I really should give this book 5 stars because I read it long ago and never forgot it. Though many details have faded, the characters are still firmly attached in my mind and my heart. The movie was good too -- the classic with Leslie Howard and Bette Davis -- but the book was the most memorable. ( )

What a metaphor! :)
( )

A large book, a good one though, and hefty enough to test ones powers of concentration. When you complete the reading of this book you feel you know the author very well as he added a lot of his own life into the storyline. The many different human emotions come forth , and gush forward at you as you read on. The main character of the book plays an unlikely hero, whom fate seems to have a laugh at his expense during his many efforts and surrounding circumstances. ( )

I love that throughout this book Maugham admits to thinking things that we all think, but would never admit. ( )

The Short of It:

Happiness is an elusive thing.

The Rest of It:

If you’ve been following along then you know that I chose Of Human Bondage for an October read-along. It’s a book that has long been on my radar but it never seemed like the right time to read it. While I was in the hospital after brain surgery, I began to think about all the books that I haven’t gotten to, so once I was well enough, I promised myself to get to it. Boy, am I glad I did.

Philip is orphaned at a fairly young age. He is sent to live with his Uncle and Aunt, the Uncle is a Vicar so religion plays a huge role in the first half of the book. There, for only a short while really, he comes off as difficult and can be mean-spirited to his Aunt who truly seems to only want the best for him. So off Philip goes to a prep school.

There, he meets an interesting cast of characters, both classmates and professors but he is relentlessly bullied for the club foot he was born with. Not able to play sports, not able to wear regular shoes, as soon as anyone becomes cross with him the insults fly out of their mouths, always _targeting his foot. This often leaves Philip isolated and alone.

The book chronicles Philip’s poor choices. He has many grand ideas but they often come to him on a whim and are poorly executed. Money, poverty really becomes a struggle as does his desire to be important and to be happy but what does that even mean?

Philip wants to go into religion, then business, then art and the bits of him in Paris are quite good. He does all of this to avoid the inevitable, him going to med school, like his father did. Surprisingly, he ends up seeing value in medicine and perhaps learns a thing or two while pursuing that.

The story sounds rather basic but it’s made much more complicated by certain characters. Mildred for one. She is a horrible, shrew of a person and Philip’s obsession. No matter what she does, and she does plenty, he cannot for the life of him figure out a way to live without her.

She is a villain if there ever was one. In the first movie version of this book she was played by Bette Davis. Accurate casting if I do say so.

Mildred from Of Human Bondage
The book feels very “Dickensian” and Philip reminded me a lot of Holden from Catcher in the Rye. As long as this book is, nearly 700 pages, I never once felt it a chore to read. I enjoyed picking it up. I had to know how Philip ended up. Did he ever obtain that elusive happiness? Read it and find out! It will be on my faves list at the end of the year. I usually don’t place classics on that list but I did enjoy it quite a bit. Such a character study.

For more reviews, visit my blog: Book Chatter. ( )

Moving and influential. ( )

Masterpiece. It's hard to read any contemporary book of fiction after this one. ( )

I don't know that I've read very many bildungsroman, but based on what I've read about the genre, Of Human Bondage fits perfectly. We watch the main character, Philip, grow from an awkward youth to a man that's about my age. Few of the characters are particularly likable, including Philip, but they feel more realistic than those developed by earlier English writers. Parts of the narrative were painful enough that I wanted to put the book down, but I was glad that I persevered.

Maugham's writing is pulpy and not always terribly elegant, but the story feels heartfelt and genuine. I prefer a good story written fairly well to a poor story written in brilliant prose. You can't shine a turd.

One of the aspects that I most enjoy about writing from times past is the perspective that it lends. My favorite part of Melville's "Bartleby the Scrivener" was its sketch of early-19th-century New York rather than its perplexing narrative of the reluctant clerk. On Human Bondage follows a middle-class boy through turn-of-the-20th-Century London, Paris, Heidelburg, and the English countryside. We see the effects of his surroundings and his company on the decisions that he makes (many of them poor).

Gore Vidal's surprisingly engaging preface to the book points out that Philip's middle-class sensibilities about money and cleanliness were unusual in contemporary writing. As a middle-class guy myself, I felt sympathetic to some of his reactions, though the conservative English culture of the time made the overall impression of his situation seem more alien.

The book (as the author admits in his introduction) is longer than it should be, but I will admit that it was ultimately rewarding. ( )

I first read this books when I was 14 years old. since then I would have read it about 20 times. This book is Maugham's magnum opus. Besides style, flair, characters etc, I should say this book is very Atmospheric. I could feel cold mist of London on my face, stink of the gutters, cigar smoke of Paris cafes, felicity of love in the hop fields. ( )

This is a great book about the life of Philip Carey from his birth until he is an adult in his 30s. He is orphaned as a 9 year old when his mother dies in childbirth. He is raised by his uncle, a parsimonious vicar and his subservient wife.
Sent to boarding school Philip is tormented by the other students and has trouble making friends because of his club foot and his introversion. The school specializes in the classics which bores him and a study of languages or mathematics is frowned upon.
Philip convinces his guardians to send him to Paris to study art where he makes friends with his fellow students and finally begins to enter a world of camaraderie, socializing and great debates about religion, politics and love. He friends
influence his thinking and he embraces new ideas about class, society and God. He deserts art school when he realizes that his limited talents are not god enough for a career in art.
His return to London to apprentice as an accountant brings him to his involvement with Mildred Rogers, a waitress. His lack of experience with women leads him into an emotional attachment and passion that is not reciprocated. She is not particularly beautiful and she manipulates Philip into providing funds for clothing and shelter. Whenever she falls on hard times, she shows up, Philips helps. He even provides funds for her and her baby when she is desperate.
Philip’s father was a medical doctor and after other failed attempts he decides to enrol in the medical program. He discovers that he has an aptitude for the medicine and thrives. He enjoys the people who come to the clinics and feels a great deal of sympathy for their lot in life, particularly after his own impoverishment when he loses a lot of money playing the stock market.
His saviour is his friend Athelny, a peculiar character with the ability to talk on many subjects at length. He has a large family and a devoted wife and Philip is welcomed into this circle every Sunday for dinner. Sally, the eldest accepts his offer of marriage.
I liked the book because it is so well written, the characters are well developed, the themes range from politics, to economics, education, mental health, class struggles, poverty. Philip evolves into a self confident, caring and happy man and physician by the end of the story. ( )

Yet another. There are lovely sentences in here, and even some thoughts. But then of course there are the female 'characters', the self-indulgence, and the boredom. Some coming-of-age of a privileged guy who is of course forgiven his worst traits. A whole plot of romance and the meaning of life that would be dismissed as chick lit in the present. And some tritely moral philosophies of the meaning of life. I don't find it deep or universal or incisive. ( )

Great novel of a man who overcomes his infatuation with an unsuitable woman to eventually find a better one. ( )

Torn. I liked The Razor's Edge better, but this was very good. Philip is alarmingly stupid, and the narrator knows it and knows Philip's decisions are bad, but it still could get very frustrating to read. I think there's a certain fascination in this era of modernist literature with people's bad thoughts--Philip openly (to himself) wishes for his uncle to die so he can inherit his money, for instance. I think it's intended to be a universally recognizable experience, but I think bad stuff and don't generally wish for the death of others. Ditto his terrible behavior toward women. He makes the same mistakes over and over again to the point where I, a person who has made the same mistakes with women over and over again, was like, come on, even I cut my losses at a certain point. ( )

Summary: A young man's quest for life's meaning across the sprawling back drop of 18th Century Europe.

Things I liked:

The protaganist: he was so truthful and honest in his depicition of what was going on. Even when he was completely deluded he reported both his deluded instincts and the sense that what he was doing was crazy. I trusted him despite sometimes loathing his actions.

Things I thought could have been done better:

Sometimes the narration seemed to skip from the main protaganist to one of the other characters but still made liberal use of a pronoun (he, she etc). While the additional perspective was illuminating (Doctor South, Mildred's POV). I found the switch was poorly introduced and I found myself flicking back to make sense of what I was reading.


Hightlight: Breaking up with Norah. He was being such a putz, but was completely oblivious to the impact of his actions. I found myself drawn to watch despite my extreme discomfort ( )

I don't know if I have ever met with a character I felt more conflicting emotions about than Philip Carey. At times I wanted to cry for him, scream at him, loved his generosity, pitied his subjection to other people's prejudices, hated his self-absorption, hated his lack of self-control, and loved his perseverance. In fact, this range of emotional reaction is what made Philip real for me. Like everyone I have ever known he had so many facets and some that were so completely contradictory to one another.

In the end Maugham has woven a powerful, gripping story, full of questions about life itself, what makes it worthwhile and what purpose any man's life serves in the grand scheme of things. In the end, like the patterns on the Persian rug, perhaps it might be only about the beauty we are able to take from it individually.

Maugham is a serious writer who tackles large questions masterfully, but he is also a storyteller who can create characters with dimension and depth. Characters like Philip and Mildred (who is for me a despicable human being regardless of how sad her situation) will stay with you and make you think about and analyze them when the story is over, which is a hallmark of great writing for me. When I read a book like this one, I always wish I were still in a college lit course and could discuss this with the class.

Two more Maugham's sitting on my bookshelf and when they are done I will see how many more I can find. Maugham and Wharton are my 2015 treasures. ( )

This was a tough read. It took me well over 2 months to finish it, not so much because of the length but moreso because I kept wanting to slap Philip and tell him to grow the hell up!!! The (far too numerous) scenes with Mildred were worse than fingernails on chalkboard. I honestly believe that Maugham could have gotten the point across without shoving Mildred in our face SO MUCH!! Once Mildred was more or less out of the picture, I read the rest of the book in one sitting. I didn't hate Philip by the end of the book (which was NOT a given), but I did find him very very tedious. If it hadn't been for the Athelny family, I'm not sure that I could have finished it. There were moments of brilliance in describing love, hate, art and the human condition, but I vehemently disagree that it was a masterpiece. I honestly wish I hadn't bothered to read it. ( )

another one I didn't review. I remember liking it. A long book that I felt read smoothly. I liked the prose, I like the character development. reportedly this is closely autobiographical book of the author's life. ( )

It has been quite a few years since I read this novel, but I thought it was absolutely terrific and I remember it vividly. The story opens when the main character Philip is a lonely young boy with a club foot being raised by his aunt and uncle. As soon as he is old enough to get away, he moves to Germany and then France where he decides to become a visual artist. That part was extremely interesting to me, as it seemed that, although art and education and customs of every kind have changed so much in the last hundred years, the inner work and the shame of “becoming an artist” have not changed in any way. It seemed very fresh and relevant. There is a “Least Likely To” type of girl who falls in love with Philip and dies by suicide.

Phillip decides that he doesn’t have what it takes to be an artist either, so he returns to London to study medicine. There he meets a server at a restaurant who is incredibly toxic. He falls in love with her and is completely under her sway, supporting her when she gets pregnant by another man. He seriously needs to get himself to a meeting of Codependents Anonymous! I won’t spoil the whole story but let me just give you a couple of key words: “sex work” and “syphilis.” But you will be happy to know that Philip eventually finds happiness and even love. ( )

Started this in fall 2021, but just did not find the story compelling. I had read a biography of Maugham online and the book seemed a mere rehash.

This is a puzzling book. Rated as Maugham's finest, it combines some superb writing with a puzzling portrayal of the lead character falling enduringly in love with someone he despises, and who despises him in return.
First, the writing - mostly wonderful and evocative. As one example, his pen picture of the Athelny family is a joy to read, and, you get the feeling, was a joy to the author in the writing.
Now, Mildred - I struggle to understand this relationship. Philip despises her, but falls in love with her. She despises him, and pushes him away, when she isn't using him or his money. The trope of playing hard to get has been around for centuries, but this pushing away is based on a mutually shared disgust, spread over 500 pages. I fail to understand the point Maugham is trying to make here. And as this relationship is at the core of the book, I was unable to enjoy the book as much as it otherwise deserved. ( )

When this book started it easily hooked me. Maugham's style is evocative and approachable. He's like Dickens in how he can paint a picture as a friend would when telling a tale. It doesn't feel like he's actively creating a world around us and instead he's just allowing us to experience it with him.

The character of Philip is so thoroughly human that you cannot help feeling anxious for him. As with any mortal, he is just as likely to make ugly mistakes as he is happy endings. It's this ability to sympathize with him that makes this such a great book. At first I was only allowing myself to read about 50 pages a day, to save it. Yesterday I finished over 300 pages, a gulp. It simply wasn't okay for me to allow Philip to finish up his story on his own. I couldn't walk away from him.

It's likely because we get to know Philip so well, through Maugham's endless descriptions, that we are drawn in. With the wealth of encounters and situations, it's only when you reach the end that you can say with some certainty which moments were important and congratulate yourself that you knew that all along. ( )

I've put off reading W. Somerset Maugham for a long time, for two rather idiosyncratic (and perhaps superficial) reasons. The first was my general unease around British 'society' novels, which appear deeply grounded in the mechanics of the class system (regardless of whether, on a case-by-case basis, this proves to be a fair suspicion or not). As a British working-class lad travelling through life on often unsteady socio-economic ground – "watch[ing] your life slide out of view," as Jarvis Cocker once put it – I'm instinctively opposed to the casual snobbery, petty conceit and idle condescension often present in upper-middle-class and aspirant middle-class novels in my country, whether written in 1815, 1915 or the present day (say hello, Sally Rooney). I'm not a class warrior; in fact, I often shy away from kitchen-sink material too. It's just not what I look for in my reading hobby. I look for either escapism or deep literary themes, and I don't find such things in repressed class-based stories. Such a characterisation would be unfair to pin on Maugham – whose book Of Human Bondage I promise I will soon begin to discuss – but the point I'm trying to make is that the titles which can be ring-fenced under this admittedly broad banner make me feel queasy, and I tend to avoid them entirely.

The second reason I had avoided Maugham was due to an arch put-down of the author by Christopher Hitchens, reproduced in Arguably, a collection of essays which was my first real exposure to Hitch. I'm aware that it is ridiculous to put too much stock in one man's opinion, particularly on something as subjective – or, more accurately, idiosyncratic – as literary taste, but Hitchens' writing was some of the first I read in my early twenties as I started to take my literary journey more seriously. That book, Arguably, prompted me to read Orwell, Nabokov, Hilary Mantel, the King James Bible and – for my which I am particularly grateful – the Flashman novels by George MacDonald Fraser. Suffice to say, I put great stock in Hitchens' opinions (and still do), and his dismissal of Maugham, however benign, was consequently hard to shift.

Now, having finally read Maugham's most well-known novel, Of Human Bondage, I have transferred my reticence onto this review. I review everything I read and prepare for what I will write, but I dread writing reviews when, even after finishing the book, I still don't know how I feel about it. Based on past experience, I know that I will usually figure something out as I write, but I also know this is usually hard work. But mostly, the sense of dread comes from this: I always find it hard to write a review which is one of admiration, but not love.

Certainly, it is much harder for me than it is for Maugham, who writes about love, admiration, infatuation – and plenty more besides – with a sometimes cringe-inducing alacrity. Of Human Bondage follows the life of Philip Carey (almost, but not entirely, an author avatar) from orphaned infanthood all the way to his early thirties, and casts an author's cool, appraising eye over family, youth, schooling, career, money, poverty, loves, infatuations, affairs, art, and everything else a young man is bruised by as he goes about establishing himself in the world. The reason Maugham chose Of Human Bondage as a title becomes clear: everything that goes into being human is bound within the pages of this book. It is not a novel you hold, but Philip himself.

This can become formidable to try to review. Maugham's book is rather quotable, but the following passage was one I was keen to note down as I was reading:

"… on the whole the impression was neither of tragedy nor of comedy. There was no describing it. It was manifold and various; there were tears and laughter, happiness and woe; it was tedious and interesting and indifferent; it was as you saw it: it was tumultuous and passionate; it was grave; it was sad and comic; it was trivial; it was simple and complex; joy was there and despair; the love of mothers for their children, and of men for women; lust trailed itself through the rooms with leaden feet, punishing the guilty and the innocent, helpless wives and wretched children; drink seized men and women and cost its inevitable price; death sighed in these rooms; and the beginning of life, filling some poor girl with terror and shame, was diagnosed there. There was neither good nor bad there. There were just facts. It was life." (pg. 462 – my emphasis)

In this passage, Maugham writes with more concision of the nature of his book than I could ever hope to do in this review. Consequently, I toss brevity to the side and say be damned to it, because it's worth taking the above passage as a prompt to further discussion. For one thing, take those words I emphasised – particularly the word 'diagnosed' – and the fact that the statement is a summary of Philip's time working in a hospital ward. Though Maugham's autobiographical element in Of Human Bondage is perhaps overstated (I was surprised how little his homosexuality influenced his writing here, even as a subtext), his medical background seems of great importance in his approach to the story. I have already said how this is not a novel you hold, but Philip himself, and certainly Maugham saw the experience as a purge. In his Foreword, Maugham writes of how he had been "obsessed by the teeming memories of my past life… they became such a burden to me, that I made up my mind there was only one way to be free of them and that was to write them all down on paper" (pg. 2). Maugham created a human body in words and then went about his diagnosis of its failings.

Another thing to mention is that the above lengthy passage from page 462 reminded me of Charles Dickens ("it was the best of times, it was the worst of times"). I was first reminded of Tolstoy in reading Of Human Bondage – the Russian count's War and Peace was a conscious attempt to incorporate "all of life" – but the comparison ultimately dissatisfied. Tolstoy was more literary; his book had a more regal air and was more explicitly concerned with themes – the lack of which perhaps explains why it still feels odd to approach Maugham's crowd-pleasing book with a literary appraisal. In contrast, the Dickens comparison sits well. Though there are differences between the two – Maugham has a surprising (and welcome) simplicity in his sentences, whereas Dickens was famously wordy – the two were, first and foremost, storytellers. Their strengths are in characterisation (all of Maugham's characters are excellently and compassionately drawn, even if they're only there for a single scene) and in pacing (absent any plot, Maugham's book is surprisingly engrossing for the entirety of its 700 pages). Their literary reputations developed through their success in storytelling rather than any conscious thematic questing.

There is a strange feeling which develops in a reader or reviewer when trying to assess a writer of this persuasion. In one respect, it is the lamentable (but entirely understandable) prejudice that if something is entertaining, it cannot be literary. This prejudice is wrongheaded, but difficult to surmount even for an honest admirer. And, as I wrote at the start of this review, admiration is harder for me to write about than love. I had a similar struggle with Larry McMurtry; I loved his book Lonesome Dove as entertainment, but I could also discern a literary merit. But, in contrast to more overtly literary novels, McMurtry's themes were a sort of all-pervading air, and rooted obscurely (but deeply) in his characters. I struggled to articulate it, and that was when I had love for the book; for Of Human Bondage, where there is only admiration, it is even harder.

Why admiration then, and not love? It's hard to say. In no small part, it must come down to personal preference. As I suggested at the start, I keep society novels rooted in class at arm's length and, perhaps, can never fully develop a love for one. But, moving beyond this, I also think it's in the nature of books of this type – the story- and character-driven literature of the likes of Dickens, Maugham and McMurtry – to defy literary review. Their strategy is to root their astute observations of life in their characters, rather than in structure or theme, which not only makes it damned hard to pull them out again for a review, but results in the story seeming misshapen – and lesser – when the pulling-apart is done. When I say books of this type defy review, it's not meant as an easy excuse, but rather a desire to avoid making them perishable. Putting a book whose strategy is in enjoyment and the magic of characters under a critical microscope is to subject them to something they were not designed for. It diminishes them, when surely the objective of a positive review is to commend.

Certainly, I found the most identifiable theme in Of Human Bondage – the Persian rug riddle – easy to understand and yet hard to align on a literary level. Within the story, it makes perfect sense, but it's something of a surprise to me now that I can write up my impressions of the story while scarcely mentioning it. I certainly don't feel obliged to make it the anchor of my review. In the broadest sense, it reflects within the story what I have tried to unpack in review. The book tries to establish a pattern – a narrative – among all the various things that can influence and bind a human life, and it is this which the Persian rug discussion in the book reflects.

A great virtue of this approach is that even aspects of the novel which appear to be flaws begin to be seen as advantages. When certain characters frustrate the reader – even Philip, the protagonist – this can be a sign of Maugham's effective characterisation. This is human life within the pages, and certainly there are frustrating characters in all our lives. Even with Mildred – the regular (and justified) _target of a reader's hatred – you recognise that she is real. When she's there on the page, you don't feel like Maugham has let the story unravel with poor characterisation, as would be the case with a bad writer and a bad character. Rather, with her you feel you have to hold your tongue and endure, just as you do in real life whenever you see a friend, male or female, mooning over some classless slut or bluffing half-wit. Sometimes you hate Philip and sometimes you root for him. You are pulled every which way – and by following this in his narrative, Maugham shows you some of the powers and limiters which are in place over a human life.

This is not to say there aren't some drawbacks to the book. While some of Philip's earlier relationships are memorable (Miss Wilkinson, Miss Price), Maugham often had the advantage of me when he reintroduced or referred to characters I had not thought about for hundreds of pages. I would become muddled as to who the likes of Hayward or Clutton were, and thought perhaps there's a good reason Dickens chose monikers like Pumblechook and Magwitch over more non-descript names. I found Mildred's abrupt exit from the story dissatisfying, and while I enjoyed the happy ending more than others seem to have done, I was slightly perplexed by its ambiguity. I lacked the sense of momentousness that I usually feel when I finish a large literary tome.

I did, however, indeed see it as a happy ending. Philip, in being bound all his life by various forces and experiences, is now free. Having recognised he is free from obligation in the circumstances presented at the end, he chooses to be bound by them anyway. He wants human bondage, rather than romantic but uncertain wanderlust. In assessing the ending, we should recall something said much earlier by Cronshaw (who is also the one to present the Persian rug riddle):

"The illusion which man has that his will is free is so deeply rooted that I am ready to accept it. I act as though I were a free agent. But when an action is performed it is clear that all the forces of the universe from all eternity conspired to cause it, and nothing I could do could have prevented it." (pg. 238)

When it is delivered on page 238, this is merely an interesting philosophical discourse between Philip and Cronshaw. But by the end of the book, it has the weight of 700 pages behind it. Philip has lived thirty years of experience and decision, and has reached a point in the final pages where he feels free. And yet, it is clear to us that everything that has happened – all the forces of the universe, perhaps – has carried them there. Having grown in maturity, and overcome the terror of unemployment and poverty, he recognises the value of domestic security and contentment over restless dream-chasing and adventure. This is a bildungsroman, and Philip has now come of age.

Maugham, it seems, is often criticised for his lack of originality, and certainly, for most of the book the author appeared to be held back in this by the limitations of the bildungsroman format. After all, no young man, however lucid, has ever had a thought that had not already been thought by millions of young men before him. The book could appear, on the surface, to be a parlour game of characters – an almost superficial crowd-pleaser. But the way the story had been framed was key. Everything Philip has experienced in life influences his decision in the final pages. Just as that decision, added to the ranks of every previous decision, will influence the next one. A human life is an ongoing story. Here, the criticisms of Maugham's supposed lack of originality lose their thrust, because whilst from the outside a life can look just the same as any other life, when you are immersed in one – an individual life – you begin to see the small, accumulative things which direct it down one path or another. Every human life is original, if only by degrees.

Having overcome my reluctance to review Of Human Bondage, I now find myself in the contrary position of being reluctant to end the review. This is, by necessity, a very long novel and, to paraphrase Maugham, I am ashamed to make it longer by writing a review of it. But it is a book you can't be short about; to understand something with such scope you need to be immersed in it at length. "He did not know how wide a country, arid and precipitous, must be crossed before the traveller through life comes to an acceptance of reality" (pg. 135). Cronshaw tells us that the meaning of life is worthless unless you discover it yourself (pg. 237), and he expands on this with his Persian rug riddle. The preceding review is my attempt to discover it myself, using – as all literature should be used – the artist and his work as a lens.

Does it mean something that Mildred is the one to destroy Philip's Persian rug with a knife? Is it symbolic of her destructive relationship with Philip? I don't know; perhaps Maugham didn't even know. He only knew it made sense that she would – that it made sense for the characters to behave in this way within the context of their lives. That is the key to his success in Of Human Bondage. It is the strange effect of a literary writer seemingly unconcerned with literary affectation or convention, and yet being entirely conventional, accepting storytelling as the end in itself. After all, we use story to understand life. In a discussion on religion, one character argues the following:

"Perhaps religion is the best school of morality. It is like one of those drugs you gentlemen use in medicine which carries another in solution: it is of no efficacy in itself, but enables the other to be absorbed. You take your morality because it is combined with religion; you lost the religion and the morality stays behind. A man is more likely to be a good man if he has learned goodness through the love of God than through a perusal of Herbert Spencer." (pg. 497)

This is a statement as good as any on which to end this review. The statement comes from Athelny, not Philip, but we should remember the book is in large part directed by the influence various characters have on our protagonist. With its analogy, the statement recalls the medical diagnosis Maugham is making of his man. The author and protagonist share "the power of self-analysis", described as a "vice, as subtle as drug-taking" (pg. 273). And it is a vice at times; the book is often frustrating and sickening in the wretchedness of its characters. But the statement also hints at the entire purpose of the novel; in telling a story, the author teaches us something about life, and we are more likely to have a good read when the teachings are carried in the story. Of Human Bondage is a long book and difficult to appraise, but I can only conclude that Maugham got the dose right. ( )

For the first 150 pages or so I kept putting down the book and saying I was going to stop reading it because nothing was happening. Yet, for some reason I can't explain, I kept picking it back up. By page 300 I was hooked. ( )

I ordered this book from the library only because it was partially closed because of Covid 19 and I was permitted only to order books to be found in one of the various libraries in the city in which I live, and nowhere else. Thus I couldn’t order those I really wanted.

My Dad used to read the books of Somerset Maugham, so I thought this one would be okay.

At first I thought the story of little Philip was readable, but later I came to find it boring.

Philip was a little boy with a club foot whose parents were dead. He goes to stay with his aunt and uncle, His uncle, Mr Carey, is a vicar. The two are not loving parents to him.

The book follows the course of Philip’s life, but I can’t tell you more, since I couldn’t get through it, and can’t recommend it.

How the book became so well-known is a mystery to me.

I wanted to like this book and I read almost 200 pages but finally had to quit. Ultimately I found it boring, I think because the author did not make the main character meaningful to me. I simply did not care what happened to him, and the narrative seemed little more than a chronicle of events. The details of living in that place and time were interesting but not so much as to merit such an investment in time. I actually enjoyed reading the intro by Gore Vidal more than the novel itself. ( )