My review of Theatre, by W. Somerset Maugham

Theatre

by W. Somerset Maugham

My rating: 4 out of 5 stars

After relishing Of Human Bondage, penned 22 years before this and adapted into a career-defining Bette Davis movie, I was surprised on several levels by Theatre, whose 2004 screen adaption scored Annette Bening a Best Actress Golden Globe and an Oscar nomination for Being Julia.

Firstly, I was surprised by its great readability, of the kind that defies conventional analysis; that literary X-factor distinguishing great writers from good ones, their material striking an artful balance between adequacy and audacity. 

Secondly, I was surprised that Theatre's magic is not in its delivery, which is clunky for such a successful wordsmith (he had this published in 1937, forty years after his breakthrough novel, Liza of Lambeth). Nor is his command of vocabulary so apparent here, as was noted by contemporary critics, several of whom were unimpressed by this novel.

Thirdly, I was surprised to see that word economy was not one of Theatre's notable stylistic features. Maugham's evolved indifference to narrative refinement suggests publication teams had become shy of engaging with this giant. Nor is the style, conversely, so flamboyant. 

Perhaps he had simply come to hold less concern for form than his less prolific contemporaries, more confidence in the purity of his storytelling. This is strangely reassuring. 

Those first three questions collectively begged the fourth and ultimate one for me: how did he get away with being so blasé?

I believe the answer is that, like so many prolific masters of the era, Maugham had relaxed into his art sufficiently not to need to prove much anymore. This piece might never have kick started his career, decades before; his vast readership had simply, by 1937, developed a steady appetite for whatever he wrote.

The essence of this fiction lies in its bare substance, rather than its presentation. As such, Theatre defies the discerning reader's better judgement by refusing to be put down despite conspicuous imperfections. Its key strength lies in the authentic characterisation, most notably that of protagonist Julia Lambert. 

Perhaps a crucial ingredient is its triggering of the reader's speculation as to which of this novelist-playwright's countless actress friends Julia Lambert parodies – not that she is a mere parody; on the contrary, here is a finely nuanced and compellingly original heroine. Maugham was famously friends with the likes of Gladys Cooper and Ethel Barrymore, to name but a couple, which lures the inquisitive mind down intriguing paths.

I devoured this roughly crafted gem like a famished hyena and shan't hesitate to reread it down the track.