Constructing a narrative to impose order on an unfamiliar idea or place is a natural human impulse. Designed to change raw realities…from floating objects into units of knowledge (Said 67), narratives of the strange, the unreal, and the newly discovered inevitably arise. Equally inevitable is the fact that these narrative theories, novels, descriptions or whatever form they take are nested in a historical, political and social discourse that their texts cannot transcend. An important question in undertaking a narrative, then, is not just what the text intends to say, but how this intention is expressed. Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad is a novel particularly suited to subjecting oneself to this type of questioning. Conrad's classic novel is often praised as a text that worked against the imperialistic notions that pervaded the era of its writing. Upon closer reading, however, one can see that the way the text formulates its ideas is based less on anti-imperialist sentiment and more on Edward Said's notion of a binary system of us and them; of the West and the East. Indeed, as Conrad constructs his narrative, he also constructs an inevitably Western vision, contrasting the known with the unknown, the impenetrable with the real, and ultimately creating a binary position between the native Africans and the Europeans who inhabit their country. plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay Conrad's novel does not rely on any third-person narrative. Rather, almost the entire story is framed by one character, Marlow, who is constructing a narrative himself. Therefore, as the sailor begins to tell the story of his journey to the heart of Africa, the reader can expect to hear his experience through a lens of displacement: Marlow's story is not constructed just to make sense of his journey , but also to situate himself (Said 20), ideologically, in front of the Africa he crosses. In other words, by virtue of the nature of the narrator, the kind of fundamental distinction between East and West (Said 2) manifests itself not only in the physical experience of Marlow's journey, but also in the style of thinking (Said 2) in and through who tells the story of the journey. The incident in the novel that most clearly blends these physical and ideological viewpoints occurs early in Marlow's adventures, when he enters the office building of his future employers. On the map in the waiting room, he tells us, there was a large amount of red, nice to see at all times, because you know that real work is being done there... a purple stain, to show where the merry pioneers of progress drink the merry lager... I was going into the yellow. Dead in the Center (Conrad 74). Most of this description by Marlow is clearly ironic; the cheerful pioneers of progress are victims of the sailor's skepticism towards the motivations of his fellow adventurers and imperialism in general. However, underlying Marlow's comments are hints at what Said calls an imaginative geography, an accepted grid for filtering Africa, the strange or unknown space, into the consciousness of Europeans traveling there. While we don't know what exactly the color boundaries mean, we do know that the distinctions are given in terms of Europeans and their occupation of the continent: the red and purple territories appear to be controlled by a European nation or specifically by Marlow's company. This kind of positional superiority may seem at first glance undermined by the fact that Marlow is moving towards a place completely in the center (Conrad 74), a placephysically and ideologically reserved for the West (Anderson 173-5). As we read on, however, we see that the center towards which Marlow travels does not resemble the centre-periphery structure that is usually employed: the yellow region is as deadly fascinating as a serpent (Conrad 74). It is clearly not a European centre, but one which, for Marlow, contains all the charm of the Orient described by Said: exotic, dangerous and, perhaps, above all, unknown. To know this unknown, sometimes dangerous, it is necessary to have more knowledge than its own inhabitants. build a European vision of dominance (Said 32). Knowledge and power are therefore irrevocably intertwined: knowing a place means knowing exactly what is good for it and its population, being more civilized, being superior. Conversely, therefore, the native population of such a place can only be backward, inferior, ignorant. Traces of this can be detected in Marlow's serpent-like journey along the river, as he describes the smell of the mud, the primeval mud… the high stillness of the primeval forest (Conrad 96). The river and forest themselves are placed at the dawn of time; by inference, the inhabitants are no longer advanced. Indeed, this attitude can be seen even more explicitly in Marlow's description of the group of cannibals he commanded: I don't think a single one of them had a clear idea of ​​time, as we have at the end of countless eras. They still belonged to the beginning of time and had no legacy to teach them so to speak (Conrad 115). Just as the map in the office placed the African people spatially in relation to the European imperialists, here Marlow places them temporally, again with the Europeans in an obviously dominant position. Note also that Marlow does not use proper names, such as European or African, when describing this time difference. Instead, use the vaguer terms they and we. Despite the use of less specific pronouns, the reader knows exactly who and for whom he is speaking: by using we he represents the West, and they, the other, the indigenous population in general. Furthermore, in Marlow's desert, as in Said's description of the East, knowledge does not only imply power, but also possession (Said 34-5). Through the sailor, who does not crave power, we see this in the opposite way: the African jungle is constantly referred to as impenetrable and therefore unreal (Conrad 93). Marlow struggles with this concept of the impenetrable throughout his travels: even his stay at the least remote station before heading into the jungle provokes an exclamation: I never saw anything so unreal in my life (Conrad 91). The only things that seem real and trustworthy are those that can only be identified in Marlow as Western. When the sailor finds a book of nautical instructions written by an Englishman, therefore, he becomes excited: The simple old sailor, with his talk of chains and purchases, made me forget the jungle... in the delicious sensation of having stumbled upon something unmistakable. real (Conrad 111). On the other hand, Kurtz, the agent Marlow is looking for, desires that knowledge and power that does not affect Marlow. Just as Said demonstrates that the British officials who controlled the Egyptian government believed they had created Egypt (35), Kurtz in a sense made the environment in which he lives practice indigenous rituals, and the indigenous people surrounding his camp they worship him, believing him to be a god (Conrad 118). Kurtz undeniably knows the African tribes in the area and has power over them so, at least in his mind, he is in possession of the place to the extent that he can create the place itself. Kurtz effectively turns everything around him into a possession: as Marlow describes, you should havelisten to him… my ivory, my station, my river… everything belonged to him (Conrad 126). And, just as all of Europe contributed to the making of Kurtz (Conrad 127), so all of Europe which is the basis of Heart of Darkness seems to contribute to the making, to the representation, of Africa. This representation must necessarily include a description of the African people. According to Said's study of Orientalism, what results from the Western spatial and temporal placement of its colonies (as seen in the map and Marlow's comments above) is a hierarchical system of representative figures or tropes. In other words, what we as readers can expect is a typical and general native representation (Said 6), which polarizes the distinction (Said 46) between the West and the rest. This general, all-encompassing representation is, in fact, what is found in Conrad's novel. Indeed, there is another binary positioning here: the reader hardly receives specific descriptions of Africans, while white characters are often described in detail. The company's chief accountant, according to Marlow, is some kind of vision with white cuffs, a light alpaca jacket, snow-white trousers, a clean tie and varnished boots. He looked great and had a pen holder behind his ear (Conrad 84). Not two paragraphs later, we get our first description of the African natives: Rows of dusty negroes with broad feet came and went (Conrad 85). Most descriptions of Africans are in such plurals: streams of naked humans with spears in their hands… with wild looks and wild movements, poured into the clearing (Conrad 140). And, while Marlow recognizes that these natives were not inhuman (Conrad 108), he nevertheless shudders at the thought of their humanity like yours. A notable departure from native African pluralism occurs in Marlow's descriptions of two workers: one who steers the ship and the other who keeps the boiler running. As Said asserts, for the imperial West, the eastern colonies are useful in the modern world only because powerful, modern empires brought them out… of their decline. This principle can be applied to the apparent identification of these two African men: both are described because, according to Marlow, they are useful. Marlow, in paying particular attention to the death of his African helmsman, begins with a disclaimer: Perhaps this regret for a savage who was worth no more than a grain of sand in a black Sahara will seem strange to you (Conrad 128). Despite this, however, Marlow missed him because he had done something... for months I had him by my side as a help and tool. For the ship's boiler operator, this point of utility is even more explicit. He is the first African man who is described individually, but his description is linked only to his use: He was an improved specimen... He was useful because he had been educated (Conrad 109-10). A third deviation from the generalization of a black Sahara appears evidently in the representation of the African woman connected to Kurtz. She is described in rich detail: draped in striped cloth and fringe, treading the earth with pride… She was wild and haughty, wild-eyed and magnificent (Conrad 142). This depiction differs strikingly from Marlow's depiction of the white women he encounters, all delicate and fair, living in a world of their own... It's too good overall (Conrad 77). Aside from the sailor's attitude towards women, the striking difference between these two portraits is the total sensuality that the African woman radiates. Even Kurtz's Steward, the other woman who figures significantly in Marlow's narrative, is only virginal and delicate compared to the voluptuousness of the native, 1978.