Conversations with Willie: Recollections of W. Somerset Maugham

by Robin Maugham, W. Somerset Maugham (Contributor)

Robin Maugham has written the most fascinating and honest portrait imaginable of his uncle; not only of the famous man of letters and how he wrote, but also of the intriguing society--literary, social, and largely homosexual.

Genres: Biography, Nonfiction

188 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1978

Reviews

[Sketchbook · Rating 3 out of 5]

When Syrie Met Willie / When Willie Met Gerry (sans Nora Ephron)

RSVP : "It was a rule at the Villa Mauresque that everyone
bathe naked in the swimming pool." In 1962 nephew
Robin blackmailed his Unk into giving him $50k w promise
that he'd never write about him--. So here he is writing
about him after his death. A pastiche of fact-fancy and
quotes fr Willie's own work passed off as "conversation."
Bizarre, black.

Nephew Robin reports that his Unk was a celeb playwright when he met ambitious "glamor puss" Syrie, then married, at one of many social parties. She pounced. He was flattered. Her husband filed for divorce amid Syrie-MOM "scenes." They married in 1917. Meantime, MOM had met American Gerald, 20 yrs younger, during W1 and Gerald said, candidly, he wanted someone to take care of him - penniless, but he exuded vitality - and he'd take care of Daddy. This is not a Nora Ephron scenario. It's far better than Hollywood hackery.

In 1927, w the Syrie-MOM divorce pending she threatened to name Haxton. How to quiet her? Money, honey. She got a whopper settlement and thus began MOMs hatred of her. When sailing for US c 39, Syrie asked what should she do if her boat was torpedoed. MOM said, "Relax. Swallow a lot of water."

[Gabril · Rating 3 out of 5]

Uno scrittore di indubbio talento, un uomo sostanzialmente sgradevole e respingente. Ed ecco un altro genio delle lettere di cui sarebbe opportuno ignorare il lato umano.
La descrizione che ne fa il nipote Robin, in queste conversazioni, ci mostra un anziano antipatico e scorbutico, chiuso in sé stesso (complice la balbuzie che lo affligge dall’adolescenza), un vecchio raggrinzito e malevolo, sostanzialmente solo e disperato.

Dai contemporanei fu definito cinico e lo era veramente. Eppure l’umanità descritta nei suoi libri, soprattutto quella femminile, è senz’altro migliore di lui, o almeno di come appare in questo impietoso ritratto. Sia pure nell’afflato compassionevole che spinge il nipote a compiangere lo zio, a giustificarne il lato maligno, il giovane Maugham non ci risparmia i lati umani più spiacevoli e respingenti del celebre e celebrato scrittore: dall’egocentrismo sfrenato alla misantropia quasi assoluta.
Eppure Somerset si definisce, in fondo, una persona sentimentale e lo dimostra, forse, l’attaccamento verso i due uomini della sua vita: l’esuberante Gerald e il paziente Alan che lo amarono incondizionatamente, nonostante tutto, e in un certo modo lo protessero da sé stesso, vegliando su di lui fino alla fine.

Maugham ebbe uno sterminato successo fin da giovane: era diventato ricchissimo, famosissimo, un mito del suo tempo, eppure lui si definiva “il primo della seconda fila”, consapevole del suo talento, ma dubbioso che la sua opera potesse sopravvivergli. E soprattutto la sua immensa fortuna non fu in grado di attenuare il suo pessimismo congenito né di garantirgli almeno un grammo di felicità.

Ma che la scrittura fosse la sua vocazione lo dimostrano queste parole:
“Lo scrittore non scrive soltanto quando è a tavolino, scrive tutto il giorno, quando pensa, quando legge, quando fa esperienza. Immagazzina ogni sensazione, ogni persona che incontra. Scrive quando fa colazione. Scrive quando fa l’amore. È un lavoro a tempo pieno. E richiede ogni briciola di cervello e di energia.”

E ancora:
“Io non ho mai scritto una storia in vita mia. La storia veniva da me e chiedeva di essere scritta.“

Ora sappiamo che la sua opera gli sopravvive. Ma immagino che nemmeno questa certezza sarebbe in grado di attenuare la sua profonda, inconsolabile malinconia.

3,5

[Asclepiade · Rating 4 out of 5]

Robin Maugham, Pari d’Inghilterra e scrittore come l’assai più celebre zio William Somerset, di quest’ultimo fu congiunto affezionato e devoto, come attesta questo affettuoso e gustoso libro che gli dedicò: affettuoso e gustoso, appunto, ma non lusinghiero, e tantomeno agiografico, dal momento che il ritratto dell’illustre zio, sebbene privo d’acrimonia, non ne nasconde affatto i tratti meno simpatici e degni d’elogio. Robin, che al contrario di William non ebbe vita lunghissima (morì nel 1981, a sessantacinque anni d’età), col suo famoso e ricchissimo parente aveva parecchi tratti comuni: anzitutto l’esercizio delle amene lettere, appunto, e l’omosessualità; ma non pare, almeno da qui, che ne condividesse anche il carattere aspro e mordace, perché i ricordi, quand’anche spiacevoli o agrodolci, non sembrano amareggiati dal risentimento; ciò a meno che il lettore particolarmente malevolo e sospettoso non immagini un Robin così scaltro da travestire costantemente, senza falli e senza strappi, con un cordiale velo d’equanimità la sardonica soddisfazione del dire honestamente villania, come scriverebbe il Boccaccio, di mettere cioè alla berlina il parente dando le viste di ricordarlo con amore. Il Maugham che si staglia da queste pagine in effetti è tutt’altro che simpatico: anzi, quasi sempre vi ha l’aria del vegliardo saccente, scorbutico, incattivito e odioso. Vero è che la balbuzie gl’impedì per tutta la vita quell’esercizio della conversazione mondana che probabilmente gli sarebbe molto piaciuto praticare, condannandolo così alla consuetudine, semmai, con la battuta pungente, con l’osservazione caustica, con l’epigramma feroce; ma la durezza di modi ce l’aveva nel sangue, ed era un carattere di famiglia: leggendo parecchie pagine di questo libro si ha l’impressione che i Maugham, o almeno parecchi di loro, fossero gente astiosa, collerica e linguacciuta, che godeva nell’umiliare con alterigia e nello scorticare verbalmente il prossimo, soprattutto se vicino per rapporti di famiglia e d’amicizia. Il fatto che Robin Maugham ne scriva con tale sostanziale candore, senza serbare apparente acredine verso uno zio non sempre, viceversa, empatico e gentile nei suoi riguardi, a me dà l’idea che, lungi dall’assomigliarli, lo vedesse a tal segno come una bestia esotica, dal rendergli piacevole rammentarne le malignità e scriverne invece di dolersene per come, a volte, l’avevano ferito in maniera gratuita e priva di quella finezza che suol rendere meno moleste certe frecciate aguzze ma sottili e quasi cesellate con arte; il wit del vecchio scrittore non lavorava mai di fioretto: colpiva di sciabola, o meglio di daga. Dietro l’aneddotica emerge ad ogni modo un ritratto assai triste d’un uomo solo, egocentrico, attaccato ferocemente alla vita ma incapace, spesso, di goderne appieno le piccole gioie. E Maugham era un uomo solo per sua indole, non perché privo di gente che gli volesse bene: trattava malissimo, infatti, anche le persone che lo amavano, a cominciare dai suoi due compagni e dalla moglie; e trattava male gli amici, anche se alcuni, come Noël Coward, non ne parevano più di tanto attristati, e si lasciavano passare addosso gli strali con allenata noncuranza. Qualche volta però la durezza si scioglieva un po’, e ne nascevano battute felici. “Mi dicono” per esempio una volta osservò “che dovrei leggere più scrittori americani moderni. Ma il guaio è che non riesco assolutamente a capire la loro lingua”. L’impressione finale mi sembra quella che non di rado capita nel considerare la vita privata degli artisti celebri: le loro opere posseggono molto più fascino umano che non le loro persone.

[Shamim E. Haque · Rating 5 out of 5]

I wonder how many of us will have the courage, and the honesty as we approach death, to claim as Maugham did: "I don't know anything (about death), and I am ashamed to admit that I am utterly afraid of the void that is death." His extensive literary output tells us that he had studied human nature intimately, and this sketch by his nephew- Robin Maugham- corroborates that for it he had suffered abominably at times. After having lived through two world wars, being feted as one of the most successful authors of the world, and having hobnobbed with royalties and the greats of his day, we find him utterly sad, down-trodden, and bewildered in old age- passing solitary days at Villa Mauresque with Alan Searle, his secretary, running the household. Surrounded and cared for by villa staffs he is paid occasional visits by famous people, and very infrequent visits by his relations. Distraught, angry and upset with the inevitability of death, Maugham compares his plight with that of Jesus Christ; he exclaims that it was far easier for Christ to take the matter of life and death with simplicity and ease; he wishes in vain had he the same approach to death! The author comments at one point "I felt tears scudding to my eyes. His grief was heart rending." Robin Maugham writes with pathos, and empathy. This book will interest Maugham fans as it (apparently) retells the last years of the great man's life in the words of his nephew. I used the qualifier 'apparently' because Robin Maugham have been accused elsewhere for having come up with apocryphal accounts of his famous uncle's personal life. I am not too critical of Robin Maugham because those who derided him are not very authentic either. It's a sad account, but one from which we may learn a thing or two about death and old age. I found it edifying and absorbing; but then I am a big fan of W. Somerset Maugham!

[son pham · Rating 5 out of 5]

A great memoir of one of the greatest writer in the history of literature.

[Julio The Fox · Rating 3 out of 5]

W. Somerset Maugham in his golden years, recorded by his novelist nephew. These are the ruminations of an aging wise guy, going from the most famous novelist in the world to housekeeper and entertainer at his villa on the Riviera. Maugham is by turns megalomaniacal, "If only I hadn't made a hash of my espionage service in Russia the world would have turned out different", self-pitying, "I am a most unhappy man, surviving on goat extract implants", and nostalgic for the old days when he palled around with Winston Churchill. (Synchronicity alert: Maugham and Churchill were born in the same year, 1874, and died on the same, 1965). He has some key advice advice for his nephew the budding novelist: "never write directly about homosexuality. Do you want to scare away readers? Noel {Coward} and I never did." Willie reserves his worst venom for his late brothers, including Robin's father Frederic, "your sainted father, the most despicable man I ever knew". First-rate gossip for devoted Maugham fans, who will flinch at the signs of his dementia.

[Warren · Rating 3 out of 5]

Whilst interesting, and at times entertaining, I couldn't help but feel that this small book, which essentially charts Maugham's senile decline, was a prurient and opportunistic attempt by Robin Maugham to cash in on his uncle.

In this I am reminded of Robin's notorious and successful attempt to blackmail the elder Maugham in 1962. Having informed his uncle that the American publisher Victor Weybright had offered him an advance of $50,000 to write Maugham's biography, Robin pointed out that he couldn't afford to turn down such a good offer. Maugham saw the writing on the wall, Robin having been privy to his erotic and emotional involvements with other men since he was a teenager, and so he responded by sending Robin a check for the equivalent amount. Robin then gave his word that he would never write a biography of Maugham. “I’m really awfully shy about all this, but I’m also very ­grateful,” he said.

This book is by no means a biography. But it does represent a breaking of Robin's word, and ultimately it is an own-goal. By the end I had a developed a far greater regard for the waspish, senile Maugham than for his duplicitous nephew.

[Joanna · Rating 5 out of 5]

A very intimate portrayal of the last years of Somerset Maughams life. I like the way it is written, putting together different scenes from his life, because it gives us a view of him that feels whole and put together even when the narrative is not always lineal.

Robin Maugham is very compassionate towards his uncle even when he is brutally honest about how difficult he was to live with because of his depression. Unfortunately, Somerset Maugham didn't believe in therapy, which he seems to really have needed in order to overcome his abandonment issues.

Through interviews with Somerset Maugham himself and close friends of his, the author can even give us a glimpse at Maugham's earlier years and especially interesting was to be able to read about Maugham's ancestors too.

[J · Rating 3 out of 5]

Here’s a very interesting and endearing book for Maugham fans. It’s a mixture of biography and reminiscences by Robin Maugham, a favorite nephew of W. Somerset Maugham and frequent visitor to his uncle’s Riviera villa, Mauresque. He provides an intimate portrait of his uncle from his own reminiscences and from the accounts of his uncle’s closest friends who visited the villa. I loved the friendships, the banter, and poignant moments and melancholy. He is a fascinating, complex man who achieved enormous literary and worldly success yet suffered greatly from losing his parents at an early age, his stammer, and having to keep his homosexuality hidden from the general public.

[Pascale · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book doesn't aspire to be anything more than a tidying up of the notes Robin Maugham took each time he stayed with his uncle Willie in Lausanne or Saint-Jean Cap Ferrat in the 1960s. For those unfamiliar with his more comprehensive book "Somerset and All the Maughams", Robin starts by giving a summary of Willie's ancestry and childhood, and throws in some anecdotes about Somerset's marriage to Syrie, but "Conversations" mostly covers Somerset's long decline into senility. As such, of course, it makes for a pretty depressing read. Although Robin clearly felt great affection and respect for his famous uncle, his portrayal is rather grim. Somerset comes off as an arrogant, spiteful, snobbish, petulant old man who is terrified of death, yet derives no pleasure from his vast wealth or the devotion of his friends. His acts of generosity often seem inspired more by the desire to humiliate those who have been less successful than himself than by actual concern for them. His guilt at having played a part in his brother's Harry suicide hasn't mellowed him one bit. Whether Robin's take on his uncle is accurate or not, this low-key memoir reads convincingly.

[Ffiamma · Rating 3 out of 5]

robin maugham racconta suo zio willie, william somerset maugham: scrittore di successo, omosessuale- ma con un matrimonio alle spalle, insicuro, balbuziente, a tratti aggressivo e capriccioso. la prima parte è decisamente più interessante della seconda, che è semplicemente una raccolta di aneddoti a volte brillanti e a volte molto tristi. mi aspettavo, chissà perché, qualcosa di meglio.

[Fran · Rating 2 out of 5]

Premessa: io adoro William Somerset Maugham.


Avevo grandi aspettative circa questa sorta di diario del nipote Robin, ragion per cui era forse inevitabile rimanessi delusa dal risultato.

La prima parte, fin poco più della metà, è abbastanza interessante; la seconda tratteggia il declino di una persona anziana, ma svilendone la memoria con dettagli francamente omissibili.