lyagushka's Full Review: Iris Murdoch - The Sea, the Sea
I've been trying to decide whether or not I like Iris Murdoch's writing. My first exposure to this author's work was through her luminous novel The Bell, which I greatly enjoyed. Hoping to discover more literary gems, I next read her Severed Head. But I hated Severed Head just as much as I loved The Bell. Clearly, I needed a third data point to help me understand whether one or the other of these books was a fluke, and where I stood on the writing of Dame Iris. Unfortunately, this book, The Sea, the Sea, hasn't helped me figure out whether or not I enjoy Murdoch's work in general. For this work left a very conflicted impression upon me.
The novel starts out rather charmingly, with such an honest and open first person narrative voice that I almost thought I was reading a memoir and not a novel. The Sea, the Sea is intended to be the memoir of a fictional retired thespian. The opening pages offer up such delicious passages that I settled in comfortably, expecting an enjoyable ride through the contemplative golden years of a crusty, slightly eccentric central character.
The structure of Murdoch's writing often reminds me of an NPR piece: start out with an evocative sound/description of the physical environment, and then proceed to poignant reportage. Those passages in which Charles Arrowby describes the physical setting of his retirement - a cranky little cottage by the sea - are among the best and most enjoyable of the novel. His obsessive cataloging of his meals (primarily out of tins), and his glorification of "simple" food comes off as quirky and endearing early in the novel. Through these eccentricities Murdoch establishes Charles as a real individual, even if the literary conceit of a novel posing as a memoir occasionally breaks down.
Unfortunately, the book quickly devolves into a tale of such pathological self-delusion and havoc wreaked on others' lives that I was loathe to pick up the book and continue reading it. Charles thinks nothing of breaking up the marriages of friends and colleagues to satisfy his sexual whims and even less of abandoning the women he seduces when they evince the slightest emotional expectations or dependence on him. He is a creature unblemished by introspection or empathy, and he leaves a wake of destruction in the lives of all those he touches. His child-tyrant petulance dragged on for more than 100 pages, during which interval I had feelings of pure contempt for the "protagonist." Of course, to enable Charles to act in such a bullying and egotistical manner, Murdoch has to people her novel with weak and easily manipulated peripherals, which only added to my frustration.
In short, Charles is emotionally retarded and a perfect bastard but Murdoch declines to portray this rather simple concept briefly. The plot, such as it is, drags quite too much to hold my interest. I don't take exception to Murdoch wanting to make her readers squirm with discomfort, but I did get the point, and it was brought home to me well before Murdoch granted remission. Forcing the reader to plod through 100+ pages with only the faintest hope that someone will throttle the bejeezus out of the main character is no way to win my admiration.
Yet somehow, just when I was certain that everything and everyone in the story would end miserably, Murdoch manages to turn this story around. She doesn't quite give us the redemption of the main character - for which I'm thankful. Nor does the rather philosophical ending entirely assuage my annoyance with the main act of the novel. But she does salvage some of the reader's sympathy for the sheer stupidity of human pride and ego. Don't get me wrong here - I'm not giving away very much of the plot by any stretch. There is tragedy and suffering enough to go around.
I suppose the fact that I bore a visceral contempt for the main character for much of the story testifies to Murdoch's ability to construct believable personalities. This is definitely a case of personally disliking the plot and the characters rather than finding serious faults with the writing style or the character development. Still, I think there are some problems with the pacing and the overall plot. I suspect that most of Murdoch's works are more character driven than plot driven; that is certainly the case in The Bell and in this work. That may indeed be why I disliked this book as much as I did. I can't abide weak, dithering characters or those that manipulate them. Others without my prejudices might not be bothered by the story at all. But I can't help but think this book could have lost at least 75 pages from the middle and become better in the process.
Having read three novels by Murdoch, I begin to see the themes that she used repeatedly in her work. She had, it would seem, a rather dim view of romantic love. In The Sea, the Sea, marriage is repeatedly described as a hell - a miserable, cooperative form of mutual torture. In this and other works, she sets up two figures who are fundamentally unsuitable partners for each other and allows them to circle each other like moths to flames. She also seems interested in the opacity of human awareness of other people's inner lives and even the understanding of our own natures. With few exceptions, her characters lack curiosity or insight about other people's desires and experiences. Yet none of Murdoch's works that I've read contain any real antagonists. She much prefers deeply flawed protagonists.
Final Thoughts
I can't really say that this is a bad book. This isn't a book that I enjoyed very much, but that has at least as much to do with my personal impatience with certain traits and behaviors as with Murdoch's literary style. Murdoch can write; there's no disputing that. And she weaves in enough obvious and not-so-obvious cultural and literary references to keep the discerning mind happily engaged. All the same, my personal reaction to this book is just as valid as anyone's, so I'm not strongly recommending it. But at the same time it wouldn't feel right to warn others away from The Sea, the Sea. How's that for equivocation?
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