For our year-end Salon meeting (please don’t call it Book Club), we members assigned ourselves the task of making dioramas of a scene from a favorite book. Here’s mine. Can you guess?
It’s Somerset Maugham’s Of Human Bondage, when Philip Carey meets Mildred Rogers in the coffee shop. Yes, that’s a teeny Philip Seymour Hoffman shoved off into the corner playing the part of self-abasing Mr. Carey. While reading the book, I always pictured rail-thin Mildred as rail-thin Keira Knightly (but with her top on). Imagine my delight when Keira decided to set all photo-manipulating editors straight by bearing some of it all. When I saw the photos, I thought, how better to portray the sexual power Mildred wielded over hate-my-stinkin’-clubfoot Philip (Carey not Hoffman) than with a Godzilla-sized photo of Ms. Knightly proudly showing off the twins. The fact she donned black opera-length lace gloves for the shoot (and in my diorama) is proof there is a God.
Initially, I neatly set the coffee cup and saucer on top of an upright table and extra chair, but when my dog knocked the whole thing over, I saw the disarray and said, “Good boy!” It was as if my dog’s tail channeled Mildred’s fury.
How many ways did Philip “The Masochist” Carey self-flagellate? Don’t make me count them, but I never tired of it. That Maugham articulated obsessive infatuation and its close cousin self-hate with such depth and precision amazed me because at one time or another we’ve all experienced Philip-Carey type longing. I mean, haven’t “we?”
I am not so fond of erotic works, but this is good😖
Hi CoffeeCara. Thanks for reading and commenting. It’s funny, I didn’t see this as erotic but from an outsider’s perspective I can see it now. I’m glad it worked for you. Nice of you to day so. take care, Laurie