I read Joseph Conrad a very long time ago—Under Western Eyes, Nostromo, Heart of Darkness—but I’m not sure if I ever read Victory: An Island Tale. I think not. It turns out I like it a lot, perhaps because it has the quality of a previous era’s adventure.
In many ways, the book is largely exposition with the third person, omniscient narrator essentially describing everything—background, characters, and events. There is very little in the sense of action or dialogue as we might consider it today.
For this reason, a modern reader might find Victory, and Conrad’s other books, a difficult read. They are more about telling rather than showing but they are also written as if the narrator is a storyteller. There is a sense the book is the text of an oral storytelling. And given a chance, it engages you.
Sentences are fluid and mellifluous and if you allow yourself to be open to them, you find it mesmerizing. Before you know it you are into the story because Conrad is nothing if not detailed. It’s a commonplace simile but he paints pictures with his words and they bring the story to life.
This is partly due to his focus on character. Each is distinctive. Axel Heyst, Jones, Schomberg, Morrison, Ricardo…
Conrad’s Curious Duality
What is interesting about Conrad is that he is a writer with one foot in the Victorian age (as in the manner of his storytelling) and one in the modern age (as in his characters and themes). For me, the main theme that emerges in Victory is that of detachment and its consequences. For various reasons, Heyst removes himself from the world, wanting no part of it. But the world will not be ignored and eventually comes to find him.
The result is tragedy—or perhaps it’s better described as comic tragedy due to the incompetence of the three envoys of the outside world. (You’ll have to read the book to understand what I mean.)
Axel Heyst is the main character but another key character is that of Lena, the young woman he rescues and falls in love with. This is the one part of the novel where I have some difficulty with Conrad (though not so much as to dislike the book). When it comes to describing Lena and the scenes involving her (particularly with Heyst), the prose is overwrought and melodramatic.
In some cases, as when it relates to what Heyst thinks and feels about her, or in the way he speaks to her, it could be a reflection of his idealization of the young woman. It is over the top though no doubt appealing in the age in which he was writing.
Overall, I think it is primarily a result of the era’s view of women and men and their places in the world. Appealing though it may have been to the audience of the time, it sounds an off-key note to an audience more contemporary with today.
Curiously, however, the female characters generally prove to be stronger and smarter (and more long-suffering) than the male characters, particularly main characters (like Heyst) in Conrad’s stories. Yet he cannot seem to write about them in that way. Once again, it’s that strange dualism of being part Victorian and part modern.
In the end, this is a very good story—particularly if you like adventure stories with characters rather than caricatures. It’s a wonderful read but it is a novel that wants to breathe. It won’t be rushed. Conrad’s a wordy bugger.
But if you allow it that room to breathe you’ll definitely be rewarded.
September 20, 2013