JasonKoivu

I had no idea what Of Human Bondage was about going in. I'd heard vague, unreliable rumors and I expected a dense, difficult read, perhaps a philosophical mind-bender or hell, by the title and date of its publication (1914) I wouldn't have been terribly surprised if it turned out to be a naughty Victorian era S&M novel (Can you imagine all those naked ankles? Forsooth!)

It's just a coming of age tale. I'm not even sure "tale" is the appropriate term considering how very autobiographical this book turns out to be. It's not loosely based on W. Somerset Maugham's life, it is his life. Sure, the details are changed or rearranged a bit, such as giving his main character Philip a clubfoot instead of the stammer he actually had or having the character be a struggling painter instead of the struggling writer Maugham was, but in the end this is Maugham's early life.

The story starts at the beginning of Philip's life and ends when he's in his thirties. Much of the first half describes his school days and youthful experiences abroad. The later half focuses mainly upon an infatuation in which he allows himself to be used time and again by a woman who has no love for him. So pathetic did he become in my eyes during this section that I had a hard time stomaching it. His intense love for an undeserving woman tested the believability waters a time or two in my eyes, but I'd heard of how middle and upper class Englishmen of that time often developed fancies for poor shop girls, so I was able to hang in there. I have a feeling not everyone else would have that same kind of stamina. I'm not boasting, it's just down to taste and patience for certain kinds of, I don't know, let's call it entertainment.

The rumor of potential philosophizing was true to a point. There was plenty of the sort expected from college students who major in the arts, and who think art is the most important thing in life...nay, more important than life itself! Many a high-minded declaration of this nature is made through out the middle section of this book. Certainly there are insights, but there are just as many follies. But for all its philosophizing, Of Human Bondage is just about a guy trying to figure out who he is and what he believes in. It asks with a cyclical repetition "who am I?" while simultaneously stating "This is who I am." Philip doesn't know the true answer or the meaning of the answer he gives. Half time you wonder if he understands the meaning of the question. And perhaps that's the point. What is the meaning of life, and what does that question really mean?