The Painted Veil, by W Somerset Maugham is a slow-moving story that sparks deep thought about righteousness, sacrifice, and duty.
The title comes from a sonnet by Shelley, “Lift not the Painted Veil.” Shelley says in his poem that we hide our true and authentic self under a veil of superficiality. It’s an apt title for this novel, However, you won’t find any mention of a veil, nor Shelley’s poem, anywhere in the book, which makes the title mysterious--shall we say like a veil.
I’ve read other reviews opining that the protagonist, Kitty Garstin Fane, is unlikable at the onset. I did not find her unlikeable. She made bad decisions. Her upbringing made her superficial and hedonistic. She inherited a haughtiness that she unleashed unfairly on her doting and adoring husband, Walter, a nerdy bacteriologist.
First, let me address the highly offensive language Maugham used to portray the Chinese people, the poor, and those with physical deformities. I won’t repeat the words here because I don’t agree with his usage, which is at best condescending and at worst dehumanizing. The narrator comments on skin color, ethnic physical traits, and a displeasure at the humans the key players deem as inferior. The Chinese work tirelessly (always in the background) cooking, cleaning, delivering, and literally carrying the white colonists on their shoulders. Yet these essential people are depicted as a faceless single entity: “the servants,” “the crowd,” “the Chinese.” The one Chinese person we almost meet is a Manchu princess who has an illicit relationship with a white official who “keeps” her because she refuses to leave him. Her obsequiousness reminded me of the slave woman absurdly dedicated to Edmund Dantes in The Count of Monte Cristo. In this case, she is loyal subject to a heavy drinking customs official named Waddington. The outlandish description of her doll-like physical appearance and Kitty Fane’s desire to meet her further objectifies her. In another scene, Kitty is repulsed by a poor orphaned child with hydrocephaly. The description of the unfortunate child is simply awful.
Although abhorrent, the moments of offensive language do not dominate the story and it did not diminish the beauty of the overall writing, for me. You can decide if you are willing to read this dated, offensive language. If you are not willing, I respect your decision.
The turns of phrase in this novel, published in 1925, are exquisitely crafted. I’ve never traveled to China. I certainly was not there in 1925. And yet, I was transported. It made as much sense to be carried on the shoulders of peasant men as to hail a taxi in 21st century Manhattan. I could envision the unloved bungalow, the elaborate expat houses in Hong Kong. I could picture the austere convent and the gloomy cholera hospital. Even in the worst of scenes there is beauty in Maugham’s words. I didn’t collect quotes but there are dozens of phrases worth taping to your wall.
The book is written in third-person past, with a startlingly frequent use of the pronoun “you,” usually designated for the second-person. This gives the text a modern vibe. Here’s an example, “She alone had been blind to his merit. Why? Because he loved her and she did not love him. What was it in the human heart that made you despise a man because he loved you?” While still in third-person past tense, the reader is drawn closer by the use of ‘you’.
The inclusion of sex in the discussion about love and fidelity is bold for the book’s time period. Even the honesty in discussing boredom or manipulation within a marriage feels quite modern—especially when expressed from a wife’s perspective. The gorgeous, lyrical writing feels serene and exotic, but when you step back and think about it, the story is downright racy.
Maugham is known for his linear storytelling. No complicated flashbacks. No interjection of other points of view. This is refreshing and makes a story that is fast to read and easy to follow.
It is a book of high contrasts. Maugham draws them between characters, health and wellbeing, places, and economic and social standing. Like a silhouette artist, he defines both the positive and negative spaces on his canvas. While a quiet, character-driven story, these high-contrasts create soap-opera-like drama: the domestic disharmony between the Garstins, the affair, Charlie’s rejection, the ultimatum, the dangerous journey, and all the events that drive the story toward its conclusion.
I read that Maugham conceived of the plot first--not character or scene. Europe had just emerged from the Spanish flu epidemic. Just as authors are releasing books today that feature plague elements as a result of their experience during the 2020 Covid pandemic, it is probable that Maugham wrote this novel as a reaction to his Spanish Flu experience. I imagine he was thinking about how the deaths of massive numbers of innocent people change the survivors. It changes priorities. It changes the way we look at one another, including those we love and desire. It changes what we expect from ourselves. And it changes our impulse to hide behind superficial veils.
Most reviewers see this story as a story of redemption. I’m a bit dubious about Kitty’s redemption. Will it be lasting, or will her old failings return? Did Maugham expect readers to see Kitty through the lens of a plague experience, thus give her grace for her transgressions?
The ending was quite rushed and a bit unsatisfying. Several details seemed unrealistic and in the final scene, Kitty contradicts herself, which left me confused. I didn’t like or fully understand this, yet it is perhaps the way a flawed human being would behave. This contradiction plants the seed that Kitty may not actually be redeemed.
What I loved most about the story, aside from the artistry of the writing, is that the characters are so contradictory: both badly-behaved, yet often good. Waddington lives a secret life with his princess, drinks too much whisky, and yet he is the one who saves the convent by a large donation and sets Kitty on her path of self-discovery. Kitty, while tremendously flawed, risks her life to assist at the convent. These are just two examples; others would spoil the story. These contradictory behaviors make the characters incredibly believable and alive.
Interesting. I've read nowhere near all of Maugham's stories, but this one is a favourite so far.
I agree with you about the ending being somewhat disappointing. I expected the Kitty who had finally seen through the superficial Townsend would at least laugh in his face when he made his advance on her (in his own house, no less!). I don't know whether this scene speaks of Kitty's fragile redemption or the incredible power of sex (good sex, that is). The movie was true to the book up until the point where Walter and Kitty made love, and thereafter it diverged from the book (Kitty had already had her baby). I did find the scene where Townsend encounters her with the boy; it seemed a bit contrived. It's as if the producers (Edward Norton and Naomi Watts) wished the movie to have a happier ending than the book. There is also quite a contrast between the depiction of Walter in the book and that of him in the movie; he seems more desirable and less 'milk toast' than he's portrayed by Maugham. In a weird way the relationship between Kitty and Walter reminded me of Rhett and Scarlett. Too late the heroine finds out she can love a wimp/scallywag. I really loved both the book and the movie. I shall read more of WSM.
Carole