I found a Penguin copy of The Painted Veil on the street. When I opened it I had the vaguest of memories that I might have read it long ago but from the first page it had me riveted until the last. The title comes from a sonnet by Shelley which begins

Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,—behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies...

For me it was a sepia coloured novel and although barely mentioned (as best I recall), I could hear the ceiling fans, taste the whisky and sodas and feel the rhythms of louvered afternoon light in this British Colonial outpost. But the setting is not the subject of this remarkable story. It is (as per Shelly) about Life and lifting the veil. Emotions are laid bare and we are reminded of our humanity (except for the grinding poverty of the coolies).

The veil of expectation is lifted over and over again: the discovery of the affair, Walter's reaction, Kitty's disenchantment and surrender to fate, Wallington's real life, Walter's death (the dog it was who died), confronting Townsend, parent's boredom with their children, Kitty's father's sacrifice.

When all things lasted so short a time and nothing mattered very much, it seemed pitiful that men, attaching an absurd importance to trivial objects, should make themselves and one another so unhappy.

A wonderful book by a great male writer. ( )

Love and loss on a painfully human scale. ( )

I love Somerset Maugham and I have no idea why I have waited so many years to revisit this work. I have long been of the opinion that he is vastly underrated, the equal (at least) of Fitzgerald who had the good sense to share the stories of artsy expats who fetishize the charm of the locals rather than crusty old colonials living abroad out of perceived duty to the crown who treat the locals as subhuman. Dilettantes are far more modern than self-important diplomatic functionaries. Years ago I talked about this with a friend who is an English prof and he said that Maugham's work was dated. If flat-out good storytelling is dated perhaps that is true otherwise, I disagree. It has been just shy of 100 years since this was published, and for better or worse I found it entirely relatable.

This is a glorious story of personal growth. We meet Kitty Fane when she is the flightiest of English misses, as conceited and silly a girl that has ever lived. Kitty though, was exactly who she was raised to be, and when life turns and she reaps the consequences of her actions she becomes a woman. Maugham saw the lot of women in his social milieu, forced to be silly or the competent power, invisible behind mediocre white men. All that and a wildly fun read. ( )

Reading this was mostly a guilty pleasure since I loved the movie, starring Naomi Watts, so much. Unlike the movie's ending, the book's is dark and disturbing; the book version of her final encounter with Townsend is not redemptive. Because of that, I'm almost sorry I read it. ( )

Good story of an unfaithful wife who learns to love her doctor husband in a plague-stricken land. ( )