Eduardo Santiago
Absolutely brilliant in style, narration, and above all content. Maugham uses negative space masterfully: the principal character, around which everything revolves, is mostly absent throughout the book. He appears periodically but his influence is really felt indirectly, through others who are depicted more richly. Too richly: they are for the most part shallow, vapid, inane shells leading meaningless lives, and in fact I nearly abandoned the book two chapters in because of this; I continued because I started understanding Maugham's reason for doing it, and I was rewarded. So take a leap of faith if you find yourself faltering.
Another intriguing use of negative space: the first-person narrator--a proxy for Maugham himself--is mostly invisible. A fly on the wall, one who does interact with the cast but only minimally. For the most part he observes and listens and describes. Which brings me to why I chose to read this: it's because of Kate Murphy's exquisite You're Not Listening. She cites Razor's Edge in her Further Reading list, and indeed there is soooo much awareness here. The narrator has somewhat supernatural powers of attention, noticing peoples' reactions, expressions, and nuances, going in depth into the emotional states involved. A trick that works better in fiction than IRL, where we're better off asking, but that's not always possible and I will assume that the author has a good feel for his characters' mental states. It was effective and showed tremendous sensitivity toward each imperfect creature.
I don't recall ever having read anything like this. Loneliness, search for meaning, privilege, mature views on sexuality and religion and morality, and so much compassion. The fact that it was published in 1944 astonishes me. There's a bit more privilege than I'm comfortable with, not enough (right now) to knock down a star. Just enough to offer you a heads-up.
Absolutely brilliant in style, narration, and above all content. Maugham uses negative space masterfully: the principal character, around which everything revolves, is mostly absent throughout the book. He appears periodically but his influence is really felt indirectly, through others who are depicted more richly. Too richly: they are for the most part shallow, vapid, inane shells leading meaningless lives, and in fact I nearly abandoned the book two chapters in because of this; I continued because I started understanding Maugham's reason for doing it, and I was rewarded. So take a leap of faith if you find yourself faltering.
Another intriguing use of negative space: the first-person narrator--a proxy for Maugham himself--is mostly invisible. A fly on the wall, one who does interact with the cast but only minimally. For the most part he observes and listens and describes. Which brings me to why I chose to read this: it's because of Kate Murphy's exquisite You're Not Listening. She cites Razor's Edge in her Further Reading list, and indeed there is soooo much awareness here. The narrator has somewhat supernatural powers of attention, noticing peoples' reactions, expressions, and nuances, going in depth into the emotional states involved. A trick that works better in fiction than IRL, where we're better off asking, but that's not always possible and I will assume that the author has a good feel for his characters' mental states. It was effective and showed tremendous sensitivity toward each imperfect creature.
I don't recall ever having read anything like this. Loneliness, search for meaning, privilege, mature views on sexuality and religion and morality, and so much compassion. The fact that it was published in 1944 astonishes me. There's a bit more privilege than I'm comfortable with, not enough (right now) to knock down a star. Just enough to offer you a heads-up.