I’ve been immersed in the world of Iris Murdoch these last eight weeks. While I’ve read them in the past I couldn’t remember anything about her novels, including the three I own: The Sea The Sea, The Book & The Brotherhood and A Fairly Honourable Defeat. My renewed interest was sparked by Peter J. Conradi’s Family Business: A memoir which I blogged about here. He was a pupil, then friend, then literary executor and finally authorised biographer of Iris. A vague intent to re-read her was re-awakened when I found her books at the Kyneton second hand book shop, Long Story Short at Upstairs, 58-60 Piper Street. (An Aladdin’s cave of books, vinyl records, CDs and vintage clothing; well worth a day trip). Seven Iris Murdoch novels; in pristine condition; clothbound hardback editions with covers intact. I bought four; The Sandcastle 1957, The Bell 1958, An Unofficial Rose 1962, The Red and the Green 1965. I’m sorry I didn’t get the lot; especially her first novel, Under The Net 1954. Later I found The Black Prince 1973, in another great second hand bookshop in Ballarat, Known World Bookshop in Main Road. (One could do tours of second-hand bookshops in regional Victoria; there are two great ones in Bendigo that we always visit.)
Iris was already on my radar following reviews of two books published in 2022. These were both focussed on Iris and the women who studied with her at Oxford during the Second World War. The thesis of both books being that these women had a profound impact on English philosophy. The first one published was The Women Are Up To Something: How Elizabeth Anscombe, Philippa Foot, Mary Midgley, and Iris Murdoch Revolutionized Ethics by Benjamin J. B. Lipscomb. The second was Metaphysical Animals: How Four Women Brought Philosophy Back To Life by Clare Mac Cumhail & Rachael Wiseman. Despite my New Year Resolution to buy no new books this year I couldn’t resist. I then borrowed the biography by Conradi; Iris Murdoch: A Life. So that has been my reading these last two months. Immersed in Iris’s world seems an appropriate description. I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. This is a very long blog and if you don’t want to read the lot, let me just recommend you read Iris, especially her first novels.
She’s a fascinating figure and had an extraordinary life. My last impressions of her were from reading her husband John Bayley published in the 1990s about her early onset and relatively rapid decline into Alzheimers; Elegy for Iris which became a film and Iris and Her Friends. These were controversial because her friends didn’t want her reputation to be that of an ill woman. The young and mature Iris is much more interesting. She started off writing about philosophy, including existentialism – being one of the first English academics to interested in Sartre. Thereafter she consistently explored the nature of freedom, the importance of love and what constitutes a moral life. Even as she was making a name for herself as a philosopher she was writing, publishing her first novel – of a total of twenty-six – in 1944. In contrast to her friends she considered herself first and foremost a novelist and combined writing and teaching philosophy until the late 1960s after which she basically wrote full-time. Conradi cites her in an interview saying: Philosophy and the novel have little in common – philosophy attempts to solve difficult, highly technical problems whereas art is fun with innumerable intentions and charms. Notwithstanding that attitude her novels are undeniably philosophical, full of questions about relationships, choices and the values that underpin both.
Love is central to her novels. She’s interested in exploring erotic imbroglio’s and identifying the self-delusion and barriers to real communication between lovers and especially the compromises involved in marriages. A consistent point made is how no-one outside of them really knows what goes on within them. There are lots of troubled married couples in her stories, as well as both sudden and long-standing infatuations. Charlotte Mendelson in the Guardian writes that Iris “understands the currents beneath the surface: the way that inappropriate crushes, egotism, loathing, loneliness can overcome apparently calm lives and leave disaster. In a review of a book How To Think Like A Philosopher, Peter Cave suggests Iris urges us to ‘unself ourselves by attending actively to other people. These ideas are evident in all of her writing.
She borrowed heavily from her own life – individuals, relationships, situations and experiences. Many friends were upset to find whole characters or aspects of their personalities or the crises they’d dealt with set out in her novels. Iris always disclaimed any direct portrayals but it’s absolutely the case that she took freely from her circle. In addition to married couples in her work there’s often a military man, mostly portrayed sympathetically, which reflects her father’s military experience in World War One and the experiences of her male Oxford friends. There’s also nearly always one or more gay characters which was rare at a time when homosexuality was illegal. Conradi says she was one of the first writers to make gay seem ordinary. I was also impressed with how she writes about young people, especially how they relate to adults and the world around them; not merely as passive observers but acting sometimes with malevolence, sometimes innocently to alter outcomes.
In short Iris gets life and relationships in all its complexity. Her real skill as a writer is to make you care for the characters and even when things are not resolved as you wish, you accept the authenticity of the choices made. The deep psychology of how people behave in all the various circumstances in which they find themselves is completely accurate. I loved all of the books I read.
The Bell
If you google Iris Murdoch this is the book you are recommended to read first; her third novel. Most critics describe it as her best book. I enjoyed it very much. It’s set in a lay community attached to an abbey; similar to a place Iris spent some time at when she was at a low ebb. There were a number of these communities established between the wars where pacifists, conservationists, people seeking more spiritual lives lived communally. Early hippies, they saw working the land as redemptive. The ethos of the movement is described in a review here. Iris didn’t spend a lot of time there but it’s clear she was observant of the whole experience. The leader of the community in the novel is a gay man, Michael, who has been dismissed because of an inappropriate relationship with a male student. The conduct complained of is holding hands which reflects an incident from Iris’s own life when she disturbed her friend Elizabeth Anscombe by doing the same thing. In this instance it’s the fourteen year old boy who is the seducer; as Conradi says, still a radical and subversive idea. That boy, now an unhappy, alcoholic adult, is living on the grounds. His stunningly beautiful but silent sister is about to join the closed order in the abbey. Into this community come a married couple; the older husband Paul, a worldly, narcissistic art historian. Dora, his younger wife is a simple and naive young woman who, whilst uneducated in its intricacies, is moved by great art. She’s also imaginative and romantic which leads to the choices she makes. There’s also Toby, an idealistic young man on his way to Oxford to study accompanied by James, an upright military man already familiar with the community in which he seeks spiritual guidance. Longstanding members of the community play their parts. The introduction of a new bell into the abbey to replace one that has, according to legend, fallen into the nearby lake gradually takes centre stage. Relationships develop, motives are explored, choices made, actions undertaken – for good or ill. Finally we leave these people to their futures – all of which have been affected by their time in the community which itself come to an end. All the threads tied up satisfactorily – I do like a good story! Along the way debates between the characters set out contrasting ideas about what constitutes a meaningful, that is a moral, life and what choices should individuals make to achieve one. Concluding with advice delivered by the saintly abbess that while we are all imperfect, love will conquer all (reflecting the views of the author). If it all sounds a bit serious and pretentious it’s not. A 2016 review from the Guardian, which basically tells you the story (so don’t read if you intend to read the book) is here.
The Sandcastle
Here we have another unsatisfactory marriage with both parties seemingly settled into a life of domestic unhappiness. Husband, Mor (odd name) is a teacher in the nearby school; well regarded by his peers and the boy pupils but somewhat bored. As the novel opens he’s deciding whether to accept an offer to stand for Parliament – for the Labour Party I’m pleased to say. Wife, Nan, seems bent on preventing him for no other reason than because she senses he wants to. There are two adolescent children about whom the parents have little understanding, who get on well, and as siblings often do, understand exactly what each one wants. It’s a very nicely drawn relationship. Into this rather dull environment comes the young, vibrant, flamboyantly dressed (as Iris often was) Rain Carter. Daughter of well-known artist, she’s been commissioned to do a portrait of Mor’s friend and mentor the retired headmaster Demoyte. In a short space of time, during a ride in a green Riley automobile (modelled on a much loved car of Iris’s that gets quite a lot of attention in this novel) Mor is smitten. So the will he/won’t he enter politics becomes will he/won’t he leave his marriage. Nan is so awful I wanted him to. The children have their own objectives and each takes steps to advance them. Nan becomes more than the one dimensional harridan to whom we were introduced. Rain is a serious, moral person, not inclined to break up a marriage. Her and Mor’s relationship remains platonic – similar to Iris’s relationship with her mentor the philosopher Don McKinnon that nevertheless caused his wife great pain. The indecisiveness of Mor, with whom we have sympathised, becomes wearying. Rain’s reminiscence about watching childhood sandcastles being washed away by incoming tides suggests the ephemeral nature of love. An incident involving Mor and Nan’s son at school disturbs everyone. We are aware of the daughter’s immersion in magical thinking, but her parents are not. We move steadily towards a surprising, but realistic denouement. Along the way we’ve been treated to various dissertations about the value of art in society and about how great art is created and truthful portraiture is achieved. Terrific. A review that gives a full account of the story can be found here.
An Unofficial Rose
I loved this novel, perhaps the most romantic of the three early ones I read. I was disappointed to read Iris felt it was her worst but this may have been due to its poor critical reception which was completely unwarranted as said in this review here. We start at a funeral where Hugh, husband of the deceased Fanny, is considering the impact this wife’s death on those around him. It’s a very efficient way to introduce all the main characters. Again we have an unhappy marriage between son Randall, husband of Ann. Both have successfully operated Grayhallock rose farm for years but their marriage has been rocky since son Steve has died some years ago. His father perceives that Randall no longer cares for either the roses or Ann. The latter is presented sympathetically to start with, but from the outset we understand her mother-in-law was not as impressed as we are. She is the unofficial rose of the title which comes from a poem by Rupert Brooke in which he compares the ordered gardens of Berlin, where he’s staying, with flowers in England. Here tulips bloom as they are told; / Unkempt about those hedges blows / An English unofficial rose. We get three erotic imbroglios amongst the mourners. There’s Mildred for whom Hugh vied with the ultimately successful Humphrey but he still remembers a passionate kiss from long ago. Mildred comes across as a silly, interfering meddler when we first meet her but first impressions can mislead! She also remembers that kiss. Humphrey it slowly emerges is gay, his diplomatic career upended by an indiscretion in Marrakesh which even the Foreign Office couldn’t hush up. (There are many of these humorous one-liners in Iris’s novels). He’s a deeply sympathetic character as is Mildred’s brother Felix, this novels upright military man. He’s long suffered an unrequited passion for our English rose, Ann. This character and his situation caused consternation to the family of John Bayley given it accurately reflected the situation of John’s brother Michael who had the same feelings, also unrequited, for the wife of his commanding officer – also called Ann! Finally Hugh, to his surprise notices amongst the crowd the famous detective story writer (shades of Agatha) Emma, with whom he once had a short-lived passionate affair. She’s accompanied by her secretary/companion, the much younger and very stylish Lindsay. It’s been argued Emma and Lindsay’s relationship – briefly suggested to be sadomasochistic – is modelled on that of Iris and her fellow writer Brigid Brophy. There are two interesting children. Randall and Ann’s daughter Miranda and Hugh’s Australian grandchild Penn. Both play significant roles in the story. The Australian nationality of Penn- mostly disturbingly called Penny throughout – is used to contrast English smugness and outmofes social morés which is interesting. Hugh wonders whether his children resent Fanny’s will that gives everything to him – including a valuable Tintoretto painting that he worships. And so the stage is set for the story to unfold.As with the two novels above, I found that my first impressions of these characters upended over the course of the story. And what you (or at least I) want to happen doesn’t. In particular Mildred’s meddling in others affairs is regarded as morally correct. But the ends, when all are tied up are entirely satisfactory. Which I think is very clever.
The Black Prince
This novel, published in 1973, comes from what the critics call Iris’s middle period where she is said to have done her best work. Lots of commentators regarded it as her best. I was not convinced. As she got older her novels got longer, by her late period they were really long with lots more characters. In any event I didn’t like the set-up here, which has led to it being called a quasi-postmodern novel. It starts with what is designated an Editor’s Foreword followed by Bradley Pearson’s Foreword and then that same Bradley’s story via a first person narrative (my least favourite novelistic structure). After that come postscripts from Bradley, from four of the the Dramatis Personae and from the Editor. Once I got into the story I enjoyed it well enough (though not as much as the earlier three). Bradley stops and starts his tale a bit at the start, introducing himself as a talented writer who remains unpublished because of his high standard of writing. Thus, from the get-go we know we are in the hands of an unreliable narrator. But his story rollicks along. It starts with a call from Rachel, the wife of his friend and successful author Arnold Baffin, telling him her husband has tried to kill her. It ends with another call from Rachel telling him she has killed Arnold. Iris’s big theme – those outside a marriage never know what goes on within it. We get two sides of another marriage – that between Bradly and his ex-wife Chris. And we get another obsessive infatuation, this time of the much older Bradley for the very young daughter of Arnold and Rachel, Julian. There’s another marriage, that of Bradley’s sister Priscilla, we don’t discover much about except it has ended in divorce. Along the way we get dissertations about writing and what constitutes great literature, which Bradley aspires to, as opposed to crappy popular fiction such as Arnold’s. There is much discussion about Shakespeare’s Hamlet – who the young Julian often resembles – and about which she seeks Bradley’s advice. As in Shakespeare we get an observer to the comings and goings of the main characters, much like a Fool in Shakespeare. This is Francis Marloe Bradley’s former brother-in-law who appears at critical junctures, presented as both nemesis and saviour. The whole book is an exercise in showing us that we need to rise above and outside(unself) ourselves in order to really see and understand other people. Bradley has no idea how to do this! The novel is often very funny which is rather startling in the middle of such weighty themes!
The Sea The Sea
This is another of the middle period novels, published in 1978. It won her the Booker prize for which she was nominated six times. I wasn’t going to read it after surviving Bradley’s first person narrative – had enough of obsessive, narcissistic middle aged men! But references in the biography took me back to it. I’d read it before but couldn’t recall any of it but recognised bits during my reading. I enjoyed it a lot – more than the Bradley. For starters there is more humour even some laugh out loud moments. And even though theatre director Charles Arrowby is another of Iris’s self-obsessed, self-absorbed male narrators the cast of characters who interrupt him in his self-imposed seclusion by the sea are all rather wonderful. He has obsessed all his life about his adolescent first love, Hartley who absented herself from his life when he went to university. Coincidentally she just happens to be now living in the out of the way place Charles has chosen for his retirement. Hers is another marriage we can’t see inside of. Is her husband the abusive fellow Charles imagines or just another normal, complex human being who sometimes gets mad at his wife? Hartley insists he’s the latter but can we rely upon her? Or the estranged adopted son who turns up with other rage filled anecdotes about his adoptive father. Charles’s attempted kidnapping of Hartley propels the narrative. Along the way his house takes on an increasingly malevolent aspect in its precarious position on the cliffs above the sea in which Charles swims daily. Intent on writing his life story he is interrupted by past lovers with their stories of betrayal and former colleagues with dark recollections of bullying and resentment. Some are seeking rapprochement, others revenge for years of manipulation by Charles, who is said to be based on Elias Canetti with whom Iris had a relationship. The novel also includes another military man. Charles’s cousin James with whom he’s always had, in his head anyway, a competitive relationship. James is a buddhist and a soldier with a shadowy career that is now over. Is he a spy (as Charles thinks) and does he have transcendental powers that enable him to save Charles from drowning (as is later suggested)? He’s a deeply sympathetic character, intent on saving Charles from his self-delusions. There are lots of wonderful descriptions of the sea in all its moods as well as painstaking details of the awful meals Charles prepares. Apparently Iris was surprised at this response as this is the sort of food she and John Bayley lived on! Towards the end of the novel there’s a truly theatrical scenario enacted when almost all of the characters descend on the house in a series of entrances and exits that would do Noel Coward proud. With all his self-preening and powers of manipulation Charles is finally undone. Again, I enjoyed the way all the ends got tied up, even though I’d not anticipated them. A thoroughly satisfying read and worthy of the Booker.
Metaphysical Animals: How four women philosophers brought philosophy back to life, Clare Mac Cumhaill & Rachael Wiseman
Two books about Elizabeth Anscombe, Philippa Foot, Mary Midgley, and Iris Murdoch, published in 2022, tell the same story but from quite different angles. These individually remarkable women were all studying philosophy at Oxford around the same time and have latterly been recognised as contributing to the direction English philosophy took following the Second World War. In particular they sought to overturn the influence of A. J. Ayers, J Austin and Richard Hare who, following philosophers and scientists in the so-called Vienna Circle promoted logical empiricism/positivism – in which the world can only be known via reason and evidence alone. All claims to truth should be supported by evidence and all facts verifiable. The metaphysical – that which cannot be observed, i.e. values as expressed in moral vision and moral reality – must be discounted. All four women opposed this anti-metaphysical philosophy but in different ways. I agree, especially after reading the Lipscombe book, with this review from the New York Times here, that this one is evocative and sparkling about the biographical details of each woman, but doesn’t do justice to their individual approaches to philosophy. Nevertheless there is indeed a charming sense of intimacy and the texture of everyday midcentury British life. I loved the immersion into what it was like being a student at Oxford during the nineteen forties. Mary Midgley argues that these women got a voice largely because their male colleagues were away at war. As another review in the Times Literary Supplement (behind a paywall so I’ve not linked to it) says: The Vienna Circle thought that we should philosophize by rejecting the unseen and the mysterious. These women, whilst their approaches did not always share the same details or direction believed that such a rejection was too fierce; it went too far in the wrong direction and sapped the life out of philosophy. Their job as they saw it amid the chaos and trials of life, war and family, was to set things right. Philosophy should aim to see human beings as they truly are.
The Women Are Up To Something, How Elizabeth Anscombe, Philippa Foot, Mary Midgley, and Iris Murdoch Revolutionized Ethics Benjamin J. B. Lipscomb
Which brings me to this book. I felt it was much better at describing the different philosophical approaches of the four women but this review in the Philosophers’ Magazine argues that he gives too simplistic a view of the philosophical framework they were opposing. And another review in the TLS (paywalled and not linked) argues that he is misleading in his analysis of their different approaches. I thought he attempted to describe them much more fully that did the authors of Metaphysical Animals but there you go – I don’t know as much about philosophy as these critics! If you are more interested in the ideas than the lives this is the book to read although this one as noted in the TLS review also provides a vivd and touching picture of the friendships between these four women, as they evolved through their lives. There were fallings-out, love affairs (both with each other’s partners and, briefly, with each other), and intellectual, personal, political and spiritual clashes so deep as to threatened the friendships. But they prevailed. While some of the same anecdotes occur in both books I rarely came upon repetitious material, so I’m glad I got them both. They are fascinating characters, and as the TLS review concludes: It is a testament, in the end, to the moral power of friendship that it could both survive and thrive on the vast differences between these women, especially in a discipline where scholars are so prone to writing each other off as having fundamentally missed what matters.
Iris Murdoch: A Life, Peter J. Conradi
Finally a brief note about this book. I wasn’t going to bother to read it but I became so enamoured of Iris I was pleased when the opportunity came to borrow it. There’s been an enormous amount written about her, I suppose because she wrote so many books, lived a long life and was such an interesting person. There’s even an Iris Murdoch Society established in New York in 1986 devoted to promoting her work and furthering her philosophical vision, with its own website, from which I’ve drawn a couple of the reviews I’ve used in this blog. For afficiandos, you can access here. This is the only full biography but as noted above there are other partial ones from John Bayley and another from her friend A. N. Wilson called Iris Murdoch As I knew Her published in 2005, (a riposte to the Bayley memoirs) which I’m tempted to read., but I’m done with Iris for the moment.
This is an authorised biography but Conradi tells us he’s being true to Iris in giving us an unvarnished life. And such a full life. Born in Ireland but from the age of one living in England. She seems quintessentially English to me but insisted especially in later life that she was proud to be Irish. A very insular family life; what we would call close knit or tight, social inclusion. Just her father, mother and Iris. I found it very sad that when her father died after a life as a mid-level civil servant, no-one from work attended his funeral. They remained in touch with their extended family in Ireland, regularly holidaying there during Iris’s childhood, which she continued to do throughout her life. She was obviously exceptionally talented and once at Oxford very outgoing with a vibrant personality. Interested in people and issues and always ready to participate. And to form relationships. Marriage proposals galore, brief affairs galore, deep attachments – both platonic and erotic – galore. She was a great searcher – after commitment, friendship, love, truth. Very spiritual – seeking a religion without God. Briefly a communist. Three great loves; the first two potential husbands died young, her third, with Bayley unconventional but happy.
I was a bit frustrated by the structure of this book. It’s like Conradi’s own memoir, a bit all over the place. He goes backwards and forwards and references the books in lots of different places so it is sometimes a bit confusing. But overall gives a great sense of the life.
Conclusion
Iris remains relevant in the here and now. As far as I can see (a quick glance at Amazon) nearly all of her novels and philosophical books remain in print. In addition to there are numerous biographies as well as scholarly analysing books her work, for example Iris Murdoch; Philosophical Novelist by Miles Leeson (2010) who also edited Iris Murdoch: A Centenary Celebration. (2019). Not to mention all the articles like this Lacan, Jouissance, and the Sublimation of Self in Iris Murdoch’s ‘The Black Prince‘ (in the Iris Murdoch Review 2018).
As recently as June this year there was one noting the unveiling of a blue plaque at her London home at 29 Cornwall Gardens.
In July 2019 the TLS included a piece entitled What Does Iris Murdoch Mean To You Now? (distressingly published under a picture of Judy Dench who played Iris in the film of John Bayley’s book) in which Authors, including William Boyd, Mary Beard, Anne Rowe, answered the question. The article (behind a paywall) can be found here.
And as recently as this week, the website Five Books posted a piece about Iris, nominating The Bell, The Black Prince, A Word Child and The Philosopher’s Pupil among her best work. You can read why these four were nominated here. The expert chosen to select them, Miles Leeson, recommends people read a number of Iris’s novels before attempting The Sea The Sea because he says you’ve got to be in tune with how Murdoch writes to enjoy it. I think that’s true. She has a very definite style, leading to the adjective Murdochian. There’s even a whole novel lampooning that style.
It’s clearly a subjective thing, other recommendations I’ve come across while exploring her work are: Flight From The Enchanter and Nuns and Soldiers. I’d like to read The Red and The Green, her Irish novel, and also A Fairly Honourable Defeat, both of which I have to hand. But I’ll leave it for a year or two!
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