Fair warning, this is going to be a long review for this is a book that is close to my heart written by an author whom I deeply admire.The Right TimeThere are some books that walk into your life at an opportune time. I'm talking about the books that send a pleasant shiver down your spine laden with “Man, this is meant to be!” as you flip through its pages cursorily. Or those that upon completion, demand an exclamation from every book-reading fibre of your body to the effect of “There couldn't have been a better time for me to have read this book!” Now, I come from deferred-gratification stock. So books like these, you don't read immediately,. You let them sit there on your table for a while. You bask in the warm expectant glow of a life-altering read. You glance at the book as you make your way to office, take pleasure in the fact that it'll be right there on your table when you open the front-door wearily, waiting to be opened, caressed, reveled in. And when that moment of reckoning arrives, you don't stop, you plunge yourself straight into the book, white-hot passionate. The Moon and Sixpence was just that kind of a book for me. I had just completed (and thoroughly enjoyed) a course on Modern Art in college and could rattle off the names of Impressionist painters faster than I could the Indian cricket team. I was particularly intrigued by Paul Gauguin, a French Post-Impressionist painter, after reading one of his disturbingly direct quotes. “Civilization is what makes me sick”, he proclaimed, and huddled off to Tahiti to escape Europe and “all that is artificial and conventional”, leaving behind a wife and five children to fend for themselves, never to make contact with them again. This struck me as the ultimate expression of individuality, a resounding slap to the judgmental face of conservative society, an escapist act of repugnant selfishness that could only be justified by immeasurable artistic talent, genius, some may call it. My imagination was tickled beyond measure and when I discovered there was a novel by W.Somerset Maugham (the author of The Razor's Edge no less!) based on Gauguin, my joy knew no bounds. I was in the correct frame of mind to read about the life of a stockbroker who gave up on the trivial pleasures of bourgeois life for the penury and hard life of an aspiring painter without considering him ridiculous or vain. Supplied with the appropriate proportions of awe that is due to a genius protagonist, I began reading the book. I have to admit I expected a whole lot from it. I had a voyeuristic curiosity to delve into the head of a certified genius. I was even more curious to see how Maugham had executed it. At the same time, I was hoping that the book would raise and answer important questions concerning the nature of art and about what drives an artist to madness and greatness.The BookThe book's title is taken from a review of Of Human Bondage in which the novel's protagonist, Philip Carey, is described as "so busy yearning for the moon that he never saw the sixpence at his feet."I admired Maugham's narrative voice. In his inimitable style, he flits in and out of the characters' life as the stolid, immovable writer who is a mere observer, and nothing more. His narrator defies Heisenberg's uncertainty principle as in observing his characters, he doesn't change their lives or nature one bit. He has a mild disdain for the ordinary life of a householder and relishes his independence.“I pictured their lives, troubled by no untoward adventure, honest, decent, and, by reason of these two upstanding, pleasant children, so obviously destined to carry on the normal traditions of their race and station, not without significance. They would grow old insensibly; they would see their son and daughter come to years of reason, marry in due course – the one a peretty girl, future mother of healthy children; the other a handsome, manly fellow, obviously a soldier; and at last, prosperous in their dignified retirement, beloved by their descendants, after a happy, not unuseful life, in the fullness of their age they would sink into the grave. That must be the story of innumerable couples, and the patter of life it offers has a homely grace. It reminds you of a placid rivulet, meandering smoothly through green pastures and shaded by pleasant trees, till at last it falls into the vasty sea; but the sea is so calm, so silent, so indifferent, that you are troubled suddenly by a vague uneasiness. Perhaps it is only a kink in my nature, strong in me even in those days, that I felt in such an existence, the share of the great majority, something amiss. I recognized its social value. I saw its ordered happiness, but a fever in my blood asked for a wilder course. There seemed to me something alarming in such easy delights. In my heart was a desire to live more dangerously. I was not unprepared for jagged rocks and treacherous shoals if I could only have change – change and the excitement of the unforeseen.”In Maugham's hands, Gauguin becomes Charles Strickland, an unassuming British stockbroker, with a secret unquenchable lust for beauty that he is willing to take to the end of the world, first to Paris and then to remote Tahiti. He is cold, selfish and uncompromising in this quest for beauty. “The passion that held Strickland was a passion to create beauty. It gave him no peace. It urged him hither and thither. He was eternally a pilgrim, haunted by a divine nostalgia, and the demon within him was ruthless. There are men whose desire for truth is so great that to attain it they will shatter the very foundation of their world. Of such was Strickland, only beauty with him took the place of truth. I could only feel for him a profound compassion.”However words such as these serve to romanticize Strickland's actions which at first glance, remain despicable. (view spoiler)[He leaves his wife as casually as one would leave to buy milk from the store, he betrays his only friend by eloping with his wife and then proceeds to drive her to suicide with his callousness. (hide spoiler)]
I thought this 1919 novel was amazing. W. Somerset Maugham’s use of language and his psychological insights fascinated me. Told by an anonymous narrator, a writer, it is the story of the life and personality of one Charles Strickland, a bland, steady, unremarkable London stockbroker who left his career and family, moved to Paris, and became a painter whose paintings were viewed by few people, most of whom thought they were awful. Eventually he moved to and died in Tahiti, achieving great posthumous fame. The story was apparently inspired by the life of Paul Gauguin, although any parallels between the lives off Gauguin and Strickland are loose indeed.Based up comments made by other readers, I have several suggestions to make. First, this is not, nor was it intended to be, a biography or work of historical fiction. It is a story quite independent of Gauguin, and I think the reader is advised to forget about Gauguin and not seek similarities. Second, this is not a narrative intending to portray the normative psychological drives of all artists, and attempts to generalize to other painters, authors, composers, etc, are misguided. This is a story of one artist. Third, this is not Maugham’s autobiography in disguise. Fourth, the novel’s narrator may or may not be reliable and should not be assumed to be an alter ego for Maugham; the narrator’s many philosophical comments and artistic judgments are not necessarily those of the true author. This is a probing narrative of personalities and motivations, pure and simple, and the careful reader will find himself responding out of his own experience. And enjoying the language per se.All that being said, the book is filled with quotable passages. Here are a few:“Each one of us is alone in the world. He is shut in a tower of brass, and can communicate with his fellows only by signs, and the signs have no common value, so that their sense is vague and uncertain.”“One (can) be certain of nothing in dealing with creatures so incalculable has human beings.”“Beauty is something wonderful and strange that the artist fashions out of the chaos of the world in the torment of his soul. And when he has made it, it is not given to all to know it. To recognize it you must repeat the adventure of the artist. It is a melody that he sings to you, and to hear it again in your own heart you want knowledge and sensitiveness and imagination.”“The writer should seek his reward in the pleasure of his work and in release from the burden of this thought; and, indifferent to aught else, care nothing for praise or censure, failure or success.”I found myself gasping at page after page of this narrative. The author’s precision of language and his insight into human nature, in particular the nature of one specific fictional character, captivated me. Many readers may find that they are reminded of the social ambiance and subtleties in the fiction of Anthony Powell, and the last part of the book may bring back suggestions of Joseph Conrad.
What do You think about The Moon And Sixpence (2005)?
What’s happened to Somerset Maugham’s reputation? In his lifetime he was a massively popular, bestselling author, and what’s more a critical darling. But now, nearly fifty years after his death, his books remain in print but he’s hardly a writer in fashion. Why is that? As although I’m fairly new to his fiction (this is only my second Maugham), I have to say that I’m deeply impressed by his work. These are sharp and observant novels with strong characters and excellent narrative. And yet their author’s name and reputation has receded into the background. ‘The Moon and the Sixpence’ is loosely based on the life of Paul Gauguin (much like the previous novel I read was based on Aleister Crowley). Maughan recasts him as an Englishman, but this is still a tale of a man abandoning his family and striving to be an artist whilst battling poverty and deprivation. Maugham is really good at capturing a sense of place, with London, France and Tahiti brought into being with a simple and unfussy vividness. His grasp of character is highly astute as well, with the artist Charles Strickland becoming this increasingly large and vibrant presence – even as he remains somewhat unknowable. (To blend charisma and enigma together is no simple trick.) I also enjoyed the Dutch painter, Stroeve. Okay, maybe the female characters aren’t as well observed, but then this is a tale of a damaged and damaging man, and those around him are (mostly) casualties – the female characters are there to suffer in different ways.If I’m honest, the final quarter is not quite as good as what went before, and there are throughout – particularly when discussing art – some terribly overwrought passages. But as it built to a slightly bathetic ending (which I thought bore the influence of Conrad’s ‘Heart of Darkness’), I was struck at how strong a character study and how good a piece of popular literary fiction this actually is. So again, I have to ask, just where is the love for Somerset Maugham?
—F.R.
Don’t repeat my mistake. I chose this book because I thought it would give me a better understanding of Paul Gauguin’s life and inner thoughts. This is instead a book of fiction. Maugham creates a new story from a few of the well known facts about Paul Gauguin. Gauguin was a stockbroker who left his wife and family to paint. Maugham creates the fictional character Charles Strickland. He too is a stockbroker who leaves his family. Both go to Tahiti. Neither receives recognition for their artistic talent until after death. The differences are however so numerous that you cannot look at Strickland’s life and draw any conclusions about Gauguin’s motivations or thoughts. Here follow just a few of the differences:(view spoiler)[1. Gauguin was French, Strickland English.2. Gauguin had five children with a Danish wife. Strickland two with an English wife.3. Gauguin died of syphilis, Strickland of leprosy.4. Gauguin was part of the art community in France, Strickland was on his own. Not a word is referred to Gauguin’s time with Van Gogh in Arles. (hide spoiler)]
—Chrissie
I can't imagine ever disliking a Maugham book. I may just like some more than I like others. I feel that he has to be the most quotable author of all time. When I read his work, I highlight so much that stands out for me. The enormity of this man's talent just leaves me in awe. His words flow like fluid from the pages. He gives you so much to reflect on.This book is great, but I don't think I liked it quite as much as The Razor's Edge or Of Human Bondage, which I really thought were brilliant. But, there is really nothing negative to say here... The character of Charles Stickland is not a very likeable one, but it is very intersting to read about his passion and drive for art. It was like he had an inner mission, and he did not really care or expect anyone else to understand it or accept it. I feel like this book is a perfect example of not necessarily liking the characters, but loving the book for what it is.
—Kelly
