An Outcast of the Islands | Page 3

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ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* An Outcast of the Islands by Joseph Conrad Pues el delito
mayor Del hombre es haber nacito CALDERON TO EDWARD LANCELOT
SANDERSON AUTHOR'S NOTE "An Outcast of the Islands" is my second novel in the
absolute sense of the word; second in conception, second in execution, second as it were
in its essence. There was no hesitation, half-formed plan, vague idea, or the vaguest
reverie of anything else between it and "Almayer's Folly." The only doubt I suffered from,
after the publication of "Almayer's Folly," was whether I should write another line for
print. Those days, now grown so dim, had their poignant moments. Neither in my mind
nor in my heart had I then given up the sea. In truth I was clinging to it desperately, all
the more desperately because, against my will, I could not help feeling that there was
something changed in my relation to it. "Almayer's Folly," had been finished and done
with. The mood itself was gone. But it had left the memory of an experience that, both in
thought and emotion was unconnected with the sea, and I suppose that part of my moral
being which is rooted in consistency was badly shaken. I was a victim of contrary stresses
which produced a state of immobility. I gave myself up to indolence. Since it was
impossible for me to face both ways I had elected to face nothing. The discovery of new
values in life is a very chaotic experience; there is a tremendous amount of jostling and
confusion and a momentary feeling of darkness. I let my spirit float supine over that

chaos. A phrase of Edward Garnett's is, as a matter of fact, responsible for this book. The
first of the friends I made for myself by my pen it was but natural that he should be the
recipient, at that time, of my confidences. One evening when we had dined together and
he had listened to the account of my perplexities (I fear he must have been growing a
little tired of them) he pointed out that there was no need to determine my future
absolutely. Then he added: "You have the style, you have the temperament; why not
write another?" I believe that as far as one man may wish to influence another man's life
Edward Garnett had a great desire that I should go on writing. At that time, and I may say,
ever afterwards, he was always very patient and gentle with me. What strikes me most
however in the phrase quoted above which was offered to me in a tone of detachment is
not its gentleness but its effective wisdom. Had he said, "Why not go on writing," it is
very probable he would have scared me away from pen and ink for ever; but there was
nothing either to frighten one or arouse one's antagonism in the mere suggestion to "write
another." And thus a dead point in the revolution of my affairs was insidiously got over.
The word "another" did it. At about eleven o'clock of a nice London night, Edward and I
walked along interminable streets talking of many things, and I remember that on getting
home I sat down and wrote about half a page of "An Outcast of the Islands" before I slept.
This was committing myself definitely, I won't say to another life, but to another book.
There is apparently something in my character which will not allow me to abandon for
good any piece of work I have begun. I have laid aside many beginnings. I have laid them
aside with sorrow, with disgust, with rage, with melancholy and even with self-contempt;
but even at the worst I had an uneasy consciousness that I would have to go back to them.
"An Outcast of the Islands" belongs to those novels of mine that were never laid aside;
and though it brought me the qualification of "exotic