The Moon and Sixpence (Hardcover)

At first glance Charles Strickland wins little admiration from the reader. After all, how can one look up to a man who feels no obligation to his wife and children? How can the reader sympathize with a man who abandons a successful career in order to paint, a vocation for which he has previously demonstrated neither great talent nor great interest. Maugham makes no attempt to portray Strickland through rose-colored glasses. Strickland is a man completely devoted to his art, so obsessed that he completely ignores his family, welfare, and health. He lives his life as a semi-recluse, working prolifically in his studio yet neither showing nor selling his work to anyone. As with many artists, his true genius was not acknowledged until after his death.

Despite these seemingly unsympathetic qualities, Strickland without doubt comes to be viewed as a hero of sorts. Here is a man bold enough to risk everything to pursue his dream, a man with sufficient character to disregard those who scoffed at him, and ultimately a man with true artistic genius. And yes, there is an element of tragic heroism in his sometimes self-destructive struggle against insurmountable odds.

Maugham's writing is at its finest in this tightly crafted, elegantly written novel. As in many of his other works, we find here the first-person narrative so characteristic of Maugham. Our unnamed narrator, himself a writer, is a keen observer of events and emotions. And though he is a minor protagonist as well, he remains far enough removed from the central action of the novel that he never loses his sense of objectivity. The reader comes to rely on him as a trusted friend. And because of this relationship between narrator and reader, Maugham is able to paint a sympathetic portrait of his central character that the reader cannot help admiring.

But it was with a peculiar displeasure that I journey the first few hundred pages. Part One is an episodic narritive in which the narrator meets the society of London and Paris, and more particularly Charles Strickland. This style of writing I have always found most appealing, but nonetheless Maugham seems in a desperate rush to go through it all. There are so few episodes, and indeed they all go by in such a flourish, that one doesn't find the story and its characters as sufficiently developed as a longer tale might have accomplished. Part Two adorns the more appropriate, leisurely pace, but the plot is recounted through sundry interviews from negligable characters. Maugham's intention was no doubt to show Strickland's effect on people, but every time fiction assumes such a story-telling strategy, it comes across as impersonal and unsatisfactory. And The Moon and Sixpence is no exception. Because different characters are recounting and reminiscing, the tone varies too frequently, and as soon as you begin to comprehend one character, he is quickly abandoned for another.

What comes as an ultimate surprise, however, is that Maugham was able to pull me back in during the final few pages. Indeed, that shows the true strength of the narrative. The fact that I could be somewhat disappointed with the first part, exceedingly disappointed with the second part, and still come around to applaud the book on the last pages is a true feat. As the closing events occur, and Strickland comes to his ultimate fate, one can't help but view the life and sacrifices of an artist with a whole new outlook, a whole new respect and appreciation. Yes, perhaps Strickland takes the eccentricities of art to an absurd degree, but the character is so well developed and understood by his author that one cannot help but feel a greater fondness for the misunderstood Strickland, the initially lackluster book, and the literary skills of W. Somerset Maugham. And so, I can't help but conclude with the statement that this is a widely successful book in its most grand artistic attempt. Could it have been organized, structured, paced any better? --Yes! But on the whole, I'll take what I can get: a good story, with an interesting character, who has an incalculable gift.