A Moment to Marvel

I feel I should, as others have before now, take a moment to marvel at Conrad. The Conrad I was ultimately led to by Virginia Woolf. It was her essayist praise that caught my interest, whereas nothing and nobody else had before compelled or managed to persuade me to read Heart of Darkness, which is where I was informed you should ideally start. I'd find a library copy of the said story, glance through and think no, nothing about this appeals to me. But then, it might have been the edition, for I have these hard-to-please preferences when it comes to the size and style of font, and the look and physical feel of a paperback, and that's even if the story has in itself grabbed my attention; but if Mrs Woolf said 'give him a go', give him a go I would.
However, I didn't start with the Heart, but Lord Jim, and then progressed to what has been declared Conrad's finest novel, Nostromo. And though it's really too soon for me to make or offer such a judgement, being still little schooled in Conradian themes, morals and principles, I think it a masterpiece! And can quite believe it is, as the critics and scholars have assessed it, the finest of his novels. In fact, I'm sure that the next of his I choose to read will seem poor by comparison, or that I will expect so much more from it that it is sure to fail to meet those reader expectations, even though I know, purely from a reader's point of view, Nostromo could not be bettered and therefore it would be foolhardy of a writer to attempt it. But then I don't think writers make that attempt; of achieving the same success, yes, but not necessarily in the same epic style, for writing like that can take it out of you. And often what the writer's pleased with, contemporary readers aren't; appreciation of their endeavours sometimes comes in a different period altogether.
It is rare that a novel, or any piece of a writing, is proclaimed 'fine', and then, amidst new writers and new styles of writing, is continued to be thought as such, to be held up as an example.
So, what is there to marvel at? The construction of it is the chief answer. It's so well organised. I don't know how Conrad did it, and I don't think I could conceive of it if I did, but everything felt tightly controlled: the plot, the detail, the characters, as if he always knew (and he may not have done) in which direction everything and everyone was to go. His master stroke, or perhaps I should say just one of them so as not to upset true scholars, was, for me, Captain Mitchell, in part three, as tourist guide, relating the history of what happened. Using his character in this way was unexpected, and provoked a certain warmth towards him, just as one feels for Lord Jim's Marlow. The 'lesser' characters, if you like, for I don't know how else to term them, all had their moment or moments in which to shine and evoke some response in the reader. And that maybe is a sign of a great writer, or the measure of a great novel.

Picture credit: A Northern Silver Mine, 1930, Franklin Carmichael (Source: WikiArt)

See Nostromo by Joseph Conrad.

A journal entry, July 2021.