Hearts of Darkness: Literature in a Time of Populism

When E.M. Forster famously differentiated between “round” and “flat” characters, he highlighted an aspect of literary criticism that would become ingrained into our culture.

The difference between round and flat characters is the difference between complex multifaceted characters, ones that are susceptible and reactive to change, and static and stereotypical ones.

If we were to visualize these character types as shapes, then a round character might resemble a sphere or hexagon, while a flat is a square or rectangle.

While Forster was not necessarily writing about black-and-white characters — that is, characters that are Disney good or evil, his conceptualization can be useful for interpreting these shallow exemplars of light and darkness.

Today, we often think of super villains or superheroes as unrealistic caricatures of good and evil. This understanding of characterization often materializes in criticism. We think of these types as symptomatic of poor character development.

We can partly thank E.M Forster for that.

We all prefer Hamlet to Claudius. In all of his moral dilemmas, Hamlet is just far more interesting than the insidious murderer. The latter reminds us of just another psychopathic evil genius.

History changes tastes. A play bloated with black-and-white characters, King Lear, was not a popular choice for classrooms before the second world war. After the televised horrors of the holocaust, King Lear was feverishly read with new interest. The tale of blood betrayals even came to dominate classroom syllabi more than the memorable prince of Denmark.

Why is that? Is it because Lear ends on a note of total destruction and urges its audience to think of how a kingdom can regenerate after near total annihilation?

Hamlet ends in the exact same way.

So what exactly about Lear caught the eye of those affected by the second war?

The play is a deep meditation on the nature of good and evil. Its world building and stark depiction of black-and-white morality likely resembles the way the Allies would have felt about the demonized fascists.

Think about it in this way. Have you seen any war propaganda?

The enemy is always dehumanized in a way that recruits the sympathy of the populace. It’s a strategy with the intent to minimize dissent and intensify the war effort.

Shakespeare, oddly enough, does that in King Lear. The villains are some of the most despicable characters in all of literature. Edmund is a psychopath who completely turns on his foster father and brother. After all they’ve done for him, he seems to have zero sympathy for his charitable family.

The same goes with Lear’s deceptive daughters. They use false ornate rhetoric as a means for their twisted conceits. They’re rhetorical geniuses in this sense, kind of like the infamous fascist leaders.

Such characterizations might seem overly simplistic for one of the cherished relics of English literature, but Lear’s popularity was dependent on that simple polarization of good and evil. The post-war reading public would now experience Lear with eyes that had just had Auschwitz on their retina.

The play that had presented a naive representation of evil before the war now perfectly captured the post-war sentiment of Nazism.

Lear was actually ahead of its time, by far. Maybe it was a lot more realistic than we had ever realized. It just took the creeping dangers of fascism and totalitarianism for us to see that.

Xenophobia and populism are on the rise again today and a case need to be made for Joseph Conrad’s re-entry into the classroom.

Decades ago, Conrad was rightly celebrated as a staunch anti-imperialist writer, but today, his legacy seems to have been narrowly restricted. He can’t be read. He’s a racist.

That title famously originated from Chinua Achebe’s “An Image of Africa: Racism in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness.” While I hesitate to enter another tireless argument about the merits of Heart of Darkness, especially with its animalization of Africans during the colonization, attention should, instead, be brought to Conrad’s dark masterpiece Victory — a masterpiece with a zealous denunciation of intolerance.

The novel is somewhat of a mature romance, but I’d recommend against it if you’re looking for anything romantic. In fact, it’s probably one of the most bleak tales I’ve ever read. It’s hopeless in its plot and its worldview.

It’s about Axel Heist, a Swedish nihilist. He finds a damsel in distress and takes her off to his own utopia — an island that is mostly uninhabited. Romantic, so far.

The island is a present garden of Eden. They love their time together and seem to take pleasure in all of the most simple things that lovers do.

Then sin comes into this world. Worse, actually. The bandits Mr. Jones, his companion Martin Ricardo, and Pedro come into the world. An unholy trinity of sorts.

The gentleman, Mr. Jones, even isn’t shy to make this comparison. He quotes from the Old Testament and compares himself to Satan.

He’s also a proto-Nazi. He champions the natural hierarchy of the races, claims that whites are superior to all other races, insists that women should stick to their household roles, and even hates the poor. Even Hitler tried to appeal to the poor. Mr. Jones is an incarnation of a Satanic social darwinism.

He’s pitch-black.

But here’s the interesting point. These characters don’t aggressively force their way onto Heist’s island.

The process is gradual. First, their boat overturns and they’re struggling near the shore. Eventually, they are even offered help by the same character they hope to rob and murder. Axel comes to their aid and helps them settle.

Even tyrants can seem vulnerable and helpless at first. They always need a little help from others.

These same villains even seem likeable at first, wandering around the island while pleasantly conversing. But they are masked personalities. They are always working towards a darker goal, one hidden from illumination.

Eventually when they have consolidated their power and reached a position of assurance, they unveil their true nature.

When Mr. Jones finally does reveal what lies beneath his facade, an outburst during his revelation is ironic:

“Do you believe in racial superiority, Mr. Heist? I do, firmly. Martin is great at ferreting out such secrets as yours, for instance.”

Jones is actually talking about Heist’s hidden stash of money, but Conrad is rather sly with his wording. This passage isn’t about Heist’s secrets, it’s about Jones’s.

That’s why Joseph Conrad’s Victory is a brilliant investigation into the nature of evil. Even if this theme is an old and tired one, it always helps to remind readers how easily and stealthily evil can creep into our daily lives. In our present day, we might not be facing fascism again, but populism and illiberal democracies are on a vengeful rise.

And that’s why we should read Conrad with renewed interest. He’s showing us how true villains are either perceived as harmful or inconspicuous. We just need to see the truth before it’s too late.