‘The Moon and Sixpence’ by W. Somerset Maugham (Review)

It wasn’t long ago that I posted on a chance find at the local Mechanics Institute library, and today’s post see me looking at another book I recently stumbled upon there.  It’s a work I’d been wanting to try for quite some time, so I was happy to take it home with me, despite the piles of other books waiting for my attention, and I’m happy to say it lived up to my expectations.  It’s not the longest of novels, but it fits in a lot, a portrait of a man who one day decides his life’s not for him – and does something about it.

*****
W. Somerset Maugham’s The Moon and Sixpence is set around the turn of the nineteenth/twentieth centuries, narrated by a writer looking back in time.  We begin with a look at his young adulthood in London, getting into literary circles where he encounters both writers and those who admire them.  Through an acquaintance, he eventually becomes friendly with a certain Mrs. Strickland, eventually meeting her stockbroker husband, Charles, who is to become the main figure of the story.

Strickland is a dull, stolid man in the narrator’s eyes, so it comes as a surprise when he hears that the stockbroker has run away to Paris, leaving his now destitute wife behind him.  Having been asked by the abandoned woman to follow the runaway to France, the writer sets off for Paris, with the rumours of the lover that accompanied Strickland leading him to expect the worst.  However, when the two men finally meet, there’s a twist to the tale; you see, there’s no woman involved at all, and Strickland’s true motive for his move comes as quite a shock:

“Do you mean to say that you didn’t leave your wife for another woman?”
“Of course not.”
“On your word of honour?”
I don’t know why I asked for that.  It was very ingenuous of me.
“On my word of honour.”
“Then, what in God’s name have you left her for?”
“I want to paint.”
pp.33/4 (Dover Publications, 2006)

Hard as it is to believe, the middle-aged man has thrown over his family and job on a whim, wanting to devote what remains of his life to art.  Even harder to believe is a fact we’re told at the very start of the novel – he’s destined to become a great artist, whose work will be sold for fortunes in the years to come…

My interest in this book came from its prominence in one of my favourite Korean novels, Jang Eun-jin’s No One Writes Back (another book featuring a man who sets off on a journey).  Based loosely on the life of Paul Gaugin, it follows the tribulations of Strickland after his sudden decision to up sticks and leave to pursue his calling.  The story sees us following him from a distance, with the narrator pulling together what he knows about Strickland from his own experiences and the stories he hears from other people.

All told, it’s certainly an adventurous second life.  Much is made of Strickland’s years in Paris, where he attempts to hone his craft, and later he spends some time in Marseilles, before setting off for the Pacific, ending up in Tahiti.  As you might expect, his is a life of hardship, but there’s never a complaint, or a suspicion that he’s made a mistake.  The budding painter shows an impressive resolve and determination to devote himself to his art.

Strickland is an impressive creation, a man who has decided the normal rules of society don’t apply to him.  He simply doesn’t care about the mess he left behind in London, and later on in Paris, he destroys the life of a man who helps him out when at his lowest ebb.  The narrator gradually comes to explore the man’s nature:

He ate with appetite, but was indifferent to what he ate; to him it was only food that he devoured to still the pangs of hunger; and when no food was to be had he seemed capable of doing without.  I learned that for six months he had lived on a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk a day.  He was a sensual man, and yet was indifferent to sensual things.  He looked upon privation as no hardship.  There was something impressive in the manner in which he lived a life wholly of the spirit. (p.57)

In his utter lack of interest in the views of others, Strickland reminds me greatly of a certain Bartleby, and like Melville’s creation, the artist is quick to let everyone know when he would rather not follow their advice (albeit in a rather more forceful tone).

A major theme of the novel is the nature of the artist, and the single-minded resolve to pursue his craft and ignore anything that might detract from it.  Maugham compares Strickland’s fate with that of normal folk, and the narrator himself is at times uncomfortable in polite society, fleeing to Paris to escape a lifestyle that he now finds stifling.  The writer poses a question about the nature of a successful life, one that becomes increasingly important as the novel progresses.  Is it all about wealth, status and a happy family life?  Or is it about finding a place, a calling that’s right for you, regardless of whether it brings riches and happiness in its wake?

A particularly successful feature of the The Moon and Sixpence is the narrator himself, an older man looking back with experience.  There’s a detached approach to his story, with dry humour running throughout, and in his own way, he’s every bit as selfish and cruel as Strickland himself:

His garb of woe suggested that he had lost in one catastrophe every relation he had in the world, even to cousins by marriage twice removed.  His plumpness and his red, fat cheeks made his mourning not a little incongruous.  It was cruel that his extreme unhappiness should have in it something of buffoonery. (pp.96/7)

If that’s how he describes one of his closest friends, you can just imagine what he says about everyone else…

I enjoyed it all immensely, but I need to add a warning to the modern reader at this point as this is not a novel that would stand up to scrutiny in an age of sensitivity readers.  Maugham displays a rather flippant attitude towards women and non-white characters, and at times there’s some quite flagrant sexism and racism on display, with a few terms bandied about that would not be permitted to go to press today.  It’s definitely a book of its time, which probably says a lot about the age, and the writer himself.

Still, don’t let that put you off.  The Moon and Sixpence is a wonderful book exploring what drives those of an artistic bent to ignore social niceties and public opinion to pursue what they perceive to be their calling.  Taking us all the way to Tahiti, it lays bare the life of a man who, despite his misadventures and death, manages to live life on his own terms.  I can’t say I really envy Strickland his bohemian existence, or his rather unfortunate demise, but you can’t help feeling a tinge of admiration for a man who did it his way, and, albeit posthumously, succeeded in making his mark upon the world.