NOSTROMO is the most anxiously meditated of the longer novels which belong to the period following upon the publication of the TYPHOON volume of short stories. I don't mean to say that I became then conscious of any impending change in my mentality and in my attitude towards the tasks of my writing life. And perhaps there was never any change, except in that mysterious, extraneous thing which has nothing to do with the theories of art; a subtle change in the nature of the inspiration; a phenomenon for which I can not in any way be held responsible. What, however, did cause me some concern was that after finishing the last story of the TYPHOON volume it seemed somehow that there was nothing more in the world to write about. This so strangely negative but disturbing mood lasted some little time; and then, as with many of my longer stories, the first hint for NOSTROMO came to me in the shape of a vagrant anecdote completely destitute of valuable details. . . . -- Joseph Conrad