You all know how long it has taken me to read Maurice by E M Forster (have I said I’m a slow reader?). I finished it this morning over breakfast. And now I am emotionally drained.
While the stiff British language takes a bit of getting used to (for lil ol’ Irish me, at least), the subject matter is immensely readable and the cloaked language of the period when referencing homosexuality is so subtle as to be missed at times.
No wonder it wasn’t published until after Forster’s death in the 1970s, despite being written in 1913. It’s remarkable!
Maurice is such a rounded character that, when the fates deal their hand to him, I wanted to shout. But there is light. There is always light.
I could not have lived in such times. And it makes me grateful that society has moved on as much as it has (even if we do still have a ways to go).
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
A full 5 stars!
