Inspiring Older Readers

posted on 18 Jan 2019

The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad

In 1894 a bomb exploded in Greenwich Park, killing (accidentally) the person carrying it. That person was Martial Bourdin, a member of an Anarchist organisation known as Club Autonomie and the supposed target the bomb had actually been meant for was The Greenwich Observatory. But there are very few certainties about the details – if the Observatory was the target, why, and who had organised for Bourdin to be the fall-guy? Background reading on this reveals that there are a host of different theories to choose from. The similarities between the public panic over terrorism and random bombings in urban centres across Europe at this time has remarkable resonances with events in our own times.

Despite the uncertainties over the actual details of the Anarchist plot that went disastrously wrong, it is certainly the case that a decade later Joseph Conrad immortalises the incident by using it as the inspiration for his novel The Secret Agent. There has been a constant stream of articles written attempting to trace the parallels between the historical events of 1894 and Conrad’s storyline  and his cast of characters who, it can be argued, have their equivalents in real life. There is also a suggestion that Conrad was in possession of some information about the way domestic and foreign governments may have been involved through their husbanding of double agents. But, to be honest, I don’t find all that speculation anything more than mildly diverting – I’m more interested in the novel as a piece of fiction, and an extraordinary one at that.

Conrad’s novel tells the story of Verloc, a member of a minor Anarchist cell who owns a shop in Soho selling pornographic publications, contraceptives and other bits and pieces of whatever sells. The shop is also used for Anarchist meetings where a motley bunch of politicos gather to fulminate and plot while Verloc’s placid wife and learning disabled brother-in-law, Stevie witness the debates.

However, unknown to them all, Verloc is actually a double agent for a foreign embassy who are pressuring him to get the Anarchists to commit an atrocity that will force the British government to take action against the Anarchists who are taking residence in Britain. Panicked by the prospect of losing his income from his role as a secret agent Verloc develops a plan to bomb Greenwich Observatory by using the loyal and trusting Stevie as the bomb carrier.

The plan goes horribly wrong when Stevie falls over on his way to deliver the bomb package and blows himself to (literal) bits. When Stevie’s sister, Verloc’s wife, discovers what has happened she transforms into an avenging demon, stabbing Verloc to death and eventually committing suicide.

These are the very bare bones of the storyline but this description doesn’t even get close to uncovering the extraordinary depths of the book. A short review could never do justice to such a fine piece of writing as this and there are many exceptional critical works that dismantle the book in much more detail. But I want to focus on just a few things that especially struck me.

Anyone familiar with Conrad’s work will know that he is an extraordinary stylist. Born in Poland, Conrad did not learn English until he was well into his 20s and in mastering the new language he developed a style that was particular to him and which combines precision with moments of great daring and creativity and this is never shown to better effect than here.

Conrad was also deeply politically conservative and disliked radicalism of all kinds and in this novel he turns his remarkable prose like a weapon on the Anarchists. He draws them with the same vicious intensity as Gilray or Rowlandson might have achieved with their political cartoons. Verloc himself, Comrade Ossipon, Michaelis, and "The Professor" are dissected in minute detail and presented grossly as less than human – reptilian or disgustingly corpulent or parasitical. They are always counterpointed with the decent humanity of the learning-disabled Stevie who they dismiss as a ‘retard’ or a ‘sub-human’ to be studied. Stevie’s capacity for unquestioning trust and loyalty is the exact moral opposite of the Anarchists.

Despite Conrad’s obvious hatred for the Anarchists, he’s also not blind to the sort of professional competition and careerism that lies at the heart of the police force charged with keeping tabs on this ragged bunch of Anarchists. Chief Inspector Heat, his boss, The Assistant Commissioner and the flabby, self-important Home Secretary, Sir Ethelred also come in for their fair share of scrutiny.

But perhaps one of the most remarkable things Conrad does here is to play with our expectations around time and plot – something he also does in his masterpiece, Nostromo. The natural expectation of the reader would be to have a story arc that focuses on the preparation for the outrage that is about to take place and which culminates with the bombing and it’s immediate aftermath. But that’s not where Conrad takes us. Instead the death of Stevie takes place no more than half way through the book and off stage as it were. We witness none of the grooming of Stevie for the task, none of the preparation for the event and we see nothing of Stevie’s death other than the clearing up of his body parts by shovel after the bomb has exploded. Instead of this being all about the tragedy of Stevie, Conrad directs us to his sister’s response to losing the brother she doted on and the response of the other Anarchists and the police to the events.

It is a startling change of focus that Conrad pulls off with consummate skill and which the reader doesn’t question because the logic of this switch seems impeccable. This allows Conrad to add another critical dimension to his assessment of the Anarchists who all respond to the tragedy of Stevie and Mrs Verloc – and to Verloc’s death at the hands of his wife – with either indifference or by seeing a chance for personal gain.

For me the undoubted highlight of the book is that part that gives us a fly-on-the-wall chance to see inside the Verloc household as he tries to explain, rationalise and excuse his role in setting up Stevie to go to his death. It’s airless, tense and shot through with the sense of coiled anger and dread. Inside the shop’s back room Verloc wheedles and chivvies Mrs Verloc who remains ominously silent and still until the eruption of hatred and her wielding of the knife snatched up from the table and plunged into his chest. It’s a whole section of the book where it is almost impossible to breath as you read.

What a great book this is. I wish I hadn’t read it just so I could read it again for the first time.

 

Terry Potter

January 2019