Lisa's Reviews > Of Human Bondage

I love the main character in this book so much, I was sad to say a final goodbye to him after spending 700 perfect pages with him.

"Of Human Bondage" is now among my favourite books of all times, inspiring so many reflections that my copy of the book is full of scrap paper with quotes and references.

Somerset Maugham explains in his introduction that he felt compelled to write down this story as it was tormenting his memory, in order to free himself from the ghosts of the past. It is not strictly autobiographical, but reflects on his experience. As a successful playwright, he must have been well acquainted with the theatre device of catharsis in the Aristotelian sense of the word, and in a way, the character of Philip Carey might have eased the author's pain and relieved him from his struggles with himself.
But Philip Carey is NOT just a imaginative portrait of a specific person, he is the very essence of a questioning, searching human being, experimenting with life and its meaning.
Even if Philip comes to the conclusion in the end that life has no meaning, this is not to be taken as defeat. In fact, it gives him the uttermost freedom to create his own life pattern, choosing form and colour freely and according to mood and circumstances. After Philip broke off his art studies in Paris, someone told him that those two years were "a waste of time", and Philip answered something to the effect of: "Not at all, for I have learned to see the shadow of that tree branch on the grass and the blue sky. I wouldn't have been able to see my environment without those experiences!"

I find so much wisdom in that attitude. Learning to see the world more fully, and with pleasure, can never be a waste of time, just because it does not lead to a professional development. Reading "Of Human Bondage" does not help me professionally, but it makes me feel more alive.
The eternal drama of desire and disappointment in love reminded me of Sartre's conception of Hell, where all characters are bound by unreciprocated desire. Somerset Maugham's outlook is somewhat less depressing, though, as life goes on and new possibilities open up all the time. In fact, the reader leaves Philip at the moment when he finally decides to get married, and anyone who has embarked on the adventure of marriage knows that the story does not end there. Somerset Maugham could easily have filled another 700 pages on Philip's accumulated experience during the first ten years of marriage and possible fatherhood, not to mention old age. I would not have wanted a sequel to this story under any circumstances, as it is perfectly complete such as it is, but the message clearly is: life goes on, it has no objective meaning, but you are in charge of creating the pattern you prefer:

"Whatever happened to him now would be more motive to add to the complexity of the pattern, and when the end approached he would rejoice in its completion. It would be a work of art, and it would be none the less beautiful because he alone knew of its existence, and with his death it would at once cease to be.
Philip was happy."

This idea of life as a work of art, meaningless but beautiful, reminds me of Oscar Wilde, a contemporary of this novel. "All Art Is Quite Useless", he said, in full praise of the only thing that exists without any practical reason, solely for the pleasure of wit and beauty.

Must-read! Love it!