The narrator follows Strickland, as he wrecks yet another marriage, paints more art, and eventually goes to Tahiti, where he finds the climate agreeable and even obtains one of the locals as a "wife." The whole time he is cruel and scornful, dismissive of others' feelings, wants, or desires, and even his own comfort. for art? For art's sake, and not for fame? To paint? Not because of madness, or because of another woman - but just. The confusion of his family, neighbors, and the narrator himself is palpable.
But he is discontent, and one day, coldly decides to leave his wife and job and go to Paris, living in squalor. Strickland seems like he has the ideal of the moderately successful life: a wife, children, a good job with steady pay. As it turns out, the way it's actually pronounced makes him sound like a creature from a Japanese monster movie (it rhymes with "Rodan"), which is only the first way this book surprised me. I tried to pronounce his name several times, ineffectively, ranging from gewgaw, to Google, to gaijin. MOON AND SIXPENCE, which could just as easily be called "Portrait of the Artist as a Douche," is based loosely off the life of the artist, Paul Gauguin. Unlike some writers of this time, Maugham is not particularly flowery, but he has an interesting way of presenting ideas and constructing sentences that makes you want to read over them several times, just to appreciate their ideas and form. I'm torn between the impulse to swim leisurely through his prose or just gleefully cannonball into it. I'm working my way through an omnibus edition of Maugham's work, and man, he can write.
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