The Moon and Sixpence - Classic Text | Alexandria
The Moon and Sixpence, a novel by W. Somerset Maugham published in 1919, is more than just a fictionalized account of Paul Gauguin's life; it's an exploration of artistic obsession, societal expectations, and the price of genius. It presents us with Charles Strickland, a stockbroker who abandons his conventional life for painting, and subsequently, eternal artistic glory and a short life filled with hardships and genius. The title itself hints at the central tension: the choice between earthly desires (the "sixpence") and spiritual or artistic fulfillment (the "moon"). Consider, when the novel was first published, what it meant to challenge societal norms and pursue unconventional paths. Could readers truly grasp Strickland’s motivations, or was he simply a warning against abandoning duty?
While inspired by Gauguin, The Moon and Sixpence isn't merely a biographical retelling. Gauguin’s break from societal norms occurred in the late 19th century amidst a rapidly changing art world, one moving away from realism and into impressionism and symbolism. Early writings on Gauguin following his death in 1903, often sensationalized his Tahitian experience, adding a layer of exoticism to the artist’s persona. It's within this context of burgeoning artistic exploration and a hunger for new perspectives that Maugham crafted Strickland, questioning the very nature of artistic inspiration and whether art always justifies destructive self-absorption.
Over time, interpretations of The Moon and Sixpence have shifted. Initially, some read the novel as a romantic justification for artistic eccentricity, while others condemned Strickland's callous disregard for those around him, a sentiment echoed in contemporary reviews questioning the cost of genius. Has our perception of the artist as tormented outsider always been accurate, or is it a constructed narrative? The novel prompts continued discussions around the ethics of artistic creation and the responsibilities artists bear to the world. Its popularity endures, influencing numerous artists and writers, and feeding the trope of sacrificing everything for one's art.
Today, The Moon and Sixpence still captivates readers, sparking debates on the nature of art, ambition, and morality. Strickland's choices resonate with a contemporary audience grappling with questions of authenticity and self-expression. But might we also find in him a cautionary tale about the potential for art to both elevate and destroy? Is the pursuit of the "moon" always worth forsaking the "sixpence," or does the answer lie somewhere in the complex interplay between the two?