The Secret Agent, Terrorism, and Dual Monologues

I finished Conrad's The Secret Agent last night, and I must confess to genuine disbelief that it was written by the same author as Heart of Darkness. Though both works of tremendous value, they are so disparate in their style and setting as to serve as true testament to Conrad's amazing life experience and his quality as an author. As such, I can recommend The Secret Agent both to those who loved and those who hated Heart of Darkness.

Of particular note in distinguishing the novels would be these two points: 1) The Secret Agent has a bit more plot. It is still not the focus of the book, remaining always in the background with pivotal events often described after the fact. Yet there is still a better sense of why things happen, what led from one thing to the next, and even occasionally a sense of dramatic tension. 2) The characters are much fuller. Conrad purposefully and exquisitely left the characters in Heart of Darkness with a great deal of mystery, Kurtz being the most obvious example of this. In The Secret Agent, we get a better sense of the history, the motivations, and the sensibilities of the characters. We get inside their heads. In fact, several of the characters are as well-crafted as some of Dickens' more memorable creations, quite a feat for an author trying to operate more on our intellect than our emotions (in contrast to Dickens).

Insofar as the book concerns revolutionary terrorism at the turn of the 20th Century, I was constantly reminded of Albert Camus' play, The Just Assassins. Much of the early conversation between Conrad's various revolutionaries could probably have occurred just as easily amongst Camus' characters, though of course colored by the distinctive philosophy of that author. What this really brought to mind, however, is just how much about terrorism has changed, and yet how little. The thing that seems to have changed most is merely the scale. The anarchists and socialists of the late 19th century were simply incapable of the sort of mass destruction which al-Qaeda or Hamas are capable of. They did not have the training, the organization, or the equipment. The other big change seems to be the targets. Instead of targeting government buildings or other property, or at most individual political leaders, today's terrorists purposefully target civilians. It seems they are also more likely to be foreigners operating in their enemy's territory, rather than homegrown discontents.

What has stayed the same is the purpose: to frighten the populace, to effect public opinion and public discourse in disproportion to their strength and support, to provoke a fierce but misguided response by the government. Sadly, it was all too easy to see universal themes of discontent and discord in Conrad's revolutionaries.

And yet it was by no means entirely a political novel. My favorite scene occurs late in the book, between one of the main characters and his wife. I will give no further details on what they discuss, as it would ruin the plot. Instead, I'll say that what I loved was just how oblivious they were to what was going on in each other's heads. Conrad does a tremendous job giving the reader the inner thoughts of each of them, and it is almost as if they were occuping wholly different dimensions. This got me thinking about just how many of our daily conversations must be this way. Perhaps all of them. If I had to give it a name, I'd call them "Dual Monologues." The two people think they are having a conversation, think they are communicating, but in reality they are miles apart in their thoughts, intentions, understandings. They have little or no knowledge of what is actually going on in the other person's head, and as such have little comprehension of what the conversation means to that person, how they are hearing what is being said, how they are meaning what they say. The conversation that Conrad presents is such an extreme example of this that it is impossible to miss the difficulty that must surely attach to all our personal interactions to some extent.

It is something I have and will continue to grapple with: recognizing that words do not always sound or mean the same to those who hear them as those who say them. This means being mindful of my own words, being careful that proper tones are taken, that jocularity is not taken as harshness, constructive criticism not taken as condemnation. It also means being a more mindful listener, looking to the motivations and the state of mind of the speaker, the undercurrents of the dialogue. It is a lifetime endeavor, but I think a worthwhile one.