An Outpost of Progress
"An Outpost of Progress" is a short story written in July 1896 by Joseph Conrad, drawing on his own experience at Congo. It was published in the magazine Cosmopolis in 1897 and was later collected in Tales of Unrest in 1898. Often compared with Heart of Darkness, Conrad considered it his best tale, owing to its 'scrupulousness of tone' and 'severity of discipline'.

Plot summary
The story revolves around two European agents, named Kayerts and Carlier, who are assigned to a trading post in a remote part of the African Jungle. There they take part in ivory trading, hoping to financially benefit the company as well as themselves. With no specific tasks or important things to be done, they both become increasingly isolated and demoralized as the time goes by. At one point in the story, the native Makola, serving as Kayerts's and Carlier's bookkeeper, initiates an exchange of slaves for ivory. Initially Kayerts and Carlier are stunned and scandalized by the idea, yet eventually they accept the deal and aid Makola for its huge profit. Both men are continuously plagued by diseases and grow very weak physically towards the end of the story. Finally, seemingly trivial matter - sugar - sparks an irrational, uncontrolled and violent conflict between them, and ends tragically as Kayerts accidentally shoots and kills Carlier. At the end of the story, just when the company steamboat approaches the station after half a year of isolation, Kayerts hangs himself out of desperation

Analysis
The story can also be read at a symbolic level. It focuses on the colonial situation in Africa towards the end of the nineteenth century and challenges readers to examine the ethical questions raised by the policy of colonialism. From the very beginning it becomes clear that the title Outpost of Progress is ironic, for the two white men are lazy and incompetent. The theme of incompetence, destructiveness and cruelty of colonialism is developed as a story of progresses. The gradual physical and moral deterioration of the two colonial administrators, leading to their death, can be interpreted as a reflection of the general state of colonialism

Characters
Kayerts and Carlier
With Kayerts and Carlier clearly carved out as the two main
characters of the story in the opening sentence (‘There were
two white men’) the reader may well ask how convincingly
‘real’ these two figures become in the course of the story, or
– in literary terms – do they acquire the qualities attributed
to ‘round characters’ such as development, diversification
and individuality. It may be argued that Conrad himself
had conceived them in order to exemplify his ideas on the
role of society (‘the crowd’) and how it determines people’s
mind and actions: ‘Society, not from any tenderness, but
because of its strange needs, had taken care of those two men,
forbidding them all independent thought, all initiative, all
departure from routine; and forbidding it under pain of death.
They could only live on condition of being machines’ (p. 14,
ll. 5–9). In denying both men any mental independence
the author reduces them to machines, to lifelong prisoners,
mere simulacra of human beings, devoid of any genuine
feelings. [This gloomy view of human nature was not
untypical of the time; teachers could compare Conrad’s
views to those of H. G. Wells, as similar views are expressed
in The War of the Worlds (1898), Berlin: Cornelsen; Best.-
Nr. 50297; cf. pp. 166–167.]
It is therefore interesting to trace the process of their
spiritual (de-)formation. Just as Flaubert, who Conrad
greatly admired (indeed, traces of Flaubert’s Buvard et
Pecuchet can be found in Conrad’s short story), has his
Emma Bovary read sentimental novels that she eventually
comes to confuse with reality, so Kayerts and Carlier are
moved to tears or ‘scandalized’ by literary creations of
imaginary worlds, whereas their own involvement in the
slave trade does not seem to bother them either morally or
emotionally. The only sentiment (apart from mortal fear at
the end) they are capable of is not a genuine one: ‘And in
time they came to feel something resembling affection for one
another’ (p. 15, ll. 41–42).
Besides fiction, their reading list comprises old
newspaper articles like the one on ‘Our Colonial Expansion’,
which immediately causes the two eager readers to project
their own ‘important’ roles in a futuristic scene of a booming
town: ‘chaps will read that two good fellows, Kayerts and
Carlier, were the first civilized men to live in this very spot!’
(p. 18, ll. 7–8). Obviously Conrad is aiming at similar
celebrations of imperialist fervour in the British press, and
by making Kayerts and Carlier easy prey to this ideology
and questioning their ‘civilizing mission’, they become the
vehicles for his satirical criticism of colonialism.
How much individuality does each of the two characters
really possess? At the beginning they can hardly be
distinguished from one another, walking arm in arm,
assenting to the other’s arguments (p. 12, ll. 35 ff.). They
are mostly addressed as ‘they’ or ‘the two men’ or by the
director of the company as ‘those two imbeciles’ (p. 11, l. 55).
Even when their criminal deal becomes obvious they are
united as tacit accomplices in the crime. However, each has
his own history of failure (in the military and in
administration respectively) and his own sad reasons for
becoming engaged in the colonial enterprise – both not
untypical of careers in colonial services (cf. TM, pp. 14–
15). The fact that Kayerts is the one in charge of the outpost
and Carlier his assistant does not impinge on their loyal
friendship, born out of loneliness and total dependence on
each other. The change which gradually affects their
physical and mental condition affects them both
simultaneously: ‘an inarticulate feeling that something from
within them was gone, something that had worked for their
safety, and had kept the wilderness from interfering with their
hearts’ (p. 28, ll. 28–30). In the final scenes, however, the
point of view is entirely limited to Kayerts. Even before
Carlier’s death we watch and listen to the ongoing events
with Kayert’s senses (p. 32, ll. 8 ff.). Still, the two figures
may justly be called ‘two sides of the same coin’, mirroring
each other in their distorted, exaggerated features.
Whatever differences there are between the two, they
are only of degree, Kayerts being the more submissive and
loyal, but also the more anxious of the two, whereas Carlier
has less scruples about their slave deal and is ready to make
profits at any cost. He is the one who openly rebels against
his superior, insults him and starts the row that will cost
him his life.
In the end, however, Kayerts’ portrait gains a new moral
dimension in the face of his companion’s death when some
new wisdom dawns upon him, revealing to him his true
nature as ‘a believer in a lot of nonsense like the rest of mankind’
(p. 35, l. 45). His suicide is only consistent with this insight
into his true role in the deadly game: ‘a man who, waking
from a trance, finds himself immured forever in a tomb’ (p. 35,
ll. 62–63).

Makola
Makola is a much more complex and controversial figure.
As the one in charge of the storehouse and its native staff he
is the efficient agent of the colonial enterprise and proves to
be better at his job than the two Europeans, because of his
excellent skills in bookkeeping, writing (‘a beautiful hand’)
and his fluency in several languages – skills that were
essential if the colonial enterprise was to be a success.
What is more, he is an expert in colonial doublespeak,
twisting and giving away only so much information to
Kayerts and Carlier as to keep them satisfied with the
results of the trade. ‘No regular trade … They brought the
ivory and gave it to me. I told them to take what they most
wanted in the station […] No station can show such tusks.
Those traders wanted carriers badly, and our own men were no
good here. No trade, no entry in books, all correct.’ (p. 25,
ll. 51–55).
His dual identity becomes manifest in his two names:
Henry Price, by his own preference, focussing on the
quality that most determines his existence, and the other,
Makola, indicating his participation in native African
culture. With the operational rules of both cultural systems
at his disposal, he becomes the ideal cross-cultural
negotiator, ruthlessly exploiting both systems for his own
benefit, but also alienated from both. When the narrator
calls him ‘a civilized nigger’ (p. 24, l. 27), he seemingly
relates Makola’s cleanliness (as opposed to the Europeans’
untidiness, p. 10, ll. 13–16) to the civilizatory achievements
of Western culture, but within the larger context being
‘civilized’ only refers to the thin layer of superficial and
hypocritical behaviour which lacks deeper moral values or
insight.
Makola’s adherence to African culture is restricted to the
‘worship of evil spirits’ (p. 10, l. 1) that might even encompass
human sacrifices. ‘Perhaps he had propitigated him [the Evil
Spirit] by a promise of more white men to play with’ (p. 10,
ll. 27–28). Here, African culture is clearly associated with
primitive savagery and superstition. Yet Makola’s family life
(p. 26, ll. 19–22) seems to point towards the deeper quality
of African civilization.
Whether Makola’s corrupt and amoral behaviour of
trading the members of other African tribes as slaves can be
mainly attributed to his African primitivism and savagery
or to the corrupting influence of European imperialism will
be discussed in the wider context of Conrad’s concept of
civilization.

Narrative structure
Two parts of uneven length form this complex short story
– one of the most complex in the anthology – each
beginning with a similar lead-in, establishing a detached
omniscient point of view on a scene that appears like a long
static camera shot zooming in on the protagonists: Part 1
‘There were two white men …’ (p. 9, l. 1) and Part 2 ‘There
were ten station men …’ (p. 22, l. 10). Such parallel
constructions are obviously Conrad’s concession to his
publisher’s demand for serialization: the short story
appeared in the June and July editions of Cosmopolis, as it
was far too long for one edition. In one of his letters, he
complains about the effect that this serial division would
have on ‘the unity of effect’:
I told the unspeakable idiots that the thing halved would
be as ineffective as a dead scorpion. There will be a part
without a sting – and the part with a sting – and being
separated they will both be harmless and disgusting.
(Frederick R. Karl and Laurence Davies [ed.], Collected
Letters of Joseph Conrad, Cambridge, 1988)
Indeed, apart from introductory descriptions of the setting
and the characters and some ironic reflections on
civilization, Part I contains only the preliminaries of a plot
outline with rising tension that begin with: ‘Then, one
morning […] a knot of armed men came out of the forest’
(p. 19, ll. 58–60). Further elements of suspense are
achieved through the outward appearance of the strangers,
their mysterious language and obscure doings, and Part I
ends on a note of impending disaster: ‘Keep all our men
together in case of some trouble’ (p. 22, ll. 8–9).
The beginning of Part II (‘There were ten station men’)
recalls the unemotional detachment of the first line of
Part I, followed by a kind of anthropological description of
these men. The story takes on momentum when the dark
secrets of trading ivory for human beings are gradually
revealed, until it dawns upon Carlier and Kayerts that, by
tacit complicity, they have possibly become involved in a
terrible crime. The catastrophe and dramatic climax is
reserved for the very last pages as a kind of proof of the
theory developed earlier in the text that men are reduced to
their brute animal natures, to complete insignificance, once
the ‘high organization of civilized crowds’ (p. 12, l. 18) ‘the
courage, the composure, the confidence; the emotions and
principles’ (ll. 21–22) are withdrawn from them.
The whole story covers a period of more than eight
months (p. 30, ll. 12–13), with the events of the last day
and night taking about one fourth of the whole. From a
consistently omniscient point of view the unfolding events
are viewed with a shifting focus: on the one hand, a
detached, rather factual picture (from the outside) of the
people and their proceedings at the outpost, often
interspersed with satirical comments or comparisons by
the author: ‘And now, dull as they were to the subtle influences
of surroundings, they felt themselves very much alone, when
suddenly left unassisted to face the wilderness’ (p. 12, ll. 12–
14). On the other hand, we move inside a character’s mind:
‘The idea that he would, perhaps, have to bury Carlier and
remain alone, gave him an inward shiver. He felt suddenly that
this Carlier was more precious to him here, in the centre of
Africa, than a brother could be anywhere else’ (p. 13, ll. 48–
51). Only a few lines on, the same thoughts are being
formed in Carlier’s mind: ‘That poor Kayerts; he is so fat and
unhealthy. It would be awful if I had to bury him here. He is a
man I respect.’ (ll. 57–58). Another example of moving into
somebody’s mind would be Gobila (p. 18, ll. 28–36).

Language and Imagery
A variety of alternating modes of expression characterize
the language of ‘An Outpost of Progress’ without
endangering the unity of the story, for example:
– Descriptive passages which aim at detached objectivity
(like the first presentation of the outpost, p. 10,
ll. 7 ff.).
– Philosophical and speculative passages on the nature of
society and civilization (p. 12, ll. 19–34).
When characterizing the two Europeans, Conrad uses
irony to reveal the hollowness of their speech and thoughts
and the ineffectuality of their action. This is evident in:
– Dialogue: ‘in a hundred years, there will be perhaps a town
here […] Civilization, my boy, and virtue – and all’ (p. 18,
ll. 4–6). The irony is the fact that the reader knows that
these two men will not be the instruments to bring that
form of civilization to the jungle.
On p. 23, ll. 38 ff. Kayerts allows his observation and
questioning about the burning villages to be subverted
by Makola’s conversation about ivory, thereby exposing
Kayerts’s banality of thought and stupidity of behaviour
by ignoring the approaching threat in favour of
considering profits (which shows he is trying to fit into
the imperial mindset of making profits).
– Indirect speech: Carlier ‘talked about the necessity of
exterminating all the niggers before the country could be
made habitable’ (p. 29, ll. 52–54). Here the racist imperial
rhetoric brings to light the ineffectuality of the two
men.
– Direct characterization: ‘The two men understood nothing,
cared for nothing’ (p. 16, l. 34)
As the whole story is a satirical representation of the
ineffectiveness of the European imperial project, much
emphasis should be laid on Conrad’s methods of
characterization.
Examples of figurative language can be found in the use
of:
– Contrast: ‘the eloquent silence of mute greatness’ of the
forests (p. 16, ll. 33–34).
– Onomatopoeia: ‘yells that resembled snatches of songs from
a madhouse darted shrill and high in discordant jets of
sound’ (p. 21, ll. 56–57).
– Similes and metaphors: ‘a shriek […] pierced like a sharp
dart the white shroud of that land of sorrow’ (p. 35,
ll. 65–66).
Noticeably much of the figurative language is used to
describe the unknowable ‘other’, i.e. the alien landscape
and the people.
There is one very important symbol that should not be
overlooked: the cross on the grave is a powerful symbol
which effectively structures the meaning of the story by
marking off its beginning and its end. At first the cross
which is ‘much out of the perpendicular’ is indicative of the
outpost’s decay and failure (p. 10, ll. 16-25) and it
foreshadows a similar fate for the new inhabitants (cf. p. 20,
l. 26). When Carlier replants the cross firmly, upright and
properly (p. 18, ll. 10–15), he does so to re-establish order
and to define their place in the ‘civilizing’, yet doomed,
process. Kayerts’s suicide by hanging himself from the very
arm that Carlier had hung from to check its strength
reinforces the idea that Europeans will not be able to fulfill
their mission, and yet by his swollen tongue sticking out at
his Director, Kayerts is made to show the foolishness of the
imperial project; the tongue indicates both insubordination
and silence.
Another recurring motif is that of fever: Makola readily
offers to disguise Carlier’s killing as fever (p. 34, ll. 21–23),
casting doubts on the death of the first chief who ‘Makola
had watched … die of fever’ (p. 10, ll. 23–24). Makola also
says Kayerts may die of fever when the latter threatens to
have him dismissed (p. 25, ll. 62–67). On the other hand,
fever also becomes cause and source of affection: ‘Now and
then one of them had a bout of fever, and the other nursed him
with gentle devotion’ (p. 19, ll. 49–50).

 
The Dead

"The Dead" is the final short story in the 1914 collection Dubliners by James Joyce. It is the longest story in the collection and widely considered to be one of the greatest short stories in the English language. At 15,672 words it has also been considered a novella.

It was made into a movie in 1987, directed by John Huston, and into a musical in 1999 by Richard Nelson and Shaun Davey. Christopher Walken starred in the original production.

Characters
Gabriel Conroy - The main character of the story.
Kate Morkan and Julia Morkan - Sisters who throw a party during Christmas time.
Mary Jane Morkan - niece of Kate and Julia Morkan
Lily - Maid, insulted by Gabriel Conroy when he asks about her love life.
Gretta Conroy - Gabriel's wife.
Molly Ivors - Colleague, very patriotic about Ireland.
Mr. Browne - Another man at the party
Freddy Malins - A drunk and friend of Gabriel.
Bartell D'Arcy - A famous tenor.
Michael Furey - Although this character is only alluded to by Gretta as a boy from her youth, he is nonetheless vital to the climactic epiphany of the work. He is dead when the story takes place.
Gabriel Conroy, Gretta Conroy, Kate and Julia Morkan, and Bartell d'Arcy are all alluded to in James Joyce's later work, Ulysses, though no character from "The Dead" makes a direct appearance in the novel.

Plot summary
The story centers on Gabriel Conroy on the night of the Morkan sisters' annual dance and dinner in the first week of January, 1904, perhaps the Feast of the Epiphany (January 6). Typical of the stories in Dubliners, "The Dead" develops toward a moment of painful self-awareness; Joyce described this as an epiphany. The narrative generally concentrates on Gabriel's insecurities, his social awkwardness, and the defensive way he copes with his discomfort. The story culminates at the point when Gabriel discovers that, through years of marriage, there was much he never knew of his wife's past.

Upon arriving at the party with his wife, Gabriel makes an unfunny joke about the maid's marriage prospects, after which he fidgets, adjusts his clothing, and offers her money as a holiday present. Not long after that, he gets flustered again when his wife pokes fun at him over a conversation they had earlier, in which he had suggested she buy a pair of galoshes for the bad weather. With such episodes, Gabriel is depicted as particularly pathetic. Similarly, Gabriel is unsure about quoting a poem from the poet Robert Browning when he is giving his dinner address, as he is afraid to be seen as pretentious. But at the same time, Gabriel considers himself above the others when he considers that the audience would not understand the words he uses.

Later in the evening, when giving the traditional holiday toast in front of the guests, Gabriel overcompensates for some of his earlier statements to his evening dancing partner Miss Ivors, who is an Irish nationalist. His talk relies heavily on conventions, and he praises the virtues of the Irish people and idealizes the past in a way that feels contrived and disingenuous (especially considering what the past will mean to him once he hears his wife's story).

When preparing to leave the party, Gabriel sees his wife, Gretta, on the stairs, absorbed in thought. He stares at her for a moment before he recognizes her as his wife. He then imagines her as the model in a painting called "Distant Music". Her distracted, wistful mood arouses sexual interest in him. He tries indirectly to confront her about it after the party in the hotel room he has reserved for them, but he finds her unresponsive. Trying to make ironic, half-suggestive comments to his wife, Gabriel learns that she was feeling nostalgic after having heard Mr. D'Arcy singing The Lass of Aughrim at the party.

Upon being pressed further, Gretta tells Gabriel that the song had reminded her of the time when she was a young girl in Galway, when she had been in love with a young boy named Michael Furey. At the time, Gretta was being kept at her grandmother's home before she was to be sent off to a convent in Dublin. Michael, being terribly sick, was ordered to remain bedridden and was unable to see her. Despite being sick, when it came time for her to leave Galway, Michael traveled through the rain to Gretta's window, and although he got to speak with her again, he ended up dying within the week.

The remainder of the text delves into Gabriel's thoughts after he hears this story, exploring his shifting views on himself, his wife, the past, on the living and the dead. It is ambiguous whether the epiphany is just an artistic and emotional moment or whether Gabriel will ever manage to escape his smallness and insecurity.

In the film version of the story, this final passage which delves heavily into Gabriel's thoughts is the only voice-over narration present in the work.