Of human bondage

Somerset Maugham

I have just finished reading the book "Of human bondage" by Somerset Maugham.  It is generally agreed to be his masterpiece. The Guardian and Penguin expose some of Maugham's life story behind this partly-autobiographical work and paint a pathetic picture of a weak man without hope. And yet in so many ways I identify with his pseudonym Philip Carey in the book. I too am weak and hopelessly affected by what I think other people think. The book underlines human frailty and its dependence on fate even if, for the sake of the reader, Philip is left in a positive state as the book closes. We are left thinking that, for all his manifold failings, Philips is a good man.

Maugham's lack of foundation stands in stark contrast to "Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God..." John 13:3-5. The author and Philip, early on, express pride in freeing themselves from religious bondage, but seem to miss the point of true religion.

I come away from book book with a mixture of identity, sadness but a kind of "new year's resolution" to be different.

Incidentally the fact that I have enjoyed this somewhat long and stodgy book supports my theory that books and films and music (indeed art generally) that appeal to me are those which I can identify with in some way. The joy of sharing the appreciation of a landscape, a face, a musical transition or melody, a character trait - of the discovery that someone else in the world thinks or has experienced just a tinsy bit like I have.