مرحبا زملاء جميعا . . وانا عم اتصفح بهالمواقع لقيت تحليل لرواية قلب الظلام . . بصراحة عجبني كتير . . وحبيت نزلو هون . .
اذا حدا عندو اي شي ممكن يفيدنا بالمادة فيا ريت ما يبخل علينا و خلونا كلنا نتساعد بهي المادة و بباقي المواد . .
متل ما بتعرفو , الرواية , أو "القصة القصيرة الطويلة جدا" 
مؤلفة من 3 فصول , والموقع محلل كل فصل لحال, وهو كالتالي :
Analysis of part 1:
A logical way to begin analyzing the tale is by applying the title to the novel. "Darkness" is a problematic word with several meanings. It is initially mentioned in the context of maps, where places of darkness have been colored in once they have been explored and settled by colonists. The map is an important symbol. It is a guide, a record of exploration. The incomplete map has a dual purpose in that maps unlock mysteries, on the one hand, by laying out the geography of unknown lands for new visitors, and on the other hand, by creating new mystery and inspiring new curiosity about the lands listed as unknown, in addition to new questions about what is only partly known. The river is another important symbol, perhaps our first symbol of the “heart,” which is itself a symbol of the human spirit. Always moving, not very predictable, the gateway to a wider world, it is an excellent metaphor for Marlow's trajectory. Marlow says that as a child he had a "passion" for maps, for the "glories of exploration." Although this description seems positive, it also sounds ominous. Marlow's tone is of one who recalls childhood notions with bitterness and regret.
The cause of this regret is evident in the first description of Marlow. His sallow skin and sunken cheeks do not portray him as healthy or happy. He has had the chance to explore, but apparently the experience has ruined him. This is Conrad's way of arranging the overall structure of the novella. The audience understands that this is to be a recollection, a tale that will account for Marlow's presently shaky, impenetrable state. The author is also presupposing knowledge of colonialism. The bitterness of Marlow's recollection suggests Conrad's strong bias against colonialism, which he seems to be imparting to the reader by expressing Marlow’s difficulties.
The imagery of light and dark clearly corresponds to the tension already evident between civilization and savagery. The Thames River is called a "gateway to civilization" because it leads to and from the civilized city of London. It is important to note that the city is always described in stark contrast with its dark surroundings, which are so amorphous as to be either water or land.
The vivid language of maps becomes more interesting when we consider that the word “darkness” retains its traditional meaning of evil and dread. The fact that Marlow applies the concept of darkness to conquered territories may indicate Conrad’s negative view of colonialism. We read clearly that colonists are only exploiting the weakness of others. Their spreading over the world is no nobler than violence and thievery. On the map, places that are blank and devoid of outside interference are apparently the most desirable for certain people.
Darkness has another meaning that retains deep resonance—a color of skin. Much of this chapter describes Marlow's first encounters with and observations of the natives of the African Congo. The darkness of their skin is always mentioned. At first glance, Marlow describes them as "mostly black and naked, moving about like ants." While in the shade, "dark things" seem to stir feebly. There is absolutely no differentiation between dark animals and dark people. Even the rags worn by the native people are described as tails. "Black shapes" crouch on the ground, and "creatures" walk on all fours to get a drink from the river. They are called shadows: reflections of humans, not substantial enough to be real. Marlow observes the piece of white string on a young man, and he is taken aback by how much the whiteness stands out against the darkness, thinking about the string's probable European origin. He cannot seem to conceive of mixing black and white. Conrad portrays Marlow’s experience of otherness to such an extreme, and with such literary care, that it is hard to see Conrad simply expressing his own experience through Marlow, although Conrad likely was well aware of his own and others’ impressions of such places and did have a choice in how to present them. Writing through Marlow’s experience is a choice that leads us to look through Marlow’s eyes at the darkness he sees.
It is not accidental that Marlow is the only person on the Thames boat who is named. He is a complex character while, even in England, the others are presented not so much as individuals as with titles that name their occupations. Marlow is distinct from them as well; he belongs to no category. He is a man "who does not represent his class" because he crosses boundaries. His reaction to the African natives may not be sensitive by modern standards, but he is more engaged than the other officers at the stations. The Chief Accountant dismisses the cries of a dying black man as merely irritating. Marlow's gesture of offering a biscuit to the young boy with the white string appears to be somewhat considerate. But it also seems condescending, which seems to be more of a character trait than a racist tendency. Marlow can think of nothing else to do as he looks into the boy's vacant eyes. Marlow means well, and despite his individual character he is partly a product of his society.
Immediately following the encounter with the young boy, he meets the Chief Accountant, who is perfectly attired with collar, cuffs, jacket, and all the rest. He refers to him as "amazing" and a "miracle." We observe at this moment the distinctions between savagery and civilization as perceived by Marlow. The diction demonstrates a type of hero worship for this man. His starched collars and cuffs are achievements of character, and Marlow respects him on this basis. It is far too early for readers to think we understand what Marlow is all about.
Beyond Marlow’s distinction of savagery and civilization, we have a window into Conrad’s distinction when we consider his presentation of colonialism through Marlow and the colonists. The bitter irony here is that those who look the most civilized are actually the most savage. Indeed, the institution of colonialism is referred to as a "flabby, pretending, weak-eyed devil." Everything it touches turns sour: the station is an administrative nightmare, and decaying machinery lies everywhere. Marlow takes this situation, however, as indicative of a poor work ethic, which he despises. For this reason he is drawn to the blustering accountant, who is a hard worker if nothing else. Marlow, in his own bumbling way, does occasionally try to relate to the natives.
The sense of time throughout the chapter is highly controlled. Conrad purposely glides over certain events while he examines others in minute detail. He does this in order to build suspicion about the place to which Marlow has committed himself. Notice that he painstakingly describes precursor events such as the doctor's visit and all conversations that involve the unseen character Kurtz. Thus begins Marlow's consuming obsession with this man.
So far, Marlow’s interest in Kurtz is more or less inactive and does not inspire fear. Perfectly placed leading questions such as the one about a history of family insanity have the desired effect, however, of alerting readers to a rather fishy situation. That Marlow ignores all of these warnings creates some dramatic irony; it will take him longer to arrive at conclusions that the reader has already reached.
It also is important to recognize that Marlow is telling a story. His recollections have a hazy, dreamy quality. The narrative is thus an examination of human spirit through his perspective, which is quite subjective. Thus, we should question how trustworthy the narrative speakers are. This situation puts even more distance between Conrad’s perspective and the perspective taken by characters in the story. The outside narrator only refers to what Marlow says and does; all others are ignored, and we understand their perspective only through Marlow’s account of what they say and do. Marlow selects the facts (even though Conrad ultimately selects them). Readers interested in this topic should consider in particular Marlow's perception of the African environment, which develops into the novella’s larger themes.
So far as Kurtz is concerned, there has been incomplete communication. Marlow and the reader know him, but not much, yet. He seems sinister; people discuss him in a hushed manner, making sure to praise him. The fact that nobody has anything negative to say about him is suspicious, suggesting that they are all terribly anxious to stay on his good side. The portrait of the blind woman holding a torch, in the first agent's room, suggests the failing of Kurtz: perhaps he has blindly traveled into a situation and has become absorbed in it, much as the woman is absorbed into the darkness of the painting (despite the torch, she is painted in insufficient light). This preemptive warning is useful to keep in mind as we consider subsequent chapters.
Analysis of part 2:
Even in this chaotic jungle, there exists a twisted sense of morality. As the Manager and his uncle discuss Kurtz, they are willing to do anything that will get him or his assistant the Russian hanged, so that the trading field might be leveled to their advantage. They can consider this plan because "anything can be done in this country." They both still retain a sense of law, but the most base components of their personalities control their intentions. For them, the civilized law of the European continent has been discarded in favor of vigilante justice.
The revealing of these men’s predatory nature points to the theme of inchoate savagery. Conrad suggests that there are integral connections among mind, body, and nature, which underlies the issue here: the lines between the civilized and the savage are blurred. The two men propose a very savage solution to a seemingly civilized problem of economic competition.
The Congo has a metamorphic effect on the Europeans, at least in mind and perhaps also in body. Marlow sees the evil uncle "extend his short flipper of an arm for a gesture ... that seemed to beckon with a dishonouring flourish before the sunlit face of the land a treacherous appeal to the lurking death, to the hidden evil, to the profound darkness of its heart." This is one of the few instances in which a white man is animalized in this novella. The land is a living entity, one which has the potential to create evil, or to merge man back into nature.
The proprieties observed by the Manager are all completely fake. Marlows takes this as an illustration of his hollowness. One of Marlow's more personally distressing thoughts is his realization that the "monstrous" tendencies of the black "cannibals" are not inhuman tendencies, after all; the white men possess them in a different form. The African land serves to equalize persons in that what often matters most are wit and determination (although firearms and safety in numbers are important, too).
While traveling, Marlow becomes somewhat delusional. River travel brings back the past—enlarging and distorting it until it becomes an uncontrollable paranoia that he is being watched. The telling of the tale takes on the tone of an epic quest that is larger than life. There is pregnant silence and a failing of the senses. Marlow appears to be traveling deeply into his own mind. His fanatic interest in the proper working of things is evident when he states that scraping a ship on the river bottom is "sinful." The religious language, which in another context might be humorous, demonstrates Marlow’s mounting panic. This paranoia in turn diminishes his sense of reality, leaving him searching for a sense of truth and stability—making him even less reliable and even more distinct from Conrad’s own perspective. Marlow’s transformation in part helps to explain his obsession with Kurtz. Behind the myth of this mysterious figure there is a real, substantial person. Kurtz is the bogeyman of the area and, most logically, the one on whom it is easy for Marlow to fixate.
The inferiority of the natives is a constant theme. About the fireman on his ship, Marlow remarks "he was there below me ... to look at him was as edifying as seeing a dog in a parody of breeches." The lower physical position of the body corresponds to a mental and social state. The narrator participates in believing what he describes is the inherent inferiority of the blacks. In all possible aspects they appear subservient to the white men, and even seeing them wear pants amounts to no more than a warped joke. The one time that a native actually speaks is when the ship approaches the brush, right before the attack, and all he has to say is that any prisoners should be given to the crew as a meal. The narrator cannot understand why the white men were not eaten. He cannot credit the blacks with intelligence beyond instinct. During the battle, one native is shot, with Marlow and the Manager watching: "I declare it looked as though he would presently put to us some question in an understandable language, but he died without uttering a sound." For him there is no comprehension of the blacks he encounters. They are always evaluated and silenced, it seems, before they can speak. Nevertheless, Marlow does feel a real kinship to his "savage" crew, which places him above other whites in the narrative. Even here, though, he has shortcomings—his appreciation of the helmsman after he has died, for instance, seems more machine-like than humane.
The figure of Kurtz grows more enigmatic in this chapter, and we return to the theme of voices and communication. Communication fails when Marlow cannot decipher the book and when the note has an incomplete warning. Marlow's obsession with Kurtz has reached its height. Talking to him has become the entire reason for Marlow's passage through this jungle. The fact that authoritative, unpleasant figures, such as the Manager, dislike Kurtz makes the reader more receptive to him. Notice that Marlow and Kurtz are the only two characters in the entire story who are named. Everyone else is titled, detached, and therefore dehumanized. This is an effective means of drawing a relationship or some kind of comparison between the two characters before they even meet. As soon as Marlow believes that Kurtz is dead, his presence begins to dominate him more vividly—Marlow hears his voice, sees him in action. Kurtz is even stronger than death. The reason Kurtz affects Marlow so deeply is that he has turned his back on his roots and essentially become native. This demonstrates that there is much more to Marlow's personality than what appears. He is not the average European. The reader understands that we will a more accurate portrait of Marlow by examining his interactions with Kurtz.
Analysis of part 3:
Analysis
The Russian says it best: "I went a little farther ... till I had gone so far that I don't know how I'll ever get back." The Russian and Marlow are similar, both looking for epiphany and enlightenment. Kurtz is a possible source of this enlightenment, and he thus is the most powerful figure in the story, even though he does not appear until the end.
The author is setting forth a challenge: rather than directly describing Kurtz, he provides various clues that we must piece together in order to understand who Kurtz is. The first conversation that the Russian has with his mentor, about "everything" in life including love, points to a man who is sensitive and introspective. Kurtz speaks in civil and savage tongues. His eloquence is his forte because it disguises his darkness from people like the Russian. The woman back in Europe who mourns for him speaks of a generous heart, a noble mind, and greatness. The impressions of these two people, however, strongly contrast with the opinion of people such as the Manager, who says that Kurtz was unethically gathering ivory by inciting locals to violence.
Marlow must stand in for the reader's perspective. From what he sees and reports, the reader can infer that all such accounts are true. Yet Marlow does not see Kurtz as evil for his actions toward the natives because of his intentions. People such as the Manager truly care only about fulfilling an ivory quota and becoming wealthy. While Kurtz is certainly consumed with his search for ivory (his face and body are described in terms of this precious resource), Conrad does not provide any evidence that Kurtz is concerned with the material aspects of ivory: his house and existence are extremely simple, despite all of the ivory he has recovered. If money and fame were the only things important to him, he could have returned to England long ago. The Russian states that Kurtz "would lose himself among the people." The staked heads around his home demonstrate a lack of restraint "in the gratification of various lusts." They are necessary for a man with a great appetite. Apparently, the time in the African Congo has been a time of letting go for Kurtz, a time in which passions and appetites become unbridled, and in which the past no longer matters.
This is a type of traveler’s sickness. The image of Kurtz on his deathbed is of his opening his mouth wide, giving him a "voracious aspect" as if he wants to absorb and swallow everything. His need to plan and consume, however, has consumed his mind and spirit. It is a remarkable case of colonialism gone awry: "the wilderness had found him out early, and had taken on him a terrible vengeance for the fantastic invasion." Curiosity that leads to exploration can also lead, tragically, to a loss of self. Herein lies a sociopolitical message, a caution against trying to control something that is not originally a part of you, lest it control you. Expressing oneself in a new environment can mean the loss of one’s earlier self.
Marlow does not condemn Kurtz because he pities him, sympathizing with his tortured existence. The moment when Marlow stands between Kurtz and the horned, demonic-looking man is critical. This figure symbolizes the death and darkness of Kurtz, and he only turns away from complete desolation because Marlow is there to help him back. Despite the circumstances, however, there is an undercurrent of history that makes Kurtz's death seem karmic. The devotion shown to him by the natives illustrates an almost reciprocal relationship between them. While it is most likely that they help Kurtz without understanding the material benefits behind the ivory, it is clear that Kurtz enjoys being a part of them as much as they enjoy having him there. He is definitely the least biased character in the whole book, which speaks highly for him in the eyes of a modern reader. Unfortunately, he loses himself and detaches from everything earthly. Kurtz's soul has broken forbidden boundaries because it only concentrated on itself.
Kurtz dies painfully both because his obsessive tasks were not complete and because his soul has been sold. The "horror" he pronounces on his deathbed is a judgment on how he has lived his life. We can definitely see Kurtz's demise as a possible end for Marlow if he had not left the Congo. As it was, the wilderness was already creeping and merging into his psyche, and there was a moment when he could not tell the difference between a drum beat and his own heartbeat. He appears to have escaped in time.
Marlow's lie at the end of the story is both cruel and compassionate. While the woman is comforted, she will have to continue believing in an illusion. She will never know what Kurtz became. Marlow states that the truth is "too dark" to tell. But truly, his terrible decline is in vain if no one learns of it. And is the woman so weak that she cannot really hear the truth? Telling Kurtz’s tale is the point of Marlow's telling his story aboard the Thames ship. A river can lead to civilization—but it also leads to darkness.
اقرأوهن , اكيد رح تستفيدو كتير كتير منهن . . ورابط الموقع هو . .
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