The Persians Book

I fell in love with this book; it spoke to me, and I will aways have a strong affection for it. After three weeks of opening its pages virtually every night, I now find myself saddened that I can no longer turn to it. How can anything else compare?

Of Human Bondage is a classic in every positive sense of the word. Aside from The Brothers Karamazov, it is the only book I've read, whereupon finishing, I was able to say to myself: "This novel is life itself: it contains all of its complexities, emotions, and meaning. Everything that you need to know about life is in this book. All that is life, is this."

The main character, Philip Carrey, (who was born with a clubfoot and a taciturn temperment), is a different sort of lad; yet he manages to be understandable and human. He is intelligent and introspective, has a strong passion for the arts and adventure -- and, though he's rather introverted, even hardheaded at times -- means well and would do just about anything for his fellow human being. Being inside Philip's head and watching the ramifications of his decisions as he grows into a man, is at times harrowing; other times, vitalizing: it conjures up many emotions: the reader receives a full and enriching experience of a life truly lived.

Maugham's wikipedia page is slightly critical of his writing, stating that he's lost critical acclaim as a great author, and that few modern-day writers count him as an influence. This is sad, and upon reading it, I was both astounded and appalled, because the prose in this novel is exquisite. I was constantly swept off my feet by Maugham's ability to display the wretched and beautiful in smoothly written, truthful ways.

"But he could not tell what that significance was. It was like a message which it was very important for him to receive, but it was given him in an unknown tongue, and he could not understand. He was always seeking for a meaning in life, and here it seemed to him that a meaning was offered; but it was obscure and vague. He was profoundly troubled. He saw what looked like the truth as by flashes of lightning on a dark, stormy night you might see a mountain range. He seemed to see that a man need not leave his life to chance, but that his will was powerful; he seemed to see that self-control might be as passionate and as active as the surrender to passion; he seemed to see that the inward life might be as manifold, as varied, as rich with experience, as the life of one who conquered realms and explored unknown lands."

This novel had its affect on me for many different reasons, but two personal, empirical reasons quickly come to mind. One is that having had problems myself, for a period of time, due to a physical deformity of sorts, I was able to relate to Philip's embarrasment and resentment of his clubfoot, and how it affected his personality and his dealings with others. I remember thinking to myself, "How does Maugham express these emotions so perfectly? He must have had a similar experience himself." And sure enough, I later found through wikipedia (heh) that Maugham had a very serious stuttering problem that made him a bit of an outcast.

The other personal, empirical reason is that for a period of time, while in college, I fell hard for a girl that had no interest in me whatsoever. I lied to myself that she liked me, I kept treating her wonderfully, and held onto - and practically lived upon -- her every word. Pathetic, really: very pathetic. Philip went through this -- more drastically, and with a much colder woman than was my college crush -- but still, it brought back memories and emotions: I could empathize: I could relate. (In fact, on a number of occasions as Philip was dealing with this, I found myself gritting my teeth and wincing.)

Philip Carrey is one of only a few literary characters that I know will stay with me ten years from now; he is imprinted within me. With all of Philip's difficult experiences (and the manifold of deep emotions felt therein), Of Human Bondage is the perfect novel with relation to self discovery and growing up. In addtion, it has all the existentialism, philosophical inquiry, and ideas of a great Dostoevsky novel.

The way I felt about this book can, in part, be articulated from something Philip himself said:

"Partly for pleasure, because it's a habit and I'm just as uncomfortable if I don't read as if I don't smoke, and partly to know myself. When I read a book I seem to read it with my eyes only, but now and then I come across a passage, perhaps only a phrase, which has a meaning for ME, and it becomes part of me; I've got out of the book all that's any use to me, and I can't get anything more if I read it a dozen times. You see, it seems to me, one's like a closed bud, and most of what one reads and does has no effect at all; but there are certain things that have a peculiar significance for one, and they open a petal; and the petals open one by one; and at last the flower is there."

I realize that in this quote Philip was speaking of specific parts of books; how certain passages and ideas stick with him over time; that they can reveal parts of himself and, in conjunction with other passages from other books, slowly unfold what life to him truly means. But you see, I feel slightly differently than Philip about this: I believe that there are individual novels out there that, when taken as a whole, can provide the reader with an overall truth about life that goes far beyond any collection of passages from various reads. These novels are so rare and special, and their affect so profound, that one is lucky to come across a few of them in the course of an entire life.

And this, my friends, to me, was one of those novels.