Nostromo (1904) by Joseph Conrad

reviewed by Rachel Murphy

In the fictional South American Republic of Costaguana, the small town of Sulaco is sheltered from the rest of the state by mountain and plain—near the edge of the sombre Gulfo Plácido whose still waters are protected from the ocean gusts—“as if within an enormous semicircular and unroofed temple open to the ocean, with its walls of lofty mountains hung with the mourning draperies of cloud.” In this strange “temple” known as Sulaco, an unholy deity sits throned in the depths of the land: the silver of the mine.

 

The mine, like a cicatrice in the earth, has already destroyed one life, the father of Charles Gould. Charles, born in Costaguana but raised and educated in England, has inherited the infamous “Gould Concession” (i.e., the upkeep of the silver mine) which had been imposed on his father as a fatal “gift” by the unstable powers-that-were. Having received monthly jeremiads from across the sea from a father utterly frustrated and “mine-ridden” ever since Charles was fourteen, Charles too becomes increasingly fascinated by the idea of the mine and its importance to the creation of a peaceful society and stable government (“I pin my faith in material interests”). Undertaking the workings of his fatal gift against his father’s request that he leave well alone, Charles is accompanied by his beautiful, graceful wife, whose character combines the elements of wisdom and empathy that make her the most humanly stable in the novel.

As the mine becomes increasingly a power in the land under the skillful hand of Charles Gould, it also becomes the desired possession of the would-be dictator Pedro Montero, and the town is once again threatened by revolution. For the prosperous of Sulaco, the only chance to save the silver and protect their “interests” is to instigate a counter-revolution of Separation from the rest of the state.

Other characters revealed in Conrad’s immensely complex novel of revolution are the cynical Decoud, a Frenchified dandy and cynic whose love for the beautiful Antonia drives every action of his hand and intellect in the cause of Separation—because, far from being a genuine patriot (or anything else), he is a man who believes in nothing except “the certainty of his own sensations”; or the fascinating and sardonic outcast Dr. Monygham, haunted by an act of betrayal under excruciating torture from years before—an event which bound his fate more irretrievably to the land than anything else could have done—and whose devotion to Mrs. Gould is the motivating fact of his present life; or the brave, bombastic (though rather dense) Captain Mitchell; or the steadfast old revolutionary Giorgio Viola (nicknamed “the Garibaldino” for his unstinting idolatry of Garibaldi), whose strength of character and snowy hair are almost as much a presence in the town as is the snowy head of Higuerota dominating the mountain peaks.

But throwing all else into shadow by comparison is the personality of the Italian seaman Giovanni Battista Fidanza, known as Nostromo. As reader, we are aware of the presence of Nostromo by sheer force of his well-earned reputation, long before we “see” him for any length in action. He is present to us in name from the second chapter, and flashes in and out of a scene like a magnificent ghost, but you must wait until almost halfway through the novel before he appears in any significant part of the action. Young, but with a forcefulness of character, experience and reputation of a man twice his age, he is the captain of the cargo-bearers for Sulaco’s Oceanic Steam Navigation Company run by Captain Mitchell. Nostromo—whose very nickname is a corruption of the Italian for “our man”—is “the lordly capataz de cargadores, the indispensable man, the tried and trusty Nostromo, the Mediterranean sailor come ashore casually to try his luck in Costaguana”; he is “the magnificent,” “the illustrious capataz”, “the incomparable”, and, above all, “the incorruptible” Nostromo; incorruptible as the silver itself. Riding high and haughty on his silver-grey mare, the silver buttons on his jacket gleaming as contemptuously as his white-toothed grin, with his broad shoulders, black whiskers and blacker looks that might strike terror into the bravest heart; he “was much of a man, that capataz.” While poor himself, he is the go-to man for the rich and prosperous of Sulaco, and as Decoud cynically comments, he “seems to have a talent for being on the spot whenever there is something picturesque to be done.” He is a man of the people, and, like the people, a beast of burden for the ricos.

Therefore, as the plot thickens in the novel’s midpoint and the silver of the mine is threatened by the invasion of the would-be dictator Pedro Montero and his troops—as well as the cruel and mercenary Sotillo who is to arrive by sea—there is only one man who might have any chance to sneak the enormous hoard of silver—the result of six months of hard labor—out of the town: Nostromo. It is here that Conrad’s world becomes deeper and more majestic as the lighter-boat filled with silver is cast out into the waters of the Gulf, to meet a northbound steamer that will take it out of reach of the Brothers Montero and of Sotillo; and it is here that the secrecy of the lighter’s presence is threatened by a cowardly man who had come aboard unobserved before the lighter had been put to sea—and the suspense and adventure begin. It is here in the still waters that Nostromo, seeing his life as for the first time as if he were a soul suspended from itself, becomes aware of the hollowness of a life based solely on a reputation and fine words, and he is increasingly haunted by thoughts of bitterness towards the rich who use him as their jackal. It is here, too, that he decides to take an unexpected revenge.

Nostromo, during the first read, is slow to get going, and confusing in plot and narrative structure. Conrad has an unconventional way of going back-and-forth in time and point-of-view, as if trying to see an event from multiple angles. The politics, too, of this fictional Costaguana I found to be confusing on the first read. But I assure you that it is worth the furrowed brow that might become a permanent fixture during the first half of the novel; once Conrad gets you out to sea on the lighter, the reader is irretrievably drawn in. And the novel’s re-readability value is one of the greatest I’ve known—and, as Oscar Wilde comments, “If one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again, there is no use in reading it at all”—and the first half becomes more fascinating once one has experienced the whole thread of the narrative. (For an incomparable listening experience, check out Frank Muller’s Recorded Books reading of Nostromo, available through Audible. His deep, dusky baritone might conjure the very ghosts of Azuera from their shadowy haunts—and only such a voice as his could portray the magnificent capataz de cargadores.)

Conrad’s landscape is less one of revolutions and romance than it is of the soul itself. Every significant place and inanimate thing takes on, subtly, a semblance of supernatural life: the silver of the mine; the snows of Higuerota; the ghosts of Azuera; the Placid Gulf and Punta Mala “like a shadow on the sky”; the three Isabels; the lighthouse; the lighter. It is a masterful study of character and of their multifaceted motivations, light or dark; and the Silver itself is like a mirror of them all: Gould’s “subtle infidelity” that puts the silver of the mine over the happiness of his wife; Decoud’s nihilism; Monygham’s infatuation with Mrs. Gould, like an unlawful treasure; Nostromo’s bitterness. Reading it, the thought couldn’t help but cross my mind that the silver is like a precursor to Tolkien’s iconic Ring: a mirror and a tempter of the darker places of the soul. Conrad himself considered it to be his most successful novel, and it certainly must be one of the greatest novels ever written. The sheer beauty of language, complexity of theme and character, and perfection of haunting imagery and atmosphere prove that it is a work that will remain utterly applicable, fascinating, and, without irony, incorruptible.