The paperback cover of the 1983 Signet Classics edition of The Secret Agent that I read. (The Secret Agent was originally published in 1907.) |
Polish/British author Joseph Conrad, 1857-1924. He's probably thinking, "And how many classic novels have you written in your third language?" |
Joseph Conrad’s 1907 novel The Secret Agent is a classic work of political intrigue. As the
novel begins, it focuses on the hapless Adolf Verloc, a British citizen living
in London who is actually a secret agent for an unnamed foreign government—most
likely Russia. Verloc owns a shop that sells dirty books, and has a wife,
Winnie, who is one of the most interesting characters in the novel. Verloc also
supports Winnie’s mother and her younger brother, Stevie, who we would probably
diagnose today as having some sort of learning disability. Verloc has contacts
among London’s anarchists, and he informs on them to the government he works
for. Verloc is called to the Embassy, where Mr. Vladimir, a new administrator,
excoriates Verloc for his incompetence. Vladimir tells Verloc that he needs to
prod his anarchist friends to carry out an attack, so that the British
government will then crack down on civil liberties. Vladimir’s idea for a
target is science, and what better scientific target than the Greenwich
Observatory? Yes, the Prime Meridian! Greenwich Mean Time! The very house of
the great god of science itself!
I’ll leave the plot summary there, so as not to spoil
anything. The Secret Agent is a
complicated book, with a narrative point of view that shifts as we enter
numerous characters’ heads for a period of time. While the novel is told in the
third person, there’s part of a paragraph at the beginning of Chapter Two that
is in first person. It’s the only time the first person narrator intrudes, so
it’s an odd little moment.
Conrad’s writing is sharp and precise, as he delineates many
characters, and their various ways of thinking. Conrad is able to get inside
the heads of characters like the Professor, a radical anarchist who walks
around with a bomb in his coat, ready to push the button if he’s ever cornered
by the cops, and Chief Inspector Heat, who has nothing but contempt for the
anarchists.
Along the way, Conrad has many excellent quotes: “The way of
even the most justifiable revolutions is prepared by personal impulses
disguised into creeds.” (p.76)
Another of my favorite quotes was this: “But Chief Inspector
Heat was not very wise—at least not truly so. True wisdom, which is not certain
of anything in this world of contradictions, would have prevented him from
attaining his present position.” (p.79)
A piece of terse wisdom from Conrad emerges as he describes
the Assistant Commissioner of police and his relentless drive to investigate: “We
can never cease to be ourselves.” (p.102)
Joseph Conrad had a very interesting backstory, to put it
mildly. He was born Jozef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski to Polish parents in
Berdychiv, in what is now the Ukraine. English was his third language, after Polish and French, and he didn’t start to
learn English until he joined the British merchant marine in his twenties.
Pretty impressive, as he is now considered one of the greatest novelists of the
English language. After a 19-year marine career, Conrad published his first
novel Almayer’s Folly: A Story of an
Eastern River in 1895, when he was thirty-seven years old. Conrad devoted
himself to writing for the rest of his life, and he produced a substantial body
of work that has proven to be highly influential, including the novella Heart of Darkness, and the novels Lord Jim, Nostromo, and Under Western Eyes, among others.
The Secret Agent is
an excellent book, and quite a haunting one. Some of the events in the book
were inspired by the 1894 death of Martial Bourdin, a French anarchist who
accidentally blew himself up in Greenwich Park, close to the Observatory. It’s
unknown what Bourdin’s ultimate goal was, but it may have been an attack on the
Observatory. In a 1920 “Author’s Note,” to The
Secret Agent, Conrad wrote of Bourdin’s actions as “a blood-stained inanity
of so fatuous a kind that it was impossible to fathom its origin by any
reasonable or even unreasonable process of thought. For perverse unreason has
its own logical processes.” The Secret
Agent is Joseph Conrad’s attempt to explain the logical processes of this kind
of perverse unreason.
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