This was the first book by Somerset Maugham
that I read. I’m not exactly rushing to read another one. Many would say that I
should have picked one of his more seminal books, but this was the only one I
had handy, and there are plenty of cases in which I loved minor novel(la)s of
great writers. This just wasn’t one of those.
Having seen Eve
Against Eve I think I had enough of the whims of glorious (or glorified?)
actresses before even starting to read this. The book is undeniably
well-written, nobody can say otherwise, and I understand why many people might
find it a good read. I like theatre a fair bit, although not having been raised
in Britain I’m not as crazy about it as many of the people around me are, and
this is probably the reason why I ultimately saw very little point in this
book.
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