Conrad is considered the only true living success, but to be honest, this particular work has somewhat disappointed me.

The narration throughout the story never really managed to fully engage me. Even as I approached the end, I still didn't feel that strong connection.

I can only give it 3 stars mainly because Conrad is the author of such masterpieces as "Heart of Darkness" and "Lord Jim".

His previous works have set a very high standard, and perhaps my expectations were too high for this one. However, it's important to note that everyone's reading experience can vary, and some may find this work more captivating than I did.

Despite my disappointment, I still respect Conrad's talent and his contributions to the literary world.

"Chance" is by no means Joseph Conrad's finest work, which is somewhat surprising considering it was the first of his novels to gain popularity among the general public. I embarked on reading it with high expectations, fully anticipating that I would love it, especially since it features Marlow. I had also been informed that it's one of the few of Conrad's works with a happy ending.

The story revolves around Flora de Barral, a young woman whose father was a swindler sentenced to prison for his financial schemes when she was just sixteen. There are numerous parallels between "Chance" and "Little Dorrit." Flora's father could be seen as a combination of the evil financier Mr. Merdle and Mr. Dorrit with his delusions of grandeur in the Marshalsea prison. However, Flora de Barral is nothing like the kind and selfless Little Dorrit.

She grows up friendless, abandoned by her scheming governess, yet she is resolute in believing in her father's innocence. Above all, she is fragile and broken. When Marlow first encounters her, she is set on committing suicide. Fortunately, she meets Captain Anthony, who truly seems like the tragic hero of the novel. Passionately in love, he offers to marry Flora and provide her and her recently released father with the protection and isolation of his life at sea.

The plot, as related here, is rich in psychological detail. However, there is a significant issue that I never expected to arise: Marlow's narration. Here is an example: "As to honour - you know - it's a very fine medieval inheritance which women never got hold of. It wasn't theirs.... In addition they are devoid of decency. I mean masculine decency. Cautiousness too is foreign to them - the heavy reasonable cautiousness which is our glory. And if they had it they would make it a thing of passion, so that its own mother - I mean the mother of cautiousness - wouldn't recognise it. Prudence with them is a matter of thrill like the rest of sublunary contrivances. 'Sensation at any cost,' is their secret device." This is not an isolated quote. It is a constant interpolation within the story. Marlow's philosophizing on the nature of femininity is not only annoying but also pervasive, and it truly disrupted my enjoyment of the work.

As the story progresses, the situation becomes even more problematic. Captain Anthony is informed by his future brother-in-law Mr. Fyne that Flora de Barral doesn't love him and is marrying him only for advantage. Being a heroic man, Captain Anthony decides not to exercise his marital rights with her, as he feels it would be shameful to do so if she cannot love him. Marlow then proceeds to discuss how unnatural this is, which makes me extremely uncomfortable. Marlow's logic seems to suggest that since they are married, the Captain has the right to do as he pleases without truly considering his wife's feelings, as she will likely change her mind anyway. This line of thinking comes uncomfortably close to the concept of marital rape.

The only thing that could ethically change the situation in my mind (and thankfully, it does happen eventually) is for Flora to confess that she is in love with the Captain.

This brings me to the matter of Conrad's happy ending. Captain Anthony, who has saved Flora and has almost been killed by her crazed father, only gets to be happy for six years. Then Conrad unceremoniously kills him off. Seriously? The happy ending, in this case, is Flora being married off to one of the frame narrators, Powell. While Powell is a very sweet character, I can't help but feel that in terms of psychological complexity, Captain Anthony was Flora de Barral's equal.

Despite all this, it is still a novel written by Joseph Conrad. So, you will still experience what Nabokov calls "the tingle of the spine," which is the hallmark of truly exquisite literature. For example, consider this passage: "I suppose that to him life, perhaps not so much his own as that of others, was something still in the nature of a fairy-tale with a 'they lived happily ever after' termination. We are the creatures of our light literature much more than is generally suspected in a world which prides itself on being scientific and practical, and in possession of incontrovertible theories." The conversations between Marlow and Flora de Barral (not his analysis of them, mind you) are equally captivating.

All in all, this is a novel for dedicated Conrad fans. I'm glad I read it, but it was exasperating at times. In writing this review, I've changed its rating from three to four stars several times. However, I think I'll have to settle on three stars. The constant misogyny was simply too much, even for a Conrad admirer like myself. This is three stars for a novel by Joseph Conrad, so it would probably merit a four-star rating if it were written by someone else. But he is capable of so much better than this!

Conrad is a renowned author with several highly acclaimed works to his name. However, this particular piece is also well worth delving into.

It is essentially a psychological thriller that is narrated by a sailor who has only second or perhaps even third hand knowledge of the events that unfold.

While there may indeed be alternative methods to convey this story, Conrad's unique approach truly resonates with me.

His masterful use of language and ability to build tension and atmosphere draw the reader in and keep them on the edge of their seat.

Despite the sailor's limited perspective, Conrad manages to create a vivid and engaging narrative that explores the depths of the human psyche.

Overall, this work is a testament to Conrad's skill as a storyteller and is definitely worth a read for fans of psychological thrillers or those interested in exploring the power of language and narrative.

I really wanted to like this book, but unfortunately, I managed to get only halfway through it. It failed on three - in my personal opinion - criteria for a good literary work, namely in language, plot, and emotion.

Language: It was plain but nothing special. Besides, it is a translation, which incidentally is flawless. However, that doesn't make up for its lack of charm.

Plot: In my view, it was non-existent. I was reading and waiting for it to lead somewhere, but in vain. The story seemed to be going nowhere, and I found myself getting bored.

Emotion: It didn't evoke any emotion in me at all, except for frustration, which was the reason I stopped reading it halfway. I felt no connection to the characters or the story, and it just didn't engage me on an emotional level.

Overall, I was disappointed with this book and wouldn't recommend it to others.

The Anti-Heart-of-Darkness

Heart of Darkness is a renowned and often controversial work. However, there is also an "anti-Heart-of-Darkness" perspective that challenges and critiques its dominant themes.

This anti-viewpoint argues that Heart of Darkness presents a one-sided and perhaps overly simplistic view of colonialism and its effects. It questions the portrayal of the native Africans as mere savages and the white colonizers as the supposed bringers of civilization.

Those who advocate for the anti-Heart-of-Darkness stance believe that the novel fails to fully consider the complex social, economic, and political contexts that existed during the era of colonialism. It may have overlooked the agency and resistance of the colonized people, reducing them to passive victims.

In conclusion, while Heart of Darkness has had a significant impact on literature and discussions about colonialism, the anti-Heart-of-Darkness perspective offers a valuable counterpoint that encourages a more nuanced and comprehensive understanding of this important historical period.

Do not self-isolate with this overlong and dreary tale! Unless, of course, you have a penchant for such outdated and rather sexist sentiments as: “But man has captured electricity too. It lights him on his way, it warms his home, it will even cook his dinner for him - very much like a woman.” This kind of comparison not only demeans the role of women but also presents a narrow and inaccurate view of both electricity and gender. In today's world, we should strive to move beyond such archaic ideas and embrace a more inclusive and progressive understanding of the relationships between technology, society, and gender. We should celebrate the achievements of both men and women in harnessing the power of electricity and other forms of technology, and work together to create a more equitable and sustainable future.

The first chapter presents an absorbing plot that immediately grabs the reader's attention. However, the second chapter turns out to be somewhat predictable, which lessens the initial excitement. One aspect that I find quite confusing is the use of multiple narrators. In the third chapter, a pyramid scheme is described, and it seems to be told by Marlowe to Powell.

By Chapter 4, the narrators become even more muddled. The Fynes tell the story to Marlowe, who then relays it to Powell or someone else, providing all the details and the characters' gestures as if he were an eyewitness. After this point, I lose track of to whom Marlowe is telling the story and who the narrator actually is, so I decide to disregard the issue. It seems that only an omniscient narrator could provide the details of an intimate affair between two people.

I was constantly intrigued by the mystery of who is narrating, and there were several surprises along the way. Just when I thought Marlowe was talking to Powell, I discovered that he was actually talking about Powell to someone else, but who that is remains a mystery. There have been scholarly papers written on this issue, but this novel is not engaging enough for me to delve deeper into it. As a Conrad reader, this novel, which was his most successful during his lifetime, is not one of my favorites among the dozen or so that I have read by him. Now, as I approach the conclusion, I once again encounter a somewhat predictable outcome regarding one of the main characters, although I did not predict the entire ending.

Favorite quote: “It is difficult to retain the memory of the conflicts, miseries, temptations and crimes of men’s self-seeking existence when one is alone with the charming serenity of the unconscious nature.”

Emotional triangle exists among a ship captain, a young lady with a doomed fate, and the lady's imprisoned father. However, all of this becomes truly meaningful through Conrad's multiple narrators' method - this is the element with which Conrad added his own to make literature look like what we see in the 21st century. Because, first of all (and for the understanding of what follows - perhaps - we need to revive our high school math studies), there is the first narrator, whom we call "A" - he conveys the story to the reader. "A" meets a ship captain, Powell, who tells him (and through him to the reader) how he got on his first ship and how he met Captain Anthony there, as well as with his wife - we call Powell the "B" narrator. Then the "B" narrator discreetly steps back and hands over the place to an old acquaintance, Marlowe ("C" narrator), with whom the lovers of Conrad's novels have already met, and who also heard something about this Captain Anthony, only approaching his person from a different side - the conversation between "C" and "A" forms the core of the work from now on. (Let's add that "C" - who is of course also an ex-ship captain - mainly deals with "A" with second-hand information, that is, his narration is also full of "D", "E", "F", etc. narrators from whom he has picked up his story.)

And all of this results in truly rich prose, where "A" only holds the other narrators in check as a mere moderator**, and his character completely fades into the background behind the much more prominent "B" and "C" (not to mention the real main characters, Captain Anthony and his companions). The invaluable contribution of the method is that through it the writer renounces the power of omniscience - he only conveys more or less what he hears from others to the reader, and thus emphasizes the cosmic nature of the event: that he only has indirect and fragmented information about the passions of his heroes. And the only one who can put everything together (if he has the ability) is the reader.

I admit that the technique is still rather clumsy compared to the later Conrads, sometimes it is difficult to follow when we hear which narrator's voice, and indeed, in some of its elements, the book also seems overly verbose. Nevertheless, it was still pleasant to immerse oneself in it, perhaps because beyond the literary innovations, there is a fine, very fine atmosphere in it, which stems from the fact that here we hear the conversation between two people throughout. Consequently, beyond the fact that this novel is about obsession and vulnerability, and whether we are changeable, it is also a novel about the friendship between "A" and "C" beneath the surface, who talk and talk to each other over 480 pages - and those who don't get bored with this for so long must really like each other.

* The volume is also considered outstanding prose in terms of ship captain/square meter.

** The moderator role is necessary not only because Marlowe has a rather cranky opinion about the female sex (let's forgive him for this - I think the profession of ship captain, the long time spent on the sea, in male company can be the frequent cause, perhaps the cause of this attitude), so "A" is often forced to interfere.

**Review of Joseph Conrad's "Chance"**

Despite being familiar with Joseph Conrad for decades and having seen several movies based on his works, I had never read anything by him until now with "Chance". This 9th novel of his, first serialized in 1912 and published as a book in 1913, is a rather strange place to start.

The narrative structure is complex, with the main narrator recounting what his friend Marlow tells him, who in turn quotes others. It's like a web of in-depth gossip rather than a straightforward narrative. Marlow, a sailor, often propounds a somewhat misogynistic philosophy, which the first-person narrator sometimes scoffs at.

The story weaves through the experiences of various characters, including Flora de Barral, whose disappearance and the search for her form a central part of the plot. The collapse of her father's financial empire and the events surrounding it add another layer of complexity.

Conrad's use of language and his exploration of themes such as feminism, the nature of truth, and the relationship between men and women are thought-provoking. However, the lack of an omniscient perspective and the meandering nature of the narrative made it a bit difficult for me to fully engage with the story.

Overall, "Chance" is a challenging but rewarding read that offers a unique insight into Conrad's literary style and his exploration of the human psyche. It makes me eager to explore more of his works and see how they compare to this one.

Joseph Conrad truly outshines Henry James in this psychologically intricate novel that delves deep into a woman's arduous struggle to discover love.

Interestingly, James himself was of the opinion that the novel was twice as lengthy as it ought to have been. Conrad, however, takes a microscopic approach to exploring the motivations and personalities of every character. At times, he might seem to over-analyze, but this also results in a captivating narrative that uncovers the hidden motives of people and the intense struggle between solitude and love.

While some have griped about the happy ending, I, for one, found it entirely believable. It adds a touch of hope and closure to a story that otherwise delves into the complex and often tumultuous emotions of the human heart. Conrad's masterful storytelling and keen psychological insights make this novel a must-read for anyone interested in exploring the depths of human nature and the power of love.

The first thing that came to my mind after reading about fifty pages of Chance was that Conrad was constructing, consciously or not, a novella made of the same stuff as the Decameron, generously spread over four hundred pages and with a much more cynical treatment of the subject matter than Boccaccio, with whom it ultimately has only the central idea of fortune, of chance, in common. The idea seemed interesting to me: I have not explored much of Conrad other than Heart of Darkness, and such a radical and courageous change of course appeared to my eyes as an experiment worth reading.

Then, as I proceeded, some problems gradually emerged: the prose,尽管非常连贯，在某些情况下能够达到很高的文体高度，但在其他部分却以一种难以忍受的方式拉长了篇幅，有过多的细节和反思；马洛，这个故事和其他康拉德故事（当然包括《黑暗之心》，在那里他的角色对我们都知道的杰作的结构起到了作用）的叙述者，最终因为他的离题而让人厌烦，尤其是他对女性的评论（完全符合上下文，因为女性在文本的结构中占有很大的一部分）让人感到无聊，总是在笑和愤怒之间摇摆不定。

然而，这本书最有趣的部分仍然是叙事层面的嵌套：在整个故事中，叙事的基础事件是由马洛讲述给匿名叙述者（在虚构中，他写下了我们正在阅读的文字）的，马洛要么亲身经历过（很少），要么是从其他主角那里听说过（更经常）。我们从中得到一种迷宫般的感觉，故事不断地曲折，就像在镜子游戏中一样倍增并变得模糊不清，在马洛的解释（他不可避免地会主观地联想，即使是对他不确定的事情）和客观事实之间摇摆不定，而客观事实无论如何总是被叙述和过滤过的。可惜的是，叙事结构仍然是非常维多利亚时代的，正如我已经说过的，它交替出现令人厌烦的时刻和引人入胜的部分。

作为一个整体印象，这是一本相当无聊的书，没有十五年前另一个康拉德的那种伟大的闪光点：虽然有很多疑虑，但还是值得一读的：因为叙事结构的勇气和对所选主题的处理投入，首先是对纯粹偶然、人类生活中盲目命运的支配。

\\n  Does Marlow need a makeover?\\n

One of those books that more and more often - perhaps due to age with its joys and sorrows (experience and patience; amnesia and fleeting thoughts) - has required decantation and assimilation. Strangely, because never as in these "my" times would I need the hit-and-run, given the piles of books that I will never be able to evade.
But Conrad is Conrad and the one who gave it to me, knowing how much I love the said author, is not a "passing" person.

Immediately a problem arose. Or rather, The Problem, which delayed my usual writing of impressions and sensations: Marlow, the man for all meridians that pass through the equator and surroundings, the "intrusive" narrator, becomes the absolute protagonist of this novel, a refined version and ante litteram of "Slave or Queen" (of the mythical Delly) that so passionated me at eleven years old, when the first hormonal molecules began to flow disoriented in my veins as a girl.
Well, now I'm old and I've seen so many stories pass under the neural connections that finding myself in front of this version, written by my second favorite writer, has disconcerted and disappointed me. And also offended me because of the blatant antifeminism.

I had met Marlow in 'Heart of Darkness' and in 'Lord Jim'. I hadn't missed the stench under the nose of the eurocentric full of himself and his superior culture dealing with the different and the unspeakable. Diversity and "Horror" that, thanks to his gray cells, will never touch him and that, unfortunately, survive and fascinate because of the failure of Western rationality generated by irrational extreme fringes, the various colonialisms of the civilized West, which can be marginalized: just take up the unbreakable reins of homo faber, emblem of the true progress of the chosen men. A gift that he, savansadir, has.
Like Conrad the author, a former navigator is usually never a protagonist, but a witness to the facts or the confidant of a person of interest in this case: a voice behind which Conrad hides out of modesty to say "I", as it seems to Levi? Or perhaps it is just someone who would like to be and is not, the one endowed with that touch of British cynicism and irony that he, Polish, does not have?

Well, maybe not the cynicism but the sexism surely unites them, as read a bit around. It seems that Conrad, as neurotic as he was, judged most of humanity, men and especially women (including the poor wife), as specialists in the irrelevant who don't care about the essence of things: something that cannot be felt.


And for once that he has a woman as a protagonist in his hands, Flora de Barral, he gives a description, through the mouth of Marlow and his informants, of a girl-phantom, indecipherable, sad yes but of a disproportionate pain to the events of which she is a collateral victim.
Unless the melancholic Flora is the true alter ego of Conrad who had his problems with depression, indeed.

Who are Conrad's chosen ones? Those who are able to live to the extreme, in good and in bad: "transcendent" beings who have an idea before which they kneel, as he said in Heart of Darkness. But a man (or a woman) like that, if it ever existed, could never tell or leave the author the freedom to give voice to their profound essence: revealing oneself for what they are but perhaps don't know they are is not due.
They must remain attached to the "they say" of Marlow himself or his confidants. The case, which has sustained the lives of these "exceptional" people, and which has made them meet their biographers, becomes an ordered narrative, the one that classifies myths in the songs of the bards.
And there is no doubt that Kurtz has become a myth through the mouth of Marlow.
But what does Flora have to do with Kurtz and Jim?
The concatenations of the case have determined that she found herself in a whirlpool of misfortunes but the opportunity to break free and end up in a nice "we love you" she had at least two hundred pages before the end word, sealed by the "philosophical" sayings of the usual Marlow.

"The Case", more than the crowning of the happy work of a giant, is the summary of the previous installments: a Marlow who finally takes the stage, who gives free rein to all his elucubrations on life left adrift by the case, who says and doesn't say about Flora and her comrades and who makes the stories of his informants also sibylline. A Marlow who in the end also gets rid of that poor anonymous narrator who doesn't speak and who hangs from his lips stenographing what he tells him to then tell it to us in turn (a complex system of narrators, a matryoshka) and becomes the one who knows everything, the witness who is there without being there, giving us a happy ending: the bad who succumb as victims of their own malice and the good who crown their love stories. That the woman is always the same should not scandalize us. The author has provided to make her a widow and allow Marlow to pretend to be the best man too. A man for all latitudes, I've already said it.
A novel of appendix but of luxury.
I'm sorry, but only three stars.