Maugham has a little to say about George Bernard Shaw here, complementary things, but as I’ve never read or seen any Shaw, I don’t know what to make of the comments. He also talks at length about how passionless the English are when it comes to love and how it affects the theater they can stomach. If you’re a Shaw aficionado, this chapter might have some relevance, but without any stake in the discussion, it’s just more of Maugham ripping on the English. He goes between loving the Brits and laughing on them. Usually better than he does in this chapter.