wordsaremything's review against another edition
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
My grandfather, born in 1930, has said to me that Maugham is his favorite author. I had never even heard of him, but one day while out at lunch, I noticed a girl reading this. intrigued by the cover and the title, I looked it up on goodreads. What do you know -- it's Maugham. Kismet. It is such that I began reading this book without the faintest notion of what it was about. I would say that I enjoyed it even more because of it.
When the book starts, one might think that the main character is Elliott, but you'd be mistaken. You might think it's Isabel, but still you'd be mistaken. Maugham himself is not the main character, though he the narrator. Though the story would be bereft without each of them — I found myself amused with Elliott's comment of "Burn it" when asked what to do with a portrait of Louisa, and laughing out loud when Isabel would have a tantrum, in one instance throwing bread at Maugham — the main character, and by Maugham's own admittance, the reason the book was written, is Larry.
Curiously enough, we really only see Larry on his own. The other characters we learn about through their conversations with Maugham, but Larry is a man of soliloquy, a sleeper character, if you will. That Maugham suggests one could skip the chapter of Larry's adventures is curious, and strikes me as faked humility.
Even now, if someone were to ask me what this book was about, I'm not sure what I would answer. Maybe "A story from the early 1900s about a few vapid characters from Chicago, cavorting about in Europe." I don't know if I would say it's fiction or nonfiction, though it feels like fiction. I wish I could read Larry's book — though Maugham has hidden his character so thoroughly that I am sure he is a nobody today.
For men and women are not only themselves; they are also the region in which they were born, the city apartment or the farm in which they learnt to talk, the games they played as children, the old wives' tales they overheard, the food they ate, the schools they attended, the sports they followed, the poets they read, and the zGod they believed in.
"Isn't all that awfully morbid? One has to take the world as it comes. If we're here, it's surely to make the most of life."
"If the rose at noon has lost the beauty it had at dawn, the beauty it had then was real. Nothing in the world is permanent, and we're foolish when we ask anything to last, but surely we're still more foolish not to take delight in it while we have it."
When the book starts, one might think that the main character is Elliott, but you'd be mistaken. You might think it's Isabel, but still you'd be mistaken. Maugham himself is not the main character, though he the narrator. Though the story would be bereft without each of them — I found myself amused with Elliott's comment of "Burn it" when asked what to do with a portrait of Louisa, and laughing out loud when Isabel would have a tantrum, in one instance throwing bread at Maugham — the main character, and by Maugham's own admittance, the reason the book was written, is Larry.
Curiously enough, we really only see Larry on his own. The other characters we learn about through their conversations with Maugham, but Larry is a man of soliloquy, a sleeper character, if you will. That Maugham suggests one could skip the chapter of Larry's adventures is curious, and strikes me as faked humility.
Even now, if someone were to ask me what this book was about, I'm not sure what I would answer. Maybe "A story from the early 1900s about a few vapid characters from Chicago, cavorting about in Europe." I don't know if I would say it's fiction or nonfiction, though it feels like fiction. I wish I could read Larry's book — though Maugham has hidden his character so thoroughly that I am sure he is a nobody today.
For men and women are not only themselves; they are also the region in which they were born, the city apartment or the farm in which they learnt to talk, the games they played as children, the old wives' tales they overheard, the food they ate, the schools they attended, the sports they followed, the poets they read, and the zGod they believed in.
"Isn't all that awfully morbid? One has to take the world as it comes. If we're here, it's surely to make the most of life."
"If the rose at noon has lost the beauty it had at dawn, the beauty it had then was real. Nothing in the world is permanent, and we're foolish when we ask anything to last, but surely we're still more foolish not to take delight in it while we have it."
Content Warnings
Minor: Sexism, Xenophobia, and Racial slurs
This was written in the 40s about the 10s/20s. It's a little sexist and racist, because everyone was a little sexist and racist back then. It is not overt and not the main point of the book.
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