"Philip was no longer interested in art; it seemed to him that he was able to enjoy beauty with greater force than when he was a boy; but art appeared to him unimportant. He was occupied with the forming of a pattern out of the manifold chaos of life, and the materials with which he worked seemed to make preoccupation with pigments and words very trivial" - Of Human Bondage
A couple of week ago
I checked out a number of novels from the Harold Washington Library
because having plenty of leisure time for the spring and coming
summer I decided reading many good books would be a productive way to pass
the time. I took out Bukowski, Maugham, Steinbeck, Hesse, and a few
others. I finished reading Post Office by Bukowski the day I received
the Upton’s job and I have been reading Of Human Bondage by
Maugham and am just a few chapters away from finishing it. Maugham is
a writer I like, the prose is clear, concise, and his narrative voice
is god-like in its confident philosophy and morality. Of Human Bondage is a
long book if I consider the number of pages (600+), but I am so
engrossed in the story of Philip Carey that I was able to finish it
in less than two weeks.
Tomorrow I begin my own adventures in human bondage, returning to the space and time ideas of others. My days will no longer be free and easy, the long light of day taken up with such things as accounts payable and bank reconciliation.