This is a very pessimistic book that damns the rich and poor, materal wealth and nonmateral ideals, religious and non-relgious alike. There is a strange idea out there that it is a proto-objectiavist novel, yes Contad doesn't like the poor but the people who run things get off no better.

The flowery, exacting, purple prose is a bit of a thick swamp that you have to wade through to find the occasional flower. And there is Conrad's usual White Man's Burden bs in there as well but there are worse books.

Still didn't see any xenotropes though... Oh! Maybe the silver was the queen and the daughters of the light house keeper were the aliens which would make the lighter the Nostromo... Was the doctor the Android? Why not.