The subtitle of The Secret Agent: A Simple Tale is a moment of wry verbal irony. At first glance, the subtitle A Simple Tale for a novel like this one seems paradoxical. Conrad's works are known for their intricate character development, detailed narrative layers, and for digging deeply into the reasons behind his characters’ actions. So, when he describes his story as "simple," it's a classic example of verbal irony—saying one thing and meaning another. The use of the word "simple" in the subtitle immediately strikes the reader as being at odds with the multi-faceted, intricate plotline of the book. Conrad, who’s also known for his frequent use of irony, leverages this disconnect to engage the reader's curiosity and challenge their initial perceptions of the novel.
The Secret Agent, as the reader quickly discovers, is anything but straightforward or "simple." Its narrative structure is full of flashbacks, forward time jumps, and shifts in perspective. It also intertwines the personal and political spheres of 19th century England in dense, layered situations and dialogues. The author dissects the novel’s themes of terrorism, politics, anarchism, and family relationships with an exhaustively analytical eye. His characters each have individual motivations and often conceal hidden agendas. Almost nothing in this novel could truly be called “simple.”
Further adding to the verbal irony of the subtitle is the novel’s duality. While The Secret Agent is undeniably a political novel concerned with the anarchistic underbelly of Victorian London, it's also, at its core, a domestic tragedy. The Verloc family's dynamics and difficulties play out against the backdrop of political upheaval and anarchism. A lot of the book feels intimate and family-focused, which contrasts sharply with its grander political themes. It’s not “simply” a political story or a domestic one. It’s a nuanced and complex mixture of both.
In a way, Conrad's choice of subtitle serves as a meta-commentary on the genre of political fiction. Right from the outset, calling The Secret Agent “simple” is setting the stage for the reader to constantly question and dissect its complexities.
In Chapter 2, the narrator employs an oxymoron referring to a rock to describe Mr. Verloc’s character. The verbal irony of the oxymoron in this passage reflects the conflicted nature of Verloc’s personality. As he walks through London on his way to the Embassy, the narrator remarks:
And Mr. Verloc, steady like a rock – a soft kind of rock – marched now along a street which could with every propriety be described as private.
The author’s choice to describe Mr. Verloc as a "soft kind of rock" is immediately intriguing, because it seems to cancel itself out. The image of a rock typically conjures images of stability, dependability, and strength. However, Conrad makes this “rock” oxymoronic by describing it with the unexpected adjective soft. This juxtaposition challenges the reader’s understanding. Even at this early point in the novel, Conrad is suggesting that this secret agent is not quite what he seems from the outside. Describing him as a “soft kind of rock” suggests a certain malleability or susceptibility in his character. This oxymoron serves a dual purpose. On the one hand, it paints a portrait of a man who appears strong. On the other, it suggests that on closer inspection, Verloc is not quite as strong as he looks.
When it’s put in the broader context of the book, the reader sees a layer of verbal irony in this oxymoron. This irony lies in the subtle contradiction between the expectation set by the word rock and the reality suggested by the soft qualifier Conrad adds. The narrator mentions that Verloc is “a soft kind of rock” as an aside, as though they’re making sure the reader doesn’t get a false impression of him. Rather than being solid, this suggests that Mr. Verloc might be prone to cracking up or being easily crushed when faced with challenges.
As Verloc walks around London, Conrad leverages situational and verbal irony to juxtapose his idealistic vision of “opulence and luxury” with the reality of the city's corruption. As Verloc strolls along the streets on his way to the Russian embassy, the narrator tells readers that:
He surveyed through the park railings the evidences of the town’s opulence and luxury with an approving eye. All these people had to be protected. Protection is the first necessity of opulence and luxury. They had to be protected; and their horses, carriages, houses, servants had to be protected; and the source of their wealth had to be protected in the heart of the city and the heart of the country; the whole social order favorable to their hygienic idleness had to be protected against the shallow enviousness of unhygienic labour.
The situational irony of the passage lies in Verloc’s own understanding of how he fits into this world. Verloc, who himself is not particularly wealthy, gazes at these extreme manifestations of London’s wealth with a sense of entitlement. His role in the preservation of this societal structure is paradoxical. While he aspires to be part of this opulence, his position is not within its ranks but as an external protector of its “idleness.” As an inherently “idle” character himself, he feels a sense of kinship and protectiveness toward “all these people.” This underscores the disparity between his desires and his actual standing in society. He likes this “opulence and luxury” with its “hygienic idleness” so much that he will perform “unhygienic labour” in order to protect it. One might think, given his role, that Verloc would feel resentful of this extreme wealth. However, he is instead soothed and cheered by it.
The phrase "hygienic idleness" rings with verbal irony, as does the narrator’s tone throughout this passage. It implies a kind of cleanliness or purity associated with not working. The narrator sarcastically implies that the people living in “opulence and luxury” have to be “protected” from working. The “shallow enviousness” of labor is undesirable, here, and the “hygienic” opulence of wealth framed as needing “protection.”
In Mr. Vladimir's early dialogue with Verloc, Conrad weaves together personification and situational irony. As he harangues Verloc about the need to “shake things up,” Mr. Vladimir expounds:
“England lags. This country is absurd with its sentimental regard for individual liberty. [...] England must be brought into line. [...] I suppose you agree that the middle classes are stupid?’
Mr. Verloc agreed hoarsely.
‘They are.’
‘They have no imagination. They are blinded by an idiotic vanity. What they want just now is a jolly good scare.”
As Mr. Vladimir outlines his ambitions for terrorist action, he personifies England as a living being faltering under the weight of its own sentiments. In this instance, personification transforms England into a sentient character—capable of emotions, of lagging, and of holding "sentimental regard" for ideals. Vladimir perceives “England's” cherishing of individual liberties as a form of stagnation. He sees this idea of too many “individual liberties” and its concurrent self-satisfaction and feelings of safety as being inherently bad. He wishes to disrupt it by any means necessary.
The situational irony here lies in two places. The first is the fact that Vladimir, a diplomat representing a foreign power, actually has no idea what is going on in the United Kingdom. Indeed, in the passage which directly follows this one, he gives an account of what he believes is happening that is so misinformed and inaccurate that it fills Verloc with “silent consternation.” Even though he has no real experience with the “middle classes,” and doesn’t understand English politics, Vladimir presumes to understand and critique them as “stupid” and “blinded by an idiotic vanity.”
Furthermore, his desire for Verloc to "shake up" the middle class seems to omit the fact that Verloc himself is a member of that class. When Vladimir asks him if he agrees that the “middle classes are stupid,” he’s also implying that Verloc is himself “stupid.” Verloc, listening to him rail ignorantly against English society, is forced to agree “hoarsely” that this is the case.
The narrator uses hyperbole to draw the reader close to the Assistant Commissioner's feelings of annoyance at Inspector Heat’s incompetence. After Heat recounts what he’s discovered while investigating the London explosion, the Assistant Commissioner barely looks at him:
And still the Assistant Commissioner did not turn away from the darkness outside, as vast as a sea.
In this passage, the narrator describes the darkness outside the window as being as "vast as a sea." This is hyperbole: the reader knows that the darkness only seems endless because the night conceals details. Inspector Heat has just finished telling the Assistant Commissioner about the evidence he has put together about the bomb Stevie accidentally detonated from seemingly unlikely sources. His information seems unreliable, and it implicates suspects whom the Assistant Commissioner doesn’t believe could be involved. He “knows” that all the anarchists in London are supposed to be accounted for, and believes that Heat’s work is just a wild goose chase.
His refusal to engage with Heat underscores the Assistant Commissioner's feelings of exasperation and overwhelm. His choice to stare out of the window instead of politely making eye contact with Heat isn't just born from an interest in observation of the London night. It’s a reflection of his view of Heat’s apparent incompetence. To him, the mystery surrounding the explosion isn’t being efficiently cleared up by his colleague. As far as the Commissioner is concerned, the sequence of events is still shrouded in darkness. The hyperbolic description of the darkness outside suggests that he feels that the investigation is not progressing. Instead of bringing information to light, he feels that Heat is complicating things, and that under his leadership the “darkness” surrounding the terrorist attacks is still just as “vast” as ever. The night outside, it seems, contains as much useful information as Heat’s investigative efforts.
Conrad utilizes both visual imagery invoking prison and situational irony to depict Michaelis's complicated feelings about writing his Autobiography of a Prisoner. Having retreated to the countryside, Michaelis holes himself up with his work:
It was like being in prison, except that one was never disturbed for the odious purpose of taking exercise according to the tyrannical regulations of his old home in the penitentiary. He could not tell whether the sun still shone on the earth or not. The perspiration of the literary labour dropped from his brow. A delightful enthusiasm urged him on.
Conrad's portrayal of Michaelis's experience is full of visual references to incarceration. Describing his voluntary situation as "like being in prison" evokes the tight confines of the cramped cottage he’s in. The visual imagery of smallness and imprisonment does more than paint a vivid picture of Michaelis's emotional state, however. It also offers readers a window into the psychological confines that this fragile, sensitive character faces. Michaelis is traumatized by his previous time in prison but can only complete his writing if he imprisons himself in this way.
The added detail about his uncertainty over the sun's presence further amplifies this picture of solitude. Michaelis has retreated so far from the world that he’s unsure if “the sun still shone on the earth.”
The situational irony of this passage is woven into the narrative through Michaelis's perception of prison “exercise.” Prisoners are usually confined to small cells and allowing them time to be outside and to exercise would generally be viewed as a necessary break from the monotony of prison life. Instead, Michaelis sees this “exercise” as "odious," a chore rather than a reprieve. While he was imprisoned, he resented being forced into “taking exercise,” and is glad not to have to when he’s alone in the country cottage.
There’s a further layer of situational irony in this passage given its context. Just before this, the author describes an intense discussion between Inspector Heat and the Assistant Commissioner about potentially arresting Michaelis. Heat believes he was involved in the London explosion and wants to arrest him. The Commissioner thinks this is a bad idea, especially as he’s already aware of Michaelis’s location and activities—the man has effectively imprisoned himself already, and he's protected by an important patroness.
Mr. Verloc thinks about how unlucky it was that Winnie sewed Stevie's address into his coat, which is the evidence that identifies it to the police when he’s killed. Conrad emphasizes the situational irony of the mishap with an explanatory simile:
The position was gone through no one’s fault really. A small, tiny fact had done it. It was like slipping on a bit of orange peel in the dark and breaking your leg.
The simile in this passage is a seemingly simple one. The narrator likens Mr. Verloc's unexpected and significant misfortune, caused by a small mistake, to "slipping on a bit of orange peel in the dark and breaking your leg." This comparison relates a small, seemingly insignificant action or event to more substantial, unforeseen consequences. The act of slipping on a fruit peel is typically viewed as comical. However, it takes on a darker tone when juxtaposed with the serious outcome of breaking one's leg. Small mistakes, Conrad implies, can be extremely serious. In the same vein, Winnie’s seemingly small, loving act of sewing Stevie's address into his coat leads to catastrophic outcomes for her family. This is one of many moments in The Secret Agent when small actions have disproportionately large consequences.
The situational irony in this scene is rooted in Mr. Verloc's acknowledgment of the unexpectedness of his predicament. Winnie sews Stevie’s address into the lining of his coat because he’s cognitively impaired: in Chapter 1 there’s an incident where it “becomes apparent that Stevie had forgotten his address” and he can’t get home. Winnie makes sure he can’t lose his address because she wants to keep him safe. Ironically, the address is the only thing that can identify him after he triggers the bomb and is exploded. Winnie’s husband saw the address-sewing as a small, insignificant detail, much like one would view an orange peel on the ground. Yet, this minor oversight leads to the identification of Stevie's body and the unraveling of Verloc’s plans. As such, the situational irony lies in the disproportionate consequences of such a small act. The seemingly harmless act of sewing an address into a coat morphs into a pivotal, tragic turning point for the Verloc family.
Conrad employs dramatic irony, metaphor, and allusion in this passage to clarify the disconnect between Mr. Verloc's hopeful expectations of escape and Winnie’s intense fury at him:
Mr. Verloc, in a soft and conjugal tone, was now expressing his firm belief that there were yet a good few years of quiet life before them both. He did not go into the question of means. A quiet life it must be and, as it were, nestling in the shade, concealed among men whose flesh is grass; modest, like the life of violets.
Mr. Verloc's "soft and conjugal tone" when addressing Winnie speaks volumes. He knows she’s upset, but he’s completely unprepared for the level of vengeful fury she’s about to exert. The reader and Winnie are privy to information that he is not: his persuasive, wheedling speech seems useless and almost pathetic. While he’s trying to persuade Winnie that they have a pleasant future ahead, the reader understands its impossibility and feels a sense of dread and tension.
Verloc’s gentle, metaphorical language of a future “nestled in the shade” and the possibility of a “life of violets” only builds this tension. Violets are small, easy-to-miss flowers. Verloc thinks that he and Winnie can have a happy future if they remain incognito, like violets in long grass. He sees a possibility for them to live abroad, humble, and undistinguished amidst the crowd. This desire to be unnoticed ties into his overall wish to escape any consequences of his crimes. He’s not just promising this future to Winnie, he’s actively trying to soothe her with the calming picture he’s painting.
The allusion he makes to “men whose flesh is grass" in this passage is a biblical reference. It points to Isaiah 40:6: “All Flesh is as Grass, and all the Glory of Man, as the Flower of Grass. The Grass withereth, and the Flower thereof falleth away: But the Word of the Lord endureth for ever.” It’s a passage which emphasizes the transience and frailty of human life. Here, Conrad juxtaposes this reference with Verloc's unlikely expectations of living peacefully in hiding. While the biblical context actually underlines human vulnerability, in Verloc's view, it’s about a kind of protective anonymity. He wishes for himself and his wife to hide among ordinary people, which he believes will protect them from harm. His vision is of a new, quiet life, hidden among this "grass." Yet, in another instance of dramatic irony, he doesn’t realize that his own life is in danger. Very shortly after this, Winnie stabs him to death, squashing any possibility of his “firm belief” in “a good few years of quiet life.”
When Winnie tries to confess murdering her husband to Ossipon, he underestimates her actions and misunderstands her meaning. Conrad uses dramatic irony to heighten the tension of the scene, as Ossipon asks her:
‘What the devil are you afraid of?’
‘Haven’t you guessed what I was driven to do!’ cried the woman.
Distracted by the vividness of her dreadful apprehensions, her head ringing with forceful words, that kept the horror of her position before her mind, she had imagined her incoherence to be clearness itself. She had no conscience of how little she had audibly said in the disjointed phrases completed only in her thought. She had felt the relief of a full confession, and she gave a special meaning to every sentence spoken by Comrade Ossipon, whose knowledge did not in the least resemble her own. ‘Haven’t you guessed what I was driven to do!’
In the passage, the dramatic irony present in the conversation amplifies the tension and miscommunication between Winnie and Ossipon. The reader understands Winnie's aghast internal state and the weight of her admission. However, Ossipon remains in the dark, resulting in a conversation full of mutual misunderstanding. When Winnie exclaims, "Haven’t you guessed what I was driven to do!" she thinks that Ossipon can infer that she has murdered her husband. However, her fragmented expressions have not fully conveyed her actions. There is a big disparity between her intended message and what her companion understands. The reader—who has insight into both perspectives—feels the frustration from both sides of the conversation. Winnie can't bring herself to confess her actions outright, and Ossipon is bewildered by her emotional outpouring and disheveled appearance. This knowledge places the reader in a position of waiting, anticipating the moment when Ossipon will realize the truth.
Ossipon, failing to gauge the severity of Winnie's statement, perceives her anxiety as related to political dangers or a personal dilemma rather than the act of murder. The fact that Winnie "felt the relief of a full confession" after speaking with Ossipon further underscores the situation's poignancy. She perceives her confession as clear and understood, whereas in actuality, her intent remains totally obscure to the young man until much later in their interaction.
By the end of the novel, Ossipon is a shadow of his former self, abandoning his once fiery revolutionary convictions. Conrad uses situational irony and the idiom of the "sandwich board" to portray Ossipon's fall from revolutionary grace and his bleak prospects. Despondent and lost, Ossipon expresses his grim outlook:
‘I am seriously ill,’ he muttered to himself with scientific insight. Already his robust form, with an Embassy’s secret-service money (inherited from Mr. Verloc) in his pockets, was marching in the gutter as if in training for the task of an inevitable future. Already he bowed his broad shoulders, his head of ambrosial locks, as if ready to receive the leather yoke of the sandwich board.
The situational irony here is intense. Ossipon, once a fiery revolutionary, is now totally diminished by Winnie's death. The cowardly choices he made, which he believes were a major factor in her suicide, have mentally unhinged him. The reader might expect him to use the money he has stolen or his connections with the anarchists to perform further acts of disruption. Instead, he “bows” his head in shame as he prepares to “marc[h] in the gutter.” "I am seriously ill," he reflects introspectively, hinting at his spiraling mental state. Even though he has the ill-gotten money from Verloc, Ossipon envisions a future where he's reduced to meandering aimlessly along city streets. This image of Ossipon "marching in the gutter" not only denotes his downfall but also the erosion of his principles and ideals.
The idiom "sandwich board" refers to a type of advertising placard worn over the shoulders. In the Victorian period, people wearing sandwich boards would walk around cities as living advertisements for the brands or events the “boards” described. This image further underscores Ossipon’s total degradation. Now, instead of championing change and rebellion, or using his physical body as a tool to undermine the work of his capitalist enemies, he will use it to advertise their goods and services. Far from being an author of highly academic political pamphlets, he sees his “inevitable future” as being quite the opposite. Indeed, he seems destined to become a literal poster-boy for capitalism, a tragic twist of fate.
