Of Human Bondage by W Somerset Maugham

My mom tried, unsuccessfully, to get me to read W Somerset Maugham in all the years that I was a teenager living under her roof. Teenagers are stubborn dears. That being said, I don't think teenaged Nerine would have gotten half as much out of reading Of Human Bondage as middle-aged Nerine has. The audiobook was part of my Audible subscription, but when it timed out, I absolutely had to know how the story panned out, and I have zero regrets purchasing it with one of my credits. 

While the novel kicks off with the very young Philip Carey, newly orphaned, who goes to live with his uncle and aunt, who don't have children themselves. It's pretty clear from the get go that they have zero idea how to handle a little one in the house. But if we consider that the novel (by my estimation) takes place before World War I in England, I would hazard to say that this was an era where raising children meant putting them in situations were they were rarely seen and heard even less.

So poor little Philip, with his club foot (he really hasn't lucked out) really has a rough time of things growing up.

As the title suggests, this is a story about the bonds between people – bonds of love and hate, of obligation and responsibility. We watch Philip grow from being a sarcastic yet timid child to a deeply insecure adult, who is struggling to find his place in the world. As a youth, he rebels against the notions of what is expected of him, and yet in his attempts to establish himself – first completing his studies in Germany, then while trying a range of rather diverse careers – he still isn't satisfied with what the world offers and becomes the author of his own downfall. (Which savvy readers could have predicted early on.)

Added to the mix is one incredibly awful complication of unrequited love, that is so full of cringe that I found myself muttering along with the narrator, with an "Oh god, Philip. No, Philip. Don't do it, Philip. Choose life, Philip."

Throughout this, Maugham's observations of the people around Philip are sharp and biting. We see the best juxtaposed against the worst, expressed with incredible pathos. Everyone is morally grey, with both good and bad, and Maugham discusses many philosophies framed within Philip's journey, as he starts from a position of childlike faith until he hits a profound passive nihilistic nadir before he manages to attain ecstatic existential release, and in a way freedom through acceptance of the basic absurdity of the human condition. Watching Philip navigate many of the admittedly self-imposed obstacles he places in his own path is a thing of beauty that I don't often see, and when I do, I relish.

This novel also exists as a sort of time capsule, capturing the essence of a particular era of European culture and history, that reflects the tragedies of being human as well as those sweet moments of pure joy. Read by Steven Crossley, this Audible edition is well worth the investment, and I'm definitely adding Steven Crossley to my list of narrators worth stalking.