January 25, 1874—W. Somerset Maugham, who went from the world’s most popular author in his lifetime to critical neglect afterward, only to experience a more recent partial reputational rebound, was born in the British Embassy in Paris—a foreshadowing of the globe trotting that would take him outside the British Isles for much of his life.
Maugham’s birth occurred in France because his lawyer
father worked in the embassy at the time. Later in life, he traveled far from
his homeland to see the world, to distance himself from obligations and ties he
preferred not to deal with, and to accommodate the legal situation of his longtime
lover.
The cosmopolitanism that the author came to first
virtually by inheritance, then by preference, turned out to be a boon to his
career as well as a personal joy.
The exotic places and unusual people he encountered
along the way often showed up, in comparatively disguised form, in the 32
plays, 19 novels, nine volumes of short stories, and assorted essays, travel
pieces, and memoirs he turned out in his prolific, 65-year writing career.
In a post from five years ago, I discussed one
such novel that reflected his wanderlust and misogyny: The Moon and Sixpence
(1919), about an artist who sought in the South Seas creative and sexual freedom away from
conventional middle-class mores.
Though Maugham modeled his main character on French
painter Paul Gaugain, his protagonist’s dramatic change in life represented a
form of wish fulfillment for the novelist, who, after only two years of
marriage, wanted no more of his wife Syrie, whom he blamed for trapping him in
a loveless marriage.
Brisk sales, a steady stream of residual income from Hollywood
adaptations of his works, and personal industry and thrift enabled Maugham to
travel frequently to the Far East. They also provided the means for him to live
on the French Riviera with personal secretary and lover Gerald Haxton, who had
been deported from England on a morals charge.
In addition to cosmopolitanism, two other aspects of
Maugham’s background aided him in his writing career: speech and secrets.
Growing up, Maugham would have regarded speaking as a
handicap to career advancement or happiness. A severe stutter left him unable
to follow his father into the practice of law and increased his social anxiety.
But the resulting preference for listening rather than
talking heightened an ear for dialogue that he capitalized on in writing the
plays that made his reputation, and his knowledge of three languages—English,
French, and German—widened the circle of people to whom he conversed.
Those people held secrets and, by early professional
training as a doctor, none of this escaped Maugham’s close observations.
Indeed, because of his same-sex attraction, the writer
understood how people sought to conceal these personal blemishes at all costs,
through all manner of disguises and identities.
It was great training for his intelligence activities
on behalf of Britain in WWI, as well as the spy story collection he wrote inspired by his service,
Ashenden (1928), which pioneered the realistic treatment of espionage
work that would later be perfected by Graham Greene and John le Carre.
Unable to eye others without illusions, Maugham was
similarly unsparing towards himself. Though fascinated by different forms of
spirituality (an interest that came to fruition in his 1944 novel The
Razor's Edge), he found no ultimate purpose or meaning in life.
Moreover, in his 1938 quasi-memoir, The Summing Up, he seems to have absorbed the increased critical complaint that he
was at heart a middlebrow writer who required little intellectual effort from
readers, perhaps because of his own limited skills:
“I have had small power of imagination. I have taken
living people and put them into the situations, tragic or comic, that their
characters suggested. I might well say that they invented their own stories. I
have been incapable of those great, sustained flights that carry the author on
broad pinions into a celestial sphere. My fancy, never very strong, has been
hampered by my sense of probability. I have painted easel pictures, not
frescoes.”
Nevertheless, if Maugham rarely indulged in the
metaphors and literary allusions so often prized by academics, he influenced
writers as diverse as George Orwell, Paul Theroux and V.S. Naipaul in what Orwell called “his power of telling a story straightforwardly and
without frills.”
Moreover, especially in short stories such as “The
Outstation,” “In a Strange Land,” “The Letter,” and “Mackintosh,” he depicted
an environment that has increasingly intrigued readers since the success of TV’s
“The Jewel in the Crown”: Britons at the far edges of their country’s empire,
yielding, despite the exotic environment around them, to boredom, drink, lust,
and the temptations of power.
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