Maurice

Maurice is a novel written by E.M. Forster in 1914 and published in 1971. So, why so late? Because it's totally gay. But we're beyond that fuss now, aren't we. Therefore, let's dive in! I read this a week ago. It took me far less time than the book before that, largely because it's summer now and was exam previously, but also gargantually because my last book was written by Conrad and this is a lot more in the subject-predicate style. I liked it but, like with Jim but more, I preferred the first half. I'll explain. Also, the style is a bit bland. I'll explain. Anyways, on the whole, I liked it, but as a story, not like a poem, as with a lot of the other books on this blog.

So Maurice is the main character, as you'd assume, and Clive is the other big character. It's a love story though also a criticism of Edwardian society and, as applies to today as well, of the emptiness of suburban morality and pursuits. But mostly lovey-dovey-and-sometimes-troubly romance. Maurice gets the sex talk in the first scene at age fourteen and then later in Cambridge is still confused about his sexuality, when he meets Maurice, who knows he's gay but is tentative. They're very close friends and after a lot of drama concerning denial, rejections, avoidance and standing alone in the rain, they get together. After a day being together, Maurice gets kicked out of Cambridge but they stay together. Maurice stays at Clive's for a while and it's jolly until things get rocky when Clive goes to Greece and begins, rather spontaneously, feeling straight. Clive, who's higher in society than Maurice, more intelligent, politically ambitious, and who's pressured towards a lot of things - like getting married- by his family, eventually breaks up with Maurice and gets married to a woman called Anne. Maurice takes it badly and goes to the doctor and hypnotist to be cured of his homosexuality, and meanwhile goes to Clive's occasionally as a welcome guest. Clive grows increasingly distant. That's when Alec Scudder becomes more important. He's been mentioned occasionally, one of Clive's servants, but becomes more frequently mentioned and interacts with Maurice. In his psychological sufferings, Maurice gets with Alec, who turns out to be a really nice guy. After some Maurice-Scudder drama, Scudder gives up his plans to emigrate and a guaranteed job in trade of staying with Maurice. Maurice plans on giving up his job and position in society for Alec, and he finally speaks to Clive, who is shocked, disappointed - he thought Maurice was cured (straight now) - and he also might still have feelings for Maurice. They never meet again.

Just one thing random that I want to point out: on the dedication page, Forster wrote BEGUN 1913 FINISHED 1914 Dedicate to a Happier Year

Isn't that nice???

Moving on. So let me just get style out of the way because I have something to say about it. Not a criticism, but I didn't underline all that much in this book, and what I did underline was at the beginning. Perhaps that means the writing is a bit more noticeably flourished in the beginning to depict the growing in age and the calming of romanticism, but actually, Maurice remains rather the same throughout, I think, so that I find it rather more of a coincidence. I am one that quite likes decadent writing, so that wasn't tailored specifically towards me, since the writing is rather direct. The sentences are regular, paragraphs short, chapters regular and everything conventional, chronological and downright logical entirely. I could probably do something on style if I was assigned it. Give me a section and I'll analyse. For all I know, many may find this book stylistically brilliant. However, as the point of this blog is that I could do whatever I want with these books, I'm doing characters!

The characters are the most important aspect of a book. The reason as to why I preferred the first half of Maurice to the second is because my favourite character is Clive Durham. However, the character acts rather differently in the first than the second half, and whilst this could have made me like the character all the better, as I could certainly see it being spun that way, Forster write him out in a way that seemed as though he was nearly becoming annoyed with the character. I'll try to justify that claim later. Now, let's focus on Clive.

Clive doesn't come out until Maurice meets him, and this story, as I said, is very chronological. It's told by an omnipotent third person narrator but you usually find out things as Maurice does. Maurice, looking for fellow Cambridge-homosexual Risley, finds Clive in Risley's room instead, and there instantly feels attracted to him, as Clive does towards Maurice. Clive at this point is only called Durham. They become very close and you learn that Durham is very ascetic, loving books, music, and being very good at all of it. He holds his own rather well and is in no way socially awkward. He can play like a boy when he wishes, but usually holds an air of sophistication. He also goes through a row with his family concerning his self-proclaimed atheism. Maurice seems to be in love with him when Durham, after a moment of special closeness, tells him that 'I love you', to which Maurice (who he still calls Hall) replies 'O, rot!' and then scolds that homosexuality is immoral, criminal, and completely out of place. This sends Durham into a self-cleansing mode for three weeks, returning to his solitary lifestyle, and interacting with Hall accordingly, whenever the situation demands it, but avoids him as much as he can. Hall, when confronting him, torn with guilt for lying about his feelings, finds that Durham is not angry at him for the rejection, but feels ashamed and sinful for his own curse of homosexuality and is grateful to Hall for his kindness in not reporting him. He finds himself completely in the wrong and Hall in the right. Later that night, after the confrontation, Hall enters his room as he dreamt of him and when he whispers in his sleep 'Maurice' he wakes to find Maurice there and they confess to each other their love.

At this point Clive seems like a rather decent guy right? Respectable, and personally my type since above selfless decency, I always enjoy, in books, when a character holds this decency with a tragic irony, like Phineas in A Separate Peace. His bright artistic qualities are a bonus yet. Well, then Forster dedicates a chapter to distancing from Maurice's perspective, and sketching out Clive's life thus far. It proves him to have been only slightly interested in Maurice at first, and convinced that Maurice was completely straight. As he began consciously testing his attractions towards Maurice physically, for he is supposed to be handsome and fit, he grows closer to him and finds himself in love with him. He explains that he approached his life and situation with a scientific, compromising state of mind, and that included his vision of Maurice. However, the rejection to his confession of love sends him, for once out of control. He exiles himself to a life half awake, never allowing himself to feel so much again, and Maurice's confession was to him an utter surprise.

......I have things to say. It'll make sense later though. Alright, let me lay out the Clive timeline then.

Now we have Clive as Clive and Maurice as Maurice, together for a day and then separated with Maurice returning home. They write each other, but on their first awkward reunion, they find things changed, and it seems their love is founded only on Cambridge floors. They learn to stick it through though. In their relationship, Maurice is more physical, but Clive seems to be controlling it, as we know he is more intelligent and directed whilst Maurice is 'muddled'. He believes in a platonic love so the physical relationship doesn't advance much. Maurice and Clive's time together is intimate at Clive's house, but you see dangerous waves coming when Maurice hears from the others that Clive shall inherit their mansion when he marries, and that he therefore must. Clive confirms this and sends Maurice into quiet worries.

Clive then goes to Greece for vacation and neglects Maurice's letters. We have another just Clive chapter as he describes a physical change occurring, bringing a sudden interest in women and disgust towards Maurice physically. He meets women in Greece and likes it, but fears hurting Maurice and attempts to recapture the fading love. Failing, he returns and immediately has a friendly interaction with Maurice's two sisters. Talking with Maurice afterwards, he discusses with him the perks to marriage rather suggestively, and suggests also an end to their sneaking about. He mentions an interest in Ada, Maurice's sister, which causes Maurice to have a break down. Clive gets sick, influenced by his worries, and due to illness, has to move away from Maurice's house, refusing Maurice's care, presence, and love. They meet less and less frequently and in his letters, Clive confesses that he no longer loves Maurice and that he has married Anne.

The story focuses on Maurice's struggles alone then, whilst Clive works on his social rise and becomes more and more brainwashed by it to fit social expectations. When Maurice meets him, he observes that Clive seems changed and inhospitable. Clive indeed leaves Maurice out of his presence despite he being a guest at his house. When hearing that Maurice is looking to marry, he is delighted and reveals, with some old intimacy and charm, that he hadn't forgotten the old days and wants Maurice to be happy and to move on too, kissing Maurice's hand as closure to their relationship. He is displayed also as something of a posh douchebag, mean to his servants and consciously superior. In their final meeting, Clive is disappointed that Maurice is not going to marry, and is shocked about Alec not only because he is a man but because he is of lower status than Maurice. Finally, he sacrifices his political engagements to attempt to save his friend and arranges a dinner engagement with Maurice. They never meet again though, portrayed in the end as opposites; the one who began muddled but now sees, and the other that has always seen so much but is blinded now by his enslavement to society.

I like Clive until the fuss about his getting married begins. Actually, that's still fine because he's muddled, but when Forster starts making him a douche it's so harsh and disillusioning. So here's how it could have worked.

The character development doesn't seem terrible when you consider him as a tragic figure who fell from the heights of awareness and integrity because of his hamartia, his position in society which felled him into the minions of the machine. Then you feel sorry for Clive in the end, who persuades Clive to marry because he is human and misery loves company selfishly. You feel sorry for his losses and wish he was more like Maurice. The problem is, though, that this requires a subtlety that Forster neglected, I think, and also recquires Maurice to be a lot more likeable than he was.

For example, concerning the first subtlety thing, the closure scene runs thus.

'The fact is, I'm hoping to get married,' said Maurice, the words flying from him as if they had independent life. 'I'm awfully glad,' said Clive, dropping his eyes. 'Maurice, I'm awfully glad. It's the greatest thing in the world, perhaps the only one-' 'I know.' He was wondering why he had spoken... 'I shan't bother you with talk, but I must just say that Anne guessed it. Women are extraordinary. She declared all along that you had something up your sleeve. I laughed, but now I shall have to give in.' his eyed rose. 'Oh Maurice, I'm so glad. It's very good of you to tell me - it's what I've always wished for you.' 'I know you have.' There was a silence. Clive's old manner had come back. He was generous, charming. 'It's wonderful, isn't it? - the - I'm, so glad. I wish I could think of something to say. Do you mind if I just tell Anne?' 'Not a bit. Tell everyone,' cried Maurice, with a brutality that passed unnoticed.

The next page, after Clive kisses Maurice's hand and Maurice shudders, Clive says 'Maurice dear, I wanted just to show I hadn't forgotten the past. I quite agree - don't let's mention it ever again, but I wanted to show you just this once.'

ALRIGHT, SO AS THIS BLOG HAS BEEN GOING A WHILE AND IT'S CLEAR THAT I'M FOCUSING ON HOW I HAD ISSUES WITH FORSTER CONCERNING HOW HE HANDLED CLIVE'S CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT, I THOUGHT I SHOULD STATE IT BECAUSE THIS IS GOING IN A RATHER BLURRY WAY. IN THE FILM, WHICH I WILL REFERENCE A LOT, CLIVE'S CHARACTER IS HANDLED WELL, I THINK, WITH CLIVE PLAYED WITH MORE SHADES OF REGRET AND HESITATION, THE EXTENSION TO RISLEY'S CHARACTER WHO GETS IMPRISONED FOR HOMOSEXUALITY, AND A STRONG ENDING TO THE FILM SHOWING CLIVE AT THE WINDOW, DISTANCED FROM HIS WIFE, GAZING OUT AND PICTURING MAURICE BACK IN CAMBRIDGE. I'LL FROM NOW RESTRICT MYSELF TO TALKING OF THE ABOVE QUOTATION IN CONTEXT OF PORTRAYING CLIVE'S INNER STRUGGLE TO MAKE HIM MORE OF AN INTERESTING CHARACTER AND I WILL ALSO DISCUSS DIFFERENCES IN THE FILM, WHICH I RECOMMEND.

Caps Lock is annoying, isn't it. Sorry about that. No editing though. Let's push on forwards.

Now, by the point in the story when the previous quotation occurs, Clive is already transformed, somewhat straight (possibly), and rather douchey. But this is one of the two scenes when Maurice observes similarities between pre and post-Maurice Clive., the other time being at the very end of the book, when it seems Clive may be a little jealous of Maurice concerning Alec. That's for later though. Does Forster accomplish the reversion?

Well, I think possibly, but it depends on how you read it, obviously. I don't think it would be the obvious interpretation and you may not even notice at all if Maurice Forster didn't actually say 'Clive's old manner had come back', which I personally take to be Maurice's thoughts, though it may not be. If it weren't it's just Forster blatantly telling the reader what to think. This was my issue with his subtlety. Really not, huh. Well, anyways, to test whether the interpretation works, I think it's good to pretend that sentence and the following were omitted. Then I think I would have still wondered as to how Clive was feeling because of some pointers, such as 'dropping his eyes'. Whenever somebody does that, they are either saying a lie that they can't tell with direct eyes, or their saying something profoundly honest that they are too shy to say again with direct eyes, or they're sleepy or bored or agitated. The film played it as bored a bit, and agitated, a little, but in reading, I would have thought of the first two. Is he lying or being sincere.

Now, remember, I've been reading the book with a special eye on Clive, so I'm bound to be alert for any possibility of Clive being the character I want him to be. There's my paradigm. So I'd probably obsess more than someone who preferred Maurice about the dropping. As what he says isn't embarrassing, I took his to be a lie. His disappointment later on about Alec says otherwise, but I liked to think that Clive was actually sad here. 'awfully glad'. Like terribly happy, you could work a negative adverb in there. What does it mean to be awfully glad? You're so glad that you feel terrible, like you ate too much ice cream? Well, I guess, but the point is that it raises ears to the possibility that this news makes him feel awful, not glad.

Now, the following sentence is awkward, right? How could here be more than one of the greatest thing? And who says that? What is Clive doing, saying random superfluous words, and he must notice Maurice's discomfort in this scene so why take sudden news in such a flamboyant light? Maybe I'm presumptuous, but I take this again as a sign for lying. A kid hates spinach (which is crazy. I love spinach) and when he gets it and makes a face and is asked if he doesn't like it, he says, 'Oh, no, I love spinach. It's the greatest thing, possibly the only one' and people look at him strangely because most honest people would say 'No, I like it.'

Clive speaks more, dominating the conversation, which is natural for his character since he dominated the relationship, whilst Maurice speaks less here and is a bit distanced with his vague, repetitive, non-committing answers. So, that made me think that this conversation means more for Clive than Maurice, because Maurice means more to Clive than the other way. That's really presumptuous, I realise, but hear me out. The conversation is one that will conclude any possibility of them ever becoming lovers again, and Maurice being silent at that means he's already given up, as he states at the end of the chapter, saying, 'Since coming to Penge he seemed a bundle of voices, not Maurice, and now he could almost hear them quarrelling inside him. But none of them belonged to Clive: he had got that far.' So Maurice is replying for the sake of politeness, for really, one must be polite, and Clive is therefore the only one participating. Why have a two-person conversation on your own? Because you care enough about it to go through the weird effort and to possibly not notice the weirdness of it. And when you care, you either love or hate. Maybe he's just that excited about Maurice getting married, but that implies a level of high care for him anyways. And if he hates the idea, which I personally find possible, then he definitely jealously loves him. The fact that he's speaking too much is acknowledged in the words 'I shan't bother you with talk' and the importance with the words 'I must say'

Now, why is Anne in the conversation? Maybe he really is grounded in her now and she's always in his mind. Probably, actually.But also, maybe she is just what he reverts to when he feels unstable because she in the story is essential for making Clive normal in society. Now, more importantly, this whole Anne thing is said whilst his eyes are still down!! Shocker! So maybe she belongs in the things he cannot speak of with direct eyes because she is surrounded with the deception of his sexuality.

When does he raise his eyes? Forster interrupts Clive's speaking to tell us when, right after he says that he couldn't take seriously the notion of Maurice having a woman. Did he think his friend was too gay or too shy and inept? Well he's handsome enough, isn't he? And he already had a thing earlier with Miss Olcott, which Clive knows of. So is Clive in denial? Was it a dismissive laugh masking his terror of Maurice moving away from him. Maybe! In any case, he turns to Maurice to say 'Oh Maurice, I'm so glad.'

Is he suddenly sincere, and so he really is glad? Maybe, but first, he says his name, which is always a sign of intimacy. He did say exactly 'Oh Maurice, Maurice' when he found Maurice before him the night they first kissed and got together. And hat he is so glad is already known. It is the third time he is saying glad. Maybe he is so happy that he's repeating himself uncontrollably, but maybe he's just insisting on it to make it true.

'Good of you to tell me' because he wants a strong closeness remaining between them. They tell each other of heir feelings and secrets.

'What I've always wished for you' I've always wanted you to be happy, even if not with me. How sweet.

Silence is always intimate too, no? When people are silent, often, they think in other's presence, often uncomfortably, but if comfortably, because they are close, they are friends.

They two sentences I choose to ignore.

Now, glad for a fourth time, stuttering because he cannot control his speech, speechlessness because he's overwhelmed with a vortex of feelings, Anne because it's the only stability, emotionless, sterile, conventional marriage.

Brutality unnoticed because Clive is too messed up to notice.

Maurice dear later on again, blatantly intimate. No need to say his name, hey're alone together.

'just to show' because it's all he wants to think of the past and all he wants concerns Maurice and he also needs to excuse his extended presence with Maurice, since Maurice is acting dismissively, and shuddering. He made him shudder, and sad, he is explaining himself, feeling vulnerable and inferior.

'hadn't forgotten the past' because he knows how he has been acting, he knows that he's been trying to forget the past, because it's too painful, and he doesn't now have the strength to allow Maurice to think it and move further away.

'I quite agree' to make clear that he's not opposing Maurice because this could save him quarrelling which will hurt him.

'don' let's mention it' because he is afraid. he is a poor, scared boy pretending to be strong for society and family. Having too much to lose.

'but I wanted to show you just once' again a repetition. A wish to return to the past for but a moment. Laying significance that he feels in his fleeting closeness with Maurice. This isn't flippant, this is serious and intimate and he is emotional. Excusing himself to make himself seem straight to Maurice, who is straight again, like back in Cambridge. Memories of Maurice's rejection. 'O, rot!' in his vulnerable sate. 'O, go to hell, it's all your fit for' to Clive when he felt just so dirty. Back in Cambridge, Clive saying, 'You ought to know that to be alone with you hurts me. No, please don't reopen. It's over.' Clive had run away before in pain. Clive had been too scared to try again. 'Get married quickly and forget.' Marriage is the escape. He hadn't forgotten though.

You see how sad a character Clive can be??? I love it! Am I just the best bullshitter so that I can create some weird circus tent of flawed logic to misinterpret totally clean stuff? Am I giving Forster a lot more credit than he deserves, omitting the sentences. Maybe. Maybe I just really want Clive to be a deep and tortured character. But as you see, I read into every sentence, and read it in my way for the sake of Clive's plight which I love.

Alright, so there's an inside look as to how with such prejudice I read. Now, what do I make of it? Well, on the whole, reading the book, you get the vibe that Clive's a douche. This is but one of two scenes where it seems possible that he isn't, but you need that crazy way of reading it that you just witnessed for that to be convincing. So in conclusion, Forster, if read generously, is incredibly skilled and incredibly subtle. If any less generously, which seems far more reasonable, he's on a vendetta against Clive.

Maurice, on the other hand, he gives a glorious ending as he runs off with Alec. But really, I don't think Maurice changes very much and I never grew a liking to Maurice. I'm not going to do a whole other thing for Maurice, but let me just say that Maurice was a bumbling fool from beginning to end, fickle and weak, crying far too often, and difficult to watch at times. If it weren't for is physical beauty, I don't think Alec would have been interested in him, and he fell in love so suddenly with Alec that it seems rather that he'd just go for anybody, like with Clive too. He fell in love instantly. My reading of Maurice is harsh, and Clive is generous. Oh well. Art counts for a lot. My reading of Maurice made my reading of Forster a lot more harsh too, since Clive being portrayed as a douche wouldn't have been that bad if it was about people going in opposite moral directions, Maurice being good, and Clive bad. But such a black and white book is boring, and as I decided against Maurice for Clive, this book suffered under me.

Now, film, and then we'll be done. This is already passed 4000 words. How I spend my life. So there are three points about the film that strike me about Clive.

First is that he generally seems very much more kind and worrying in the film. Perhaps because you could actually see it. I know you could say that about any book, but the writing of this book is so much more simple than in other books that you can't visualise it in the book very much, so good job, Hugh Grant.

Secondly, there's the thing about Risley. He gets caught and is sentenced six months in jail with hard labour, and will forever be marked and thus professionally crippled. he asks Clive specifically for help but Clive apologetically refuses because of how much he could lose by just testifying, and he shamefully watches Risley's trial imagining them in opposite situations, which is very possible. So, this was very helpful, I think, because it allows Clive to appear to have more of an excuse for the drastic changes he makes than in the book, where it really comes out of no where. You really feel sorry for Clive in the film and he seems far more reasonable in making his decision.

And thirdly. The final scene of the film is Clive closing up the curtains as he re-enters the house after speaking with Maurice. He speaks to his wife in lies, denying seeing Maurice, protecting him, and then ignores her, showing the flakiness of their marriage. Then at the last window, he gazes out of it and Anne comes to his side but he seems unaware. Clive wears a terribly spaced face, as though in an entirely different place, nostalgic. A short clip of Maurice waving at him in Cambridge from earlier in the film plays and the screen fades on Clive's face reliving his days with Maurice as he sees his friend go off into a brave life with Alec, as he's refused to do for Maurice, and as he may now wish he had. What did he have left? The wife at his side.

The film, through there three points, made the ending seem as though the film should have been called Clive rather than Maurice. It ends with glorious regret. Well, I guess I got a good story out of it on a whole then, didn't I? I just cut snippets and interpreted like crazy. Well, what's wrong with that? Here are some of the earlier bits of the book that are more quotable.

Read folks. Read.

because they never married and seldom died. Celibate and immortal, the long procession passed before him (ch1)

Beneath it all, he was bewildered. He has lost the precocious clearness of the child which transfigures and explains the universe, offering answers of miraculous insight and beauty. (ch2)

Maurice forbore to define his dream further. He had dragged it as far into life as it would come. (ch3)

No, they too had insides. 'But, O Lord, not such an inside as mine.' (ch5)

But his heart had lit never to be quenched again, and one thing in him at last was real. (ch6)

You think I don't think, but I can tell you I do. (ch7)

The worst part of him rose to the surface, and urged him to prefer comfort to joy. (ch9)

Pain had shown him a niche behind the world's judgements, whither he could withdraw. (ch11)

He had awoken too late for happiness, but not for strength, and could feel austere joy, as of a warrior who is homeless but stands fully armed. (ch11)

Those who base their conduct upon what they are rather than upon what they ought to be, always must throw [religion] over in the end (ch12)

But books meant so much for him he forgot that they were a bewilderment to others (ch12)

and retire as absurdity (ch27)

Maurice had disappeared thereabouts, leaving no trace of his presence except a little pile of the petals of the evening primrose, which mourned from he ground like an expiring fire. To the end of his life Clive was no sure of the exact moment of departure, and with the approach of old age he grew uncertain whether the moment had yet occurred. The Clue Room would glimmer, the ferns undulate. Out of some external Cambridge his friend began beckoning to him, clothed in the sun, and shaking out the scents and sounds of the May term. (ch46)