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A Writer's Notebook
2nd variant. Dust jacket price clipped. Dust jacket has 2" closed tear at base of the spine. Bound in black hardcover decorated and stamped in silver.
367 pages, Hardcover
First published October 1, 1949
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1036 people want to read
About the author
W. Somerset Maugham
2,131 books6,008 followersWilliam Somerset Maugham was born in Paris in 1874. He spoke French even before he spoke a word of English, a fact to which some critics attribute the purity of his style.
His parents died early and, after an unhappy boyhood, which he recorded poignantly in Of Human Bondage, Maugham became a qualified physician. But writing was his true vocation. For ten years before his first success, he almost literally starved while pouring out novels and plays.
Maugham wrote at a time when experimental modernist literature such as that of William Faulkner, Thomas Mann, James Joyce and Virginia Woolf was gaining increasing popularity and winning critical acclaim. In this context, his plain prose style was criticized as 'such a tissue of clichés' that one's wonder is finally aroused at the writer's ability to assemble so many and at his unfailing inability to put anything in an individual way.
During World War I, Maugham worked for the British Secret Service . He travelled all over the world, and made many visits to America. After World War II, Maugham made his home in south of France and continued to move between England and Nice till his death in 1965.
At the time of Maugham's birth, French law was such that all foreign boys born in France became liable for conscription. Thus, Maugham was born within the Embassy, legally recognized as UK territory.
His parents died early and, after an unhappy boyhood, which he recorded poignantly in Of Human Bondage, Maugham became a qualified physician. But writing was his true vocation. For ten years before his first success, he almost literally starved while pouring out novels and plays.
Maugham wrote at a time when experimental modernist literature such as that of William Faulkner, Thomas Mann, James Joyce and Virginia Woolf was gaining increasing popularity and winning critical acclaim. In this context, his plain prose style was criticized as 'such a tissue of clichés' that one's wonder is finally aroused at the writer's ability to assemble so many and at his unfailing inability to put anything in an individual way.
During World War I, Maugham worked for the British Secret Service . He travelled all over the world, and made many visits to America. After World War II, Maugham made his home in south of France and continued to move between England and Nice till his death in 1965.
At the time of Maugham's birth, French law was such that all foreign boys born in France became liable for conscription. Thus, Maugham was born within the Embassy, legally recognized as UK territory.
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May 8, 2022DNF at about 40%
Usually I deeply enjoy other writers pulling back the curtain on how they work. Kept plugging on, hoping to get to Maugham’s older and wiser years, but his prejudices seem to have stuck with him. The prejudices espoused in the book weren’t an unfortunate by-product of the culture that birthed it, but personal and deeply held by Maugham as an individual, going above and beyond in most cases, in intensity, deliberate ignorance of others' true points of view, and the number of times he kept milking the subject. Skipping to the end, it looks like he did make the effort to reflect, but kept concluding that his prejudices were justified. These justifications seem to be the main thrust of the book; it just got to be too much of a slog.
Usually I deeply enjoy other writers pulling back the curtain on how they work. Kept plugging on, hoping to get to Maugham’s older and wiser years, but his prejudices seem to have stuck with him. The prejudices espoused in the book weren’t an unfortunate by-product of the culture that birthed it, but personal and deeply held by Maugham as an individual, going above and beyond in most cases, in intensity, deliberate ignorance of others' true points of view, and the number of times he kept milking the subject. Skipping to the end, it looks like he did make the effort to reflect, but kept concluding that his prejudices were justified. These justifications seem to be the main thrust of the book; it just got to be too much of a slog.
September 13, 2020
I read this book about forty years ago, when I had aspirations of becoming a writer, and it didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me, as I did not have the “lived experience” of one, at the time. Reading it now, nearly twenty years into my writing journey, it is a goldmine of information and a reassurance regarding this perilous profession.
Somerset Maugham, one of the most celebrated popular writers and playwrights of the 19th and 20th centuries, has often been dismissed by the literati for not being a serious literary writer. And yet, many envied the lifestyle he enjoyed as a writer with his home on the French Riviera, his travels around the globe into hot-spots and playgrounds, his many plays in London and Broadway, and the movies made of his novels and short stories.
In this book, condensed from 15 manuscripts, which spans from 1892 when the author was 18 to 1944 when he was seventy, we see the man behind the mask: the philosopher, the product of empire, the acute and intrusive observer, the restless seeker, the spy, the consummate healer, the atheist, the man with his secret sexuality, and the celebrity who believed that his success was fleeting. From his early thoughts on the purpose of life, he dedicates separate chapters to travel (in the South Pacific, South-East Asia, Europe, America, and India), to the people he encountered and who made it either whole or in part as characters in his fiction, to his practice strokes of place descriptions spurred by criticism that his writing was flat, to his wartime exploits as a doctor and spy (WWI) and Allied promoter (WWII), and to his ruminations on a life-lived to the max as he enters his seventies.
Along the way, we are exposed to his philosophy of life, insights that elevate him above the average writing hack (literati – take note!):
-“Unselfish parents have selfish children” – he justifies the selfishness in children.
-Wisdom is only available to a minority – hence the world cannot act wisely.
-The attainment of pleasure is the object of all actions.
- A novelist must never grow up, or else he will lose interest in his craft.
- The ego causes our wickedness. But it also gave us music, poetry, painting and art.
- Being famous? Like wondering whether the string of pearls you have is real or cultured.
- Americans are more concerned with their plumbing than their cooking.
I found his descriptions of the outer reaches and trading outposts of the British Empire and its denizens to be the most interesting. Many of the characters he paints are expatriates who are missing something in their lives, who drink copiously, are married to local women, or are of mixed blood themselves. They live lives of isolation with a marked lack of intellectual stimulation, like deformed trees that have grown up on a beach under a one-directional force of wind.
As he sums up in his three-score-and-tenth year, he accepts responsibility for his earlier self-righteousness, although he still believes that “might is right.” He still has trouble with the soul and its transmigration as he was exposed to in India, and he believes in death being a full stop. He doesn’t mourn the loss of his boat, his house on the Riviera, and his artwork – all confiscated by the Axis powers – at least in this respect he has realized that you can’t take your earthly wealth with you. However, like a good writer, he laments that there are four novels he yet has to write but doesn’t have the energy to get to them; but also like a good writer, in a footnote written five years later, he apparently finished three of them.
This is a writer’s notebook, and should be appreciated as such: scraps of disparate information and sketches that paint the life of an itinerant writer and the places and people he touched. Unlike his fiction, it has no beginning, middle and end. However, for a writer, it is an engaging companion for those long days when we feel we are going nowhere.
Somerset Maugham, one of the most celebrated popular writers and playwrights of the 19th and 20th centuries, has often been dismissed by the literati for not being a serious literary writer. And yet, many envied the lifestyle he enjoyed as a writer with his home on the French Riviera, his travels around the globe into hot-spots and playgrounds, his many plays in London and Broadway, and the movies made of his novels and short stories.
In this book, condensed from 15 manuscripts, which spans from 1892 when the author was 18 to 1944 when he was seventy, we see the man behind the mask: the philosopher, the product of empire, the acute and intrusive observer, the restless seeker, the spy, the consummate healer, the atheist, the man with his secret sexuality, and the celebrity who believed that his success was fleeting. From his early thoughts on the purpose of life, he dedicates separate chapters to travel (in the South Pacific, South-East Asia, Europe, America, and India), to the people he encountered and who made it either whole or in part as characters in his fiction, to his practice strokes of place descriptions spurred by criticism that his writing was flat, to his wartime exploits as a doctor and spy (WWI) and Allied promoter (WWII), and to his ruminations on a life-lived to the max as he enters his seventies.
Along the way, we are exposed to his philosophy of life, insights that elevate him above the average writing hack (literati – take note!):
-“Unselfish parents have selfish children” – he justifies the selfishness in children.
-Wisdom is only available to a minority – hence the world cannot act wisely.
-The attainment of pleasure is the object of all actions.
- A novelist must never grow up, or else he will lose interest in his craft.
- The ego causes our wickedness. But it also gave us music, poetry, painting and art.
- Being famous? Like wondering whether the string of pearls you have is real or cultured.
- Americans are more concerned with their plumbing than their cooking.
I found his descriptions of the outer reaches and trading outposts of the British Empire and its denizens to be the most interesting. Many of the characters he paints are expatriates who are missing something in their lives, who drink copiously, are married to local women, or are of mixed blood themselves. They live lives of isolation with a marked lack of intellectual stimulation, like deformed trees that have grown up on a beach under a one-directional force of wind.
As he sums up in his three-score-and-tenth year, he accepts responsibility for his earlier self-righteousness, although he still believes that “might is right.” He still has trouble with the soul and its transmigration as he was exposed to in India, and he believes in death being a full stop. He doesn’t mourn the loss of his boat, his house on the Riviera, and his artwork – all confiscated by the Axis powers – at least in this respect he has realized that you can’t take your earthly wealth with you. However, like a good writer, he laments that there are four novels he yet has to write but doesn’t have the energy to get to them; but also like a good writer, in a footnote written five years later, he apparently finished three of them.
This is a writer’s notebook, and should be appreciated as such: scraps of disparate information and sketches that paint the life of an itinerant writer and the places and people he touched. Unlike his fiction, it has no beginning, middle and end. However, for a writer, it is an engaging companion for those long days when we feel we are going nowhere.
September 9, 2022
So first things first this is not a book for the general reader. You will get nothing out of this book unless you are
A: a massive Maugham fan
B: an aspiring writer
C: interested in the creative process and thinking of a writer
D: all of the above
I fall into the D category so i loved it but i realize this book is not for everyone.
Maugham kept a notebook for many years and this is essentially the cream of that notebook.
It's interesting the observe how he changed as he aged. Early on we have an earnest young man hungry for success who spends a lot of time thinking about humanity, God, philosophy and even politics. By the end of the book we see a wise old man at ease with life and his own imminent death who accepts that the world is the world, people are people and one simply has to make the best of life.
Some of the little nuggets of wisdom are brilliant and worth writing down and remembering. I always say that Maugham really saw deeply into life and humanity and yet never lost his sense of humor.
A: a massive Maugham fan
B: an aspiring writer
C: interested in the creative process and thinking of a writer
D: all of the above
I fall into the D category so i loved it but i realize this book is not for everyone.
Maugham kept a notebook for many years and this is essentially the cream of that notebook.
It's interesting the observe how he changed as he aged. Early on we have an earnest young man hungry for success who spends a lot of time thinking about humanity, God, philosophy and even politics. By the end of the book we see a wise old man at ease with life and his own imminent death who accepts that the world is the world, people are people and one simply has to make the best of life.
Some of the little nuggets of wisdom are brilliant and worth writing down and remembering. I always say that Maugham really saw deeply into life and humanity and yet never lost his sense of humor.
July 29, 2017
A Writer’s [one note] Notebook
The author of Of Human Bondage and reportedly one of the best paid novelists of the 1930's reduced from fifteen volumes to one his lifetime of notebooks. He explains “I publish it because I am interested in the technique of literary production and in the process of creation [his own],” [p.xvi] and indeed the result is an extended look inside the sausage factory. Fiction writers, alas, feel compelled to invent all sorts of secondary and tertiary characters; rather than let the well run dry, countless real-time vignettes and portraits are assembled as potential raw material - along with many extended and tortured similes.
I read his bildungsroman titled Of Human Bondage ages ago and there is nothing in this compilation to recommend my returning to it. The general impression, especially from his early years, is of an insufferable egoist and materialist.
Two entries, when aged 22, exemplify. The first, “The more intelligent a man is the more capable is he of suffering,” [p.19] reveals the young egoist. The second, “Science is the consolor and the healer of troubles, for it teaches how little things matter and how unimportant is life with all its failures,” [p.24] reveals the materialist. What an odd view of science and suffering that is!
While studying to become a doctor, Maugham’s first novel sold out quickly, leading him to switch careers. By age 34 he writes, “Success. I don’t believe it has had any effect on me.” If only it had!
The freshest writing comes only when Maugham, finally freed of the rarified mileus of Paris and London, travels to the Pacific, to research a novel about the life of Paul Gauguin. Yet, throughout, he seemingly lacks compassion: everything is for the gristmill of his writings.
As a young man, like many, he struggles with the notion of God and the hypocrisy of many religious men. But he never seems to grow out of his youthful rebellion and remains a pinched modernist. At age 25, he writes:
A page later, he drops this clunker:
The writer, from an older if not wiser age, adds a few dozen comments, particularly when his prior musings are over-the-top. But here he remains mute, connoting approval.
But once you throw out the measuring stick, then all become relative and transient:
I am reminded that eugenics was all the rage among Western intellectuals, even if Maugham’s confession, in 1901, preceded by a good decade the fashion. Building on Darwin’s and Lylle’s pioneering work in dethroning God, by 1882 Nietzsche could declare in The Gay Science that “God is dead.” Long before Hitler, the concept of Social Darwinism, which adapted the survival of the fittest regime to humans, fueled all sorts of pathologies, many of them still alive and well today.
Recently I read an article titled “Harvard’s Eugenics Era” by Adam Cohen, which, in appearing in the Harvard Magazine, is the institution’s partial coming to terms with a sordid history a century after the fact. He writes:
He admits that:
But, then again, what percentage of students today would be against “using science to make a better world”? Practically none.
Cohen traces the history of eugenics to England in 1883 to Darwin’s half cousin, Francis Galton. (Which helps explain Maugham’s otherwise precocious adherence to the cult movement in 1901.) That it built off of Darwin’s ground-breaking work is unmistakable.
A Harvard botanist, Professor Edward East, “gave important support to Galton’s fledgling would-be science,” writing in 1923 “‘Eugencs is sorely needed; social progress without it is unthinkable...’” [ibid., p.49] (But then again, what right-minded person can be against “social progress” or “social justice” nowadays?)
Coercive state power, in the hands of progressives of both parties, has a long history. Famed Harvardian Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. wrote the 1927 Supreme Court decision approving of Virginia’s sterilization laws, with what Cohen calls “one of the most brutal aphorisms in American law, saying ... ‘Three generations of imbeciles are enough.’” [ibid., p.52] This when the young mother, named Carrie Buck, was clearly not. Sterilization of the “unfit” by various states continued until 1981.
Despite the longevity of its evil fruit, eugenics fell out of fashion in the U.S. due to Hitler’s embrace of it. So is the chapter in the U.S. mostly closed? I fear not. Margaret Sanger, the founder of Planned Parenthood, was a professed eugenicist, writing in a 1921 article, that “the most urgent problem today is how to limit and discourage the over-fertility of the mentally and physically defective.” She later wrote to black ministers in 1939, trying to tamp down the potential racist interpretation of her beliefs:
Abortion, in the name of women’s rights, has killed over 19 million black babies since its legalization in 1973. (That is nearly an entire generation of black Americans wiped out.) While making up only 13% of the adult female population, black women receive 36% of all U.S. abortions. [see “Black Abortions By The Numbers,” https://rtl.org/outreach/ sourced from CDC and other data.]
Given the supposed “unfitness” of all these young mothers, how could Holmes, Maugham, and Sanger disapprove? “Free choice” in the service of eugenics, how clever.
But I digress.
Maugham also betrays a certain British stiff-upper-lip, with reasoning such as this:
Yet this goal of “feeling little” may not be ideal for a writer, especially for one whose heart hardened so young.
One of Maugham’s motivations for rejecting God comes later:
Humanism could hardly be more clearly stated. And, once again, Maugham is prescient, as those who wish to believe in a Love-Only God most earnestly wish to be able to do whatever they want, throwing out one eternal law after another.
Regrettably, his last entries evidence very little growth, such as this adolescent twaddle (when aged 67):
His eugenicist tendencies, apparently, were never given a decent burial. A late entry reveals some race-consciousness:
Produced them?
The same ripe age of 67, he upbraids God:
At some point in human history, when such views were still in the minority they might have appeared brave. But now that they are mainstream, particularly among intellectuals, they seem flatly, tragically, deaf and dumb.
By book’s end, I only had compassion for a writer still struggling with issues such as values and beauty, while fighting their creator. How sad: yet another literary giant turns out to be a moral midget.
In vain I waited for an older Maugham to quibble with the absurdities of youth (of which I also had many), but instead he was consumed by them.
[W. Somerset Maugham, A Writer’s Notebook, Vintage Books, New York, 1st International Edition, Dec. 2009]
The author of Of Human Bondage and reportedly one of the best paid novelists of the 1930's reduced from fifteen volumes to one his lifetime of notebooks. He explains “I publish it because I am interested in the technique of literary production and in the process of creation [his own],” [p.xvi] and indeed the result is an extended look inside the sausage factory. Fiction writers, alas, feel compelled to invent all sorts of secondary and tertiary characters; rather than let the well run dry, countless real-time vignettes and portraits are assembled as potential raw material - along with many extended and tortured similes.
I read his bildungsroman titled Of Human Bondage ages ago and there is nothing in this compilation to recommend my returning to it. The general impression, especially from his early years, is of an insufferable egoist and materialist.
Two entries, when aged 22, exemplify. The first, “The more intelligent a man is the more capable is he of suffering,” [p.19] reveals the young egoist. The second, “Science is the consolor and the healer of troubles, for it teaches how little things matter and how unimportant is life with all its failures,” [p.24] reveals the materialist. What an odd view of science and suffering that is!
While studying to become a doctor, Maugham’s first novel sold out quickly, leading him to switch careers. By age 34 he writes, “Success. I don’t believe it has had any effect on me.” If only it had!
The freshest writing comes only when Maugham, finally freed of the rarified mileus of Paris and London, travels to the Pacific, to research a novel about the life of Paul Gauguin. Yet, throughout, he seemingly lacks compassion: everything is for the gristmill of his writings.
As a young man, like many, he struggles with the notion of God and the hypocrisy of many religious men. But he never seems to grow out of his youthful rebellion and remains a pinched modernist. At age 25, he writes:
“I’m glad I don’t believe in God. When I look at the misery of the world and its bitterness I think that no belief can be more ignoble.” [p.63]
A page later, he drops this clunker:
“After all, the only means of improving the race is by natural selection; and this can only be done by elimination of the unfit. All methods which tend to their preservation – education of the blind and of deaf-mutes, care of the organically disease, of the criminal and of the alcoholic – can only cause degeneration.” [p.64]
The writer, from an older if not wiser age, adds a few dozen comments, particularly when his prior musings are over-the-top. But here he remains mute, connoting approval.
But once you throw out the measuring stick, then all become relative and transient:
“The ethical standard is as ephemeral as all else in the world. Good is nothing more than the conduct which is fittest to the circumstances of the moment...” [p.65]
I am reminded that eugenics was all the rage among Western intellectuals, even if Maugham’s confession, in 1901, preceded by a good decade the fashion. Building on Darwin’s and Lylle’s pioneering work in dethroning God, by 1882 Nietzsche could declare in The Gay Science that “God is dead.” Long before Hitler, the concept of Social Darwinism, which adapted the survival of the fittest regime to humans, fueled all sorts of pathologies, many of them still alive and well today.
Recently I read an article titled “Harvard’s Eugenics Era” by Adam Cohen, which, in appearing in the Harvard Magazine, is the institution’s partial coming to terms with a sordid history a century after the fact. He writes:
“Harvard’s role in the movement was in many ways not surprising. Eugenics attracted considerable support from progressives, reformers, and educated elites as a way of using science to make a better world.” [March-April 2016, p.48]
He admits that:
“Harvard was more central to American eugenics than any other university. Harvard has, with some justification, been called the “brain trust” of twentieth-century eugenics...” [ibid.]
But, then again, what percentage of students today would be against “using science to make a better world”? Practically none.
Cohen traces the history of eugenics to England in 1883 to Darwin’s half cousin, Francis Galton. (Which helps explain Maugham’s otherwise precocious adherence to the cult movement in 1901.) That it built off of Darwin’s ground-breaking work is unmistakable.
A Harvard botanist, Professor Edward East, “gave important support to Galton’s fledgling would-be science,” writing in 1923 “‘Eugencs is sorely needed; social progress without it is unthinkable...’” [ibid., p.49] (But then again, what right-minded person can be against “social progress” or “social justice” nowadays?)
Coercive state power, in the hands of progressives of both parties, has a long history. Famed Harvardian Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. wrote the 1927 Supreme Court decision approving of Virginia’s sterilization laws, with what Cohen calls “one of the most brutal aphorisms in American law, saying ... ‘Three generations of imbeciles are enough.’” [ibid., p.52] This when the young mother, named Carrie Buck, was clearly not. Sterilization of the “unfit” by various states continued until 1981.
Despite the longevity of its evil fruit, eugenics fell out of fashion in the U.S. due to Hitler’s embrace of it. So is the chapter in the U.S. mostly closed? I fear not. Margaret Sanger, the founder of Planned Parenthood, was a professed eugenicist, writing in a 1921 article, that “the most urgent problem today is how to limit and discourage the over-fertility of the mentally and physically defective.” She later wrote to black ministers in 1939, trying to tamp down the potential racist interpretation of her beliefs:
“We do not want word to go out that we want to exterminate the Negro population, and the minister is the man who can straighten out that idea if it ever occurs to any of their more rebellious members.” [see “What Margaret Sanger Really Said About Eugenics and Race,” Time Magazine, Oct, 14, 2016]
Abortion, in the name of women’s rights, has killed over 19 million black babies since its legalization in 1973. (That is nearly an entire generation of black Americans wiped out.) While making up only 13% of the adult female population, black women receive 36% of all U.S. abortions. [see “Black Abortions By The Numbers,” https://rtl.org/outreach/ sourced from CDC and other data.]
Given the supposed “unfitness” of all these young mothers, how could Holmes, Maugham, and Sanger disapprove? “Free choice” in the service of eugenics, how clever.
But I digress.
Maugham also betrays a certain British stiff-upper-lip, with reasoning such as this:
“The power of great joy is balanced by an equal power of great sorrow. Enviable is the man who feels little, so that he is unaffected either by the extremes of bliss or of grief.” [p.21]
Yet this goal of “feeling little” may not be ideal for a writer, especially for one whose heart hardened so young.
One of Maugham’s motivations for rejecting God comes later:
“How much greater would human happiness have been if gratification of the sexual instinct had never been looked upon as wicked. A true system of ethics must find out those qualities which are in all men and call them good.” [p.75]
Humanism could hardly be more clearly stated. And, once again, Maugham is prescient, as those who wish to believe in a Love-Only God most earnestly wish to be able to do whatever they want, throwing out one eternal law after another.
Regrettably, his last entries evidence very little growth, such as this adolescent twaddle (when aged 67):
“Plumbing. When you consider how indifferent Americans are to the quality and cooking of hte food they put into their insides, it cannot but strike you as peculiar that they should take such pride in the mechanical appliances they use for its excretion.” [p.345]
His eugenicist tendencies, apparently, were never given a decent burial. A late entry reveals some race-consciousness:
“When I was engaging two coloured maids to look after me the overseer of the plantation who produced them...” [p.342]
Produced them?
The same ripe age of 67, he upbraids God:
“If he’s capable of feeling he must be capable of remorse, and when he considers what a hash he’s made in the creation of human kind can he feel anything but that? The wonder is that he does not make use of his omnipotence to annihilate himself. Perhaps that’s just what he has done.” [p.346]
At some point in human history, when such views were still in the minority they might have appeared brave. But now that they are mainstream, particularly among intellectuals, they seem flatly, tragically, deaf and dumb.
By book’s end, I only had compassion for a writer still struggling with issues such as values and beauty, while fighting their creator. How sad: yet another literary giant turns out to be a moral midget.
In vain I waited for an older Maugham to quibble with the absurdities of youth (of which I also had many), but instead he was consumed by them.
[W. Somerset Maugham, A Writer’s Notebook, Vintage Books, New York, 1st International Edition, Dec. 2009]
August 25, 2021
It is quite astonishing how, thus far, I still haven’t read any work of his that wouldn’t make me look forward to the day I will reread it. His literal
March 19, 2009
This is a weird read. I was surprised that I liked it. It is a collection of Maugham's notebook entries from the turn of the 20th century to 1949, minus his notes on India. He reveals a typical aristocratic British belief that different peoples have different national characters, reveals his dislike for assertive or ugly women, dislikes American coffee, believes that Americans are very class conscious despite their supposed egalitarianism, and so on. He adores French culture but deplores their political stupidity, which caused them to be twice defeated by the Germans. There is, of course, much more, ranging from brief scenarios for hypothetical novels or short stories to random observations about human nature. I found it a good companion for a lazy, pouring rainy day in Houston, Texas. He waxes philosophical about the meaning of life and about the validity of religion, as well. An interesting glimpse into a writer's thoughts and inspirations.
May 2, 2020
Interesting, sometimes very much so, sometimes very less so.
Maugham had a very interesting life no doubt, but don't look for details in here: it's not an autobiography or a memoir, it's bits and bobs first intended to serve as inspiration or elements of stories.
What's funny is to see the high-mindedness when 18, 20, and the adult tone developing later on. Some sketches, memories of places, descriptions of people really are very good, but sometimes it feels a little bit self-indulgent as well.
As he says nothing about his work (governmental I mean), nor does he say much about his own novelistic work, this is different, and if like me you have no real interest in Maughan's work for itself then it might drag on at times...
Maugham had a very interesting life no doubt, but don't look for details in here: it's not an autobiography or a memoir, it's bits and bobs first intended to serve as inspiration or elements of stories.
What's funny is to see the high-mindedness when 18, 20, and the adult tone developing later on. Some sketches, memories of places, descriptions of people really are very good, but sometimes it feels a little bit self-indulgent as well.
As he says nothing about his work (governmental I mean), nor does he say much about his own novelistic work, this is different, and if like me you have no real interest in Maughan's work for itself then it might drag on at times...
June 9, 2017
Given that this book was in my to-read list since I was a 13 year-old , and finally being able to lay my hands on it , I was terribly disappointed !! The notebook which is veritably a notebook of Maugham's observations and ideas , are so dry and decripit , not in descriptions since it's just a notebook , but in the very essence and substance of them . Having read his classics, The Moon and Sixpence and Of Human Bondage which were sheer works of Genius, however the Writer's Notebook as it stands is dreadfully mechanical , juiceless and bored me to death .
March 20, 2022
A scrapbook of jottings and observations gathered over the years, for all that implies. The earlier descriptions of the weather are laboured and cringe-inducing.
April 20, 2009
Methinks I've been hoodwinked.
It appears I have a very odd edition of this book, an edition that precedes even the real first edition. This is "Preprinted from Cosmopolitan Magazine" and is a condensed 133-page version bound prior to the first full edition in 1949. It's hardcover in blue cloth and is in excellent condition. Got it for $2. Even so I might have been reluctant to buy this knowing it isn't the full magilla; I'm not one for Reader's Digest type reductions. I took this to the park earlier today not knowing this and started reading it and was amused at Maugham's offhanded apologies for the defects of the thinking in his youthful writings herein and also for his self-congratulations for allowing them to stay in uncensored, though the claim is frought with falsity to some degree given that the notebook is the result of intensive selection from several volumes -- in other words, stuff is omitted. We may never know what. And, even if Maugham is not censoring his earlier self, his older self cannot help but interject a running commentary on his youthful stuff. I wonder if Maugham failed to see the irony of this, after all, the later self certainly has the advantage the younger self did not, the advantage of hindsight and the power to interject on the musings of a voice long gone that could not possibly defend itself. So, I suppose I'll read this condensed "preprint". It made for nice reading while sunning at the park. I was especially struck by SM's thoughts on the subject of taking notes of one's impressions, and how those notes should be later incorporated into other writings or whether doing that merely results in forced hybrid copy and hinders the imagination. This is something I've struggled with myself.
Anyway.... later...
It appears I have a very odd edition of this book, an edition that precedes even the real first edition. This is "Preprinted from Cosmopolitan Magazine" and is a condensed 133-page version bound prior to the first full edition in 1949. It's hardcover in blue cloth and is in excellent condition. Got it for $2. Even so I might have been reluctant to buy this knowing it isn't the full magilla; I'm not one for Reader's Digest type reductions. I took this to the park earlier today not knowing this and started reading it and was amused at Maugham's offhanded apologies for the defects of the thinking in his youthful writings herein and also for his self-congratulations for allowing them to stay in uncensored, though the claim is frought with falsity to some degree given that the notebook is the result of intensive selection from several volumes -- in other words, stuff is omitted. We may never know what. And, even if Maugham is not censoring his earlier self, his older self cannot help but interject a running commentary on his youthful stuff. I wonder if Maugham failed to see the irony of this, after all, the later self certainly has the advantage the younger self did not, the advantage of hindsight and the power to interject on the musings of a voice long gone that could not possibly defend itself. So, I suppose I'll read this condensed "preprint". It made for nice reading while sunning at the park. I was especially struck by SM's thoughts on the subject of taking notes of one's impressions, and how those notes should be later incorporated into other writings or whether doing that merely results in forced hybrid copy and hinders the imagination. This is something I've struggled with myself.
Anyway.... later...
October 5, 2020
4.75-star
This is one of W. Somerset Maugham's remaining books I have long waited to appear in any large familiar bookstores or secondhand bookshops in Bangkok so that I would grab and buy it swiftly to devour to my heart's content as the consequential result of having, reluctantly, first read his Of Human Bondage (Vintage 2000), duly followed by his four-volume collection of short stories as well as some more I could find and enjoy reading and collecting later.
To continue . . .
This is one of W. Somerset Maugham's remaining books I have long waited to appear in any large familiar bookstores or secondhand bookshops in Bangkok so that I would grab and buy it swiftly to devour to my heart's content as the consequential result of having, reluctantly, first read his Of Human Bondage (Vintage 2000), duly followed by his four-volume collection of short stories as well as some more I could find and enjoy reading and collecting later.
To continue . . .
June 1, 2011
Discovered this book recently and REALLY enjoyed it. The combination of character sketches and insight into historical events due to the author's presence there (e.g., the Russian Revolution of 1917) was deeply engrossing.
This book led me to seek out other writer's notebooks, e.g., the Journal of Jules Renard.
This book led me to seek out other writer's notebooks, e.g., the Journal of Jules Renard.
June 20, 2021
Literally a writer's notebook, containing those things that a writer commits to paper, which may or may not be included in a future work. Observations, critiques, viewpoints and attitudes are all here. Starting in 1892 and ending in 1949, this a treasure trove of insights and wisdom. It reads well and satisfies that need to know what goes on in the mind of the writer.
April 7, 2018
His jottings through life, from 1892 to 1949. Lots of amusing anecdotes. eg.
· Unselfish parents have selfish children.
· Fools don’t become less foolish when they grow old, and an old fool is infinitely more tiresome than a young one.
· Unselfish parents have selfish children.
· Fools don’t become less foolish when they grow old, and an old fool is infinitely more tiresome than a young one.
August 9, 2021
Nothing wrong with this, but nor am I getting anything from it; it's simply Maugham's jottings. Occasionally vivid, but more often dated. Adds nothing to the pleasure I've had from reading his novels.
November 4, 2021
It’s like a sequel to “a summing up”, for which I have written a more detailed review, but with a little more resignation as Maugham imagines himself on his way out of this world soon while writing in his 70s. Ironically? He lived till 91.
November 13, 2020
Imagine living long enough that by way of your journals and composition notebooks, you’ve amassed a lifetime of reflection, description, opinion and ruminations. Along the way you’ve matured, and said notebooks reflect your growth as both a writer and a person.
Somerset Maugham (1874-1965) did such a thing for over fifty years, thus doing writers the world over a colossal favor by keeping fifteen “stoutish volumes” which he filled with thoughts and emotions that he believed might be fodder for future literary endeavors.
His first notebook is dated 1892, when he was eighteen; the last entry in this compilation being from 1944, the day after his seventieth birthday. In between are over a half-century of brief notes, snippets, vignettes, and mini-essays that describe everything from politics to geography, the weather to character studies.
“A Writer’s Notebook,” then is a distillation of those fifteen volumes down to one, but there is more to it than “notes.” Advice is freely dispensed along the way, starting with the excellent introduction. Within this this is a curious statement: “every author should keep a notebook, but should take care never to refer to it.” He goes on to explain: “By making note of something that strikes you, you separate it from the incessant stream of impressions that crowd across the mental eye, and perhaps fix it in your memory.”
He speaks about the prudent use of notebook contents, realizing their limitations, as well- but still going back to their usefulness as a sort of virtual library from which one’s mind can draw upon, later, when the muse strikes but needs a framework from which to work within.
The book’s entries are chronological, meaning that apart from the content, one can watch Maugham’s maturation process, found in the things he chooses to describe, comment about, and elaborate upon. In a way, sections of Maugham’s notes are similar to Henry James’ travel writings; the main difference is that while the latter focused on places, the former is more than willing to stop talking about the ocean, and start describing the people he sees, from their appearance and dress to their personalities, behavior and occupations.
What you end up with is the world’s largest literary grab bag of impressions, and descriptions. And because of this, the book may be more easily approached and digested by jumping around, instead of reading it straight through. And in this sense, the book cries out for an index.
But all in all, this book is an excellent resource for beginning writers, for the notes are rich in description and varied in tone. And as an introduction to Maugham himself, it stands alone, as deficient as it might be, compared to a biography. And in the end, isn’t a study of the writer’s product- not the life he or she lead- what really counts?
Somerset Maugham (1874-1965) did such a thing for over fifty years, thus doing writers the world over a colossal favor by keeping fifteen “stoutish volumes” which he filled with thoughts and emotions that he believed might be fodder for future literary endeavors.
His first notebook is dated 1892, when he was eighteen; the last entry in this compilation being from 1944, the day after his seventieth birthday. In between are over a half-century of brief notes, snippets, vignettes, and mini-essays that describe everything from politics to geography, the weather to character studies.
“A Writer’s Notebook,” then is a distillation of those fifteen volumes down to one, but there is more to it than “notes.” Advice is freely dispensed along the way, starting with the excellent introduction. Within this this is a curious statement: “every author should keep a notebook, but should take care never to refer to it.” He goes on to explain: “By making note of something that strikes you, you separate it from the incessant stream of impressions that crowd across the mental eye, and perhaps fix it in your memory.”
He speaks about the prudent use of notebook contents, realizing their limitations, as well- but still going back to their usefulness as a sort of virtual library from which one’s mind can draw upon, later, when the muse strikes but needs a framework from which to work within.
The book’s entries are chronological, meaning that apart from the content, one can watch Maugham’s maturation process, found in the things he chooses to describe, comment about, and elaborate upon. In a way, sections of Maugham’s notes are similar to Henry James’ travel writings; the main difference is that while the latter focused on places, the former is more than willing to stop talking about the ocean, and start describing the people he sees, from their appearance and dress to their personalities, behavior and occupations.
What you end up with is the world’s largest literary grab bag of impressions, and descriptions. And because of this, the book may be more easily approached and digested by jumping around, instead of reading it straight through. And in this sense, the book cries out for an index.
But all in all, this book is an excellent resource for beginning writers, for the notes are rich in description and varied in tone. And as an introduction to Maugham himself, it stands alone, as deficient as it might be, compared to a biography. And in the end, isn’t a study of the writer’s product- not the life he or she lead- what really counts?
November 5, 2020
"As soon as the instinct of propagation has been satisfied, the madness which blinded the lover disappears and leaves him with a wife to whom he is indifferent."
"No one can make excursions into Russian life or Russian fiction without noticing how great a place is taken by an acute sense of sin. Not only is the Russian constantly telling you that he is a sinner, but apparently he feels it, and he suffers from very lively pangs of remorse. It is a curious trait and I have tried to account for it. Of course we say that we are miserable sinners in church, but we do not believe it; we have the good sense to know that we are nothing of the kind; we have our faults and we have all done things that we regret, but we know quite well that our actions have not been such as to need any beating of our breasts and gnashing of our teeth. The majority of us are fairly decent, doing our best in that state of life in which chance has placed us; and if we believe in a judgment we feel that God has too much wisdom and good sense to bother much about failings which we mortals have no difficulty in forgiving in our neighbors. It is not that we are satisfied with ourselves, on the whole we are sufficiently humble, but we do the work which is next to our hand and do not trouble much about our souls. The Russians seem different. They are more introspective than we and their sense of sin is urgent. They are really overwhelmed by the burden and they will repent in sackcloth and ashes, with weeping and lamentation, for peccadillos which would leave our less sensitive consciences untroubled."
"A woman may be as wicked as she likes, but if she isn’t pretty it won’t do her much good."
"No one can make excursions into Russian life or Russian fiction without noticing how great a place is taken by an acute sense of sin. Not only is the Russian constantly telling you that he is a sinner, but apparently he feels it, and he suffers from very lively pangs of remorse. It is a curious trait and I have tried to account for it. Of course we say that we are miserable sinners in church, but we do not believe it; we have the good sense to know that we are nothing of the kind; we have our faults and we have all done things that we regret, but we know quite well that our actions have not been such as to need any beating of our breasts and gnashing of our teeth. The majority of us are fairly decent, doing our best in that state of life in which chance has placed us; and if we believe in a judgment we feel that God has too much wisdom and good sense to bother much about failings which we mortals have no difficulty in forgiving in our neighbors. It is not that we are satisfied with ourselves, on the whole we are sufficiently humble, but we do the work which is next to our hand and do not trouble much about our souls. The Russians seem different. They are more introspective than we and their sense of sin is urgent. They are really overwhelmed by the burden and they will repent in sackcloth and ashes, with weeping and lamentation, for peccadillos which would leave our less sensitive consciences untroubled."
"A woman may be as wicked as she likes, but if she isn’t pretty it won’t do her much good."
February 8, 2023
The writer's notebook by this playwright, novelist and writer of some note. There are some real gems in here, but these are unpolished notes, often introspective, and set out without any underlying narrative. The journal was where the writer was finding much of his source material. It is an insight into his character and thoughts, and also contains interesting historical detail of events that were happening at the time of writing. Often our view of history is coloured by a retrospective perspective, so it is interesting to see things like a crisis that could lead to war with France consuming the interest briefly before being revealed as a non story. Also there were some amusing anecdotes about H G Wells.
Some of it was a bit of a slog, as it was just notes, but the book is filled with insight and some very quotable quotes.
I was taken by this lovely description of someone: "He has good taste and a genuine feeling for literature. He has never had an original idea in his life, but he is a sensitive and keen-sighted observer of the obvious."
Some of it was a bit of a slog, as it was just notes, but the book is filled with insight and some very quotable quotes.
I was taken by this lovely description of someone: "He has good taste and a genuine feeling for literature. He has never had an original idea in his life, but he is a sensitive and keen-sighted observer of the obvious."
November 7, 2021
It covers 50 years , 1892-1944. There are touch of brilliance here and there but the book has not aged well, a bit of sexism, cultural insensitivity. But more importantly, the writing is uneven but that is to be expected given the time period it covers. There is a whole where Maughan disparages all the great Russian writers from Turgenev to Dostoevsky!! Apparently Maughan was inspired by Journals of Jules Renard, a mediocre writer (according to Maughan). It has historical value but the common place reader is average at best.
September 27, 2019
Es un libro fundamental para conocer la evolución del pensamiento y la lírica de este famoso escritor. Fue alabado, criticado, amado y repudiado no sólo por su éxito comercial sino también por sus conductas sexuales. Cuadernos de un escritor es un retrato a fondo de su temores, su dichas pasajeras y la contradictoria humanidad que, como él, todos albergamos.
August 16, 2020
A collection of notes ranging from single-sentence aphorisms to short stories of few pages in length. Easy to read and surprisingly engaging (perhaps due to the nature of the book; you can spend just a few minutes with it and get something out of it), but I'm not sure if anyone not keenly interested in W. Somerset Maugham's work already finds this so interesting.
June 28, 2018
1892-1944
March 4, 2020
This man was evil. RIP but stay dead forever.
March 26, 2021
Este escritor fue notablemente famoso en su tiempo. En los años treinta del siglo pasado se le consideraba como uno de los autores más leídos. Lo que causó que algunos críticos menospreciaran su literatura y la calificaran de simples “best-sellers”. Pero, si bien sus textos tienen las características de una novela inglesa de tipo realista bastante académica, siguen siendo bastante legibles y trascienden la categoría de libros de consumo popular. Varios de ellos han sido adaptados al cine (y algunos hasta en dos versiones distintas). En este libro el escritor recopiló las notas que estuvo escribiendo de manera sistemática desde su juventud. Él mismo aclara que no es un diario sino un recopilatorio de ideas para utilizar en sus otros libros. Y no deja de ser interesante. A veces fastidia por su excesiva actitud inglesa (el hombre viajó mucho, pero aquí se ve que lo hacía siempre con Inglaterra a cuestas), pero tiene una enorme habilidad para retratar personajes y describir atmósferas. Además de que dice más de alguna cosa digna de atención sobre el arte de escribir.
October 14, 2015
The one star is not for the content but for the layout of this particular edition. Please look at the 'Look Inside' part before purchasing. You will notice that each observation is given a line and there is no division between the lines. They all run into one another.
The original hardback copy has each observation distinctly separate from all the rest. It makes it much easier to dip into the book. This journal is not designed to be read from cover to cover as it is an edited collection of his observations over decades. They all differ from one another - some about characters he has met, thought up or wanted to write about. Others are just some throw away lines.
Hardback copies are easy to find. Buy one of them if you can.
The original hardback copy has each observation distinctly separate from all the rest. It makes it much easier to dip into the book. This journal is not designed to be read from cover to cover as it is an edited collection of his observations over decades. They all differ from one another - some about characters he has met, thought up or wanted to write about. Others are just some throw away lines.
Hardback copies are easy to find. Buy one of them if you can.
February 5, 2016
Maugham began to record his thoughts and observations in this journal while a medical student in London and continued as he travelled around the world, as a journalist (in reality a British agent during the Russian revolution) and later a writer, from England to France to South Seas to Pacific Islands and Malaya, writing about his experiences and thoughts. This contains his notes from 1892 to 1949.
I am unsure if the comments about Russian literature are recorded here, or only in The Summing Up.
One incident from his visiting Russia left a painful impression, later transformed in Of Human Bondage with a change of handicap.
I am unsure if the comments about Russian literature are recorded here, or only in The Summing Up.
One incident from his visiting Russia left a painful impression, later transformed in Of Human Bondage with a change of handicap.
February 12, 2013
It was really interesting to read these excerpts of Maugham`s notebooks, for the book is exactly what its title states. Except for the preface and for the last pages which were written to give an introduction and a closure to the book respectively, the rest of it consists of a series of sketches, descriptive passages, thoughts on politics and plots that could have been the basis for a short story or a novel and were later disregarded by the author. Notwithstanding the sometimes disjointed character of the book it is undoubtedly a good read for anyone interested in Maugham´s life and works.
abandoned
September 10, 2011I am often very fond of Maugham's novels, but I just couldn't finish this, basically a collection of bits from his journals. I couldn't stay interested in the fragments, and I recoiled from the occasional unpleasant observation about women or non-European people.
Sorry, Willie, back on the shelf you go -- maybe I'll take another whack in a few years.
Sorry, Willie, back on the shelf you go -- maybe I'll take another whack in a few years.
March 2, 2013
I loved watching the change in Maugham's style as he grew older. Not the most entertaining, but if you're a fan of his writing, you'll appreciate it.
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