Completed in 1914, Maurice remained unpublished until after Forster's death. Although its homosexual content was the reason for this, the novel cannot be defined simply by its theme. It was written by a great novelist at the height of his powers, as those who read it will surely discover. As a typical product of middle-class suburbia, Maurice finds it difficult coming to terms with his homosexuality. He first glimpses the possibilities of an unconventional life when he meets and falls in love with Clive, a fellow Cambridge undergraduate, but when Clive turns to women, Maurice feels betrayed. Close to despair, he meets Alex and in their ensuing love affair Maurice finds fulfilment, ultimately causing him to reject his entire inherited system of values and conduct.
I like it because the characters are awful and snobby and wrong about so many things. Just like we’re awful and snobby and wrong in our own times. No historical revisionism, and still a happy ending. There’s great beauty within.
Not far from the lodge there was a nasty little climb, and the road, always in bad condition, was edged with dog roses that scratched the paint. Blossom after blossom crept past them, draggled by the ungenial year: some had cankered, others would never unfold: here and there beauty triumphed, but desperately, flickering in a world of gloom. Maurice looked into one after another, and though he did not care for flowers the failure irritated him. Scarcely anything was perfect. On one spray every flower was lopsided, the next swarmed with caterpillars, or bulged with galls. The indifference of nature! And her incompetence! He leant out of the window to see whether she couldn’t bring it off once, and stared straight into the bright brown eyes of a young man.
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13 February, 2020:
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