Joseph Conrad: Almayer’s Folly

December 1, 2014

51HlPDwijGL._AA160_I discovered Conrad at university, and have always enjoyed his novels, perhaps partly because he was Polish. I have the impression of a novelist slowly fading into obscurity, perhaps because his major theme – white men’s colonisation of the world – is now deemed to be part of the past, and can therefore safely be forgotten. Perhaps Nostromo and The Secret Agent may survive, along with the supreme Heart of Darkness.

Almayer’s Folly was Conrad’s first novel, and it seems to foreshadow much of what came later. Almayer, the white Dutchman who has never seen Europe, stuck in the middle of nowhere in the Dutch East Indies, fails to make his fortune, loses out to other commercial rivals, makes an unhappy marriage with a native Malay woman, and eventually disowns his beloved mixed-race daughter because she chooses a Malay… and the background is small groups of people squabbling with each other, striving to get one up on each other, trying and failing to outwit the Dutch masters. It feels almost tragic: why did he waste his life on all this?

And this is what, to me, Conrad seems to understand, as a result of his own origins, and his travels as a merchant seaman in those faraway parts of the world – it is all a waste. Colonialism is a nightmare, an insanity for the people engaged in the actuality of trying to make it work. He has been criticised for not being politically correct in his approach to race and to indigenous populations; this is of its time, I think, and does not invalidate his picture. Conrad is very perceptive, in many ways.

He sees the sadness of a white man isolated in alien surroundings – where he does not belong and never can, where he can never be happy because he does not understand – lonely, prey to all kinds of disease and illness, fearing those who must live there because they belong and can be fulfilled. Almayer’s life, like the lives of many others in his novels, leads a wasted and pointless existence, driven by never satisfied cupidity, dreaming increasingly crazed dreams of a wonderful future to mask the empty present.

And the outsiders, the colonists are resented and loathed by the indigenous people: Conrad sees this clearly and presents it mercilessly; they delude themselves when they think otherwise. The only ones who get anything from this are the anonymous, faceless ones that inhabit the mysterious Brussels offices in Heart of Darkness.

Of course, Conrad’s perceptiveness did not stop any of this. But he saw through it all, from a white man’s perspective – and who else’s could he see it from? – and presents an indictment of a dreadful episode in our history through fiction, just as others have detailed it in personal narratives and historical analysis. I do not think we should overlook his achievement.

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