Alone in the house tonight. Telephone invitation from Syrie Maugham to dine at her house tonight. I accepted for us both.
Lunch alone, during which I finished reading the current number of Nature. Sleep. After which I read Wells's lecture at the Sorbonne, "Democracy under revision", of which he gave me a copy yesterday. Then I went again at my article, and I had finished it at 4.35. I read a lot of Graves's and Edith Sitwell's poetry, and two highbrow monthlies and year books, and most of Virginia Woolf's new novel "To the Lighthouse". In fact I had quite a day of writing and reading.
|From H. G. Wells "An Experiment in Autobiography"|
For more on Maugham see'Woman'
I read a few pages of "Karamazoo" before sleeping. The relief of a masterpiece after all the 'current' stuff which I had been reading and writing during the day.
Additionally for June 12th., see 'Is Clayhanger any good?'
I began "Le Crime et le Chatiment" yesterday, which I have been wanting to read again for about a fortnight. The scene in the cafe and Marmeladoff's confession, seems even finer than it did when I read it at Hockliffe. It is certainly one of the very greatest things in fiction. Absolutely full of the most perfect detail. It really disgusted and depressed me about my own work, which seemed artificial and forced by the side of it. I expect that in most of my work there is too much forcing of the effect. An inability to do a thing and leave it alone. I wrote nearly 4,000 words of "Clayhanger" on Thursday and Friday.