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Ihor Junyk
MFS Modern Fiction Studies, Volume 54, Number 1, Spring 2008, pp. 140-159 (Article) Published by The Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: 10.1353/mfs.2008.0018
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We were married within a fortnight. Traddles and Sophy, and Doctor and Mrs. Strong, were the only guests at our quiet wedding. We left them full of joy; and drove away together. Clasped in my embrace, I held the source of every worthy aspiration I had ever had, the center of myself, the circle of my life, my own, my wife. . . Charles Dickens, David Copperfield Can we now, perhaps, find the place where strangeness was present, the place where a person succeeded in setting himself free? . . . Perhaps at this point is an Other set free? Paul Celan, "The Meridian"
"[V]iolence," writes Emmanuel Levinas, "does not consist so much in injuring and annihilating persons as in interrupting their continuity, making them play roles in which they no longer recognize themselves, making them betray not only commitments but their own substance" (Totality 21). While Levinas refers to a situation of war, Charles Dickens, in the selection quoted above, allows us to glimpse the potential for the occurrence of that same profound violence on a daily basis in our interpersonal relations. Dickens's besotted newlywed enacts the transformation of an Other into a thing. While his feverish discourse is meant to express the intensity of his
MFS Modern Fiction Studies,Volume 54 number 1, Spring 2008. Copyright for the Purdue Research Foundation by the Johns Hopkins University Press. All rights to reproduction in any form reserved.
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love for Agnes, his new wife, it actually reduces her to the status of an object to be possessed, transforming her into an anonymous placeholder in a network of narcissistic needs and desires. Dickens alerts us to the simultaneous banality and profundity of this prosaic everyday violence: banal because it is so unspectacular, involving no bloodshed or armed conflict, merely the claims and demands of love or friendship; profound, precisely because of this banality, because of its constant, unremarked occurrence in the relationships that we value most highly. In the Phenomenology of Spirit, in the section entitled "Independence and Dependence of Self Consciousness: Lordship and Bondage," Friedrich Hegel elaborates a model of these violent interpersonal relations: the scene of recognition.1 According to Hegel, when two subjects approach each other, both looking for recognition, the unavoidable outcome is conflict resulting in the victory and valorization of one, the Master, and the subjection, the totalization, of the other, the Slave. Hegel's dark view of this encounter has had a profound effect on Western philosophical thought, particularly in the twentieth century.2 Is there a way beyond the demands of recognition and the inevitable aggression to which it leads, or are we doomed to continually engage one another in this fashion? In his novella Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad directly confronts these issues. Instead of an ethos of violence, Conrad presents a revitalized ethics (although one conceived in a manner very different from that of Kant). In fact, I would like to suggest that Conrad is very close to the ethical thought of Emmanuel Levinas and that by approaching Heart of Darkness through Levinas the reader is opened to a decisive move beyond Hegel's Master-Slave dialectic.
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the Congo is presented as an inexorable movement towards him: "while the wooded banks slipped past us slowly, the short noise was left behind, the interminable miles of silenceand we crept on, towards Kurtz" (Conrad 53).9 Marlow's movement, however, is not only forward in space, but also back in time, to a primordial era and to an archetypal, mythological past: Going up that river was like traveling back to the earliest beginnings of the world, when vegetation rioted on the earth and the big trees were kings. . . . We were wanderers on prehistoric earth, on the earth that wore the aspect of an unknown planet . . . we were traveling in the night of the first ages, of those ages that are gone, leaving hardly a signand no memories. (4851) Marlow enacts what can only be described as an archetypal journey into a veritable underworld. The forthcoming encounter with Kurtz, then, is presented, not as an ordinary meeting, but as a primal scene of recognition, a primordial, mythical event. Further, we can see that Marlow expects something significant from this meeting. For Marlow, Kurtz is not a human being, a creature of flesh and blood, but a voice: "I made the strange discovery that I had never imagined him as doing, you know, but as discoursing. I didn't say to myself, 'Now I will never see him,' or 'Now I will never shake him by the hand,' but, 'Now I will never hear him.' The man presented himself as a voice" (67). As a voice, Kurtz becomes The Word, a numinous being, a deity who will give Marlow fundamental knowledge or presence. When he arrives at the station, however, Marlow encounters a very different Kurtz. Instead of The Word, or even a voice, Marlow finds a fallen man. Kurtz has "gone native." Away from the restraints of European civilization Kurtz finds that the jungle whispers "things about himself which he did not know" and he recovers all of his "forgotten and brutal instincts" (83, 94). Soon Kurtz is participating in "unspeakable rites" and adorning his hut with shrunken heads, not turned outward to serve as a warning, but inward so that he can contemplate and admire them (71). Initially committed to the "Suppression of Savage Customs," once in the wilderness Kurtz takes "high seat amongst the devils of the land" (70, 71). He sets himself up as a god with the "power to charm or frighten rudimentary souls into an aggravated witch dance in his honour" (72). However, by the time of the recognition scene Kurtz's seduction by the darkness has left him broken and shattered. When Marlow finds Kurtz in the jungle he has regressed to animality, crawling pathetically on all fours. Initially, while searching for Kurtz, Marlow pictures their immanent encounter
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for us in the eros where, in the other's proximity, distance is integrally maintained, and whose pathos is made of both this proximity and duality" (54). The face-to-face, then, is an encounter that rejects both the totalizing grasp of the other individual and absolute dissociation or indifference. Instead, it affirms both proximity and distance, negotiating connection and alterity. How is this to be done? The face-to-face, Levinas tells us, opens us to responsibility, which is to say, to language, to the "to say" or dire (as opposed to the said or dit), to our ability to respond. Levinas writes: The essence of the 'word' does not initially consist in its objective meaning or descriptive possibilities, but in the response that it elicits. The assertion is not true because the thought that it expresses corresponds to the thing or because it is revelatory of being. . . . The assertion is true when it realizes the reciprocity of the relation by eliciting a response and singling out an individual who alone is capable of responding. This conception of truth has nothing in common with the static notion of truth as an expressible content ("Martin" 68). This response is precisely what is elicited in Heart of Darkness. Instead of entering into a fight with Kurtz, Marlow leaves him in his radical alterity; he establishes a relationship of proximity and distance, simultaneously taking responsibility for Kurtz and respecting his difference, acknowledging the responsibility for the other individual he cannot but assume, and yet granting Kurtzas a consequenceabsolute exteriority to his own egoic desires. This relationship is intimately connected in Conrad (as in Levinas) to language, to saying, specifically to Kurtz's runic utterance, "The horror! The horror!" (100). Marlow notes explicitly that Kurtz's last utterance is the reason why he has "remained loyal to Kurtz to the last" (Conrad 101). In order to see precisely how a connection between Marlow and Kurtz is formed, let us return to Conrad's text and Kurtz's last words. One way of initiating the discussion is to ask what Kurtz's phrase means. In Joseph Conrad and the Modern Temper Daphna ErdinastVulcan argues that a profound metaphysical urge drives Marlow to Africa. He seeks to "get at 'the truth of things'" and ultimately to restore the lost "essential wholeness" of humanity (Erdinast-Vulcan 92). Since Kurtz is the aim of this pilgrimage and "the horror" is, according to Marlow, Kurtz's summing up, perhaps this utterance can be seen as the metaphysical insight he seeks. This reading is confirmed by Marlow's characterization of this statement as Kurtz's revelation of a "glimpsed truth," a term heavily freighted with metaphysical connotations.
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A condition (or pre-condition) of chaos, contradiction, disorder, and emptiness, the "there is" underlies the placid orderly surfaces of everyday life only to be glimpsed in moments of solitude, exhaustion, or strain. The relevance of this dark vision to Conrad's novel is self-evident. The text repeatedly shows us a world that is out of jointnot a cosmos of determinate laws and precise chains of causation, but a monster of incoherence and impenetrability. Traveling to the interior shortly after arriving in Africa, Marlow notes: I watched the coast. Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thinking about an enigma. There it is before yousmiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering, "Come and find out." This one was almost featureless, as if still in the making, with an aspect of monotonous grimness. The edge of a colossal jungle, so dark-green to be almost black, fringed with white surf ran straight like a ruled line, far, far away along a blue sea whose glitter was blurred by a creeping mist. (19) The natural surroundings are hostile, inscrutablethe coast is shown as a menacing, anthropomorphic thing, hidden by darkness and mist. Reality is painted in the bizarre chiaroscuro of a hallucination or nightmare. Should we not see in this bizarre, disordered universe the operations of the Levinasian "il y a?" Narrated to the men on the Nellie after his encounter with Kurtz, Marlow's story shows the influence of Kurtz's dark metaphysical vision. With "the horror," Marlow has been inducted into an understanding of being as founded on the "there is." This reading stands in contrast to Erdinast-Vulcan's claim that the novel thematizes the "failure of metaphysics" (91). While it indeed undermines the notion of metaphysics as "ultimate foundation," perceived as a "return to a primary state of wholeness," it rearticulates metaphysics as in turn founded on the paradoxical and horrific field of being, "an impersonal field, a field without proprietor or master, where negation, annihilation, and nothingness are events like affirmation, creation and subsistence, but impersonal events. A presence of absence, the there is is beyond contradiction; it embraces and dominates its contradictory" (Existence 60). This interpretation helps to clarify certain aspects of Marlow's language use. Some commentators have expressed dissatisfaction with Conrad's rhetoric and have considered it an artistic failing of the book. For example, E. M. Forster has noted that Conrad "is misty in the middle as well as in the edges . . . the secret casket of his genius
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existencethat which makes its truth, its meaningits subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live as we dreamalone." Just before that Marlow says: "He was just a word for me. I did not see the man in the name any more than you do. Do you see him? Do you see the story? Do you see anything?" (39). There is nothing to see but the story itselfthe words on the page or the movement of the speaker's lipsbecause there is always a gap between words and things, between the signifier and what is signified.10 If the constative function of language is displaced from its position of primacy, what is the significance of "the horror?" An answer comes in an allusive moment very early in the novella when the frame narrator says: "to him [Marlow] the meaning of an episode was not inside like a kernel but outside, enveloping the tale which brought it out only as a glow brings out a haze, in the likeness of one of these misty halos that sometimes are made visible by the spectral illumination of moonshine" (8). How are we to understand this characterization of discourse or narration? Once again, Levinas gives us the concepts with which to interpret this difficult passage. In Ethics and Infinity he notes that "in discourse I have always distinguished, in fact, between the saying and the said" (88). The said refers to the informational content of an utterance, its character as a constative truth claim. And while this constative function is important for Levinas"that the saying must bear a said is a necessity of the same order," he argues, "as that which imposes a society with laws, institutions and social relations" (88)he also notes that "for me, the said does not count as much as the saying." For Levinas, the saying is important "less through its informational contents than by the fact that it is addressed to an interlocutor" (42). The crucial fact is that "before the face I do not remain there contemplating it, I respond to it" (88). This pulls language out of the sphere of knowledge and into the field of ethics: The saying is a way of greeting the Other, but to greet the Other is already to answer for him. It is difficult to be silent in someone's presence; this difficulty has its ultimate foundation in this signification proper to the saying, whatever is the said. It is necessary to speak of something, of the rain and fine weather, no matter what, but to speak, to respond to him and already to answer for him. (88) This distinction between the saying and the said also informs Marlow's philosophy of language. As the unnamed narrator tells us, for him the significance of a tale is not its insideits meaning or truth-valuebut its outsideits performance or telling. Language is not primarily important because of the constative statements that it is able to make,
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as well as the vocative register: Marlow makes numerous references, for example, to the fixity of her gaze.12 Marlow initially reacts to her defensively. In response to her attempts at domination he employs a bitter and aggressive irony. Responding to her comment that "'he [Kurtz] died as he lived,'" Marlow remarks acidly that "'his end,' said I, with dull anger stirring in me, 'was in every way worthy of his life.'" But in the very next line his position changes. Marlow notes that "my anger subsided before a feeling of infinite pity" (110). Marlow abandons his aggressive posture and assumes a position of openness and responsibility. Marlow experiences here what Levinas has referred to as the asymmetry of the ethical relationship. In an interview with the philosopher, Phillipe Nemo asks, "But is not the Other also responsible in my regard?" Levinas responds: Perhaps, but that is his affair. One of the fundamental themes of Totality and Infinity about which we have not yet spoken is that the intersubjective relation is a nonsymmetrical relation. In this sense I am responsible for the Other without waiting for reciprocity were I to die for it. Reciprocity is his affair. It is precisely insofar as the relationship between the Other and me is not reciprocal that I am subjection to the Other; and I am "subject" essentially in this sense. It is I who support all. (Ethics 98) Rejecting any expectation of reciprocal ethical regard, the subject assumes a primordial responsibility for the Other. The locus of this responsibility is the Face. Although the Other can be approached as an object of knowledge, an authentic relationship with the Face "is straightaway ethical": There is first the very uprightness of the face, its upright exposure, without defense. The skin of the face is that which stays most naked, most destitute. It is the most naked, though with a decent nudity. It is the most destitute also: there is an essential poverty in the face: the proof of this is that one tries to mask this poverty by putting on poses, by taking on a countenance. The face is exposed, menaced, as if inviting us to an act of violence. At the same time, the face is what forbids us to kill. (86) Remarkably, these are almost exactly the terms in which Marlow describes the Intended. She approaches him not as a fully embodied being, but essentially as a face. "She came forward," notes Marlow, "all in black, with a pale head, floating towards me in the dusk. . . . This fair hair, this pale visage, this pure brow, seemed surrounded by
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relation I establish with the Other, I must also establish with other men; there is thus a necessity to moderate the privilege of the Other; from whence comes justice. Justice, exercised through institutions, which are inevitable, must always be held in check by the initial interpersonal relation. (Ethics 9091) While the face-to-face encounter with the Other and the ethos of responsibility it entails is primary, it must also be held in tense dialogical balance with a responsibility to all others. A point of negotiation must be found between singularity and multiplicity, individuality and sociality. This, I believe, is one of the key issues explored in the novel's very complex frame tale, a layer of the narrative that brilliantly brings together all of the concerns I have been tracing in this essay. When Marlow returns from Africa he is in a bad state: bitter, antagonistic, and disillusioned. I found myself back in the sepulchral city resenting the sight of other people hurrying through the streets to filch a little money from each other, to devour their infamous cookery, to gulp their unwholesome beer, to dream their insignificant and silly dreams. They trespassed on my thoughts. They were intruders whose knowledge of life is an irritating pretence, because I felt so sure they could not possibly know the things I knew. Their bearing, which was simply the bearing of commonplace individuals going about their business in the assurance of perfect safety, was offensive to me like the outrageous flauntings of folly in the face of a danger it is unable to comprehend. I had no particular desire to enlighten them, but I had some difficulty in restraining myself from laughing in their faces, so full of stupid importance. (102) Here Marlow rails against the smug complacency of bourgeois society. But by the time he tells his tale aboard the Nellie he is associating with the very pillars of the society he hatesan accountant, a lawyer, a director of companiesall people who are radically other than the way he would imagine himself to be in their ignorance of the heart of darkness. Why are they other? There are at least two answers to this question. First, Marlow's descriptions of Brussels after his return from Africa are not only colored by a newly critical attitude to society, but they are also tainted with metaphysical resonances that call to mind the hallucinatory and nightmarish characteristics of the "there
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With the coming darkness, the group moves fully from what I, following Lacan, have labeled above as the "scopic" to the vocative register, and by the end of the narrative that move has affected a considerable change: Marlow ceased, and sat apart, indistinct and silent in the pose of a meditating Buddha. Nobody moved for a time. "We have lost the first of the ebb," said the Director, suddenly. I raised my head. The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed sombre under an overcast skyseemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness. (111) Marlow is no longer the windbag with "inconclusive experiences," he is now the wise Buddha. Furthermore, the Director's comment reveals that they have been sitting, entranced enough to miss the turn of the tide that they had been waiting for. The narration has brought and kept them together, it has made them into a kind of community. But there is another aspect to this scene that relates to the issue of justice I broached above. While it is the saying that brings community together, the said is crucial as well. As the frame narrator tells us, Marlow's story has allowed them to glimpse the heart of darkness. It has revealed to them the cruelties and idiocies that Marlow has witnessed in Africa. As Marlow argues earlier in the narrative, "I hear; I admit, but I have a voice, too, and for good or evil mine is the speech that cannot be silenced" (52). If the ethical imperatives of the face-to-face encounter dictated that the Intended be left undisturbed in her otherness, the ethical imperatives of justice demand that Marlow bear witness to the catastrophic horrors of imperialism and Kurtz's implication in the catastrophe. And this duty Marlow fulfils assiduously, even obsessively, offering his testimony to the functionaries of Empire least likely to appreciate his revelation of the truth.
Beyond Dialectic
In Heart of Darkness Joseph Conrad shows us a way out of the abyss to which the appropriation of the Hegelian Master-Slave dialectic as a perspective on the world would lead us. In Hegel's dark vision of interpersonal relations violence is inescapable. At the scene of recognition, when two subjects face each other, the only possible outcome is the victory of one and the annihilation of the other. The totalization of one egoic perspective over the other, the domination
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Notes
1. See Hegel in Miller's translation, 1977. My reading of Hegel in what follows is heavily indebted to Alexandre Kojve's. 2. On the influence of Hegel (as read through Kojve) on Sartre and Lacan, for example, see Martin Jay, Downcast Eyes 287, 345347. 3. For the classic discussion of literary formalism in connection with Conrad, see Ian Watt. For a discussion of mythical structures in the novel, see Lillian Feder. 4. After the lecture Achebe's piece was published as "An Image of Africa" in the Massachusetts Review, 18 (1977): 78294. It was subsequently revised for the 1988 third Norton Critical Edition of the novel (25162). It appears in the current Fourth Edition with discrepancies between the two versions given in notes (33649). 5. Changed to "thoroughgoing racist" in the edited version. 6. While this section was eliminated in the revised version of the essay, Achebe's subsequent statements show that he did not change his view on the proximity of Conrad's racism to Nazi anti-Semitism. In a 2000 interview, when denying the value of Conrad's novel, he noted that "I've not encountered any good art that promoted genocide" (Jaggi 6). For a more extended discussion of racism in Conrad, see Hunt Hawkins, 36566, 374. 7. See Singh, Torgovnick, and Taussig. These are, of course, only a few indicative examples. The literature on this issue is vast with many subtle differences in perspective. The interested reader is referred to the essays in the Fourth Norton Critical Edition of Heart of Darkness for a sample of approaches to the novel. 8. See Fridman. Other recent studies that have used Conrad's text as a model for confronting historical trauma include Ferida Durakovic, Jacques Paw, and Shari Turitz.
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9. All page references to Heart of Darkness refer to the Penguin edition.
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10. This is underscored symbolically by another passage. When Marlow first arrives in Africa he encounters a native in the "grove of death." In describing him Marlow states: "He had tied a bit of white worsted round his neckWhy? Where did he get it? Was it a badgean ornamenta charma propitiatory act? Was there any idea at all connected with it? It looked startling around his black neck, this bit of white thread from beyond the seas" (25). Marlow's list is strikingly similar to a passage found in Jacques Derrida's Limited Inc, an examination of which will, I believe, help to clarify the issue of failed reference. Derrida considers "I forgot my umbrella," a strange isolated phrase found in the unpublished writings of Nietzsche. What does the phrase mean; to what does it refer? Derrida concludes that "[a] thousand possibilities will always remain open even if one understands something in this phrase that makes sense (as a citation? the beginning of a novel? a proverb? someone else's secretarial archives? an exercise in learning language? the narration of a dream? an alibi? a cryptic codeconscious or not? the example of a linguist or a speech act theoretician letting his imagination wander for short distances, etc.?" (Derrida 63). According to Derrida it is impossible to fix definitively the meaning of this phrase. The problem lies not in the peculiarity of the phrase, in its lack of explanation or elaboration, but in the nature of language itself. A necessary characteristic of language, or any signifying system, is what Derrida calls "iterability": its ability to signify in the absence of that which it signifies"the possibility of its being repeated in the absence not only of its 'referent,' which is self-evident, but in the absence of a determinate signified or of the intention of actual signification, as well as of all intention of present communication." However, while iterability, the "structural possibility of being weaned from the referent or the signified," is that which makes signification possible, it also makes it impossible (10). If a signifier is able to break with the original context of its inscription or enunciation, then what is to prevent this from happening all the time? Derrida notes that "[e]very sign, linguistic or nonlinguistic, spoken or written . . . can break with every given context, engendering an infinity of new contexts in a manner which is absolutely illimitable. This does not imply that the mark is valid outside of a context, but on the contrary that there are only contexts without any center or absolute anchoring" (12). By introducing radical indeterminacy into signification, iterability breaks the closed circuit of reference. With the connection between words and things broken, language becomes a free-floating structure. 11. For more on this, see Kojve. 12. See Jacques Lacan's The Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis for more on the register of the scopic.
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Works Cited
Achebe, Chinua. "An Image of Africa." The Massachusetts Review. 18 (1977): 78294. Clifford, James. The Predicament of Culture: Twentieth-Century Ethnography, Literature, and Art. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2002. Conrad, Joseph. Heart of Darkness. Markham: Penguin, 1980. . Heart of Darkness. 4th ed. Ed. Paul B. Armstrong. New York: Norton, 2006. Derrida, Jacques. Limited Inc. Evanston: Northwestern UP, 1990. Durakovic, Ferida. Heart of Darkness. Fredonia, NY: White Pines, 1998. Erdinast-Vulcan. Joseph Conrad and the Modern Temper. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991. Feder, Lillian. "Marlow's Descent into Hell." Nineteenth-Century Fiction 9 (1955): 28092. Forster, E. M. "Joseph Conrad: A Note." Abinger Harvest. 1936. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1967. 13640. Fridman, Lea Wernick. Words and Witness: Narrative and Aesthetic Strategies in the Representation of the Holocaust. Albany: State U of New York P, 2000. Hegel, Friedrich. Phenomenology of Spirit. Trans. A.V. Miller. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1977. Hawkins, Hunt. "Heart of Darkness and Racism." Conrad. Ed. Armstrong. 36575. Jaggi, Maya. "Storyteller of the Savannah: Profile of Chinua Achebe." The Guardian 18 Nov. 2000. 6. Jay, Martin. Downcast Eyes. Berkeley: The U of California P, 1993. Kojve, Alexandre. Introduction to the Reading of Hegel. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1969. Lacan, Jacques. The Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis. Trans. Alan Sheridan. New York: Norton, 1981. Leavis, F. R. The Great Tradition. 1948. London: Chatto, 1979. Levinas, Emmanuel. Entre Nous: Thinking-of-the-Other. Trans. Michael B. Smith and Barbara Harshav. New York: Columbia UP, 1998. . Ethics and Infinity: Conversations with Philippe Nemo. Trans. Richard A. Cohen. Pittsburgh: Duquense UP, 1992. . Existence and Existents. Trans. Alphonso Lingis. Pittsburgh: Duquense UP, 2001. . The Levinas Reader. Ed. Sean Hand. Cambridge: Blackwell, 1994. . "Martin Buber and the Theory of Knowledge." Levinas Reader. 5974. . "Time and the Other." Levinas Reader. 3758. . Totality and Infinity. Trans. Alphonso Lingis. Pittsburgh: Duquense UP, 1969. Paw, Jacques. Into the Heart of Darkness: Confessions of Apartheid's Assassins. Johannesburg: Jonathan Ball, 1997. Roberts, Andrew Michael. Conrad and Masculinity. New York: St. Martin's, 2000. Singh, Frances. "The Colonialistic Bias of Heart of Darkness." Conradiana 10 (1978): 4154.
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Taussig, Michael. Shamanism, Colonialism, and the Wild Man: A Study in Terror and Healing. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1987. Torgovnick, Marianna. Gone Primitive: Savage Intellects, Modern Lives. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1990. Turitz, Shari ed. Confronting the Heart of Darkness: An International Symposium on Torture in Guatemala. Proc. of Guatemala Human Rights Commission, Nov. 1992, Washington, DC. USA: Guatemala Human Rights Commission, 1993. Watt, Ian. Conrad in the Nineteenth Century. Berkeley: U of California P, 1979.