part of him.

Manager :

Marlow's direct supervisor, he is a hard, greedy man who values power and money above everything else. Yet he masks this behind a civilized demeanor. He seems to have an ability to outlive those around him. The Manager would like nothing more than to surpass Kurtz in the ivory trade and see him dead, that he would not interfere anymore with the competitive trade. He makes people uneasy, and the only explanation Marlow offers is that he is "hollow."

Brickmaker :

The so-called first agent, who is the Manager's pet and spy. He never actually makes bricks; supposedly he is waiting for the delivery of an essential ingredient. The Brickmaker is an unlikable character, cunning and very contemptible. He goes against Marlow's work ethic, and is thought to also be hollow inside.

Russian :

Kurtz's devoted companion, he is an idealistic explorer who has wandered to the Congo on a Dutch ship and has been taken into the web of Kurtz's obsessive ivory hunt. He is worthy of both pity and praise‹he is so young that it is uncertain whether or not he fully understands what he is doing in the Africa. He is more or less attracted to the glamour of adventure. Yet his unwavering support of Kurtz marks him as humble and admirable.

Natives :

They are a collective presence throughout the story. It is notable that the black people exist both in subordination and in contrast to all the white men, and that they are never described in terms beyond the level of animals.

Chief Accountant :

He is a top official in the main Station, who befriends Marlow when he first arrives in Africa. He is a cruel man, but ironically also the picture of the perfectly "civilized European." Marlow admires his work habits, but this admiration is terribly misguided towards his stunning, flawless appearance instead of personality.

Marlow's aunt :

She is the connection to the Company in which Marlow receives a position. She appears to be the only female contact that Marlow has in his life, and she fully supports Kipling's "White Man's Burden."

Kurtz's fiancee :

An unnamed woman who only appears in the last few pages, she is the symbol of a life that Kurtz completely leaves behind when he arrives in the Congo. She is pure and lives in a dream world built around who she believes Kurtz is. Her impressions of him are so disparate from what the reader observes that we marvel at the change that comes about in Kurtz.

Helmsman :

He is responsible for steering Marlow's ship. He is not too experienced, and seems unable to make informed decisions under pressure.

Pilgrims :

The collective white presence in the story, they accompany Marlow and the Manager on the voyage to Kurtz's station. They exist in opposition to the natives and the cannibals, and their fear makes it apparent that they are unwilling to relinquish preconceived notions about animalistic blacks: they treat them horribly. Mostly they are greedy and looking to have their own stations, but they never seem to accomplish anything towards this goal.

Cannibals :

They are a specific sect of the native presence. They are the grunt crew of Marlow's ship, and they are the only group of natives who ever voice any kind of statement or opinion to the whites. Marlow is surprised at their tranquil manner and he seems to respect them.

Director :

The captain in charge aboard the Thames river ship, from which Marlow tells the tale. He is loved by all, and we are tempted to draw a comparison between him and the Manager. He is a good sailor, but now works on land.

Lawyer :

A passenger aboard the Thames ship. He is called a good, virtuous fellow.

Accountant :

Also a passenger aboard the Thames ship, who does nothing in our eyes except play dominoes. Both together constitute a crew of gentility, which contrasts with the crew from Marlow's Congo ship.

Narrator :

An unnamed passenger aboard the Thames ship, he provides a structure for Marlow's story, and is a stand-in for audience perspective and participation. He was once a sailor, and he seems to be very affected by Kurtz's tale, due to a somewhat romantic nature.