Customer Reviews

Cakes And Ale

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Reading Somerset Maugham can be a little disorienting at times. I don't know about you, but when I read a first-person novel like "Cakes and Ale" I generally expect that first-person narrator to be the main character. Not this time; as usual with Maugham, the narrator is the storyteller, not the subject, and it is this seemingly unnecessary complication that leads to questions. Why not just write the usual third-person story?

Well, I haven't read much of Maugham's work, but what I have read concerns people whose actions and motives are mysterious to others. You can't very well preserve the aura of mystery around a character if the author knows everything the character thinks and does, can you? (Well, you can - see "Anna Karenina," for instance - but it's a difficult trick at best.) Much easier to give yourself a first-person narrator who can try very hard to understand your hero and fail, thus preserving the intrigue. That's what young Ashenden does here for the fascinating Rosie Driffield.

Everybody who knows Rosie loves her, in one way or another; some from afar, some (including Ashenden, Maugham's alter ego) from a good deal closer. Those who don't know her, on the other hand, hold her in contempt. Which wouldn't be all that important except that her husband, Edward Driffield, shortly emerges as one of the most important of the late-Victorian novelists. At that point, Rosie, a former barmaid, becomes a serious blot on Edward's reputation by her birth and background alone - bad enough when she's sleeping with every slightly interesting man who comes her way, worse after other developments ensue.

Ashenden tells us all this from a remove of several decades, long after Rose and Edward have both departed from the scene. He is a successful author and literary icon, narrating his memories of the Driffields at the request of his friend Alroy Kinear, another successful author who has received the commission to write Driffield's biography from the great man's second wife, now his widow.

Got all that? It sounds complicated, but it actually reads very clearly. Maugham had a genuine gift for direct, simple prose, and it operates brilliantly here.

He also had a gift for nasty caricature, and "Cakes and Ale" got him in a lot of trouble for the characters of Driffield (based on Thomas Hardy) and Kinear (based on Hugh Walpole). Why the trouble? It's hard to know at this late date, but Driffield as a character begins as an irresponsible lower-class cuckold and ends as a whipped dog, completely under the thumb of his self-appointed literary guardians. Kinear is a no-talent social climber, more than happy to give the dead Driffield the biographical whitewash his widow seems to want. Considering that these characters were obviously based on the universally praised Hardy and the very popular Walpole, the public outcry against "Cakes and Ale" is not surprising.

It is, however, ironic. Here's a piece of work aimed directly at the disgusting tendency of the establishment to turn warm, flesh-and-blood authors into literary marble and to forcefully disregard any embarrassing truths, and in response to this cry for honesty, the public insisted upon maintaining that marble façade.

Now that the controversy has long died down, though, we can enjoy the work for what it is, a brilliantly structured exploration of how one simple woman outwits all the forces lined up to push her aside as an affront to good taste.

Actually, it's not so much that she outwits anyone; rather, she does as she pleases and accepts any consequence with utter calm. That is, at a time and in a place where everyone, including her husband, pretends to be something they are not, she is always and unfailingly herself. She even says to Ashenden, "You must take me as I am." Surely it's a result of this attitude that those who know her love her - it's a very attractive characteristic in an oppressive society - and those who don't, don't.

A lesser writer might have given us a Rosie with a halo because of her self-knowledge; Maugham is not such a fool. Rosie's behavior hurts a lot of people, and what's worse, she doesn't seem to notice it. Even more interestingly, Maugham takes pains to show the impact on Rosie herself of her insistence on complete freedom. Ashenden at one point admits that Rosie inspired affection rather than love, and as the novel progresses, the reader can clearly see that though her life might be fun, it seems neither stable nor satisfying to her.

The point may be, though, that Rosie apparently likes it. Unlike many sinning Victorian heroines, she suffers no punishment for her misdeeds. That, more than her lower-class background and adventurous ways, may be the thing that drives her various opponents up the wall.

If "Cakes and Ale" were only a character study of a natural woman in an unnatural world, though, it would not move and inspire as it does. After all, Rosie is the same person at the end of her story as she is at the beginning. What good does that do?

Turns out that Ashenden, the narrator, the one who observes the story rather than participating in it much, is the one who grows and changes. He begins the story with a stuffy, conventional outlook on life, sneering down his nose at the socially inferior Driffields, and ends by defending Rosie against her tormentors. In public, he refuses steadfastly to denounce her to Driffield's widow or to Kinear, refuses to provide them with any source materials at all. In private, he keeps Rosie's secrets. And he narrates this long story to us as a justification of Rosie's life, and as a way to forgive her sins, to make us understand her. He denies having loved her, but if that's not love I don't know what is.

Benshlomo says, To love is to see clearly.

In the late 1920's, an aged literary lion, a venerated late Victorian novelist, Edward Driffield, has died and his widow thinks his life should be written down. She appeals to a younger novelist, Alroy Kear, who had attached himself to their society. In turn, he appeals to a friend who he knows must have known the legend earlier in life. The friend he turns to is the first-person narrator of CAKES AND ALE, Ashenden, also a novelist, who gradually reveals to the reader the truth of the deceased's early life. How much he will reveal to the other characters is another thing, and even if he did, the controlling widow, the man's second and much younger wife, would most likely excise what does not fit the public image she had worked hard to preserve. When it comes to pinning down a protagonist, however, the novel turns on the character of Rosie, Driffield's long-gone first wife.

Several things are going on in CAKES AND ALE. One is the real history of Edward Driffield (whose stature and career bear something of a resemblance to Thomas Hardy, who died in 1928), and the narrator's own interlinked coming of age. Then there is the narrator's scathing look at literary society and the machinations by which critical success and public favor are won. He drops a lot of industry insider jokes, and several actual personages are discussed, but he also returns to the eternal writers' theme of who among them will be read past their deaths. Lastly, the sharp contrast between Victorian life and 20th century existence emerges as a dramatic theme; there is the sense that those with one foot in each culture will never be able to fully absorb the rapid change in mores and fashions. The only figure who floats across the divide is the person who from the outset bucked convention of any kind, Rosie.

Maugham infuses the narrative with a sharp wit and good conversation. It is very shrewd and justifiably cynical about human ambitions and weaknesses. The dramatic story unfolds slowly but with tensions and secrets that keep going until the very end. This remains very satisfying reading 75 years after publication.

Maugham once said of himself that he was in "the first row of second tier" of writers ... but this book leaves novels by "first tier" writers in the dust. Wonderfully written, great paragraphs, insights into the human condition, and a story line and builds and builds. You really identify with the characters by the end and feel their emotions as they feel them. I loved it. Maugham did, too - he said it in the intro to my edition that it was his favorite novel.

I have never been disappointed by Maugham Somerset: Cakes and Ale is a light, beautifully written, partially autobiographical story about a barmaid with a big heart, British class-conciousness and snobbery and the literary scene in the first half of the twentieth century.

The narrator (Willie Ashenden, modelled after the author, a medical student turning into a writer) is mainly observant and doesn't influence the events taking place: The origins and later success of the great writer Edward Driffield and the touching portrait of his first wife, Rosie.

"I have noticed that when I am most serious people are apt to laugh at me, and indeed when after a lapse of time I have read passages that I wrote from the fullness of my heart I have been tempted to laugh at myself. It must be that there is something naturally absurd in a sincere emotion, though why there should be I cannot imagine, unless it is that man, the ephemeral inhabitant of an insignificant planet, with all his pain and all his striving is but a jest in an eternal mind." p.189

Well crafted. I genuinely enjoy Maugham's style. It seems every author, at some point, is compelled to write about writing. Cakes and Ale is such a novel. It is the reconstruction of an author's life after his death. An ugly process. In this case, one that replaces the sordid experience of inspiration with the conformity of societal acceptance.

First, this should not be the first book by Somerset Maugham that a person should read. Certainly, every character in it is well drawn and there is a wonderful storyline BUT it lacks some of the majesty and grand sweep that make 'The Razor's Edge' and 'Of Human Bondage' so powerful, so grand, and able to stand among the best English language works written this century (although neither of these is typically regarded with Faulkner or Joyce because they are not stylistically avant-guarde in any way). If you haven't read both of these books, read them first.

On the other hand, this is another great book by this author: and like every other one of his that I have read (atleast five more) a worthwhile read. It may be more lacking in pathos than the two mentioned above: while it is second to them in this area, for how much the characters are touching, and heartfelt, it is eons ahead. Rosie, the main characters love interest, is beautifully written as is the other main character.... it's definately a good and worthwhile read.....

This novel from 1930 revolves around three novelists. It's is narrated in the first person by William Ashenden, who tells the tale of successful novelist, Edward Driffield's first wife Rosie. He relates the tale with all the facts given to the reader. In the book he gives only what detail he wants to to would be biographer Elroy Kear who is to write the life of Driffield.

The characters are a thinly disguised Thomas Hardy (Driffield) and Hugh Walpole (Kear).

Rosie, Driffields first wife is a free spirit who scandalised society with her friendships and in the way she eventually leaves Driffield. Ashenden has known the Driffields since he was a boy and is the only survivor knowing the full story of their marriage.

Along the way Maugham details the smugness and snobbishness of the English class system. As Rosie was a barmaid prior to marrying Driffield she is never seen as the "right sort" of person.

Through the book we have Ashenden telling the truth regarding all the relationships involved, with Kear riding over any negative information he comes across ,wanting just enough information to complete a hagiography to please Driffields second wife.

It is a story of infatuation with wonderful writing by Maugham, who is never shy about sharing an opinion.

I also discovered that Hugh Walpole was a New Zealander, being born in Auckland.

Wonderful book - and it was special to get an old gently used hard cover in small format. It added to the old world feel.

Somerset Maugham has made a career of exploring the role of the troubled artist in society. In CAKES AND ALE, as in MOON AND SIXPENCE, he dissects a society with a literary scalpel merely to expose the wriggling corpse of the artist/prophet on the slide known as the novel. Here his focus is on two novelists. The first is the narrator Ashendon (Maugham himself) who is not the primary character. He rather reports the events over a period of many decades, beginning as a callow youth and ending as a mature doctor/novelist whose success in the latter is less than in the former. The second is Edward Driffield (Thomas Hardy), a writer who has achieved success despite his talent rather than because of it. Maugham goes to great lengths to emphasize that no one, least of all Driffield himself, can explain his eventual rousing acceptance as a literary lion. The best that anyone can do is to imply that becoming a successful writer is nothing more complex than hanging around long enough to convince a fickle public that here is a novelist worthy of the tag of greatness.

Much is made of the novel's pointed satire. Since Maugham as Ashendon was a novelist, it followed (at least to him) that there were rules for advancement. Driffield was just as astonished as anyone at his success. Ashendon could apprehend on a surface level that longevity was surely the key but on a deeper visceral level, he simply could not buy into what the fickle public demanded: that any best-selling author must be ready at any moment to be savaged by dunder-headed critics who could pick apart his latest novel. Maugham is great at name-dropping, or rather job-title dropping. His book is replete with constant reference to meetings, lunches, and soirees with critics, interviewers, and agents, none of whom is the least qualified to spot true genius but all of whom are sure that they have their fingers on the pulse of what passes for literary acclaim by a public that reads the best seller list as assiduously as it does the best sellers on it. Yet, CAKES AND ALE is more than just one author in search of his Muse. Over the decades that Ashendon pursues the Truth About Writing, the figure of Rosie Driffield floats like an interlinking blanket. It is she who appears at convenient moments throughout, first interesting Ashendon to pursue a literary career, then later interesting him in having an affair. We know precious little about Ashendon, about Driffield, or anyone else save her. They are all flat and static. Rosie is a lightning bolt of reality mixed with raw sensuality. She loves men with a fierce abandon and does not confuse the pleasures of the body with those of the soul. She knows the difference as surely as she does the inner reason why her husband's books sell and why other writers' works do not. But for her, success is limited. She requires a man who can supply her the basics of a successful life. When along comes another who can add to the pot, she couples with him fiercely, never complaining, but always counting. She knows what she is and never regrets any of her decisions. When we first meet her, she is a beauty, but one that Ashendon can't appreciate. She seduces him. Later he finds out that he is merely one of a stable of diversions. Her response? "Take me as I am," she retorts. And so he does, from decade to decade. What he does learn is that of all the characters in the book it is only she who has remained true to her vision of self. She may suffer as a result of her choices but she evinces not a smidgeon of regret. When readers today analyze CAKES AND ALE, they begin by noting the biting satire, but they always finish with Rosie and her vision of self.

The book group at the LGBT Center in NYC discussed this book in April 2010.

Everyone liked this book and a couple of us thought that it was great. It's definitely fun and, ultimately, moving. While there's no explicitly gay content in the novel, we generally agreed that the narrator (who remains unmarried throughout his life) is gay, as are a number of other characters (including Alroy Kear, with whom the narrator "had been intimate" in the past - but grown apart; Lord Scallion, who finds brunch "too divine;" and the hiking American tourists).

In most first person novels, the narrator is the center of the action, but in this case, it's the delightful Rosie, the former barmaid who marries the eminent Victorian author, Edward Driffield, and whose good-natured gregarious behavior (and affairs!) the second Mrs. Driffield tries to hide. Told in flashbacks, we learn more and more about the narrator, Rosie, the second Mrs. Driffield, and her ass-kissing followers (who have to work very hard to maintain Mr. Driffield's reputation after his second marriage to the stodgy wife). The final chapters revel more about Rosie and her husband, as well as the crucial role that the narrator played in their lives, so that the novel ends on an exhilarating note.

For some of us, it was hard to understand the English class system, the snotty behavior by some people (including the maid), the satire about the late Victorian literary society, and the outrage that a realistic novel caused. A few of the characters and events seemed to be in place only to make satiric points, and seemed unnecessary. Some of the readers said this is not the best Maugham, but it seemed like a great introduction to me. (Be sure to read Maugham's biography in Wikipedia for some real dirt about this author.)