A slight change of taste, such as that
which has come about since Meredith was on every one's tongue,
will make such defects manifest. Meredith lives in spite of his
prolixities, and so will Conrad, but neither because they are
perfect English stylists.
I am sure also that Conrad, at his very best, is not so good as
Melville, at his best, in nautical narrative; as Melville in, say,
the first day of the final chase of Moby Dick; I question whether
he is as good in sea narrative as Cooper in the famous passage of
Paul Jones's ship through the shoals. Such comparisons are, of
course, rather futile. They differentiate among excellences, where
taste is a factor. Nevertheless, it is belittling to a man who,
above almost all others in our language, has brooded upon the
mysteries of the mind's action, to say that he is great because he
describes so well the sea.
We must seek elsewhere for a definition of the peculiar qualities
of Conrad. And without a definition it is easy to admire but hard
to estimate and understand him.
I believe, first of all, that Conrad has remained much more a Slav
than he, or any of us, have been willing to admit.
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