About book The Gentleman In The Parlour: A Record Of A Journey From Rangoon To Haiphong (1989)
On the face of it, it seems like a fine concept – one of the best writers in the world writing a travelogue of his journey across South East Asia in the early 20th century. But once I got into it, I was a bit disappointed with what was actually written inside.Somerset Maugham is one of the finest writers I’ve ever read, “Of Human Bondage” is honestly one of the best novels I’ve ever read, more of the most memorable and soul wrenching stories ever set down on paper. His other works have been no less spectacular – “The Moon and Sixpence” and “The Painted Veil” are masterpieces both. That said, I’ve read a few books by Maugham that have been less than satisfying – I couldn’t finish “The Razor’s Edge” or “The Magician” while “Up at the Villa” and “Cakes and Ale” were both quite dull reads. Every so often though I see his name and remember how “Of Human Bondage” kept me going through an enormously long journey in Japan a few years ago and decide to try him again. “The Gentleman in the Parlour” is very descriptive, going into detail on the buildings and surroundings, the clothes the people wear, the food they eat, the weather – if this is your thing then you’ll enjoy the heck of out this book. For me, description is probably the thing I least enjoy about reading. I simply don’t care what people wear or how someone describes a sunset, and frankly it reads like a dull travel program minus the visuals. Strangely, the parts where Maugham digresses and talks about the books he’s reading are the most interesting and reminded me of the essays that form his book “The Vagrant Mood”. There are a couple of personal stories from the people Maugham met on the road which I’m sure were once scandalous and racy but sadly in the light of the 21st century merely pale into dreariness. That said, I did finish the book instead of setting it aside with a sigh. It’s immensely readable and Maugham’s style in this book is very chatty and amiable. It feels like you’re being told a story by a human version of Carroll’s Cheshire Cat. But overall I would rate it quite low in this writer’s list of great works and would instead implore the curious reader to pick up his more accomplished and beautiful books “Of Human Bondage” and “The Painted Veil”, the latter of which is set in South East Asia and is a far more entertaining book.
Esta pequena preciosidade, numa edição antiga com o título “Cavalheiro de Salão”, veio-me parar às mãos de forma inesperada, ainda com as páginas por cortar. Somerset Maugham leva-nos numa viagem pelo Oriente. Embala-nos com palavras muito bonitas, como um barco a navegar calmamente num rio.A viagem, as pessoas, as histórias, as paisagens, as sensações; tudo é bonito neste livro.“Pensei para mim que os homens são mais interessantes do que os livros, mas têm o defeito de não podermos saltar certos capítulos. Temos, no mínimo, de folhear o livro inteiro para encontrar uma página que valha a pena. E não podemos colocá-los numa estante e pegar neles quando nos apetece; é preciso lê-los quando a oportunidade se apresenta, à semelhança de um livro de uma biblioteca itinerante que é muito procurado, e temos de esperar a nossa vez para o ler e, quando o recebemos, não podemos ficar com ele mais de vinte e quatro horas. Podemos nem ter vontade de o ler naquele momento ou pode acontecer que, com a pressa, nos passe despercebida a única coisa que tinha para nos oferecer.”
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Having enjoyed The Painted Veil, set in China, I was expecting an interesting travel book, and was disappointed. I found the first section on his trip through colonial Burma annoying; Maugham came off as too bwana-ish for me. Thailand wasn't much better as he came off rather cranky. The (unfortunately shorter) sections on Cambodia and Vietnam were the highlight for me.I had been unable to get through his autobiographical The Summing Up as too dense to be worth it, so ... I guess I'm just not a fan of his non-fiction.
—John
Gosto de literatura de viagens. Estranhamente, não consumo muita, não é pelas estantes onde se encontra, nas livrarias, que costumo passear a minha atenção. E, contudo, gosto quase sempre da que vou lendo, nem mesmo um livro menor como "A Formosa Lusitânia" de Lady Jackson me defraudou, enriquecido que está pelos venenosos (verrinosos?) comentários de Camilo. Este livro não constitui excepção. O que mais me aprecio neste tipo de literatura é, quase sempre, o talento do narrador em salientar, por palavras, paisagens, tipos, lugares, sensações. Para mim, que mal consigo descrever-me de forma minimamente intelígivel, tal constitui uma capacidade extarordinária. Nas mãos de um mestre como Maugham, os locais ganham forma e côr e cheiro e as pessoas têm pele e ossos e nervos. Trata-se de um livro datado, todo ele decorre num espaço e numa época assentes no colonialismo e numa clivagem de classes que hoje custa a aceitar como civilizados. Mas esse é, a meu ver, um bónus. É um bomn livro, que não envergonha o Autor.
—Luís Paz da silva
Reading Maugham's colorful descriptions of his travels in a small volume with yellowed pages easily lulled me back eighty years into the time he wrote which is so different from how one would go to SE Asia nowadays. Taking a break from writing fiction, he filled his journal with interesting stories of people he met along the way. I especially marveled at the former monk's recollection of collecting food in his begging bowl and the man who had to marry in a hurry in order to get a job. The beauty of his writing shown through each page; for example: "The coconut trees with their disheveled heads were like old men suddenly risen from sleep." Written from his heart, the journal felt like a way of getting a look inside his soul.
—Mona