English Language and Culture
Utrecht University
2012

Form and content are two terms that are central to academic discussion within the field of stylistics. This thesis aims to contribute to this discussion by researching the interconnection of these concepts through a study of the stylistics of Heart of Darkness.
The first Style in Language conference was held in 1958 in Indiana, and in the two subsequent decades, the studies of form and content were seen to be two completely separate fields of research. In these years, Chomsky’s linguistic theories were unleashed upon syntactic structures with complete disregard for content. One example of this type of research is an influential article by Ohmann, who wrote “Literature as Sentences” in 1966, in which he analyzed style with the use of Chomsky’s theories regarding deep and surface structure. He argues, “The idea of style implies that the words on the page might have been different, or differently arranged, without a corresponding difference in substance” (423). One consequence of this conception is that style can be seen as a series of conscious decisions which can be applied as mechanical instruments, operating according to the author’s whim. One author writes about “the Ohmann hypothesis: ‘Stylistic preferences reflect cognitive preferences’” (Fowler 8). However, by 1974, semantics gained ground as a research subject in linguistics, and the first calls were made for scholars to study both form and content in stylistics (Bailey 118). As this shift took place, scholars questioned whether or not form could actually be seen apart from content. Hawkes writes, “Metaphor [..] is not fanciful embroidery of the facts.
It is a way of experiencing the facts” (69). This entails that style does not merely reflect the author’s cognitive choice, but depends on the reader’s individual interpretation, as semantics differ over time and per person. The field has evolved since, but this discussion has become especially relevant now that computer-assisted corpus research has become increasingly popular
(Murphy 67). The growing availability of quantitative data on authorial style calls for a renewed consideration of the form and content discussion.
In short, there are two schools of thought with respect to the form content issue: the monist view which argues that they form an inseparable unity, and the dualist view which states they can be divided and studied separately. This thesis examines to what extent formal stylistic features that
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convey a sense of estrangement can be separated from their immediate content and re-used in a different context. Crucially, the content of Heart of
Darkness contains estranging aspects, whereas the new context does not.
Having set out the goals for this study, an overview is in place. Firstly, the method for the thesis and the analysis of style will be discussed. Secondly,
Heart of Darkness’ stylistic features pertaining to estrangement will be analysed. Thirdly, the style that is discerned in the analysis is supplanted in an original work of fiction. Finally, a reflection on the original work of fiction and conclusions that can be drawn will follow.
As for the method, the stylistic features that will be researched are those that convey a sense of estrangement in scene descriptions in Joseph
Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. In this case, the novel’s content draws from a semantic field that already carries estranging connotations: the West-African wilderness. The point is then, to supplant the stylistics in a setting which draws from a semantic field that is more neutral and familiar, in order to examine to what extent the stylistic features operate regardless of content.
Heart of Darkness is suited exceptionally well for the purpose of this thesis. Achebe has described it as ‘the most commonly prescribed novel in [..] literature courses [..] in American universities” (790). One reason for this is its relatively short length - about 40,000 words - which allows for a digestible overview. Furthermore, it presents a richness of language and literary significance that is unsurpassed in a great deal of more ambitious novels.
Finally, the novel has been studied incredibly thoroughly. Thus, it is almost possible to approach the novel as a biologist would a fruit fly.
The great majority of the scene descriptions that are studied can be found within the first four pages of chapter 2, for it is at this point in the novel that Marlowe finally sets out on his journey into the dark heartland. In these pages, the estranging content can be found fairly condensed when compared to the rest of the novel.
The method that will be used to lift the stylistics from the text is devised by Leech and Short in Style in Fiction (1981). They are amongst the first proponents of the use of quantitative data in stylistics. They do not take a side in the form content discussion, writing, “Monism, dualism, [..] although
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apparently in conflict with one another, all have something to contribute to a comprehensive view of style” (38). However, they do separate the study of style from the immediate semantic content, as they approach a text from a linguistic point of view and argue for the use of quantitative methods. This separation of content and form in their method is crucial to this thesis, for it is this assumption that will be put to the test.
As has been discussed, Leech and Short separate thematic content from form. They do, however, take it into account, as they argue that a text's artistic principles must be discerned in order to form a meaningful analysis of style (74). The interpretation of these principles is beyond the immediate goals of this thesis, and has been done by many more authoritative authors, with a great deal more time and resources. For this reason, an existing critical interpretation of Heart of Darkness will be used.
Wiley’s critical essay, “Conrad's Solitaries,” approaches the novel from the narrator’s point of view. This approach suits this thesis, because the sense of estrangement lies within the narrator's experience, and it is exactly this experience that is to be recreated within the original work of fiction. Wiley argues that estrangement in relation to one’s surroundings, in this case the overpowering denseness of the wilderness, is a central theme to Conrad’s work in general, and Heart of Darkness in particular, writing “The wilderness is [..] chaos: the realm of chance, irrationality, and brute survival. [..] Alone in this waste man has, literally, no chance insofar as he is merely human” (72). In the same vein, Bock writes, “Conrad was interested in portraying the extraordinary mental states of the cultural outcast” (85). Furthermore, Bock has set out a number of ways in which authors convey estrangement, three of which are especially prevalent in Conrad: the disorientation of thought, the disorientation of the imagination, and the disorientation of language (10). Bock, however, approaches the subject from an exclusively sensory point of view, as he researches the narrator’s mental states. This is insufficient when analyzing the style of Heart of Darkness, as stylistic features that deal with the technicalities of the narrative occur as well. Therefore, a fourth category will be instated that houses features which pertain to the narrative.
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Having set out the method, the analysis of style follows. Conrad's Heart of Darkness describes the cruel nature of colonialism in Congo. “Describes” does not do it justice, however, because it achieves so much more than that, rather, it embodies colonialism, confronting Europeans with the darkness that lies at their continent's heart. Marlowe, the protagonist in Heart of Darkness, narrates his story of the Congo aboard a ship in the Thames River.
Consequently, the novel is a frame narrative. The discord between the horrific and overpowering reality of the Congo could hardly contrast more sharply with the relatively tranquil and familiar waters of the Thames. This becomes more and more pronounced as Marlowe travels deeper into the African heartland, following the Congo River to its most mysterious of regions.
Heart of Darkness shifts frequently from frame to narrative. The literary significance of this lies in the contrast between the two settings. For this reason, this feature belongs in the narrative category. The setting of the frame is first described as follows, “The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of an interminable waterway” (31). Right away, a sense of the immense wideness of space is imprinted upon the reader. The description continues with a complex sentence that makes up the greater part of the initial setting of the scene:
“In the offing the sea and the sky were welded together without a joint, and in the luminous space the tanned sails of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits” (47).
In this sentence, first the softness of the setting is established: the sky and the sea are one to the eye, there are no hard lines. Then, as a contrast, the barges’ relatively minuscule sharp lines are described by invoking the peaks of the sails and the diagonal sprits. Furthermore, the loneliness of the scene is reinforced by the individual ships that are seen to be clustered together, as this emphasizes the distance between the ships and the observer.
The transitions between both narratives contribute to the perceived sense of estrangement. There are two types of transition. Firstly, the reader is reminded of the frame through Marlowe's voice as he directly addresses his listeners at times. This can be more implicit with the use of punctuation as in,
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“I had a notion it somehow would be of help to that Kurtz whom at the time I did not see – you understand,” (55) and at times it is more explicit as in, “Do you see him? Do you see the story? Do you see anything?” (55). This type of transition is more pervasive, and constantly reminds the reader of the frame.
Secondly, the scene shifts from frame to narrative a couple of times. These shifts occur instantly and without any forewarning, sometimes even in the middle of a sentence as in, “'It would have been too dark – too dark altogether...' Marlow ceased, and sat apart, indistinct and silent” (105). This pervasiveness and immediacy contribute to the perceived sense of estrangement, as the transition between both scenes emphasizes the enormous contrast between the familiar setting and the estranging setting.
Furthermore, apart from the obvious direct description, a more hidden mechanic operates here that can be classed under the disorientation of thought. Abstract nouns frequently precede concrete nouns as in “the beginning of an interminable waterway.” Other examples include: “clusters of canvas,” and “gleams of sprits.” Leech and Short write on this particular distribution of nouns, “The eye does not passively record objects in the raw, but structures and schematizes them in cognitively coded groupings” (88).
Marlowe’s ability to make sense of visual perception in familiar surroundings contrasts with scene descriptions that are set within the wilderness, where this construction does not occur, and raw visual data is all that Marlowe – and the reader – makes do with. Bock writes on this lack of rationality in Marlowe’s perception, “The gap between sensation and perception is an indicator of the nature and quality of a character’s epistemological progress, a progress in which the reader is simultaneously engaged” (92).
Another feature that can be classed under the disorientation of thought, deals with Marlowe’s estranged perception of his surroundings as well. He can not relate to the wilderness, and as a result, he describes it in vague terms.
Supporting this assertion, is the frequency of words that denote vagueness, as corpus assisted research has shown. Stubbs writes,
“There are over 200 occurrences of something, somebody, sometimes,
somewhere, somehow and some, plus around 100 occurrences of like (as
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preposition), plus over 25 occurrences of kind of and sort of, all often collocated with other expressions of vagueness” (10).
His inability to make rational sense of his experiences as described in both previous paragraphs contributes to the sense of estrangement by conveying the disorientation of his rational abilities.
As Marlowe tries to relate to the vagueness that lies behind the impenetrable curtain of trees, he enters a state of increased consciousness, almost paranoia, wherein every event becomes charged with significance. As a result, a great deal of the novel sees him trying to make sense of his experiences through his imagination, and so, the following features belong to the category of the disorientation of imagination.
One way in which Marlowe relates to his inability to make sense of the wilderness, is by invoking historical realities. For example,
“We were wanderers on a prehistoric earth, on an earth that wore the aspect of an unknown planet. [..] The earth seemed unearthly. [..] A deadened burst of mighty splashes [..] reached us from afar, as though an ichthyosaurus had been taking a bath of glitter in the great river”
(63).
Besides detaching himself momentarily from his immediate surroundings, this conveys that Marlowe is estranged, because when confronted with the great unknown of the wilderness, he has to attach meaning by using his imagination.
As Bock writes,
“Conrad’s exile feels distanced from his own normal sensations. [..] This dreamlike suspension is usually hallucinatory in nature, [..] and signals a movement away from conventional perception” (111).
This gives the scene a surreal aspect, as the realities that are invoked are estranging in themselves: a dinosaur taking a bath of glitter would not look out of place in a Dali painting.
Another aspect that falls under the disorientation of imagination is
Marlowe’s insistence to describe the wilderness as if it were made up of animate beings. For example, “Going up that river was like travelling back to the earliest beginnings of the world, when vegetation rioted on the earth and the big trees were kings” (61). Other examples include, “a mob of wooded
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island” (61), and, “The great wall of vegetation [..] was like a rioting invasion of soundless life” (57). Secondly, animate beings can be attributed volition, and as such they become more threatening, evil almost. This is a special use of
Ruskin’s famous ‘pathetic fallacy,’ the literary technique whereby nature is endowed with human characteristics. He wrote in Modern Painters, “The temperament which admits the pathetic fallacy is […] that of a mind and body in some sort too weak to deal fully with what is before them or upon them”
(205). This attempt to re-imagine nature as a human being, ultimately doomed to fail, seems to enforce Marlowe’s inability to accept his estrangement.
Another striking recurrence with regard to Marlowe’s experience is the sound of drums out in the distance. It occurs frequently and is conjoined with the theme of the mystery of the night, the dense wilderness, and the indigenous people. For example, “At night sometimes the roll of drums behind the curtain of trees would run up the river and remain sustained faintly” (63).
The auditory cue conveys the mystery of the wilderness in a sense which is otherwise often neglected because the scene descriptions are heavy on visual information. This form of internal deviance emphasizes the estranging effect by invoking the mysteries that lie behind the tree line.
As for the disorientation of language, Marlowe’s estrangement can be found in the repetition in sentence structure. Firstly, he frequently stacks adjectives in his descriptions, for example, “The air was warm, thick, heavy, sluggish” (61). This repetition contributes to the idea that Marlowe cannot find the right words to faithfully express what he experienced, as his senses are bombarded. Secondly, this state of mind manifests itself in the sentence structure of Marlowe’s scene descriptions, in such a distinct style that examples can easily be discerned. Take the following sentence:
“Trees, trees, millions of trees, massive, immense, running up high; and at their foot, hugging the bank against the stream, crept the little begrimed steam-boat, like a sluggish beetle crawling on the floor of a lofty portico.” (63).
The first striking aspect of these descriptions is the repetition of trees.
Apparently he is so overwhelmed by the abundance of trees that he repeats the word three times. Furthermore, they are implied in “massive,” “immense,”
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and “running up high.” Additionally, the main clause containing the verb is hidden behind a relative clause and an enumeration, and is followed by a subclause causing the sentence to lose its coherence. What remains, is the notion of Marlowe's overpowered senses which is conveyed through his disorientation of language.
As argued above, the narrator’s estrangement is established in various ways through the disorientation of thought, language and imagination, and the narrative. Having identified these formal techniques according to methods set out by Leech and Short, the next step is to examine to what extent they can effectively be re-used in an original work of fiction in order to test Leech and
Short’s assumptions regarding stylistics.
Original work of fiction
The river steamer came to a halt as the sun had finally sunk below the endless line of trees on the eastern bank, stretching before and behind us as far as the eye could see, its jagged edge overpowered by the dramatic spectacle up above as formations of clouds were set ablaze in the brightest oranges and yellows; a bird took flight from the near bank in a flurry of feathers, tracing a straight line across the width of the sky until finally landing somewhere far away in the west where the river's bank was only barely visible in the evening’s haze. There was hardly a breeze, and the river seemed immersed in resignation as nightfall approached. At times it was hard to believe that this enormous open stretch of muddy water was a river. The Congo River, they call it. The only signs of life were the ever persistent calls coming out of the dense forest that were cast across the water and an occasional splash from a fish.
Not many ships sailed this far up the river, where villages were spread over many miles apart and people still held on to old beliefs. It was in one of these villages that Apunda joined us.
We gathered on the bow where we spent the nights on old and dirty mattresses. There was me, Apunda, the captain, Abebe and Kwame. We had been steaming for two days now, heading for one of the last villages on our route. The captain carried supplies out here, and traded them dearly for just
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about anything that he could get his hands on. As for Apunda, he never said much.
Apunda dangled his legs overboard and stared out to the west. ‘What are you looking at? Not much to see there,’ Abebe said.
‘You would not believe the things that I have seen,’ he replied.
‘What have you seen?’ Abebe asked.
Apunda leaned back and looked up to the brilliant sky. ‘I have been out
West, farther than you have ever dreamed of going.’
‘You’ve been to the West?’
‘Yes. I traveled aboard a container ship.’
‘But, what have you seen?’
‘I can tell you my story if you want, but first bring me some water.’
Abebe came back with a mug of water and sat down besides the rest of us. ‘Now tell us your story,’ he said.
‘I arrived in a small port somewhere where they spoke French. We had to get out of our container in the dead of night, stalking through the harbor. I separated myself from the rest and slept in the harbor. The next morning I walked around and found a job with a river freighter named Pierre who travelled alone and needed a deck hand. I think he knew I didn’t belong, but he took me on anyway.’
‘I traveled with Pierre for a week or maybe more. I think we were going to the North because it seemed to get colder by the day. After some time we reached a river that was as straight as a bird flies. I asked Pierre, how come this river is like this. He said it was dug by men; I could not believe my ears.
Pierre knew I was unsettled because of it; he seemed... amused. He said, do not worry about it - “Mon Amie.” That is the way things are here.'
'We traveled on and on for days through the country. At one point the river took us near a road. I walked up to the bow and dangled my legs overboard. I had never seen anything like it. Cars, cars, as far as the eye could reach; a never-ending line of cars snaking its way up and down hills, down and up valleys, through forests; the cars almost looked like metallic scales from afar – can you imagine?’
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Apunda had become just a silhouette, as darkness had set in quickly. Far away in the East, there still was a small streak of bright orange lighting up the sky.
‘One hazy night we stopped at a port in an immense city. It was late at night when we finally got there; Pierre had to deliver a freight of coal. I came on the dock to help with the unloading, but the dock manager kept eyeing me suspiciously. After this, Pierre told me I had to go, and life be good to me –
‘Mon Amie.’
‘When I got off the boat, I thanked Pierre. He pushed some money in my hand and said his goodbyes. I was on my own again. The harbor was lit by blindingly bright lights, casting hard shadows where there were containers, walls, dump trucks, vans. It seemed like I was walking on the moon, the pitted surface of the concrete, the dirt, the machines with their sharp lines, the eerie white light. I moved as far away from the shadows as I could, they were pitch black, as dark as a moonless night. A metallic scraping sound startled me, but it was only the wind blowing a soda can over the concrete. Immediately a dog started barking somewhere off in the night.’
‘Everywhere I looked, there was concrete, miles and miles of concrete: the streets, the walls, the buildings, cold, hard, silent concrete, and not a single tree, just some sort of dry, thin grass trying to put up a fight against this heartless invasion. I started walking along a road that stretched before me like a river of asphalt. Pierre had told me to go to the city center, but I had no idea of where I was. So I did what I always have done; I followed the path that lay before me.’
‘Some sort of cold dank mist lay over the streets, but I was surprised to see a single star up above. For some reason, I had not expected stars here, so alien did this place seem. On both sides of the road were tall buildings, and small buildings, some with and some without windows; an endless row of buildings closing in on me, but there was no one there, not a soul out in the night – can you imagine? Can you even…’
Apunda was interrupted by a fearful cry from the river bank. It continued for a minute, slowly dying out, until silence finally returned. The moon had moved behind clouds; we were now in almost complete darkness. Somewhere
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far away in the West a tiny dot of light cast its beam over the river’s rippling surface. Apunda was nothing more than a voice to us now, suspended somewhere in front of us. When he opened his mouth again, he seemed even more distant.
‘At some point, I heard some sort of engine’s roar somewhere far up in the now starless sky. The road began to ascend and I could see a bridge up ahead. I walked cautiously. When I reached the bridge I could see a road as wide as I had never seen, completely deserted, an unnatural orange gloom cast over its glittering surface by hundreds of lamps. It stretched before my eyes for many, many miles, and for the first time, I got a sense of how lost I was.
‘Walking on, I turned a corner and faced a dense wall that rose before me, up, up, I could barely make out where it ended; like a giant was pointing its finger in warning. I faced an endless amount of dark windows. It looked like some monstrous contraption from another planet; I could be watched from any of them and I wouldn't even know. Walking towards the entrance, I was blinded by the brightest of lights that switched on as if by some dark magic and I started running, as fast as I could, following the endless road in a blind panic.’
‘I didn’t stop until the asphalt circled on itself like a snake, a number of roads branching out. There I saw a sign that said ‘centre ville.’ Following the signs, I noticed that the city became more and more dense. The houses closed in on the road, forming an impenetrable barrier. I could no longer see very far as the streets were bending and curving. Moving through this labyrinth, I soon lost sense of direction and my last beacon of faith became the blue signs, leading me on into the darkness, into the city’s centre…’
Apunda paused as a breeze passed the boat. With it, the river seemed to become restless, rocking the boat gently on its waves. The darkness had grown so dark that I could no longer see my own hands.
‘After a while I found a telephone box and lay myself down in there. It was incredibly cold, but at least I had some shelter from the wind. Far away, the first flushes of dawn were slowly breaking the sky.’
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‘That first night, I had been like a phantom, gliding through the twilight, detached from all sense of time and being.’
Reflection
Firstly, the choices that were made regarding the original work of fiction are explained. Secondly, the conclusions that can be drawn with regard to the form content discussion will be discussed. Finally, recommendations will be presented.
The original work of fiction is set in a Western city because it is familiar to Western readers and has evolved together with the English language for several hundred years. This is important with regard to the thesis, because, semantically speaking a greater body of knowledge is available in the English language when describing cities versus the wilderness. To take a famous example from the Safir-Whorf thesis: in Hopi, the language of a native
American people, there is only one word to describe everything that flies, while in English, there is a distinction between birds, insects, planes, etc (Whorf
229). In other words, English has more words that can be used to provide a detailed description of the city as opposed to the Central-African wilderness.
Thus, it can be expected that the semantic content related to the city carries less estranging connotations to Western readers.
Another consideration that has lead to the decision of placing the narrative within the city is the importance of sensory experiences in Marlowe’s account of the wilderness. As Levenson writes, “Conradian Impressionism is regarded as [..] an attempt to restore the priority of the sensory apparatus in the literary representation of knowledge” (279). In Heart of Darkness, the denseness and impenetrability of the wilderness are key to the sensory experience. This same experience can easily be recreated in the city. In this sense, it is perhaps telling that the city has been likened to an urban jungle on many occasions before. Finally, as Bock writes, Conrad’s protagonists “become estranged from [their] culture and the body of knowledge available or useful in that culture” (2). This means that, in order to keep in line with the idea of the cultural outcast and facilitate the believability of the estrangement, an African immigrant will take on the role of the narrator.
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A final parameter is the narrative. While it is of secondary importance, as stylistics generally operate regardless of storyline, one consideration is the journey which the narrator undertakes. The idea is that he becomes estranged by his changing surroundings. Hence, in the beginning the narrator is still in fairly open grounds, while the buildings seem to be closing in on him with each step he takes, walking nearer the center of the city.
Moving on to the form content discussion, the categories that were used in the classification of the different stylistics features in the analysis of style will provide the framework for the reflection as well.
Firstly, the contrast between the two narratives maintains itself regardless of content mainly because of the physical aspect of density that is crucial to the contrast. Density works the same way whether pertaining to a dense forest or an alleyway that is cramped and feels claustrophobic. Whether or not the contrast actually contributes to the sense of estrangement is unclear, as the effect seems rather unpronounced. This brings a problem with the stylistic analysis to light that will be discussed in light of the recommendations.
Secondly, stylistic features that deal with the disorientation of the thought maintain themselves well when applied to different content, as they convey a mental state of mind, while being low on imagery. One example of this is the abstract before concrete noun construction which works regardless of content. As a side note, one could question the relative significance of this feature, as it is very subtle. It would be entirely conceivable for a great deal of readers to miss the narrator’s state of mind that becomes apparent through this feature altogether.
The same argument goes for Marlowe’s use of words that denote vagueness, as in “something” and “some kind of.” The vagueness that is conveyed here is detached from any semantic content: it works as well with
“some kind of building” as it does with “some kind of foliage.” Perhaps it works even better with semantic content that is supposed to be familiar to a narrator like Marlowe, as it can be expected that he is not familiar with the different types of flora in the Congo. Whereas, if he can not form a more detailed description of a building than “some kind of,” his inability to convey a rational
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image of objects that are supposed to be familiar to him conveys his abnormal state of mind.
Thirdly, the disorientation of imagination. The conjuration of historical realities inevitably deals with semantic content. However, it does work regardless of content as well, because the invoked realities themselves are divorced from the immediate semantic context.
‘The pathetic fallacy’ is partly separated from content, as the reimagination of human qualities in inanimate objects is a universal process that can be applied to any kind of object, however, the effect depends on the sort of object to some extent at least. For example, a chaotic forest with vines snaking their way through trees that is described as a rioting invasion will offer a great deal more threatening image than an invasion of concrete. Again, the conclusion is that the state of mind which is conveyed works regardless of content, whereas the strength of the imagery does not, and both are instrumental to the estrangement.
Fourthly, stylistic features that pertain to the disorientation of language are almost completely divorced from content, as they are purely linguistic features. For example, the stammering feel of the narrator’s description conveys a state of mind which is maintained in the original work of fiction. It is entirely conceivable for a person to stammer when they have to describe events that disturbed them, regardless of what those events were. Once the reader joins in the suspension of disbelief, he or she accepts that the narrator is apparently disturbed by his surroundings. Thus, the sense of estrangement comes across regardless of content.
However, while the purely linguistic aspects of the disorientation of language that convey a certain psychological state maintain themselves in a different context, there is always some semantic content that remains. For example, the use of repetition with regard to adjectives does convey that
Marlowe is not able to communicate his experiences without bombarding his audience with words. However, it still seems to lose some of its power, because the adjectives themselves consist of semantic content, as they alter nouns. Some of the estrangement they carry in a semantic sense is bound to be lost when supplanted in a more familiar context.
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In conclusion, this thesis has endeavored to find a way into (and out of) the literal and metaphorical jungle of Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. At the end of this journey, the conclusion is that form and content can be separated to some extent, but content will always have an influence on the way in which stylistic features work. More specifically, the narrator’s mental state of estrangement is carried over in a different context, whereas the strength of the imagery depends more on the semantic content. As such, authors using quantitative methods should be mindful of this relationship when undertaking computer-assisted research.
As for recommendations, any author applying stylistics in critical interpretation could apply the method used in this thesis to see to what extent their judgment is mired by tunnel vision. One possible reason for this is that the practicality of making the choices that authors make with regard to style gives more insight in their workings. It is easy to find many features that could contribute to a sense of estrangement when one is looking for them, and this method could be used in combination with computer-assisted corpus data to determine if a particular stylistics actually deviates from general language use.
Related to the previous point is a problem which has come to light during the writing of the original fiction. While the two settings of the frame and the narrative do contrast greatly with the city’s denseness, the achieved effect seems rather unpronounced. This means that the effects as predicted in the analysis of style were exaggerated or even faulty. One cause for this is that
Leech and Short’s method advocates using presupposed artistic principles in a stylistic analysis. This means that inevitably, one is trying to find features according to previously established artistic principles rather than looking for features that deviate from general language use and theorizing after the fact.
In other words, one has to be careful with this method, as it can lead to tunnel vision. This is perhaps inevitable because Leech and Short’s attempt to separate content from form still requires the interpretation of guiding artistic principles for a cohesive analysis. A method that takes both thematic content and form to be one can be much more fluid, and allow for a greater flexibility.
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Finally, further research using this method could be undertaken with the use of a reader response survey to see whether quantitative data supports or contradicts the findings.
Works Cited
Achebe, C. “An Image of Africa.” The Massachusetts Review. Vol. 18, No.4
(1977). 782-794.
Bailey, R. W. “Stylistics today.” Foundations of Language. Vol. 11, No. 1.
(1974). 115-139.
Bock, M. “Crossing the Shadow-Line: The Literature of Estrangement.”
Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1989.
Fowler, R. “The New Stylistics.” Style and structure in literature: Essays in the
New Stylistics. Ed. R. Fowler. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1975. 1-
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Hawkes, T. Metaphor. London: Methuen Publishers, 1972.
Leech, G. N. & Short M. H. Style in Fiction. New York: Longman, 1981.
Levenson, M. “The Value of Facts in Heart of Darkness.” Nineteenth-Century
Fiction. Vol. 40, No. 3 (1985). 261-280.
Murphy, S. “Now I am alone: A Corpus Stylistics Approach to Shakespearian
Soliloquies.” Lancaster University Postgraduate Conference in Linguistics
& Language teaching. Ed. Costas Gabrielatos, Richard Slessor & J.W.
Unger. Lancaster, 2006.
Ohmann, R. “Literature as Sentences.” College English. Vol. 27, No. 4 (1966).
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Ohmann, R. “Generative Grammars and the Concept of Literary Style.” Word.
Vol. 20 (1964). 423-439.
Ruskin, J. “Of the Pathetic Fallacy.” Modern Painters. Vol. 3. J. New York: Wiley
& Son, 1856.
Whorf, B. L. “Science and Linguistics.” Technological Review. Vol. 42, No. 6
(1940). 229-248.
Stubbs, M. “Conrad in the Computer.” Language and Literature. Vol. 14, No.1
(2005). 5-24.
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Wiley, P. L. “Conrad’s solitaries.” Conrad: A Collection of Critical Essays. Ed. M.
Mudrick. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1966. 63-74.
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