The Moon and Sixpence

Most of us give lip service to the value of human connection. We cite our families, friends, mindful human interaction as the meaningful centers of our lives. Many are engaged in altruistic endeavors that define their values and benefit mankind. Few renounce marriage, family and human society. At the same time, few people exist without the constant expression of the ego. To a large extent our egos define us, whether we wish to acknowledge that or not. One could argue that most artists are driven by the ego's need to be recognized and legitimized. Paintings are to admire, after all. They are meant to be hung in houses, palaces, civic offices, and museums. Success as a painter suggests the possibility of the ego immortalized, forever displayed and discussed. Thus, it startles and amazes most of us when we encounter a person so driven by his daemon that he would readily surrender his soul or his mundane pleasures to render his artistic vision. That any artist would utterly renounce the world for that purpose astonishes and perplexes us, but that is how Charles Strickland in Maugham's masterpiece, "The Moon and Sixpence," chose to live. Driven by the need to create, Maugham's protagonist, modeled after Paul Gaughin, the post-impressionist painter, relinquished his family, his profession and his social status to express the daemon of his crippled soul. One has to ask how healthy is it for one to allow that demon of the subconscious to drive man on and on to artistic achievement, and why would anyone surrender his happiness and comfort to such a goal unless he were driven by impulses beyond his control? Unless he was mad?I think it can be argued that the pursuit of art at such a cost is indeed madness. Nevertheless, we cannot help but admire the genius of such a seeker, no matter how inhuman and possibly demonic or possessed he appeared to be. And finally we have to admire the confidence, the unbelievable faith a man such as Strickland possessed in his abilities, especially, if during his life they were not even acknowledged and, particularly, if he never sold the art for which he sacrificed his humanity and his health. It is simply fascinating to glimpse into such a character as Charles Strickland and to recognize the inordinate dedication such a life involved and to recognize that one can be so utterly seized by such an extraordinary impulse that its essence defies explanation. What does such a man see when his eyes fasten on truth beyond the veil - truth so precise and so necessary - that he can not rest until his canvas is finished and the image is rendered once and for all? Such accomplishment, such energy and dedication are miracles, some of us would argue, but we are still helpless to understand either the process or the sacrifice. The finished canvas is the mad painter laid bare for all of us to see, the soul equally exposed but still elusive. Such, I suppose, is the nature of truth. It is always fleeting and incomprehensible, but it is still worth the search to the bitter end. But was Strickland's rejection of human ties and physical comfort worth the goal of profound artistic achievement? Some of us cannot accept that big a price to be an artist.Maugham describes an ordinary man, a stockbroker and father, married to a generous benefactor of the art community, a man who indulged his habits of playing cards and visiting his club. Not only had he never expressed a desire to be an artist, he'd not indicated dissatisfaction with his bourgeois life either. Maugham describes him as totally unremarkable, paling next to his more impressive wife. However, if one reads between the lines, it is clear from the beginning of the novel that the man was authentic and that although he does not initially reveal signs of genius or even yearnings beyond his accomplishments to date, he quietly, doggedly indulges his own caprices. When in fact he consummates a relationship with a tea shop worker, he appears simply self-centered, not possessed of a driven nature or even a compulsive one. Similar to his own personality, his work "disturbs" and "arrests." For sure, this is the mark of the true artist, this capacity to arouse attention and invite a response; likewise it is apparent, as Maugham describes the seeds of Strickland's personality before he left England and went to France to learn how to paint.Maugham describes Stickland as "just a good, dull, honest, plain man." The narrator claims there "was no reason to waste one's time over him." The narrator does not see what is coming, but the astute reader sees the hints of Strickland's authenticity in that there is "something amiss," and "a vague sense of uneasiness" on the narrator's part that signals momentous change in the Strickland household. The narrator owns that the Strickland's were shadowy figures, and he doesn't know why that is so. Perhaps this is because the narrator himself has difficulty fathoming the deeper impulses that propel the genius from his sleeping, banal world into the inferno of his vision. Later the narrator wonders that he didn't see the unusualness of Strickland, but the reader may have noticed how quiet Strickland is in the presence of others talking at the dinner party his wife hosted, as if bored himself or unwilling to participate in inane discourse. And his implacability suggests he bored the guests next to him by his lack of engagement.When still incredulous at what Strickland is giving up in the name of art and why, the narrator presses until Strickland explains, "I want to paint." He assures the narrator that there is no woman who could tempt him to leave his familiy; that decision was based on his commitment to painting. "I've got to paint," he claims, almost desperately. "I can't help myself," he says by way of explanation. It is then there is a subtle reference to what also motivates Strickland. He confides that he needs to get out (of his marriage and life) or "he'll drown." Thus it's implied that his life as a stockbroker, father and husband feels like his self or his artistic impulses are drowning. They are so submerged that his life is too oppressive to endure any longer. The narrator notes that Strickland "seemed really to be possessed of the devil." The conversation between the two men is heavy and disconcerting. At one point Strickland says "She (his wife) can go to the devil." Then without losing a beat, Strickland suggests the two of them go to dinner; he is nonplussed about his behavior toward his family and business partner.Strickland acknowledges that he is no ordinary man and that most men would do the right thing in regard to their domestic ties. However, he doesn't care what others think of him. Conversely, the narrator observes, "I take it that conscience is the guardian in the individual of the rules which the community has evolved for its own preservation. It is the policeman in all our hearts..." When the narrator concludes that "Strickland was really indifferent to the blame his conduct must excite, I could only draw back in horror as from a monster of hardly human shape," the reader realizes the extent to which Strickland has surrendered his humanity and how repulsive that revelation is to the narrator. Later when at her husband's bidding Blanche Stroeve nurses the ill Strickland back to health," she has warned Dirk that she sees the man as a monster. Still, she falls desperately in love with him and subsequently commits suicide when he rejects her. Thus has Strickland broken up the marriage and destroyed his two friends for the sole purpose of making a painting of the reclining Blanche Stroeve's nude body, a picture, which incidentally, he leaves behind in Stroeve's studio -- either as a memento of his vagaries to torment Stroeve or a dismissal of its merit as a painting.Most astonishing in Maugham's vision of the authentic artist, is his portrayal of Dirk Stroeve, a clumsy artist who not only has exquisite compassion for Strickland, but who is so committed to Strickland's artistic genius that he could forgive the interloper in the name of art. In this sense, it is as if Maugham perceives in the artist and the connoisseur of true art a saintliness most of us do not recognize or accept.This idea of the sacredness of genius might be palatable if Strickland weren't so hateful in his behavior. Strickland notes that Blanche Stroeve merely "wanted to bring me down to her level; she cared nothing for me, she only wanted me to be hers. She was willing to do everything in the world for me except the one thing I wanted: to leave me alone." Strickland is absolutely and irrevocably blind to human need because he has none. He is also the consummate misogynist, calling women stupid and asking of the narrator, "Do you really care a twopenny damn if Blanche Stroeve is alive or dead?" Strickland further notes that "Life has no value." And that her life was unimportant, that she was in fact, a silly woman. The narrator notes of Strickland, "I had an inkling of a fiery, tortured spirit, aiming at something greater than could be conceived by anything that was bound up with the flesh. I had a fleeting glimpse of a pursuit of the ineffable." He regards Strickland as "a disembodied spirit." This is the essence and the genius of Maugham's book: the glimpse into the mysterious, miraculous daemon of human artistic achievement. Maugham goes on to note of the artist, Strickland: "It was as though he found in the chaos of the universe a new pattern, and were attempting clumsily, with anguish of soul, to set it down. I saw a tormented spirit striving for the release of expression." Later Maugham says of Strickland, "he was passionately striving for liberation from some power that held him."As Maugham wisely implies, the artist as well as all people is alone in the world. Human communication is vague and uncertain, attempting to convey "the treasures of the heart" and is thus doomed to failure, So man's condition is destined to be lonely. The brain is seething with ideas but there is no way to communicate them except through art, and for the artist, as was true of Strickland, he "had become aware of the soul of the universe and [was] compelled to express it." The narrator suggests that what happened with Blanche Stroeve was that Strickland needed her for a moment in time to release his daemon or satisfy his lust, but when he failed to gain satisfaction from that temporary release, he killed her emotionally out of fear because he realized he'd barely escaped his need for her. Strickland's truthful response to the narrator's contention is, "You are a dreadful sentimentalist, my poor friend." Strickland denies his humanity; he simply has no feelings.Yet in the end we are left with the distinct impression that Strickland was the consummate idealist, seizing upon the truths beyond the shadows of existence, the Absolutes that only the most arduous seeker could ever fathom, and only after complete dedication on his part. In that sense it doesn't matter if he sold a single painting or was recognized by the art world he scorned. It was the truth of his vision that mattered and that only. Heedless of his own health, he dies from Leprosy after being blinded by the disease, but his pursuit of his vision continues to the bitter end. And finally the most baffling aspect of the book is his ordering his wife to burn every one of his paintings. So high were his own standards that even in his monomaniacal quest for truth and its artistic expression, he could not accept anything short of perfection.When the narrator later views the few surviving works of the deceased Charles Strickland, he notes "It was the work of a man who had delved into the hidden depths of nature and had discovered secrets which were beautiful and fearful too. It was the work of a man who knew things it is unholy for men to know. There was something primeval there and terrible. It was not human." Thus did Strickland inadvertently achieve fame and status as an artist in the eyes of the community, but considering what the quest meant and his own contempt for his efforts, one wonders if on his deathbed, he considered the sorry ordeal worth it.Sixpence is an amount of money that is traditionally conferred at wedding celebrations. How strange that Maugham would employ this usage in his title to describe Strickland, who scorned human commitment. The moon symbol might suggest the lofty goal Strickland set for himself, like "reaching for the moon," and his willingness to sacrifice a life of comfort and human connection for that goal. Alas, to some of us the price doesn't seem worth it. In the end he failed to achieve his vision or he wouldn't have ordered his paintings burned and he certainly failed to benefit from the love and devotion of family, friends and colleagues, the sort of attachments he forever scorned. One has to ask how meaningful was all that? Of course if you're an artist you might have a different opinion. Maugham's powerful insight suggests it is indeed insanity that drives the likes of Paul Gaughin.This is an intelligent book dealing with the intangibles of artistic pursuit and its effects on the human community. Maugham relentlessly probes the psychological terrain of a gifted artist for the purpose of capturing that Promethean fire in the soul that propels the artist and at the same time spells his doom in terms of human connection and peace.Marjorie MeyerleColorado WriterAuthor:  Bread of Shame

Beautifully written fiction. I have always loved the works of Somerset Maugham but never read this title until now. It is a fictionalized story based loosely on the life of Gauguin. It is important to note the word "loosely", as Gauguin's life was not quite this extreme, and one could certainly argue about whether he was the genius attributed to him in this account. Regardless of that, the story is so well written, his descriptions characters and places is always mesmerizing. Maugham, more than most writers, is adept at telling just enough story to create imagery, but always keeps the story trotting along at a good pace. He is adept at creating dialogue, with that artistry that is witty and crisp.This story is one of obsession, about an unlikely, dull, human being, with a mundane life, who has amazing talent that lies latent until one day he can't take it anymore. At the age of 40 he chucks a great job, an a nice family and devoted wife, to life in abject poverty to pursue an obsession, painting. No one believes in him at first. It's ridiculous. At 40 years old to throw away a good, solid life with a good family, to be a starving artist with no apparent talent. One of my favorite conversations in the whole book is when Maugham asks him why he would do such a thing, leaving behind his children and wife, with no obvious talent, it is crazy and cold hearted. And the character, Strickland, tells him something to the effect that when a man is suddenly thrown into the water he has to swim, it doesn't matter how well he swims, he has to do it or he will drown. His obsession to paint was so overwhelming that he "had to swim" and he doesn't give a damn whether he has talent, he has to do it or he will drown. That description of what might possess a true artist like Gauguin, Cezanne, Van Gogh, was one of the most adept way to sum that up that I think I have ever read. This book is charming and fascinating as a story of obsession with pursuing a dream no matter what, sacrificing one's life in pursuit of something that possesses someone. It was captivating, riveting. Don't we all wish, on some level, we could have a passion that would be so deep, would disturb us to point of throwing away all else to push ourselves to create something the world has never seen. That's what this story is about. In some ways you hate Strickland. He is cold hearted and selfish, yet there is a part of you that wishes you were at least a little bit like him, in terms of pursuing something with utter abandon, being so obsessed. This is a great story.

This book, published in 1919, is a lightly fictionalized gloss on the life of Paul Gaugin. Like Gaugin, its protagonist, Charles Strickland, abandons his family and life as a stockbroker to become a bohemian painter in France, and later in Tahiti. The narrator of the story is a fictional version of Maugham, a device he employed in several of his novels. (Gore Vidal once perceptively said that Maugham's greatest fictional creation may have been the avuncular authorial presence he put into his books.)Gaugin had little acclaim in his lifetime, but enormous influence after his death as a bridge between impressionism and the modern masters of the early twentieth century. He used a bold color palate and a thick, powerful line to create works that are both primitive and spirtual, grounded and ethereal. Maugham explores the psychology of the artist, and how his difficult personality fueled the creation of his masterworks. Describing great art and its emotional impact is hard, but Maugham manages to convey many of the complexities and attractions in Strickland/Gaugin's paintings.In structure and theme, The Moon and Sixpence is a precursor to one of Maugham's most beloved works, The Razor's Edge. In that novel, the Maugham authorial persona labors to understand a religious seeker who throws away a traditional life to chase the idea of eternal bliss. The Moon and Sixpence has deservedly endured for the depth of its psychological insights and the fascinating life of its fictional artist, packed into a brief, well-paced story form.

This book is a disgrace. Brand new, but possibly a fake. I bought it a couple of months ago, but just opened it. The pages have started coming out already. The format is very strange. There are no publisher details and the page numbers are Roman numerals. I can't read it as the print is miniscule. Will get a Kindle version as the actual story is brilliant.

I disliked the print layout very much, it looked as though this was a printing error. The book itself was a book club choice but it was not an enjoyable read. I wouldn’t recommend it

I like the coverage, however I really dislike the typesetting, the font is too small to read. This book doesn't seem to be published by a real publisher more like printed and published by individuals.

Ok

Story fine but do not buy this horrible edition!