달 6 펜스

나는 내가 처음으로 책을 읽은 후 제목이 무엇을 의미하는지 전혀 몰랐다 고백. 내 무지도 둘째 열람 후 지속, 제목 했더라도 고귀한 의도와 산문 현실과 같은 제안. 셋째 읽기 전에, 이 블로그에 대한 구체적이 시간, 나는 그것을 찾기로 결정. 모든 좋은 네티즌처럼, 위키 백과 상담, 제목에 대한 참조라고 나에게 이야기하는 인간의 속박 (여기서 그의 발 펜스를 무시하면서 필립 캐리가 달에 도달합니다.)

달 6 펜스, Maugham는 폴 고갱의 삶과 모험을 역사에 남긴다 — 그의 영혼의 미지의 열세 비전의 한결같은 추구하는 윤리와 도덕의 경계의 외측에 계단 예술적 천재 (“달”) 그의 친구와 가족의 잔인한 희생 (the “펜스,” 아마도.)

완벽한 프랑스 만드는 방법에 대한 확신이 (그는 이후에 고백으로 면도기의 가장자리), Maugham은에 선택했다 “번역” 고갱과 영국인 찰스 스트릭 랜드로 그를 묘사, 반 성공, 무딘 런던 주식 중개인하지만. 의 가능성은 나이에 42 정도, 스트릭 랜드는 그림을 차지하기 위해 그의 가족을 포기하기로 결정. 페인트의 필요성은 스트릭 랜드에 대한 영혼의 갈망입니다, 그리고 그는 그것에 좋은 없음을 중요하지 않습니다 — 아직 — 그는 설명으로, “나는 페인트있어 당신에게. 나는 나 자신을 도울 수 없어요. 사람이 물에 떨어지면 그것은 그가 수영 방법에 문제가되지 않습니다, 잘 또는 심하게: 그는 나가있어 그렇지 않으면 그는 익사 것이다.” 이 은유 익사에서 자신을 저장하는 동안, 스트릭 랜드는 무관심 (잔인 넘어) 세계의 나머지 부분에. 그런 다음 다시, 그는뿐만 아니라 자신에게 그냥 타협하고 잔인.

In portraying such a difficult anti-hero, Maugham showcases all the mastery and skill he possesses. To my untrained eyes, it looks as though Maugham builds this character so carefully and painstakingly that each one of the monstrosities Strickland commits is counter-balanced in some fashion. It is indeed a fine chisel that Maugham employs in crafting this masterpiece; none of those broad, confident strokes we would see in his later works.

We find Maugham at cynical and misogynistic best (or worst, depending on the perspective) in the early part of the book, especially in his descriptions of Mrs. Strickland and her children. We should condone this appearance of misogyny as a pardonable foible of a genius, I think. More than that, I see it as an effort, a successful one, to balance the callousness of Strickland’s disappearance that soon follows.

Such balancing devices can be found throughout the book. Perhaps to soften the shock of Strickland’s seemingly inexplicable renunciation of his family, his son’s hypocritical account of his later life is cynically ridiculed right in the beginning of the book. The unfortunate Dirk Stroeve, so cruelly used by Strickland, is also a buffoon who elicits derisive laughter rather than sympathy. Stroeve’s groveling adulation of Blanche perhaps serves to iron out the overtones of sexism or misogyny permeating the story. Blanche Stroeve’s betrayal is counter balanced with her own abominable indifference to Stroeve, which, in turn, gets evened out in what she receives from Strickland — “What an abyss of cruelty she must have looked into that in horror she refused to live.” Strickland, curiously, walks unaffected through all this death and mayhem, larger than life, tortured by his own private agonies of the soul well beyond our comprehension and his own. Even in his callousness, what Strickland invokes in Maugham and even Stroeve is, not merely a natural indignation, but an overwhelming compassion — astonishingly. The misplaced compassion is perhaps a device to prepare the reader for Strickland’s sordid and horrible death.

Maugham employs a variety of techniques to make the narration sound natural. If I was a fiction writer, I would study these techniques very carefully and try to employ them myself. To begin with, Strickland is a fictional portrayal of Gauguin, but Maugham takes great pains to pretend that the narration is not fictional. Even the narrator (Maugham himself) is portrayed as fallible, and contritely so, to lend credibility to the narration. For instance, Maugham gets exasperated at Stroeve’s weakness and is later ashamed of himself for getting angry.

The book has its elitist moments. When asked if it was better not to have known, Stroeve replies: “The world is hard and cruel. We are here none knows why, and we go none knows whither. We must be very humble. We must see the beauty of quietness. We must go through life so inconspicuously that Fate does not notice us. And let us seek the love of simple, ignorant people. Their ignorance is better than all our knowledge. Let us be silent, content in our little corner, meek and gentle like them. That is the wisdom of life.” It is as though the gift of inquiry and knowledge is given to a precious few — a special club to which Stroeve and Maugham are privy. This elitist attitude permeates not only Maugham’s works, but all great works of literature; it is only by masking his sense of superiority that an author or a thinker projects himself as non-elitist.

Perhaps it is some knowledge, or a vision of the world that Strickland’s soul yearned to share with the rest of us. Such communication is beyond language — a medium unequal to the task even when masterfully employed. Visual arts come closer. In Strickland’s tragic and cruel plight, along with that of almost all characters in the story, we see one eternal question. What is it that we are really after? Is it happiness? If so, Charles Strickland certainly didn’t find it. Very few do. Is it glory? Strickland did find that, albeit after his death.

Death is the great equalizer. It brings us back to the nothingness we spring from, however high we may fly or however low we may sink during the brief instant in between. The wisdom of the wise, the ignorance of the masses, the grandeur of the accomplished, the glory, the baseness — all matter very little when faced with such complete finality. In Strickland, Maugham has depicted the heights of glory as well as the nadir of baseness. The Moon and Sixpence — perhaps I have understood its meaning after all.

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