Summary: So the narrator is kept nameless, and he's a writer who takes an intellectual interest in the artist Charles Strickland, who represents Gauguin. Strickland is so intriguing because he is very passionate about his art and in pursuit of art, he is not afraid to be extremely cruel. He's a normal stockbroker but at age forty, suddenly decides to leave his wife and kids to be a painter, and throughout the book destroys people's lives, like Blanche, who attempts suicide after he leaves her, and Dirk Stroeve, who was husband to Blanche before Strickland steals her away. Despite his terrible character, the author sympathises with him because he is intriguing, and eventually, Strickland leaves for Tahiti after being very poor for a long while, and there marries, paints, and dies of leprosy, still unacknowledged, and almost entirely regarded as a talentless painter. Years after his death though, the world decides upon his genius.
The writing is very clear. No extremely long sentences or flamboyant descriptions, with a few exception when the narrator is speculating on Strickland's character and art. He does get very philosophical and preachy, but Maugham points out repeatedly that he narrator is meant to be a romantic, though this may be following the 'accusers-are-innocent' logic. Nothing ever fails to be interesting though. Despite the simplicity of the writing, the story is very peculiar because of the Strickland character, leaving very much to be said with such matter-of-fact writing.
Another thing about the writing is that, it's written very much as though it is all true, as in Maugham is the narrating character. This isn't true; it's not autobiographical, it's biographical, but the effect is very helpful. I think this is because Strickland's character, for the majority of the readers, I suppose, is difficult to understand and grasp. Therefore the idea that the character is being explained by one that is bewildered like us, is comforting. You could relate largely with the narrating character, which I think is essential, as it may be difficult to relate with Strickland.
Some ways by which Maugham accomplishes this, are through reported speech. As the story is in first person, all speech is reported, but often he begins by reporting exact speech and then switching to paraphrases, which I think is more realistic. Also, often after reporting exact speech, the narrator admits that these actually weren't the words, but he, for the sake of the story, was expressing what was expressed in gestures and expressions and broken words, more skilfully.
Also, the plot unfolds most usually chronologically so that you could watch the narrator slowly discover Strickland, be astonished and slowly change his opinions concerning the character. For example, though in the very first chapter, Maugham reveals that Strickland was to be a very famous post-mortem painter, when he first appears in the active plot, the narrator expresses how he finds him a boring stockbroker like any other somewhat comfortable suburban business man. This judgement slowly changes, and as the narrator comes to understand Strickland, the reader is allowed time to discover Strickland very methodically, to the extent he can be.
It is interesting too, how the plot revolves around understanding this one character, but who you are, as a reader changes, very much, how much you will understand of him. I would be very different from a more left brain person, for example.
Right, so should I do characters? Well that seems obvious now doesn't it....Dirk is interesting. What could I say of him other than I see myself in him. I'm like Strickland's mind in Dirk's body except thankfully not quite spherical. Right, I'll go with Dirk. Characters are the most important aspect of a book. Almost forgot that time.
So Dirk is this character who is a bumbling fool. He is an artist and paints images of Italy, mostly for people that wish to go there but can't be bothered. He has an amazing sense of art and knows especially what beauty is. He is the first to recognise Strickland's genius and defends him against everyone else who laugh at Strickland's paintings. However, he himself has little talent. He is exceedingly kind, but due to this kindness, cannot defend himself against ridicule. He gets ridiculed often, for he is bumbling and often shares stories of his bumbles, and when ridiculed for it, often very harshly, as to tears, by Strickland, he simply absorbs and forgets. When he is ridiculed, he looks ridiculous and is then laughed at, often by the narrator. His kindness extends so, however, that he can actually show generosity to Strickland, nursing him when he's starving and dying, taking him into his house, sharing, or rather allowing Strickland to steal his studio, and stuff. Though he practically saves Strickland's life, and artistic life, cruel Strickland, whom his wife originally hated but feels extremely attracted to, begins an affair with her. Dirk is deep in love with his wife, and when she announces that she is leaving them, he is heartbroken, but loves her so that he gives her half his money and the house in order to save her the privations of living with Strickland with his savage lifestyle. He then sticks around so that his wife could return to him with all forgiven when inevitable, Strickland would ruin her, for e does not love her but only resentfully lusts her. This is a momentary lust and Strickland eventually leaves Blanche (Dirk's wife), causing her to attempt suicide by drinking acid. Dirk goes to the hospital where she is but she rejects him, and it is very obvious that she is weak, wounded, and there is no chance of her ever returning. She dies, and Dirk goes to his house for the first time and finds it empty of Strickland but for one painting of his, a nude of Blanche left solely to torture Dirk. Dirk tries to destroy it, but it is Strickland's and thus genius, and e does not, and instead, seeks out Strickland to invite him to go to Holland, his home-country, with him. Strickland rejects him and Dirk, prideless, broken, and alone, yet believing in Strickland's art, and resigned in his conception of the promises of life, goes away to Amsterdam and disappears from the book. In a later meeting between Strickland and the narrator, Strickland explains that he did not expect Blanche to come with him, but allowed it because it amused him that she both hated him and loved him. He feels no remorse and no gratitude for Dirk's help. The narrator had been strenuously despising Strickland but in speaking finds that he cannot hate him, for Strickland is too interesting and the narrator is a writer, meant more to observe than to judge. He agrees reluctantly with Strickland that he does not really care about Blanche's death. However, to himself, he assures that Dirk will find happiness again in Amsterdam.
Quite a story huh. So I guess I'm discussing the point of having Dirk in here. But wait. Here are some quotations that I think capture him well.
The Narrator giving a sketch of his character before anything tragic happens:
It was an ideal that he painted - a poor one, common and shop-soiled, but still it was an ideal; and it gave his character a peculiar charm...He was very emotional, yet his feeling, so easily aroused, had in it something absurd, so that you accepted his kindness, but felt no gratitude...He writhed under the jokes, practical and otherwise, which were perpetually made at his expense, and yet never ceased, it seemed wilfully, to expose himself to them. He was constantly wounded, and yet his good-nature was such that he could not bear malice: the viper might sting him, but he never learned by experience, and had no sooner recovered from his pain than he tenderly placed it once more in his bosom. His life was a tragedy written in the terms of a knockabout farce. Because I did not laugh at him he was grateful to me, and he used to pour into my sympathetic ear the long list of his troubles. The saddest thing about them was that they were grotesque, and the more pathetic they were, the more you wanted to laugh. (XVIII)
Last words to Blanche after giving her and Strickland his house and money:
Goodbye, my dear, I'm grateful for all the happiness you gave me in the past. (XXVIII)
Dirk explaining to narrator how he could be so void of resentment:
I knew she didn't love me as I loved her. hat was only natural, wasn't it? But she allowed me to love her, and that was enough to make me happy. (XXIX)
The narrator explaining why Dirk stayed:
He preferred the anguish of jealousy to the anguish of separation. (XXIX)
Dirk explaining the conclusion he comes to of the world after Blanche dies:
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. (XXXVIII)
Dirk's response to narrator asking if he resents art because of Strickland:
Art is the greatest thing in the world. (XXXVIII)
Narrator's conclusion about what will happen to Dirk in Amsterdam:
I felt that his chance was to put all the past behind him. I hoped that the grief which now seemed intolerable would be softened by the lapse of time, and a merciful forgetfulness would help him to take up once more the burden of life. He was young still, and in a few years he would look back on all his misery with a sadness in which there would be something not unpleasurable. Sooner or later he would marry some honest soul in Holland, and I felt sure he would be happy. I smiled at the thought of the vast number of bad pictures he would paint before he died. (XXXIX)
All amazing, aren't they? Now, I could do an in-depth analysis about these bits, but that, I think, would largely be superfluous, considering how straight-forward most of this is, and if I were to find worth in any of it, it'd most likely be through third and fourth meanings to the words through references to other bits of the book, and other characters, but as you, my invisible reader, possibly have not read the book, as I'm reluctant to rewrite the whole thing in extended quotation form, I will focus on the broader question of Dirk's purpose.
The quotations explain him, don't they. He's a simple guy, simple and good, and the one thing that makes him special, other than his the sheer simplicity of his kindness, is his taste for beauty. Oh, and the simplicity and purity of his love for Blanche. Alright, how am I going to tackle this? Alright, I'll go with first explaining why he is need concerning beauty, and then why he is needed concerning Blanche and his kindness, and lastly, why he exists as a character if he's just going to drift off, like Mrs. Strickland. Sounds good.
Right. Beauty: So this, I think, you get a lot from the plot, with his special treatment of Strickland. I mean, it's weird hoe both his wife and him develop an infatuation for Strickland, but for all the infatuations that Strickland ignites, Dirk's is the only one that is purely based on his art. It's shown well in that first sketch by the narrator too, I think. It's essential that Dirk not be a very revolutionary artist because otherwise, you'd be comparing between him and Strickland more. No, Dirk paints hotel art and he sees meaningful art in Strickland. This helps along our narrator, who has no great sense of art, and helps the reader hat cannot see the art. People like Dirk are necessary because they are the fundamental makers of movements in art, when a tide changes and nobody notices but the very subtle, who graciously direct the rest of our ways.
So Dirk is necessary get us to understand Strickland's artistic side, technically, as opposed to the narrator who helps us see Strickland's personal side, social side, emotional passionate side, and more confusing side. Dirk is the only person that seems unconfused by Strickland and I think that is because he understands the most essential thing about Strickland: his art. If it weren't for Dirk, you wouldn't find out he is amazing until the after Strickland's death, which in retrospect is very interesting, but in the live action, is very difficult to write with any interest and you are forced to keep so many secrets.Dirk's loyal love for art also adds to his own character, and Dirk thus is not artistic solely for the purpose of the Strickland story.
His 'Art is the greatest...' line is inspirational, as he knows full well what he is capable of and more importantly, incapable of, and yet he bears no resentment and pushes on, without ambition but in complacency. Is this resigned? Like his last conclusion? No, I don't think so, because I believe he enjoys his art. If you see beauty truly, you could hate it or love it, and he loves it. His painting an ideal says a lot of his character because this book was written in 1919, that is, the same year as the great war ended, and so concerns itself with the disillusionment era, and in such an era, ideals become all the more important, and passion, and security, and fear. Strickland has passion, Dirk has more of a cling on security. He is afraid, like most of us, but has not folded to the cynicism of the time, the growing menace of emptiness and disfiguration. I don't know, but as I do, I think Dirk sees that there is no shame in loving the perfect and wanting and wilfully believing in a beauty that possibly doesn't exist, and trying to create it yourself, because we are not capable of absolute truth, and we should embrace our weaknesses and try to shoulder on in brightness, rather than throwing ourselves 'sincerely' and passionately into a truth that may ruin us, as Strickland did. And then you have Strickland, who can appease those who agree with him, and interest and educate those that don't, like me, and maybe even persuade, like me. So I suppose Dirk is the ying to Strickland's yang concerning the concept of art in this book. Foils, if you will. If Dirk is Peter Pan, who knows of an outside world and a Wendy but chooses to remain in fantasy, Strickland is Peter who leaves Neverland, and there changes into an unrecognisable being.
Kindness and Blanche: Why so you have the other side of Dirk then? Well, as I said, there's the point of showing his clinging to security and the hold that society has on people, whether you see that as a bad or good thing. This draws also the foil theory again. Strickland is very very very cruel, and Dirk is very very very kind. How do you make somebody seem very very cruel and very very kind? Well you can just have some guy kick a puppy and another one feed some pigeons, but that's a bit Disney, isn't it? So neatness!!! Have the cruel guy be very cruel to the kind guy and the kind guy forgive the cruel guy, and then the cruel guy even more cruelly be cruel to the kind guy, and the kind guy even more kindly be kind to the cruel guy! Brilliant! Now we already know Strickland's cruel because he leaves his wife and kids randomly. And you already like Dirk a little because he speaks well of Strickland's art the moment the narrator introduces him. It's very neat, isn't it? So that, I think is the significance of the kindness concerning Strickland: provide contrast.
But contrast is such an easy answer, isn't it? I mean, it gets very annoying how often bullshitting English students say, 'Well this provides contrast'. Yeah, it's demeaning to the contrasting thing because it hardly ever is so boring in itself that it only exists to be compared with an eclipsing issue. So yes, in itself, the kindness is important because it provides an escape from the Strickland lifestyle. You don't have to agree with Strickland and engage in a life of cruelty for your aim. There's a quotation about this later on (check it out!) You learn from Dirk too. He is painted as ridiculous, called a fool, and the narrator disagrees with his actions, thinking them prideless and shameful even. But looking beyond that, Dirk is a very noble character. Dirk is a turn-the-other-cheek type that stays so until he is practically emotionally crucified. Applause for that and he's certainly going up to heaven. Maybe don't be a pushover to his extent, but certainly learn from him. I'm afraid rather a lot of people would learn more from Strickland than Dirk from this book though, which is slightly worrying.
And how better to cause such emotional turmoil than through a woman to be fought over? Blanche at once shows both Dirk's kindness and Strickland's cruelty, potential and dangerous charisma. She's sort of like the narrator in a way, as she and the narrator are both fond of Dirk in a 'you're so nice' way but drawn to Strickland by his excitement and away from Dirk by his weakness. Don't know where to go with Blanche. Interesting character, she. Very mysterious and surprising and a plot-mover. A classic pawn in the Strickland-centric novel. But that's another essay.
Drifting off: This book is written rather strangely as the narrator mentions to you at times, you the reader, that he wishes the story were different as it'd lend itself into a novel better, but he must be realistic, and thus lots of flawed reported action and characters dropping away. Dirk goes away somewhat far from the end, only shortly preceding, Strickland's exit from live action. GOsh that must sound confusing. Well, I mean, Dirk isn't mentioned after he goes to Amsterdam but in one conversation.
Now, the way he exits is rather strange because he neither starts something new, like Mrs. Strickland's business, or dies like Blanche, or was temporary enough of a character as to serve his purpose and just leave, like the later storytellers of Strickland in Tahiti. He has no big character change either. He just drifts off to Amsterdam, far less idealistic, but still kind, still weak, still believing in Strickland, still in love with Blanche, and still in love with art. Why end this way? Well, actually, I think it's the single normal ending to any of the characters in the book. He has his resigned purpose in life, and then leaves, and you get the narrator's guesses at what will happen, but you never find out. At the end of the book, you see the early characters, Mrs. Strickland, and his kids, again, changed. Maugham might have mentioned Dirk here, but he doesn't, and it's as though he entered a black hole in Amsterdam. But you come to trust the narrator so much that you assume his guesses are right and you love the guesses he make because they are so sweet.. The bad pictures Stroeve will paint. So he is human and will not be thus downtrodden forever, but rebuild himself effortlessly, for nature pucks up spirit and all living things must have life. He will forget graciously and begin again his ideals.
It again contrasts with Strickland, who lives his life forcedly, in pursuit of a vision that he will die for and does, pursuing until the end until he achieves his masterpiece. Dirk, instead, lives on a lower plane, surviving as he knows how, psychologically, with an array of defence mechanisms, and family, and his profession. Thus runs the mercy of a regular life, and the security of normality and society. Strickland is the moon and Dirk is sixpence. The sentence of Maugham, supposedly, that If you continue to search for the sixpence at your feet, your'll never see the moon, suggests he loves Strickland, but look who he is: the writer, observer, admirer, muser, it seems. Prefer Strickland, or Dirk? Well, the amazing thing about this book is that it doesn't exactly command to you which to go with, though maybe more Strickland, but really, I don't know. A mixture of the two. Again, they are foils, and Dirk is a very useful character by providing this second course to the reader. He drifts off realistically and you see that there's a way out. Personally, I think I am Strickland, but with too much cowardice, and I see my future as a life of Dirk silently wishing to be a Strickland. I will write Stricklands for the rest of my life. My books always have two characters. Well, usually, and usually, one is a Strickland and one is a Dirk, and either hey both learn to become Dirks together, or one learns from the other to become a Dirk. My books have no real answer, probably because I do not know. I hardly understand myself and my work reflects it, though I wish not ruinously, but pleasingly, honestly and suggestively, and intriguingly, though that is a lot to ask for. If I turn out as either, I should be frightened though. I shall be the narrator.
That was weird.
Read, folks. Read.
But I should be thrice a fool if I did it (wrote novels) for aught but my own entertainment. (ChII)
I tell you I've got to paint. I can't help myself. When a man falls into the water it doesn't matter how he swims. well or badly: he's got to get out or else he'll drown. (XII)
When I left Rome I corresponded with him, and about once in two months received from him long letters in queer English, which brought before me vividly his spluttering, enthusiastic, gesticulating conversation. (XVIII)
Beauty is something wonderful and strange that the artist fashions out of the chaos of the world in the torrent of his soul. And when he has made it, it is not give to all to know it. To recognise it you must repeat the adventure of the artist. (XIX)
Sometimes I've thought of an island lost in a boundless sea, where I could live in some hidden valley, among the strange trees, in silence. There I think I could find what I want.(XXI)
It's only right that you shouldn't disapprove of me. You have a despicable character. (XXI)
Life isn't long enough for love and art. (XXI)
It was not strange that he should so heartlessly have betrayed his friend's confidence, nor that he hesitated not at all to gratify a whim at the cost of another's misery/ That was in his character. (XXX)
The nurse looked at him with her calm, kind eyes, which had seen all the horror and pain of the world, and yet, filled with the vision of a world without sin, remained serene. (XXXV)
I wondered what an abyss of cruelty she must have looked into that in horror she refused to live.(XXXV)
It is one of the defects of my character that I cannot altogether dislike anyone who makes me laugh. (XL)
The writer is more concerned to know than to judge. (XLI)
The absurd little man enjoys doing things for other people. That's his life. (XLI)
It may be a lack of sympathy in myself if it does not make any great difference to me that she is dead. Life had a great deal to offer her. I think it's terrible that she should have been deprived of it in that cruel way, and I am ashamed because I do not really care. (XLI)
Each of us is alone in the world. (XLI)
'I think your courage failed. The weakness of your body communicated itself to your soul. I do not know what infinite yearning possesses you, so that you are driven to a perilous, lonely search for some goal where you expect to find a final release from he spirit that torments you. I see you as the eternal pilgrim to some shrine that perhaps does not exist. I d not know to what inscrutable Nirvana you aim. Do you know yourself? Perhaps it is Truth and Freedom that you seek, and for a moment you thought that you might find release in Love. I think your tired soul sought rest in a woman's arms, and when you found no rest there you hated her You had no pity for her, because you have no pity for yourself. And you killed her out of fear, because you trembled still at the danger you had barely escaped.' He smiled dryly and pulled his beard. 'You are a dreadful sentimentalist, my poor friend.'(XLI)
forsake all and follow the divine tyranny of art. (XLIII)
He was a single-hearted man in his aim, and to pursue it he was willing to sacrifice not only himself - many can do that - but others. He had a vision. Strickland was an odious man, but I still think he was a great one. (XLIII)
He seemed to see his fellow-creatures grotesquely, and he was angry with them because they were grotesque; life was a confusion of ridiculous, sordid happenings, a fit subject fr laughter, and yet it made him sorrowful to laugh. (XLVI)
both were trying to put down in paint ideas which were more suitable to literature. (XLVI)
I suppose no artist achieves completely the realisation of the dream that obsesses him (XLV)
It is like the sadness which you may see in the jester's eyes when a merry company is laughing in his sallies; his lips smile and his jokes are gayer because in the communion of laughter he finds himself more intolerably alone. (XLV)
And here he lived, unmindful of the world and by the world forgotten. (LIII)
'I shall stay here till I die.' 'But are you never bored or lonely?' I asked. He chuckled. 'Mon pauvre ami,' he said. 'It is evident that you do not know what it is to be an artist.' (LIII)
I think Strickland knew it was a masterpiece. He had achieved what he wanted. His life was complete.He had made a world and saw that it was good. Then, in pride and contempt, he destroyed it. (LVII)
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