Intro
Heart of Darkness is the quintessential colonial tale: it's about a guy who works for a Belgian ivory-trading company and sails along the Congo River witnessing the hatred, violence, and misunderstanding between the greedy colonizers and the "'savage"' natives—some of whom have imprisoned one of the other ivory guys so they can worship him as a god. Offended yet?
Let's be clear. How do postcolonial theorists feel about this classic novella from a Polish author writing in English? In a word (or two): hate it.
Sure, there might be some postcolonial readings that "'complicate"' the text more, but—for the most part—poco theorists have mad respect for the first (and final) poco reading on HOD: Chinua Achebe's essay "'An Image of Africa: Racism in Conrad's Heart of Darkness."'
So what does Achebe say? Basically, that HOD and Conrad are—as you might guess from the essay title—racist. How so? Even though the bulk of the story takes place in the Congo, no one from the Congo actually gets a real speaking part or features as anything but some thing weird, fearsome, and—for lack of a better word—"'Other."'
The Congo doesn't fare much better: it's a dark, dark place that induces insanity in our European "'hero."' And even though the book can always be read as anti-colonialist, the story doesn't really feel like it's against colonialism for the right reasons—that is, if you're thinking like Achebe.
Quote
He was not afraid of the natives; they would not stir till Mr. Kurtz gave the word. His ascendancy was extraordinary. The camps of the people surrounded the place, and the chiefs came every day to see him. They would crawl [….] "'I don't want to know anything of the ceremonies used when approaching Mr. Kurtz,"' I shouted. Curious, this feeling that came over me that such details would be more intolerable than those heads drying on the stakes under Mr. Kurtz's windows. After all, that was only a savage sight, while I seemed at one bound to have been transported into some lightless region of subtle horrors, where pure, uncomplicated savagery was a positive relief, being something that had a right to exist—obviously—in the sunshine.
Analysis
You'd think those heads on stakes would be the scary, evil thing about this whole bad situation, but the narrator refers to the "'more intolerable"' fact that the natives totally idolize Mr. Kurtz like he's some African king or god. After all, the natives are even willing "'crawl"' to Kurtz. By comparison, the heads on stakes, according to the narrator, are just a sign of "'pure, uncomplicated savagery"'—something the narrator expects from the Congolese. In fact, he points out that the whole "'heads drying on stakes"' thing is a kind of savagery that has the "'right to exist—obviously—in the sunshine."'
Um. Kay.
What isn't right, as far as Mr. Narrator is concerned, is Mr. Kurtz's transformation into a character who's at one with the Congolese people around him. That, we can infer, is totally wrong to a white ivory agent.
And therein lies the postcolonialist argument against this book. Why is Mr. Kurtz's ability to blend in with the Congolese such a terrible thing to the narrator? Is it because the narrator (and perhaps Conrad) feel that Europeans and Africans shouldn't mix? That "'savagery"' is fine as long as it's confined to the "'lightless region of subtle horrors"'—the Congo—and doesn't find its way to (we can only assume) the light-filled region of Western Europe?
The postcolonialist might go on add this point: the whole idea of the dark (in color and in soul) "'savage"' African native is such a (racist) stereotype. Conrad really doesn't do a thing to go against this stereotype; he just makes it worse, even if he's also saying that the way the "'dark people"' are treated isn't the greatest.