LITR 5734: Colonial & Postcolonial Literature

Sample Student Midterm 2005

Kimberly Dru Pritchard

September 20, 2005

Language, Voice, and Layers of Colonialism:  A Dialogue

Between Joseph Conrad and Chinua Achebe

            Out of an era of traditional colonial theory and literature rises the divergent, cross-cultural concept of post-colonial studies.  Colonial literature focuses on traditional values and norms that view Third-World cultures as alien or “other.”  As a result, colonial writers viewed the inhabitants of these foreign lands as uneducated, uninspired, and most of all, unenlightened.  However, with the progression toward post-colonial thought, readers find refreshing elements of change, resolve, and newfound identity that transcend traditional thought and values. Moreover, post-colonial ideas provide a new direction for writers and readers to formulate and communicate their newly-formed identity and awareness.

In order to understand the basis of post-colonial thought, an appropriate definition must first be established.  The Johns Hopkins Guide to Literary Theory and Criticism provides the following explanation of post-colonialism. “The designation ‘postcolonial’ has been used to describe writing and reading practices grounded in colonial experience occurring outside of Europe but as a consequence of European expansion and exploitation of ‘other’ worlds.”  With this said, and given the widespread oppression and loss of national and personal identity suffered by the colonized, no wonder readers often find post-colonial authors reacting to the traditional model of literature with vehemence.

One certainly cannot fault the authors who respond in this manner considering their basic forfeiture of culture, voice, and identity by the colonizers. In a web article entitled “Who Am I?: Negotiation of Identity in a Post-Colonial State,” Heather Sofield points out that post-colonial literature “has focused on ‘desperate protest’ against injustices of the past, thereby characterizing identity as a retributive light.” Although the “retributive light” is unquestionably understandable and given the fact that much post-colonial writing was created as a direct reaction to colonialism, some authors have managed to move beyond the light of retribution and focus on a positive sense of identity. Critic Michael Dash states in his article “Marvelous Realism: The Way Out of Negritude” that Third World writers who dwell on the negative incidences of colonialism hinder a nation from recognizing its own power of survival and adaptation. The chosen path of the authors is as varied and diverse as the writers themselves, and this variance enables a narrative dialogue of sorts to emerge not only between post-colonial texts but between colonial and post-colonial texts as well.

Traditionally, texts are read independently of one another without much energy spent on how or if texts “talk” to one another. The substance of post-colonial thought allows the creation of a dialogue which results in a decidedly fresh and innovative perspective in the microcosm of critical theory.  Ultimately, the tension and resulting dialogue between colonial and post-colonial texts lies in the use and treatment of

language and voice and the notion that layers of colonialism will inevitably cloud the root of post-colonial thinking and its subsequent literature.

Two works to consider in this text dialogue analysis are traditional novelist Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and early post-colonial author Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart.  Achebe sets the tension between the two novels with his article, “An Image of Africa: Racism in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness.”  Achebe claims that “Heart of Darkness projects the image of Africa as ‘the other world,’ the antithesis of Europe and therefore of civilization” (252). Push aside all claims by the literary world that Conrad’s novella is stylistically one of the greatest works in traditional literature and the fact that Heart of Darkness is read as a basic text in literally hundreds of universities worldwide. Achebe bluntly states that “Joseph Conrad was a thoroughgoing racist” (256). Thus, the battle begins. 

Even with Achebe’s scathing remarks about Conrad, he does attempt to balance his biting critique when he says that Heart of Darkness “has its memorably good passages and moments,” and he tactfully admits that “its exploration of the minds of the European characters is often penetrating and full of insight” (258).  However Achebe interprets Conrad’s treatment of Africa, the fact remains that his reaction to Conrad’s novella develops the necessary tension between the two works and this in turn opens an intertextual dialogue for discussion and interpretation.           

  One important aspect of post-colonial thought and the resulting tension between the texts focuses on the mistreatment of the indigenous people and the silencing of their voice and language.  In Heart of Darkness, not only does Conrad silence the voice of the natives, he basically dismisses their humanity.  Conrad’s expert use of light and dark imagery leads the reader to believe that the indigenous people of the Congo are more akin to parts of the landscape than human beings.  For example, as Marlow “stepped into the gloomy circle of some Inferno…black shapes crouched, lay, sat between trees…clinging to the earth,” and “they were black shadows of disease and starvation lying confusedly in the greenish gloom” (20). Marlow’s ghastly discovery of the skeletal forms extends Achebe’s stance that Conrad is thoroughly racist.  The diseased and broken human forms are just another part of the landscape where the forest lies dormant and lifeless. The inhuman humans rest in the ravine broken and irreparable much like the broken pipes that lay discarded in the nearby crevasse.  Conrad dehumanizes the natives and dismisses them as less than any living creature. 

Conversely, Achebe’s goal is to reclaim the Africans’ status and identity that is lost in Conrad, and he does so with his careful characterization of the members of Ibo society in Things Fall Apart.  Furthermore, he fights to destroy the colonial myth that the people of Africa are “other” from the rest of the world.  Achebe states in an essay entitled “The Novelist as Teacher” that Africans “were not mindless but frequently had a philosophy of great depth and value and beauty.”  Achebe moves beyond Conrad’s barbaric portrayal of African natives in his characterization of Okonkwo, a man who “deserved his success…and that is why [he] had been chosen by the nine villages to carry a message of war to their enemies” (27). Okonkwo’s character stands in stark contrast to Conrad’s natives. Achebe gives Okonkwo a powerful, intelligent voice in his Ibo community that is representative of his people.  This character epitomizes the successful man, and he works desperately to hold that title thereby answering Conrad’s destructive portrayal of the indigenous people.

Furthermore, Achebe’s introduction of Ibo words into his narrative gives validity and voice to the Ibo language and culture. The words not only allow the reader to experience genuine African cultural moments, they also serve to contradict Conrad’s barbarous portrayal of the natives.  Achebe purposely does not overwhelm the reader with superfluous sentences or phrases in Ibo, yet this infiltration provides an authoritative voice of the Ibo people and stylistically demonstrates the beauty of the Ibo language. A word such as “agbala,” which means “woman,” is also interpreted by the Ibo as a derogatory term referring to a man without a title and, culturally, a disgrace among the villagers.  “Isa-ifi” is a ceremony that takes place when a husband and wife have been separated and are reunited (Glossary). With words such as these and their subsequent explanations in the glossary, Achebe provides cultural explanations that otherwise would be lost if the word appeared in the text in English.  Therefore, the voice of the Ibo people provides an avenue for the reader to explore African culture.  

Just as Achebe brings a beauty and eloquence to the indigenous voice, Conrad dismisses and silences the voice of the natives.  Conrad barely acknowledges the fact that the Congo inhabitants even have a language.  Bill Ashcroft points out in his article “The Empire Writes Back” that one of the main features of imperial oppression is control over language.  Therefore, not only do the colonizers control the language, they also dismiss

the indigenous language as a true form of communication. This is apparent throughout Heart of Darkness as Conrad describes the natives shouting “strings of amazing words that resembled no sounds of human language; and the deep murmurs of the crowd, interrupted suddenly, were like the responses of some satanic litany” (66). Obviously, when English colonists invaded Africa, they established English as the “real” or “true” language and dismissed tribal languages as not only insufficient but completely incoherent. 

Conrad finds no value in the language of the natives, and he thus silences their voice through a process of dehumanization.  Instead of allowing any recognizable language to emerge among the indigenous people, Conrad chooses silence to overrule any human qualities of language they may posses. When Marlow’s helmsman dies, Conrad permits the man only silence in his dying moments.  Marlow explains, “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” (47). The reader almost expects something intelligible to come forth from the dying man’s lips, but Conrad gives no dignity to the helmsman’s death, only an uneasy air of silence.

Of course Achebe’s answer to Conrad’s barbaric portrayal of the natives’ voice is to give the members of Ibo society a beautiful command of their language that is rhythmic and complex.  In a 2003 midterm, Dendy Farrar explains that Achebe grants the Ibo people a “specialized language full of proverbs, folk tales, and literary devices.”  Tales such as the “quarrel between the Earth and Sky…and how Sky withheld rain for

seven years,” or songs like “The rain is falling, the sun is shining/Alone Nnadi is cooking and eating” permeate the novel and bring vitality and intelligence to Conrad’s ignorant natives (53, 35).  Even though Conrad wrote and responded to the beliefs and values of his time, he would most assuredly gasp at Achebe’s civilized portrayal of African natives. 

 Conrad’s probable reaction adds even more fuel to Achebe’s fight to humanize the African people. However, it is important to note that no matter how unbiased and “real” post-colonial writing claims to be, undoubtedly, the post-colonial author will forever be rooted in the depths of colonialism. Thus, the dialogue between the two authors continues again through the issue of language and voice. Obviously, most post-colonial writers have chosen English as their means of communication to the world beyond the colonized nations.  In fact, in Achebe’s 1975 speech “The African Writer and the English Language”, he lauds the use of the English language when he says, “Is it right that a man should abandon his mother tongue for someone else’s?  It looks like a dreadful betrayal and produces a guilty feeling.  But for me there is no other choice.  I have been given the language and I intend to use it.”  In order to reach an international audience, Achebe, as do most African authors, chooses English to convey his native voice.

Post-colonial African poet Derek Walcott gives credence to Achebe’s remark as Walcott is a “man of many cultures, a polyglot of African, colonial and Caribbean traditions,” and he “became intoxicated with the English language as a boy, particularly Shakespeare” (web article, Boston Globe).  In his poem “A Far Cry From Africa,” Walcott demonstrates his empathy toward both the colonist and the colonizer, and he uses

the English language advantageously to express the difficulty of crossing between the cultures and finding and maintaining voice.  He even puts his thoughts into terms that the “white man” can understand when he says, “The drunken officer of British rule, how choose/ Between this Africa and the English tongue I love?/ Betray them both, or give back what they give?” (18). Unlike Joseph Conrad, Walcott draws the reader into the powerful conflict between the two cultures. Conrad has no voice for the natives in the Congo while Walcott expresses the unbending tension between the two cultures.

Critics argue, however, that writing in English somehow desecrates the literature and weakens its national appeal. In the web article “African English Poetry: Some Themes and Features,” one author states, “It is a historical irony that [English] serves the African writer in voicing his thoughts and feelings to the world at large.” However, authors such as Walcott and Achebe appear to transcend the boundaries of colonialism and the subsequent historical irony as they strive to bring their culture as well as their voices out of an era of subversion and into the world of diversity.

            Colonial authors created a literature that is indeed a snapshot of the times, a painting of life that depicts an era of racism and prejudice, of unrest and uprising, of ignorance and preconceived notions of nations “other” than our own.  As students of literature, can we fault these great writers who have somehow misconstrued the value of humanity or have silenced the voice of the colonized? The answer to this question is irrevocably “No.”  What we can surmise is that the literature of the colonists contains valid representations of a society riddled with uncertainty, oppression, and rebellion. As an answer to colonialism, post-colonial authors have brought a fresh awareness to the literary world that allows a tension and resulting dialogue to foster and ultimately bridge the gap between the two eras.  Furthermore, this textual dialogue incites the reader to look beyond the common analysis and seek the deeper and more intense implications that the intertextual play brings to the manuscripts.