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Loading... The Moon and Sixpence (1919)by W. Somerset Maugham
Quick read about the nature and driving passion behind an artist, and what impulsive things they do to people around them for the sake of creativity. An impressive read, and one that is only too relevant in every aspect. the Moon Sixpence is a novel which is based on the life of the artist Paul Gauguin, as Maugham imagined it. Of course, given the subject and the author, it was not a cheerful book with a happy ending for all. Maugham seems to have felt an urge to write about the darker side of human nature, while Gauguin's life seems to have lent itself easily to that purpose. I do feel sure that this says as much or more about the author than it does about the subject. I loved this book and sped through it.The tormented, artistic soul was laid bare and it was no easier to put the book down than it would be to look away from a train wreck. I suppose this has been on my ´to read´ list for just on fourty years. I think I shied away from it back then because I imagined it trivialised the life of Gauguin (strange notions we have about books we´ve never read...) and I was more attracted in those days to the artist than the writer. In the event Gauguin was much more monstrous and talented than Maughan has depicted him here, and so the portrayal doesn´t offend, but rather seems to be a cipher around which other characters (the wife, the narrator, the sponsor) revolve and reveal themselves. An essay as it were on how it is to be a normal (mediocre?) person in the presence of real genius. The depiction of the Schuffenecker family is just about spot on, except that his wife did not kill herself, but simply divorced him and took the children with her. Gauguin´s portrait of the family is like a forensic exhibit in a trial - all of the aspects of the crime (the seduction of his best friend´s wife) are there to be seen. I might add that Gauguin´s treatment of his fellow painters, Emile Bernard and Jacob Meyer de Haan to name just a few, was equally atrocious. I suspect if Maughan had included all of the instances of poor behaviour in Gauguin´s life the reader would have given it up as bad fiction. So in the end this book is a curiosity piece for me; I like the narrative style and I´m glad I´ve read it after all this time. But it is a bit like those ´books they wrote after the movie came out´ - a little bit 'flat' compared to the dramatic material from which it is sourced. Not to be confused with the much better "The Gold of Their Bodies", this pseudobiography of Paul Gauguin transforms the French maniac artist and sinner into a lymphatic English toff who wanders off and becomes a genius painter. It seemed to just stop at the end, making me think that maybe the dude putting it into Project Gutenberg got bored with it and gave up. no reviews | add a review
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Told episodically, with a saga of events revolving around Strickland, Maugham presents an insight in the heart and soul of the main character (Strickland) and his transformation towards a callous existence. The inspiration of the story was Paul Gauguin, the originator of the primitive art. The novel presents an eccentric point of view that reflects those moments of non- prejudicial thinking where a genius transients his short term goals for an epoch. Loosing the ability to be sentient and eschewing of panache are described as the presage for such an elevation of mind. Maugham makes an exquisite illusory comparison of shedding of the leaves for a distant spring , in this regard.
The book follows Strickland and his work from France to Tahiti, where the story ends. Strickland’s unwillingness to compromise for his pursuit of art is implausible.Living in penury, denigrated by the society with a proof of his existence nearly effaced, he starts abashing anyone and everyone who tries to come close to him, which includes his purveyors and even those whom he beseech.
Like every other classic, it too presents the entry of a mellifluous young charming lady who leaving her equanimity becomes his minion and her own personality becomes a vile minuscule existence. (