Wireless download to your Amazon Kindle. Look for a summary or analysis of The Lotus Eater by W. Somerset Maugham [?]. Most people, the vast majority in. Q: Sketch the character of Thomas Wilson. Is the name 'lotos-eater' appropriate to him? Ans. William Somerset Maugham's compelling short story 'The Lotus. the Lotus Eater - Download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or read online. lotus eater. 5 Elements of a Short terney.info Uploaded by. Imee Tible.
|Language:||English, Spanish, German|
|Genre:||Business & Career|
|Distribution:||Free* [*Registration Required]|
"The Lotus Eater" is a short story by British W. Somerset Maugham in and loosely based on the life story of John Ellingham Brooks. It was included in the. Selection. For more reading group suggestions, visit terney.info . St. Martin'S Griffin. THE LOTUS EATERS by Tatjana Soli. About the author. eBooks-Library publishes W. Somerset Maugham (William Somerset Maugham) and other eBooks from all ESMX, Books and You, , 24, k, eBook, Download PDF - 'Books and You' (ESMX) · Download . The Lotus Eater.
By then the theatre critics of the s had been replaced by a new generation, with Desmond MacCarthy writing in the New Statesman overlapping the two periods. Walkley was eventually succeeded on the Times by the novelist Charles Morgan, and Grein who continued to write elsewhere on the Sunday Times by James Agate.
Even when a play did not find favour with the critics it could still provoke a lengthy, thoughtful review. At the height of his early period of success as a playwright he had withdrawn altogether from the theatre for some two years to work on Of Human Bondage , part of the point of which was to amend the impression he had created of himself as a dandified society wit.
Gerald Gould, for instance, a connoisseur of contemporary fiction, reviewed the novel in the New Statesman No. But I am not sure that he does belong to a school. I am not sure he has not written a highly original book. I am not even sure he has not written almost a great one. With this in mind it is instructive to turn to certain reviews of his work by Katherine Mansfield and D.
Katherine Mansfield No. It happened to raise in a harsh and, to her mind, unsatisfactory form a question that deeply concerned her, the tensions between marital and family loyalties, artistic dedication and personal freedom.
What proof have we that he suffered? No proof at all. She sensed that the story must have been based on the life of some historical artist who behaved in a comparable way, but surprisingly failed to make the connection with Gauguin.
She was not alone in this. In the case of D.
Mr Maugham gives them a humorous shove or two. Such dismissive comments on a book which was to achieve the status of a classic in its genre suggest that Lawrence was taking the opportunity here of giving expression to the personal animosity he felt for Maugham, as revealed in his letters. Kennedy in the New Statesman No. Maugham for all his assumed aloofness was ever sensitive to the strictures of reviewers and duly took note, and when the novel was reissued in the collected edition of his work in , the effusive final paragraph had been considerably toned down.
Enriched as it is with shrewd characterizations and a definite philosophy of life, it comes far closer to Conrad than to the thriller prototype. With this attack on what we today call stereotypes, she even ventured to offer him her own views on the subject: I humbly suggest to him that women, however inferior to men, are—if only because they have to deal with men—slightly more complex in their mental make-up than the evidence in The Narrow Corner would have us believe.
Although there may be some truth in the charge brought against these particular characters, the general accusation is refuted by the complex portraits of women Maugham drew in many of his other works. The review does, however, provide support for the proposition that in general his heroines tend to appeal rather to men than to women. As the selection of reviews reprinted in this compilation makes clear, their quality was at once and generally recognised, the reviewers only differing in the choice of their own favourites.
Similarly, L. Ivor Brown in the Observer No. Leslie A.
The fact that Maugham had his work so much under control he thought both a triumph and a limitation. He is never boring or clumsy, he never gives a false impression; he is never shocking; but this very diplomatic polish makes impossible for him any of those sudden transcendent flashes of passion and beauty which less competent [that word again!
It is of particular interest that when the former without its original sub-title, Variations on Some Spanish Themes was reissued in the collected edition in it had been substantially revised in order to take account of certain constructive criticisms made by Raymond Mortimer in his New Statesman review No.
But if he entertained any idea that the hostility of his critics had been finally silenced, he was in for several rude shocks: the case for the prosecution had yet to be mounted.
In its most virulent form it came from two American critics. Not for the last time it was Cyril Connolly who came forward and, in a characteristically vigorous review for the New Statesman and Nation No. Prejudice surely lay behind the case for the prosecution as presented by Edmund Wilson in his review for the New Yorker No. And so on. He then broadens his attack in an attempt to demolish what Maugham had said about such writers as Henry James and Proust in an anthology he had edited a few years before, Introduction to Modern English and American Literature When Maugham publishes a new book, therefore, it would be dishonest of the critic to pretend that he either can or wishes to read it as if it were by an unknown writer or to judge it by esthetic standards alone; in addition to any literary merit, it has inevitably and, I think, quite properly a historic interest as the act of a person in whom one has long been interested.
Having for us a history, the author has become not only a novelist but also a character in our novel, and a platitude or a blind spot is scarcely less revealing and therefore fascinating than an insight or an area of enthusiasm. Coinciding with his eightieth birthday there appeared a collection of critical articles on his work, The Maugham Enigma , the question-begging title being that of a review of The Summing Up by Malcolm Cowley in the New Republic No.
Instead of being reviewed in the usual way, the book, in tribute to Maugham, was made the occasion for a leading article in the Times Literary Supplement No. Three days later the New York Times No. Of the lavish obituary notices that appeared when he died ten years later at the age of ninety-one, that of Cyril Connolly No.
First, the sheer bulk of his literary output, published between and Secondly, the fact that he came to write, intentionally, for two principal markets, the British and the American. Thirdly, the broad division of his work into books written to be read and plays written for performance.
To have mixed up together these two quite separate types of criticism would have been both confusing and misleading.
Obviously, our choice has had to be subjective, and we have selected those pieces which seemed to us of particular intrinsic or literary interest. As a general principle we have given preference to reviews by well-known writers, and in some cases have printed several reviews by the same critic in order to give a certain depth and continuity to the volume.
The pieces are arranged in chronological order of first publication of the books reviewed or, in the case of plays, of first production, except that, because for the reason already given drama criticism has been grouped together in separate parts, this has caused some slight overlapping.
Accordingly, commencing with the first productions of The Land of Promise ; and the first publication of Of Human Bondage , we have balanced our selection of British criticism with a selection of the American reviews.
It is hoped that the double focus thus achieved will lend an added interest to this compilation. In the table of contents the dates placed in brackets against the titles are those of first publication in the case of books or first production in the case of plays. Two dates against any item indicate publication or production in both London and New York. Shortly after qualifying as a doctor he gave up medicine in order to become a full-time writer.
His last, and seventy-eighth, book was published sixty-six years later.
Jago was a very clever study of the semi-criminal class, done, more or less, from life—not always artistic, but going deep in places. The women, their roughness, intemperance, fits of violence, kindheartedness, slang— all are done truthfully. We should say Publish—but, of course, nobody can guarantee a very favourable reception. In other places some of the bad words might be softened down or Henleyized a bit—a la Mean Streets.
The conversation is remarkably well done. Maugham had succeeded, perhaps more than he intended, in shocking the anonymous Victorian reviewers who first noticed his work. The following Academy review is typical of others. The successes of one season may be known by the imitations of the next, and Mr Arthur Morrison may afford to smile at the sincere flatteries of Liza of Lambeth. The mimicry, indeed, is deliberate and unashamed. The brutal fight between two women, the talk of plumes around a death-bed, are faithfully reproduced.
What should have been a tragedy becomes a sordid story of vulgar seduction. The realism, pursued for its own sake, sinks into incurable nastiness. I have seldom read anything more unpleasant than a chapter in which Mr Maugham borrows the old pastoral convention in order to give piquancy to his description of a Chingford bank holiday.
The faithful swain took out of his pocket a short clay pipe, blew through it, filled it, and began to smoke, while Phyllis sighed at the thought of the cool liquid gliding down her throat, and with the pleasing recollection gently stroked her stomach.
He collected himself and spat again, further than before. She followed him, and in this idyllic contest they remained till the tootling horn warned them to take their places. It is a great pity, for Mr Maugham is by no means without talent. He knows his slums, not probably as they are, but as they seem to the casual observer, and he can describe vigorously and effectively.
But I am afraid that Mr Maugham is less preoccupied with serious art than with the desire to out-Herod Herod in realistic audacity. And therefore I quit him with no heightened sense of the tragic pity and awe that belong to the faithful record of human life in the meanest dwelling, but with a grimy feeling, as if I had had a mudbath in all the filth of a London street.
Jane H. She deplored both the nature of his material and his detachment from it. The narrator of the story is stunned by such a bold plan, all the more because Wilson has the appearance and manner of an unremarkable, ordinary man — very much that of the bank manager he once was.
The narrator soon leaves Capri, and, what with the intervening world war and other events, nearly forgets his acquaintance with Wilson until thirteen years later, when he revisits his friend on Capri. By then, of course, the ten years that remained of Wilson's bargain with fate have expired.
His friend describes for the narrator what has happened in his absence.
Wilson, his annuity exhausted, had first sold all that he owned; then he had relied on his excellent credit to borrow sums of the islanders to sustain himself; but at the end of a year after the expiration of his annuity, he could no longer even borrow. Wilson then had shut himself in his cottage and lit a charcoal fire to fill the room with carbon monoxide in an attempt to kill himself.
But he lacked the will, the narrator says, to make a good-enough job of the attempt, and survived, though with brain damage that left him mentally abnormal but not unbalanced enough for the asylum.
He lives out the remainder of his years in the woodshed of his peasant former landlord, carrying water and feeding the animals.
The story begins with the narrator's visit to a friend who is on the island of Capri. The narrator hears a story of a man called Thomas Wilson.
He thinks the stories about Wilson are exaggerated and romanticized, but he still expresses his interest in finding out the truth about the man. Soon, he is introduced to Wilson and the two spend a lot of time together, drinking and talking. After visiting the Baths of Tiberius, the narrator concludes there could be some truth to Wilson's story after all.
Wilson has been on the island for fifteen years and his plan is to stay for another twenty-five.
After this encounter, the narrator and Wilson meet several times. Wilson seems like a polite, amiable person who knows a lot about history, but has little imagination. He comes across as a commonplace man of average intelligence. Still, the narrator is interested in Wilson's story so they end up climbing a mountain one day and having dinner at a local inn, where Wilson finally tells him his story. Thomas Wilson came to the island fifteen years ago.