Poor Paul Gauguin. Not only do most undergraduates persist in spelling his name without the second “u,” but he is also a victim of what a colleague calls the “Van Gogh’s Ear Syndrome”—or, in this case, the “Polynesian Babe Syndrome.” Thanks to popular novels and movies, we know that Gauguin looked like Anthony Quinn, behaved badly a lot of the time, and called himself “a savage.” We know that he was Van Gogh’s roommate in Arles, that they fought bitterly (see “Ear Syndrome”) and that afterwards, Gauguin went off to the South Seas to live by plucking fruit from the trees, surrounded by golden-skinned maidens who served as models and lovers, painting faithful images of an exotic Eden. Or something like that. In fact, some of this pop version of the story is not wholly inaccurate. Self-portraits and photographs suggest that Anthony Quinn was an inspired casting choice. The part about Gauguin’s referring to himself as “a savage” and “primitive” can certainly be documented, as can his quarrels with Van Gogh—and a lot of other people. And that he spent the last years of his life living and working in Polynesia is a matter of historical fact.

Yet if the irritable, aquiline-nosed Gauguin and his images of firm-fleshed vahineshave entered the popular consciousness, just what he was up to in the South Pacific can sometimes seem a little problematic. No one can deny Gauguin’s importance to the development of modernism, but those lush images of solid, bare-breasted