Heart of Darkness Thoughts

Over spring break I went on a reading frenzy and one of the books that I read was Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. Some of you may have heard of the movie adaptation directed/written by Francis Ford Coppola. Yes, the Godfather.

Both the book and movie changed me in ways that I can't even begin to express. It was intense, to say the least. What the movie did for me was bring the Vietnam war to into a more personal perspective. I obviously knew about the Vietnam war, but what I knew consisted solely of text book statistics. That sounds heartless and cruel, but it's the honest truth. Don't you feel disconnected from the past in ways that can never be truly fixed? You can't go back in time. I felt distinctly seperate from that time, but now after watching the movie, I feel more empathetic, and I'm horrified. I've read about many traits, and morals, and evils that humans have, but I've never really experienced them like I did watching Apocalypse Now. Some how, that time in the sixties/seventies was connected in my mind with great music, great art, great writing, and soulful protests (just like Mr. Watson said in his video). That period held a certain glamour in my mind that mystified and enticed me. But after this movie, I knew that it wasn't as trivial as that. It wasn't some thing that I could download onto my iPod and listen to at my leisure, feeling a rush of adrenaline at the climax, but returning to my naive life when the it was over. It was a major puzzle piece in the great puzzle called humanity, and the more I watch and live, the more puzzle pieces I acquire; the picture becomes clearer and clearer.

The past defines us. That puzzle, when pieced together, is a portrait of humanity. It is the choices that we have made that brings us to the people we are now. Maybe this can be the high tide mark of our generation. Maybe we'll embrace our deformed, ugly past with open arms, like some disowned family member finally reuniting. Maybe we can take every corrupt and heroic choice that we have made and bring them all into a more knowing future. History does not repeat itself, or at least it won't anymore. Things are changing, we are finally learning what has been written in blood in front of our light and frightened faces.

But back to the Heart of Darkness. It takes place in Africa, and the author, Joseph Conrad, commanded a steamer in the the Congo, where he presumably got his story. And the Poisonwood Bible just happens to have that location in common. Reading Heart of Darkness, it gave me more historical information about the Congo, which helps with understanding the story line of the Poisonwood Bible. Heart of Darkness is set in the 1900's, when England had first started colonizing, where PB takes place well after that in the late fifties/sixties.

For me, the H. of D. helps me understand the African's point of view better. Take this quote from the beginning of H. of D., for example:

"Black shapes crouched, lay, sat between the trees, leaning against the trunks, clinging to the earth, half coming out, half effaced within the dim light, in all the attitudes of pain, abandonment, and despair. Another mine on the cliff went off, followed by a slight shudder of the soil under my feet. The work was going on. The work! And this was the place where some of the helpers had withdrawn to die.

They were dying slowly--it was very clear. They were not enemies, they were not criminals, they were nothing earthly now,-- nothing but black shadows of disease and starvation, lying confusedly in the greenish gloom. Brought from all the recesses of the coast in all the legality of time contracts, lost in uncongenial surroundings, fed on unfamiliar food, they sickened, became inefficient, and were then allowed to crawl away and rest. These moribund shapes were free as air--and nearly as thin. I began to distinguish the gleam of eyes under the trees. Then, glancing down, I saw a face near my hand. The black bones reclined at full length with one shoulder against the tree, and slowly the eyelids rose and the sunken eyes looked up at me, enormous and vacant, a kind of blind, white flicker in the depths of the orbs, which died out slowly. The man seemed young--almost a boy--but you know with them it's hard to tell. I found nothing else to do but to offer him one of my good Swede's ship's biscuits I had in my pocket. The fingers closed slowly on it and held--there was no other movement and no other glance. He had tied a bit of white worsted round his neck--Why? Where did he get it? Was it a badge--an ornament--a charm--a propitiatory act? Was there any idea at all connected with it? It looked startling round his black neck, this bit of white thread from beyond the seas.

Near the same tree two more bundles of acute angles sat with their legs drawn up. One, with his chin propped on his knees, stared at nothing, in an intolerable and appalling manner: his brother phantom rested its forehead, as if overcome with a great weariness; and all about others were scattered in every pose of contorted collapse, as in some picture of a massacre or a pestilence. While I stood horror-struck, one of these creatures rose to his hands and knees, and went off on all-fours towards the river to drink. He lapped out of his hand, then sat up in the sunlight, crossing his shins in front of him, and after a time let his woolly head fall on his breastbone" (18-19).


From this small part of the African's history that Heart of Darkness outlines, I can better understand their points of view and struggles for independence in the PB. It also amazes me that the Africans can still have a relatively open heart about foreigners. Mama Mwanza, for example. She has had her legs cut off, her culture and people oppressed by whites, and yet she still is willing to help the white Price family.

Throughout the H. of D., the motif of darkness contrasting with light comes up a lot. There is the obvious: dark skin contrasting with white skin. But there is also the dark of barbarianism contrasting with the light of civilization. And also the light of barbaric freedom versus the dark of chains of civilization. And also darkness ("bad") and light ("good") in the moral senses. This also applies to the PB. The dark of idol worship vs. the light of God; the dark skin/light skin relationship; the light and dark morals; the light and dark times (i.e. when the rain comes or when it's dry season); the light of freedom and the darkness of oppression and corruptness. They are really great novels to juxtapose.

Well I must end this here, otherwise I could go on all night. Last words: read Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, and then watch Apocalypse Now. Just be prepared to feel "the horrors".


P.S. Anyone who has read Kite Runner might remember the line about how the militia was giving vaccinations to kids on their arms, and how the rebels came and cut off those arms and stacked them neatly for the army to see. That is a quote from Heart of Darkness/ Apocalypse Now

Exact quote from Apocalypse Now:
" I've seen horrors... horrors that you've seen. But you have no right to call me a murderer. You have a right to kill me. You have a right to do that... but you have no right to judge me. It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror. Horror has a face... and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and moral terror are your friends. If they are not then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies. I remember when I was with Special Forces. Seems a thousand centuries ago. We went into a camp to inoculate the children. We left the camp after we had inoculated the children for Polio, and this old man came running after us and he was crying. He couldn't see. We went back there and they had come and hacked off every inoculated arm. There they were in a pile. A pile of little arms. And I remember... I... I... I cried. I wept like some grandmother. I wanted to tear my teeth out. I didn't know what I wanted to do. And I want to remember it. I never want to forget it. I never want to forget. And then I realized... like I was shot... like I was shot with a diamond... a diamond bullet right through my forehead. And I thought: My God... the genius of that. The genius. The will to do that. Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure. And then I realized they were stronger than we. Because they could stand that these were not monsters. These were men... trained cadres. These men who fought with their hearts, who had families, who had children, who were filled with love... but they had the strength... the strength... to do that. If I had ten divisions of those men our troubles here would be over very quickly. You have to have men who are moral... and at the same time who are able to utilize their primordial instincts to kill without feeling... without passion... without judgment... without judgment. Because it's judgment that defeats us." --Kurtz (played by Marlon Brando)

War, Teenage Murder, Cannibalism, and Torture

I’m watching this movie the Heathers and it is creepy with creepy sauce on the side. I’m not sure if you have seen it, but let me tell you, it is NOT something that should be watched alone, late at night in your room. Before this I watched Apocalypse Now with Martin Sheen. Funny, but extremely heavy. What else can you expect from a Francis Copola movie about the Vietnam war? One that most of the Vietnam veterans say is close to verity. I guess I wasn’t being very pragmatic at the movie store because next in line for the movie marathon is the Shinning and Delicatessen (a charming french film about a butcher that chops up human meat and sells it). Yee gods. Something must come over me in the movie store; I think I must go numb in the brain. I just sort of pick good films in general, not thinking ahead. But I guess I’ll use the Ludovico Technique, as seen in the Clockwork Orange, which is also on the movies agenda. War, Teenage Murder, Cannibalism, and Torture is what I call a lovely evening.

Books&Films. Gotta Love 'em

Here are the books that I'm currently reading/finished over Spring Break:

1. Remembrance of Things Past, Marcel Proust [novel]
2. East of Eden, John Steinbeck [novel]
3. The Portable Dorothy Parker, Dorothy Parker [short stories]
4. The Image of Chekhov, Anton Chekhov [short stories]
5. The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver [novel]
6. Hell's Angels, Hunter S. Thompson [journalistic non-fiction]
7. This is Not Chick Lit, Various Women Authors [short stories]
8. Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad [novella]
9. No Exit, Jean Paul Sartre [play]

Here are the movies/TV show DVD's that I've seen over Spring Break:

1. The House of Flying Daggers
2. Amelie
3. Grey's Anatomy
4. The Office
5. Ten Things I Hate About You
6. Star Wars, the Originals
7. Lord of the Rings; The Fellowship, Two Towers, and Return
8. Chicago
9. Black Snake Moan
10. Pan's Labyrinth
11. Life of Brian
12. Withnail and I
13. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
14. V for Vendetta
15. Agnes of God
16. Almost Famous
17. Delicatessen
18. Apocalypse Now
19. The Shinning
20. The Heathers
21. Waiting for Guffman
22. Interview with a Vampire

After these extensive exploits of pages and digitally burnt plastic, I feel strangely gratified. I am left with a sense of happiness and accomplishment.

Some Revelations After Finishing Revelations.

I just finished revelations about an hour ago, and some very, very interesting things have come to pass in this part of the book.

The most obvious, and possibly the most defining event that occurred during revelations was the Congo's newly gained independence from Belgium. This brings a whole new level to the Poisonwood Bible, because the Price family can’t afford to live in their own little holy world anymore. They will have to deal with the changing dynamics of the white/Congolese relationship. They will not have the supremacy. I am eager to see how the story will unfold after this interesting change. I would hazard to say that this is the center of gravity for Revelations.

In finishing Revelations, I noticed a more subtle relationship between it and Genesis. The similarity is in the end, the last paragraph/section to be more specific, of both books. They both talk about Methuselah. In Genesis, he "fluttered away like freedom itself, lifting himself to the top of our Kentucy Wonder Vines and the highest boughs of the jungle that will surely take back everything once we are gone " (82) [italics are mine]. So here we have Methuselah flying away like freedom to the top of the vines, which seemed to represent their father's inability to force Christianity onto the Congo. And also, reference to their leaving, which because of FREEDOM, won't be happening anytime soon. Whoa pretty intense.

In juxtaposation, at the end of Revelations, Methuselah is found dead on the day that Congo claimed independence. And we also have Methuselah being used as a metaphore for hope. Adah quotes Emily Dickinson, "Hope is a thing with feathers" (185), and at the end, she says that Methuselah is now, "only feathers, with out the ball of Hope inside. Feathers at last at last and no words at all" (186). In my opinion, Methuselah was a metaphor for hope. Pretty obvious. But Methuselah was also a metaphor for freedom in the last chapter. In this part of the book, both Hope and freedom are both being killed and born. In the Congo, it is being born--a new leader has come, independence day. For the Price family, however, Hope is dead. Only feathers are left, no "words" (could words refer to the bible's words?). In the Congo, freedom rules, freedom is at large; but for the Price family, just like hope, freedom is dead. Relationships have flipped to the extreme(i.e. supremacy mentioned in the last paragraph). I would say that Methuselah dying is also a center of gravity point.



I am VERY VERY VERY excited to see what will happen. I love this book! There's so much to uncover, I feel like a jewel miner.

His Eyes Are Sewn Shut

There are many trees on this campus. And from what I'm told, none of them are poisonous. There aren't even any snakes, or lions; nothing to fear in the dark. The soil looks very fertile also. I'll bet I could plant lots of Kentucky Wonderbeans here. I'll bet I could grow anything Father wanted me to grow here. I don’t know if Father ever could, I think Father will stick to the Bethlehem soil from now on. It was God, not Father, who planted the Garden of Eden after all. Impossible to match that. I see native red flowers, and Plumeria trees, too. It's really beautiful; there’s every plant you could imagine and more, I think I even saw a crab apple tree. Just like in the Congo, Hawaii seems to have it's own unique beauty. Like the mixing of old and new. I see the solemn faces of the Congolese wrapped in brightly cheery fabrics hidden in the clashing of modern and traditional here—of fragrant flowers falling on cement sidewalks. I read that this school is a missionary school, started by white people, like us. I bet they were Baptists. I know father wanted to do something great like those missionaries did. God has his plan for us, I know, but I prayed and prayed for greatness to happen in the Congo, but to no avail. What did we do wrong? What did we do different from the people who started Puna***? They were missionaries in a savage land filled with heavens. We were missionaries in a savage land filled with heavens. Shouldn’t it all amont to the same? Well. It doesn’t matter now. I loved the Congo; though I’ll never tell Father that. I learned more from nature, from the Congolese earth, than I ever learned in the bible. It opened my eyes. I know that Father’s eyes are sewn shut like my hope basket. I don’t think anything will ever open them.


---Leah

I know that directly this doesn't seem very Leah like, but I really sense that Leah feels this way by certain things that she does and says in Genesis and Revelations. I will include some quotes later.

The China Lady

There is a China lady who sits in the aisle across from me on the bus. She has hair as fine as silk strings and it looks like a bird’s nest. The nest of a beautiful songbird that plucks black spider webs from enchanted, misty forests and turns them into a home. The China lady is as delicate as her name, too, with pale white skin; porcelain skin. The deep cracks all over her aged body make me wonder who the bull is in her china shop.

She wears a cluttered, eclectic costume of second hand clothes. The China lady is not afraid to pair bright primary color plaid with seventies aloha print shirts, the final touch being a Chinese silk scarf. Maybe they used her silk hair to weave it so finely. Though her black orthopedic shoes don’t even touch the shaking bus floor, the look in her eye is fierce. I am reminded of the African independent women. They wear the same bright, mismatched thrift store clothes, and I know the look in their eyes bears the same intense features of my China lady.

My eyes dart up, and her laser beam stare fixes on my sleep deprived ones. It is the end of the week, and red-rimmed eyes are not uncommon on the bus. Her eyes are the perfect contrast of deep black to white, though. She looks like she wakes up at five every morning; she looks like she’s in cahoots with the eastern sun. I can tell they have a connection that I seem to be missing. She may understand the eastern sun, but I understand the western. The western sun is foreign to her, because, in spirit, I am Selene, the goddess of the night. The China lady is the crane who rises before dawn, and I am the owl who hunts at night.

When my bus stop comes, I stumble past her seat. The air is different where she sits. It smells like stale incense and the mysterious contents of her plastic grocery bags. I take one last look into her onyx eyes set in pure white marble. Hard, and yet they hold heat well. I get vibes that tell me she understands more intuitively than could care to be explained. I understand that too. Farewell China lady, I think as I step out of her slice of reality. I descend the bus stairs leading outward, and I step onto the cracked grey sidewalk. Smells change; there is a shift in the continuum. The air I breathe is filled with garbage and exhaust. I walk the block to school and enter the stoney gates.

Could the racist, sexist, sadistic caucasian male behind the SAT have some good intentions?

As much as I have harbored anger toward the sadistic white men behind the SAT, the nearer the actual act looms, the more I am coming to understand the motives and maybe the positive effects of the SAT's. I always have thought about the SAT as some big mountain that had to be climbed and conquored before the rest of my life began. This thinking, I'm slowly realizing, is greatly flawed.

There are two types of testing: achievement, and apptitude. A test which measures some knowledge learned in class is considered an achievement exam (i.e. a geometry test). The SAT's however, measure you general apptitude, much like the general intelligence test (the one that measures your intelligence quotient). Knowing this takes a lot of pressure of. I understand now that a huge amount of studying isn't going to better my score by that much. In fact, I have seen objective evidence proving that sometimes studying too much actually lowers your score.

Since the stress has perished, my unweighted shoulders make it easier for me to see all the good in the SAT's. One good thing is the essay. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't leap with joy thinking about writing an SAT essay. But my insides don't shrivle and then proceed to tremble in fear. I look at it as optimum soul searching time. I mean, you are given an interesting topic, and you get to write your opinion on this, no limitations. You can even deny the question, saying it isn't valid, as Mr. Watson did. How can that be bad? And practicing for the SAT's isn't exactly the most complicated thing in the world either. I'm even practicing for it right now by writing in this blog. Pretty g, I must say.

Some other good aspects of the SAT is that you get to read all of those little stories in the reading comprehension part. I have learned so many interesting facts in a few short paragraphs. For example, on the PSAT, I learned that there is this long hiking trail along the East Coast that leads from one state to another. How cool is that? Maybe one day I'll get to hike that trail, and it all started from my required high school standardized test.

And who doesn't love the vocabulary section? Who doesn't want to talk smart? I feel so great when I'm typing away on my Asian paper and I search my mental dictionary, only to find the PERFECT word for what I'm trying to say. That's the best part of learning vocabulary. There are a little over a million words, why not try and master all of them? (Ok, maybe that's going a little over board. How about 900,000?)

In analyzing my experiences with the SAT so far, I have come to the conclusion that it's a good practice, albeit a little je ne sais quoi. And I look forward to writing more SAT essays, and studying the vocabulary, though I DEFINITELY don't look forward to the math (ugh) section.

"I LOVE THE SAT'S"---let's just keep saying that to ourselves.

Here is a brief history of the SAT's:

The initials SAT have been used since the test was first introduced in 1901, when it was known as the Scholastic Achievement Test. The test was used mainly by colleges and universities in the northeastern United States.The SAT was originally developed as a way to eliminate test bias between people from different socio-economic backgrounds. It was developed by the same psychologist that worked on the Army Alpha and Beta tests. In 1941, after considerable development, the College Board changed the name to the Scholastic Aptitude Test. In 1990, the name was changed to Scholastic Assessment Test. Finally, in 1994, the name was changed to simply SAT (with the letters not standing for anything).

The test scoring was initially scaled to make 500 the mean score on each section with a standard deviation of 100. As the test grew more popular and more students from less rigorous schools began taking the test, the average dropped to about 450 for each section. Various attempts to balance out this decline led to statistical anomalies. For example, in certain years it was impossible to get a score of 780 or 790 on a section; one could only get a 770 or below or an 800. To combat the trend toward declining scores, the SAT was "recentered" in 1995, and the average score became again closer to 500. All scores awarded after 1994 are officially reported with an "R" (e.g. 1260R) to reflect this change.

In 2005, the test was changed again, largely in response to criticism by the University of California system.[citation needed] Because of issues concerning ambiguous questions, especially analogies, certain types of questions were eliminated (the analogies disappeared altogether). The test was made marginally harder, as a corrective to the rising number of perfect scores. A new writing section was added, in part to increase the chances of closing the opening gap between the highest and midrange scores. Other factors included the desire to test the writing ability of each student in a personal manner; hence the essay. The New SAT (officially the SAT Reasoning Test) was first offered on March 12, 2005, after the last administration of the "old" SAT, the 1994 revision, in January of that year.

In March of 2006, it was announced that a small percentage of the SAT tests taken in October 2005 had been scored incorrectly, giving some students substantially erroneous scores. The College Board announced they would change the scores for the students who were given a lower score than they earned, but at this point many of those students had already applied to colleges using their original scores. The College Board decided not to change the scores for the students who were given a higher score than they earned. A lawsuit has been filed by a student who received an incorrect low score on the SAT. The lawsuit is currently seeking class action status.

P.S. Check out this website.... NY Times article titled "SAT Essay Test Rewards Length and Ignores Errors"
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/05/04/education/04education.html?ei=5090&en=94808505ef7bed5a&ex=1272859200&partner=rssuserland&emc=rss&pagewanted=all