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.”
