Iris Murdoch Books

BRUNO'S DREAM is a remarkable novel. It features an ensemble of eight characters, none of them very noble, and the action essentially consists in the kaleidoscopic shifts in the relationships between and among these eight characters. The reader observes everything somewhat like a voyeur, with an attendant sense of embarrassment over their clumsy grapplings with their egos and their ids, their dreams and their desires. The setting is an admixture of the starkly realistic (middle- and working-class London in the 1960s) and the bizarre and almost fantastic (Bruno's tomb-like bedroom and a cataclysmic flood). Nonetheless, the story somehow manages to stay within the realm of possibility, and it is always captivating. In the course of its unfolding, Murdoch raises and explores, almost as asides and without belaboring, a number of philosophical or metaphysical concepts (love and death, the existence of God, the thralldom of memory, life as a dream).

This is my introduction to Iris Murdoch, so I don't know if BRUNO'S DREAM is typical of her work with its blend of philosophy, humor, probing of human relationships and the individual psyche, and sheer narrative intelligence. I hope so, because then I have much reading pleasure ahead of me. Written in 1969 but not dated in the least, the novel appears to be out of print. If, however, you enjoy intelligent and slyly witty fiction, it should be worth the effort of tracking down a copy, for it is better than most novels currently being presented and reviewed in our leading newspapers as the best of today's fiction.

Iris Murdoch has written one helluva' dream for her protagonist, but here's hoping ol' Bruno changed the sheets once he woke up.

Of all the whimsical, fictional worlds created by Iris Murdoch, this one is the most haunting and compelling. Her gift for "reading" the human condition is a given; her ability to find consistently some light in the darkest human soul is a gift. The novel's humor notwithstanding, this is a story of desperate people who, unbeknownst to them, live under the watchful, sheltering love of a strange, gentle man (Nigel), who is everywhere and nowhere, and who, along with his unwitting protege, Diana, represents the purest example I've seen in Murdoch's fiction of her concept of selfless love, the ability to be "good for nothing." The final scene between tortured, dying Bruno and spiritually exhausted Diana is as moving as any in literature. I've read all of Murdoch's novels, and each has its beauties. This one stays in my heart, like the memory of innocence.

Bruno's Dream is a wonderful novel and it's a shame it's out of print. I was so pleased to discover a copy in a used book store, and even more pleased upon reading it. The story revolves around Bruno, a dying old man, and the people in his life--both living and not. Murdoch once again demonstrates her incredible talent to explore the realities of human relationships, to get you thinking on the nature of friendship and love. The novel is at times humorous, serious, philisophical and bittersweet. A truly enjoyable read.

Bruno's Dream is one of the forgotton books in the Murdoch oeuvre. While I would not encourage anyone new to Murdoch to start here I would suggest that anyone who enjoys her uneven but magical and haunting books should seek this one out.

It has an acute sense of place and the portrayal of the shabby and little known area of Chelsea, London near the Lots Road power station is powerful. It is one of the first times that I have felt a need to search out the actual physical location of a novel (not much changed actually).

This story of a dying man is a gentle and unfashionable book. I will never forget it.

It might seem odd that the other review of this book ('Lucid and brilliant') describes her moral philosophy as "a kind of Anglican conservatism" since Dame Iris was an atheist. However, I have to agree that she could largely stand in the tradition of Bishop Joseph Butler (1692-1752), the great Anglican theologian and philosopher, who largely represents what might be considered traditional English or Anglican moral ethics. The similarities are due to the fact that Murdoch, while an atheist, was not a materialist by any means. She was a Platonist -- in about as pure a sense as you can imagine -- and Platonism was/is highly influential in Anglican (not to mention, Roman Catholic) thought. While she does tweak Plato a bit, her moral realism is amazingly congruent with that of Plato. For instance, she speaks much of the Good as that which we must direct our attention and even love towards. Naturally, she attacks the dominant moral theories of the modern era -- deontological/Kantian and utilitatarian ethics -- in much the same way that G.E.M. Anscombe did in her essay, "Modern Moral Philosophy" (1958), which revived virtue ethics. If you enjoy Miss Anscombe or other similar, pro-metaphysical moral philosophers of the 20th century (such as Simone Weil or Alasdair MacIntyre), then you will surely enjoy this book.

In 1992, Iris Murdoch (who mostly wrote novels) expanded her ideas on ethics in her book, 'Metaphysics As a Guide to Morals.' This is a much larger work and would greatly benefit from reading The Sovereignty of Good first. All of her essential moral concepts are found in The Sovereignty of Good, in a clear and succinct manner. However, her views, like all philosophies, are not without criticisms. The best collection of critical (both positive and negative) essays on her work is 'Iris Murdoch and the Search for Human Goodness,' which was born out of a conference on Iris Murdoch held at the Divinity School of the University of Chicago in 1994. It includes essays by some of today's leading moral philosophers and theologians, including Charles Taylor, Martha Nussbaum, Stanley Hauerwas, and William Schweiker. For a full treatment of Iris Murdoch's moral philosophy, see Maria Antonaccio's 'Picturing the Human: The Moral Thought of Iris Murdoch.' Both of these books are excellent and essential for anyone doing an academic study of Dame Iris.

Murdoch's clarity and keenness as a thinker are everywhere evident in the three essays that comprise this short book. It is at once a kind of paean to common sense and an intricate philosophical working-through of fundamental human dillemmas.

In the subject of moral philosophy, Murdoch clearly comes down on the side of what many might feel to be a kind of Anglican conservatism, though a careful reading will, I think, reveal the deep sense of connectedness and love which inform her thinking. In particular, the book offers a fertile critique of central concepts in existential thought, and of the moral relativism which postmodern philosophy can sometimes engender.

Readers of her novels in particular will appreciate this glimpse of Murdoch's philosophical thought, and will notice how it informs her craft as an artist.

What the hell happened to the review of this book I posted about 10 years ago, and all of the others that I read then? Did they all drop into a black server hole, or what?

It was years ago in an alternate amazon universe that I first reviewed Iris Murdoch's "A Fairly Honorable Defeat." Back then the gui was so plain vanilla that one's contribution could not be edited. I'll try to remember the gist of my review, and offer some approximation of what I can recall from the others.

In true soap opera fashion most of "Defeat's" characters are related directly or indirectly to each other through a tie of blood or marriage. Happily married couple Rupert and Hilda Foster shine more or less beneficently upon: Hilda's younger sister Morgan and her abandoned husband Tallis Browne, Rupert's younger brother Simon and his older lover Axel Nilsson, and Rupert and Hilda's rebellious son Peter. Tallis' father Leonard is a minor but useful character, as is his deceased sister, name unknown. Julius King is the sole outsider, but he too is connected through past association with Rupert and Axel, and through his recent overseas affair with the adulterous Morgan.

Many of the earlier reviews focused on the irresistably anti-heroic qualities of the manipulative Julius; and some described his discarded / discarding mistress Morgan as feisty? spunky? I forget the exact terms used but apparently she was regarded fondly in some quarters. I don't recall what was said of other characters, though I suppose Rupert at least must have gotten some mention given the plot.

The "fairly honorable defeat" of the title refers to the oft-quoted "amor vincit amnia" - "love conquers all." I suppose the author's purpose was to emphasize that in the case of Rupert, Hilda and Morgan at least, it doesn't. She's wrong about that though.

Murdoch seems to have used this and another novel of hers that I've read - The Nice and the Good, published two years earlier - to work out selected philosophical notions, including atheistic / nihilistic ones, in novel form. The contrast between the two works is endlessly fascinating. Since acquiring the books at a yard sale about 15 years ago I periodically read one or the other, or both, and ponder the similarities and differences.

Both include a central married couple about whom the other characters orbit in a kind of Olympian setup without the domestic squabbles. In one novel there's prurience and gamesmanship within the heart of the seemingly peacable kingdom; the other presents a true Eden destroyed when the snake (Julius) introduces succulent forbidden fruit precisely tailored to each partner's foibles or fears.

Both present an enigmatic, atheistic, and intellectually accomplished concentration camp survivor of Jewish descent. One of them (the self-professedly often abusively "honest" Julius) generally hides it, the other does not - but he's hiding something else.

Both include homosexuals as key characters - in one novel the homosexuality is hidden and the resulting attraction inappropriately directed, in the other it is openly acknowledged among close friends and family by a stable, affectionate couple. In both novels great pain results from these men's affections but the causes are quite different.

Both depict an unsuitable love affair between a young woman and much older man, but the characters of the individuals involved - as established by the choices each makes - could not be more different.

Finally, both include supernatural phenomenon as minor plot points, in both cases involving a brother / sister pair. In "Nice" there's a clear division between benign UFO sightings by innocents vs. Satanic ritual by the corrupt, while in "Defeat" the transcendent and the unsettling manifest in an unpredictable manner to an audience of one.

Now for the key difference. "Nice" ends with not one but three scenes of blissful amor - plus an implied (rather improbable) bonus reunion, and the lightening of one man's tortured heart by new resolve. The cozy ersatz "family party" disintegrates under the force of happiness and successful love and its erstwhile patron and patroness are left to the consolation of their mutual "honesty."

Murdoch's thesis, amor vincet omnia, is proven - though all ways are not equally satisfying.

In contrast "Defeat" is pretty much a downer any direction you look but one, but that one is literally replete with cooing doves and warm sunlight on the vines. As a survivor so rightly observes, "to take refuge in love is an instinct and not a disreputable one."

So in the end Murdoch could not quite bring herself plunge the napped flint of nihilism deep into the beating heart of her earlier thesis. She strove mightily to toe the line, bowing humbly at the altar of meaninglessness, but I guess her talent was just too big for her and after all her careful work constructing a sneering, amoral, mini-god puppetmaster, it reared and dragged her off into the realm of verisimilitude despite all she could do to hobble it. Next thing you know, she's dropping sly hints here and there that Julius is not just a little tin jerk, he's a great big ol' self-deceiving broken-hearted jerk longing for redemption. (Frankly, without those hints he'd be pretty damn boring.)

But she did manage to screw up most of the characters, especially poor Morgan who doesn't come off well at all - just a self-centered little julius wannabe without the depth or complexity - so the artsy postmodern crowd should be satisfied.

The moral: No matter how you crush and smush, a large talent simply won't stay small even if it thinks it wants to.

This text can be found in the collection Existentialists and Mystics, a compilation of her writings on Philosophy and Literature, published by Penguin

Iris Murdoch's novels are not easy reading, but one perseveres, knowing she has something important to say. This book examines each of her novels, and provides signposts rather than definitive interpretations. The author has had access to Murdoch herself, as well as her papers, giving him a fair bit of credibility. I wish I had had this book when I first began reading her novels.

Author and International Iris Murdoch Society member Tammy Grimshaw, Ph.D., wrote her doctoral thesis on the representation of gender and sexuality in Iris Murdoch's fiction. In Sexuality, Gender, and Power in Iris Murdoch's Fiction, Grimshaw continues her in-depth scholarly analysis of the British author. Chapters discuss the social construction of homosexuality in Murdoch's fiction, feminist perspectives of Murdoch's fiction, meticulous Foucauldian scrutinies of "The Bell", "A Fairly Honorable Defeat", "A Severed Head", "The Time of Angels", and representations of bisexuality and transvestism in "Henry and Cato", "The Book of the Brotherhood", "The Philosopher's Pupil", "The Green Knight", and "The Black Prince". An advanced critical and evaluatory compilation recommended for college library shelves devoted to literary studies and literary criticism.

Iris Murdoch started her career with one brilliantly funny novel, Under the Net. From then on, it was downhill all the way.

Jake Donaghue is the free-spirited center of this luminous novel about a man who drifts confidently through his life mooching off friends, chasing dreams, and never once realizing how much time and talent he is wasting while in orbit around himself. Ejected from his latest rent-free living arrangement by a woman friend who finds a "real" boyfriend and wants her flat to herself again, Jake and his dreamy sidekick, Finn, run off to their buddy Dave's house to try to find another (free) flatmate or two.
The journey is hilarious and pitiful at the same time. Jake truly lives for the moment. Just as the reader adjusts to Jake's newest situation, he jettisons himself into a new place, new relationships, new goals, even a new pet dog which he steals for his own leverage purposes, then becomes too attached to give the pooch back. He revisits a long-ago incident of dishonesty with a former friend, chases the elusive shadow of an old girlfriend, and finally comes face to face with the man he cheated long ago. All along one gets the uncomfortable, prickly feeling that Jake is running, running, hiding from the truth: the truth about the book he wrote that stole another's words and insights; the truth about who he could have been if he hadn't been so shiftless. The title of the book, in my humble opinion, is a metaphor of how truth catches us, in contrast to the popular notion of seeking after truth. Murdoch presents truth as a hunter and humanity as the prey. We make our wild attempts to fool Truth, as Jake does all through this delightful and powerful novel, but in the end, Truth triumphs and we are caught "under the net" like an insect caught for a collection under glass.
Great fun, but do be careful. The net is poised over you, just as it is over Jake!

Faced with impossible relativism, falsehood, the impossibly of truth, what can our reaction be? To laugh: the ludic as an alternative to the despair of nihilism. The discourse is hilarious, and at key moments when the action is most intense, and the characters are being most lead astray from their purposes, they are overcome by a hilarity and a hysteria which incapacitates them, and often the reader too...

Read more from Murr on The Lectern:
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The protagonist of this story, Jake, is an Oxford-educated male writer, while the author is the same, with the exception of gender.

How she manages to look into the mind of the male is amazing. The dialogue reminds me of Waugh or Forster. The main character - who neither seeks job, reputation nor achievement - fights off his talents for a life of impoverished mediocrity. This reminds me of Murry Burns -- the "A Thousand Clowns" main character played by Jason Robards.

The carefree reckless disdain for the next day allows this book to float from scene to scene. Eventually, the scenes tie together -- the later scenes make the prior scenes become more appropriate. Within a matter of days, the humor of this book has Jake kidnap a movie star dog, experience the falling of Rome (on a movie set at least), visit a mime theater, engage with a bookie in fixed races, engage in a drunken leftist movement, and sleep in a bearskin suit when evicted from his home.

The madcap adventure of a little more than a week encapsulates much. The humor, a bit stale after five decades and a country apart, still resonates in today's world and would make a wonderfully sarcastic film.

The writing, which is like her peers and some of the great British writers who preceded her, is more descript and more detailed than modern-American prose, and exemplifies the writer and her achievement.

In his early period (specifically, in "Tractatus"), the Austrian-British philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein argued that the "net" of language both separates us from and connects us to the world: it simultaneously impedes and determines our understanding of life. He furthermore concluded that anyone who finally comprehended the meaning behind the language of "Tractatus" would realize that its arguments were senseless; to quote the Cambridge Dictionary of Philosophy, the reader can "throw away the ladder after climbing up on it" and experience the world directly through contemplation rather than through philosophical discussion. "Under the net" of language, then, lie the truths of the world.

Yet it's not essential to have an understanding of Wittgenstein to enjoy the zany farce of Murdoch's novel, whose characters are hunters of truth in its pure manifestations (love and freedom), as well as its illusory aspects (money and success). The chief seeker is Jake Donaghue, short of cash and without much prospect for any meaningful source of income. Jake has been freeloading in a friend's apartment; when she becomes engaged to be married, he's homeless as well as poor. Along with his sidekick, Finn (who serves as a less dependable Jeeves to Jake's ungentlemanly Wooster), he sets out in search of a new home and instead embarks on a series of adventures: a peek at a bizarre theatrical performance by mimes, a night of pub-crawling, a day at the races, a dog-napping, and a visit to a film studio whose riotous outcome prefigures, as much as anything, the finale of "Blazing Saddles."

During his journey, Jake runs across three old acquaintances: a former girlfriend; her sister, a famous actress; and most important, Hugo Belfounder, who had been a fellow patient at a clinic testing inevitably unsuccessful cures for the common cold. During alternating bouts of deliberately induced illness, the pair held philosophical conversations, to which Hugo contributed nearly all of the original thoughts. Jake in turn converted these pronouncements into a book, "The Silencer," published without telling his new friend. Only after he'd finished the book, however, did Jake realize that the profundity of Hugo's opinions had been frustrated by his own attempt to render them into words. Jake's embarrassment over both his deceit and his failure had caused him to break ties unceremoniously with Hugo, who has since become a filmmaker. (Although this suggestion of truths masked by language is one of the more overt allusions to "Tractatus," biographer Peter Conradi points out that the character of Hugo is based not on Wittgenstein but on a Cambridge friend of Murdoch's who was the philosopher's star pupil.)

There are a number of wildly unpredictable and often absurd subplots involving the four old friends, all based on the miscommunication that results because each of them is in love with another, but none of them is in love with each other. It's a circle of love right out of an Elizabethan drama.

In spite of its philosophical borrowings, Murdoch's first novel is her most fast-paced--and it's certainly her wackiest. At times, it's even downright silly, and looking for meaning in the fun is like tracking down the literary references in a Buster Keaton film (they exist--but does it really matter?). Once you get past the surface trappings of its metaphysics, you can simply enjoy the screwball comedy of "Under the Net."

Of course Iris meant it to be bitter and nasty, a satire on upper middle class life and love in London in the 70's. I found most of the characters rang hollow. And Tallis' squalor and his annoying father seemed artificial and overdone. Having said that it was an interesting read. Not one of her better novels. Dare I mention that it does not compare favorably with some of the better Muriel Spark novels?

Brilliant! This novel has everything I look for in a truly great book: complex characters, deft plotting, luminous prose, and profound insight into the human condition. Iris Murdoch knew what it was to be human. She understood our aspirations and longings, our blind spots, our frailties, and our capacities for love and betrayal. She's the only writer I know of who can hold her reader's rapt attention throughout a novel in which the action consists almost entirely of dialogue between the various characters. (If you think that sounds boring, believe me, it's anything but!) In this age of high-speed internet, cable tv, and the unending pursuit of distraction, that's no small feat!

I recommend this novel unreservedly. I started reading Iris Murdoch a couple of months ago and since then, have read no other fiction. This is the sixth of her novels I've read and my favorite to date. If, like me, you want fiction to illuminate the human condition and to give you more than an enjoyable way to pass a few hours, then give yourself to Murdoch. She's deepened my thought, sharpened my wit, and made me more compassionate, while holding me spellbound and fascinated at every turn.

Meant as a satire on the late 60s intelligentsia, A FAIRLY HONOURABLE DEFEAT is not of Murdoch's better efforts. The quick pace at which she produced her novels during her lifetime meant that not all of them are up to the level of THE BELL or tHE TIME OF THE ANGELS, and this work seems far too unnatural and manipulated. The work is largely a study of what Murdoch sees as a human predilection for acting against one's best interests, but the characters are so dislikeable to begin with, and behave with no logical explanation, that the whole book rings very falesly. The central character of Julius, in particular, is so obviously such a monster that it is unbelievable the other characters would want to be within ten feet of him, much less invite him to their homes and act on his recommendations; we are often told he is a man of great charm, but we never see his charm in action. And the historical "explanation" for his otherwise motiveless malignancy offered at the end of the novel seems thoroughly unconvincing.

Here Murdoch explores the complications that arise from the assumption that we are the heroes or heroines of our own life-dramas rather than part of a larger drama in which we are merely walk-on extras. A play within a play within a play is represented: Morgan dresses up as a girl dressed up as a boy, trapped in Julius's flat. Simon and Julius eavesdrop in a manner reminiscent of Jacobean revenge drama. Comic misunderstandings proliferate.

This book makes us think about how all our life -emotions, beliefs, obsessions..- is only a byproduct Language, or the lack of it. Isn't love really a result of Communication; and isnt Hate the result of inability to communicate? Can a witty nihilistic Teaser wreck the lives of innocent people just by dismantling their emotions verbally?
Most often, our difficulties to discern what we want from life are really just language problems, a tragic lack of skill that results in the impossibility to master knowledge about our actions and their consequences.

The reader is left with a vision, both tragic and comic, of what happens when we try to fit other people into preordained roles our own dramas. Only those who try to communicate openly are redeemed from the dishonour of contemporary life. As Murdoch suggests, the only true defeat is being deceived by words.

Iris Murdoch's novels cannot be fully appreciated nor savored in all of their richness without some awareness of her philosophical concerns.

This is the story of Morgan, whose return to London after a love affair in America with the sinister, mysterious and seductive (in every sense of the word) "Julius," brings her to the home of her sister Hilda and that sister's husband, Rupert. Their troubled son Peter makes an appearance; and Morgan also encounters her good but estranged husband, Tallis; and a lively circle of friends appears as well, including the gay couple Simon and Axel.

But then Julius returns. His seemingly quiet entry into the lives of these flawed, but oh-so human people, wreaks disaster and tragedy.

Dame Iris underscores and dramatizes her concern with the nature of evil as the expression of the human tendency to be seduced by the glamor of power and intelligence into abdicating simple and obvious duties of humanity. She illustrates her notion of love as a kind of powerful attention (or Kantian "Achtung") and an immersion in the reality of the moment and the Other; and goodness as the absence of selfish immersion in fantasy and escape or "muddle," and involvement in "concern" (Heidegger) or "engagement" (Sartre) with the pain of others.

This is a brilliant and wise book.

I have to say of the two novels I read by Dame Iris Murdoch. I liked this one better than the other one which one the Booker Prize in 1978. Murdoch was an extraordinary person who appeared ordinary to us but had an amazing mind. I think that's part of the problem. She expects others to be similar as well, cerebral or trying to get somewhere higher than lower. Her characters in both novels never really appear content with their lives. While I love the novel cover on both texts, I found Iris' writing to be superb in bringing to life about mundane characters. I think Iris was a great observer in humanity and what she saw as their failings. In life, she was happily married for almost 50 years to John Bayley and led a very active career in the colleges and publishing. Her novels are not set to be easy but an labyrinth of wonder, questions, expectations, and disappointments. Iris' wrote longhand and she wasn't viewed as typically attractive but seen as fun and intelligent beyond belief. She was one of a kind. I don't think it ever occurred to her to leave John ever. THeir relationship was a union based on mutual trust, respect, understanding, and intelligence. They talked about the radio soap, THe ARchers, and lived without a television but in a pigsty. Of course, it was their home. IRis wrote this novel which showed her enormous capacity to love humanity when it doesn't love itself. It's sad but I think Iris was hoping that we evolved higher and sought comforts in the cerebral world. Sorry but I don't most of us have it in us and we resort to settling for spouses, lovers, friends, and jobs much like her characters. Even in this book, Dora seeks happiness elsewhere than London and her marriage. You wonder how many Doras are out there. It's interesting but Iris in both this and The Sea The Sea never really explored children as characters. Both novels seem utterly barren without the presence of children or babies. Maybe because Iris had no use for them herself in her own life, she does not include them in her novels. Maybe the adult characters are the children finding themselves and what makes them happy, content, or satisfied. We know what makes people unhappy, discontent, and unsatisfied.

Like to think i know the Malvern Hills et al. areas of Glouchestershire pretty well but even so this book completely took me by surprise. The insights and life lessons throughout were unobtrusive and the subtlety of putting all these very different people together and watching the relationships grow was really interesting.

Iris Murdoch (1919-1999) spent most of her life working as a philosophy teacher at St. Anne's College, Oxford. During this presumably busy occupation, she wrote 26 novels, five plays, a collection of poetry, and five philosophical texts. I need to remember this the next time I have trouble getting out of bed because I am feeling a little tired. Just imagine writing 26 novels! And these are not simple tales banged out and published with a quick proofing. Murdoch wrote intricate, deeply emotional novels examining the psychological and philosophical implications of this crazy ride we call life. Murdoch's character driven writings work themselves out within carefully constructed, highly symbolic atmospheres full of intense sights and sounds. I once described Murdoch as a creator of universes, and that is exactly what she accomplishes in this highly acclaimed 1958 novel, "The Bell." Unfortunately, Penguin got A.S. Byatt to do the introduction to the book. Byatt may be a highly regarded author, but her introductions are excruciating exercises in literary criticism that tax the hardiest souls. Skip the intro and dive right in.

"The Bell" is a story about a group of very unhappy people living in a sort of quasi-religious support group home, called Imber Court, outside of Imber Abbey. The abbey is the home of a group of cloistered nuns who avoid having outsiders enter the abbey grounds. The big event for the abbey and the residents of Imber Court is the installation of a spanking new bell at the abbey. The bell will take the place of the long missing medieval bell lost in the mists of time. As the important event draws ever closer, Murdoch describes several of the residents of Imber Court in minute detail, leaving almost nothing to the imagination in her descriptions of the these fatally flawed yet likeable people.

Several of the characters receive such loving attention from Murdoch that it is difficult to discern who is the main character. It is probably Dora Greenfield, as Murdoch opens and closes the novel with this seemingly shallow yet complex character. Dora goes to Imber to renew her relationship with Paul, her scholar husband who is staying at Imber Court in order to do research on manuscripts at the abbey. Paul is a jerk, a jealous, controlling twit who seeks to dominate every aspect of Dora's life. Dora likes to live the free life of the city, but oscillates between romantic affairs and the discipline she feels she needs from Paul. When Dora nervously arrives at Imber, she quickly becomes acquainted with some of the other lost souls rambling around the grounds. Arguably, the most important figure is Michael Meade, the leader of the community who has more problems than some of the people in his charge. A constant source of irritation to Michael is the presence of Nick, a man who Michael had an affair with years before. This affair resulted in Michael's expulsion from the teaching profession and a serious setback to his hopes of becoming a priest. Other characters fill the pages of "The Bell," such as Catherine, Nick's sister who is in training to enter the abbey; James Tayper Pace, a jovial chap and potential rival to Michael's leadership; and Toby, a young lad doing service at Imber before he enters Oxford.

While we go far into the heads of a few characters, Murdoch refuses to reveal to us the inner workings of other characters. This is not as frustrating as it sounds, for the depth of psychological insight we get into Dora and Michael more than makes up for the absence of other character analyses. Murdoch has a real flair for the workings of the human mind, and she makes her probing examinations so effortless that they leave the reader in absolute wonder at her abilities. You come to know these people better than they know themselves, seeing all of their awkward, painful foibles and the inevitable collisions they face in the future.

Imber is a created universe, with Murdoch as all-knowing deity. The descriptive passages concerning the grounds of Imber are brilliantly detailed, putting the reader directly in the characters' world. Murdoch's creation is of such vivid totality that the occasional trips the characters take outside the grounds reveal a world of dullness and emptiness. Only when the characters return to Imber does comfort return. I cannot recall an author who has created this effect to such an amazing degree. It makes "The Bell" a fascinating book, more of an experience than a mundane read.

Imber itself (meaning the grounds, the lake, the house, and the abbey) seem to me to be a microcosm of the world and the heavens. Imber Court represents the world, full of imperfect, lowly creatures yearning for salvation. The abbey is heaven, barely approachable except through occasional visits to a sealed prayer room and the rare glimpse of one of the nuns. Those that do go inside are quickly ushered out again, as though their imperfections prevent them from staying there for long. When carefully looked for, all sorts of religious symbolisms appear (the bell takes a dip in the lake before entering the abbey: is it in need of a sort of baptism before it can enter the abbey? The fact that part of the bridge crossing the lake from the house to the abbey was severed at one time is interesting.). Remember, Murdoch creates universes.

Ultimately, only one character seems to find redemption at the conclusion of the story. Perhaps Murdoch is showing us that few among us ever find solace in this world. Whatever she is saying, it is worth reading "The Bell" in an attempt to seek it out. Murdoch is not for everyone, but everyone should make an effort to read one Murdoch book. This novel will stay in your head for a long time afterwards.

This early ('50's) Murdoch novel is quite a surprise. I wasn't expecting such an entertaining read. One would not expect it from the plot (misfits gathered at a religious retreat), or the dated themes of religious piety and homosexuality. But I found it an absorbing and fast read.

Murdoch seems to have a talent for getting into the minds of her characters such that their thoughts are our thoughts; one knows exactly where they are coming from because one would have the same set of thoughts. Never a false note tracking the internal dialogue of Toby and Michael.

The Bell is an exceptional book.

It resonates with spirituality. It reverberates with sensuality. It probes our identity and reveals a broad spectrum of darkness and light.

In The Bell things are not as they seem. Murdoch creates a world in which nothing is mundane. See for instance how she describes the transforming magic of the evening sun: "They came quite suddenly out of the wood onto the wide expanse of grass near the drive. The great scene, the familiar scene, was there again before them, lit by a very yellow and almost vanished sun, the sky fading to a greenish blue. From here they looked a little down upon the lake and could see, intensely tinted and very still, the reflection in it of the farther slope and the house, clear and pearly grey in the revealing light, its detail sharply defined, starting into nearness. Beyond it on the pastureland, against a pallid line at the horizon, the trees took the declining sun, and one oak tree, its leaves already turning yellow, seemed to be on fire".

Imber Court is the site of a lay community of spiritual seekers. They are struggling on a path of sanctification - living lives of hopeful but naive becoming. Across the brooding waters of a mysterious lake is Imber Abbey; a cloistered community presumably of those who already have become. The Abbey is imbued with supernatural power and light, even as a dark magic lurks beneath the surface of the lake. None in the community of seekers will escape this power encounter unscathed - though in the end for some there is a kind of freedom.

This is a classic in every sense of the word and one that can be read over and over again.

I've read a fair number of Ms.Murdoch's books and enjoyed them all. This book focuses on Hilary, a low level English civil servant who has been his own worst enemy since a brutal childhood. His own personal history repeats itself here and we wonder if he will ever learn.

Hilary Burde is the word child. He is not a writer, but just likes words. We accompany a very low level civil servant, Hilary, for a number of weeks prior to Christmas Day. The book is funny in parts. How little the bottomless misery of children is understood. Our hero is an orphan. He was saved for civil society by a teacher, Mr. Osmand, who taught him Latin and to value learning. Hilary Burde describes himself as a brilliant plodder, with an aptitude for grammar and an adoration for words.

Hilary went to Oxford. He found that it was very hard to change. Hilary worked in an office with two people, Edith Witcher and Reginald Fairbottom. He rode the entire circle of the underground on Fridays trying to decide which bar to frequent. His mistress Tommy had long perfect legs. Friends he visited Thursday evenings were snobs. Wittgenstein would have loved dinner at Arthur's. Arthur was the friend of Hilary's sister, Crystal. Dinner at Arthur's was always the same.

Hilary knew Gunnar Jopling at Oxford. Hilary had been elected to a fellowship at Gunnar's college after he had gotten his first. Hilary fell madly in love with Gunnar's wife Anne. Anne's face changed. It lost its joy. Gunnar found out and Anne was pregnant with Gunnar's child. Then Hilary and Anne were in a car accident and Anne died.

Both Hilary and Gunnar resigned their fellowships. Hilary had lost his moral self-respect. Hilary became engaged to be married and Gunnar's second wife sent him a letter. He was asked to take the initiative and speak to Gunnar after all the years that had gone by. Hilary resigned his job so that Gunnar would not have to see him. He was prepared to teach grammar to little children.

Oh, Iris, how I miss you. I first began reading Iris Murdoch in college, for a Philosophy in Lit. class, and was immediately captivated by "A Severed Head", which remains high on my list of favorites. But it is "A Word Child" to which I return most often.
Iris Murdoch's breathtakingly simple and yet piercing prose is at its best in this novel. Her theme is obsession, as always, and while we cannot approve of Hilary, the narrator, we find ourselves liking him for his honesty and his uncompromising view of himself. At first I was disappointed with the outcome of this brilliant novel, then I realized it truly was redemptive. Anyone who adores stellar writing and an eye that sees straight into the human heart must own this novel.

This is one of those books that you simply cannot put down once you begin. Murdoch does such an excellent job of creating a most complex and entertaining character (Hilary) -- I laughed while reading it so much I think my husband will be reading it next. An amazingly developed character, a plot that will keep you turning the page, and sorrow so palpable you will want to weep on poor Hilary's behalf.

dis book not dat good but it ok good. me like dat book severed head very good cause i like dat, taking heads.