A Fairly Honourable Defeat

by Iris Murdoch

In a dark comedy of errors, Iris Murdoch portrays the mischief wrought by Julius, a cynical intellectual who decides to demonstrate through a Machiavellian experiment how easily loving couples, caring friends, and devoted siblings can betray their loyalties. As puppet master, Julius artfully plays on the human tendency to embrace drama and intrigue and to prefer the distraction of confrontations to the difficult effort of communicating openly and honestly.

Genres: Fiction, Classics, British Literature, Literary Fiction, Novels, Literature, 20th Century

447 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1970

About the author

Dame Jean Iris Murdoch

Irish-born British writer, university lecturer and prolific and highly professional novelist, Iris Murdoch dealt with everyday ethical or moral issues, sometimes in the light of myths. As a writer, she was a perfectionist who did not allow editors to change her text. Murdoch produced 26 novels in 40 years, the last written while she was suffering from Alzheimer disease.

"She wanted, through her novels, to reach all possible readers, in different ways and by different means: by the excitement of her story, its pace and its comedy, through its ideas and its philosophical implications, through the numinous atmosphere of her own original and created world--the world she must have glimpsed as she considered and planned her first steps in the art of fiction." (John Bayley in Elegy for Iris, 1998)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iris_Mur...

Reviews

[Manny · Rating 4 out of 5]

OK, it's not really the great novel it sets out to be, but it's very entertaining. Julius King is one of my all-time favorite bad guys. Go Julius! Destroy that relationship! Drive that man to madness and despair! Cut up that dress! Do the washing-up! Sort of a high-brow Hannibal Lecter-lite, as it were. Though I was rather shocked to discover the explanation for his lack of affect.

Here's the bit I liked best. The woman is very taken with him, and hangs on his every word. He tells her that Turner is rubbish, no talent at all. She uncritically believes him. Then, a bit later, she visits the National Gallery, and is delighted when she now experiences the Turners as amateurish and poor.

Ruining someone's ability to appreciate Turner, just for fun. Now that's a creative portrayal of evil.

[Algernon · Rating 5 out of 5]

Relationships : It's Complicated!
Tallis loves Morgan but Morgan loves Julius, Julius woos Simon but Simon loves Axel, Hilda loves Rupert but Rupert covets Morgan, Julius wants Hilda but Hilda loves Peter, Peter loves Morgan but Morgan loves Rupert. Leonard loves nobody because he's an old grinch and the exception to the rule of musical chairs deployed by Murdoch here in her study of love, morality and fidelity. If the tune sounds familiar, it's because I've spent half an hour on Google trying to identify a song that I kept humming back in the 80's. Turns up it's by a band named Chilly:

Joey wants Penny but Penny loves Bo
Bo isn't ready 'cos he's havin' fun -
Playin' with many is better than none.
Johnny loves Jenny but Jenny loves Joe

I used to love Iris Murdoch, but after the rather ponderous and deprimant Dream of Bruno I took a break that turned to last two decades. Now I'm back, and I'm glad to report that her books can be not only deep, philosophical and provocative but also a lot of fun. Rambunctious is not a qualifier that I had occasion to use before, but it describes accurately the madcap permutations in the affections of the close knit group of friends and relatives at the center of this story. To borrow a title from my next review, the book could aptly be named : The Disorderly Lovers , a commedy of manners that could only be set in England, where appearances, stiff-upper-lips and repressed sexuality trump sincerity and trust:

You are preserving your dignity by refusing to show your feelings. But there are moments when love ought to be undignified, extravagant, even violent. says Rupert at one time to Tallis about the latter's failure to convince runaway wife Morgan to come back to him.

I'm getting ahead of the story. I should get back and properly introduce the actors before commenting on their foibles. Briefly, the novel starts with Rupert, a high ranking government official and his stay at home wife Hilda celebrating the 20th anniversary of their steady and slightly boring marriage. It's one of those elusive hot summer days in London and the couple gossips extensively about their guests as they sample liberaly from the drinks cabinet. We learn that Hilda's sister Morgan is expected to return soon from the United States where she had a torrid affair with Julius, a former school colleague of Rupert. Their son Peter is living out with Morgan's abandoned husband Tallis, while Rupert's brother Simon is expected to join them in the company of his 'significant other' Axel, another mate from Rupert and Julius school days. At this point I recommend a spreadsheet and some colored markers in order to keep track of who is involved with whom.

To make it easier, I would say the novel is a cross between two literary classics : A Midsummer Night Dream by Shakespeare and Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos. I am not qualified to comment in detail on the connections, as I am only familiar with the movie versions of these stories, but I see Rupert and Hilda as Oberon and Titania around whom the others gravitate, Morgan as the Marquise de Merteuil and Julius as the disruptive, malicious Puck / Vicomte de Valmont.

This artificiality / theatricality is in fact the one major complaint I could level at the novel. In order to touch on as many aspects of the subject as possible, Murdoch uses a sandbox approach, with the characters acting sometimes as puppets whose strings are in their creator's hands and who move in predetermined patterns that puts them in exactly the situation that illustrates best the point Murdoch wants to make. With the same goal in mind, all the characters are upper class, highly educated and introspective, able to analyze their emotions and extremely articulate about expressing them. What saves the characters as people is the level of detail of Murdoch analysis and the real pain they go through as they try to reach out and touch one another. I had some issues with Peter and Simon, who are a little too stereotypical in their roles, one as a teenager refusing his parents love and the other as the effete, promiscuous, flashy dresser, gay interior decorator:

Peter : - Peter, do drink something not just water. It would do you good.
- What sort of good? You people all drink in order to escape from reality. I happen to like reality. I'm staying with it, not taking off for the land of make-believe.

Peter , again : - I'm afraid nowadays it's you young people who are cynical and we middle-aged ones who are idealistic.
- We aren't cynical. And you aren't idealistic. You're just a lot of self-centred habit-ridden hedonists.

Simon : Simon was greedy for the surface texture of his life whose substance he luxuriously munched second after second as if it were a fruit with a thin soft furry exterior and a firm sweet fleshy inside. [...] Simon loved times of day, eating, drinking, looking, touching. All his experiences were ceremonies. He liked the slow savouring of moments of pleasure and he engineered his life to contain as many of these as possible.It sometimes seemed to him that all his enjoyments were similar in kind though not in degree, whether he was stroking a cat or a Chippendale chair or drinking a dry martini or looking at a picture by Titian or getting into bed with Alex.

Murdoch most reliable characters for presenting her position on the major themes of the novel are Rupert and Julius. Rupert is actually writing a philosophical book about the power of love and positive thinking. Julius thinks Rupert is conceited and misguided and sets up to demonstrate that his own cynical approach to love is closer to reality.

Rupert : Love is the last and secret name of all the virtues.

Julius : - All human beings fly from consciousness. Drink, Love, Art are methods of flight. Philosophy is another one, perhaps the subtlest of them all. Even subtler than theology.
- One can attempt to be truthful, Julius. The attempt has meaning.
- About these things, no. The Venerable Bede observed that human life was like a sparrow that flies through a lighted hall, in one door and out the other. What can that poor sparrow know? Nothing. These attempted truths are tisues of illusion. Theories.

Julius , again : Human beings are roughly constructed entities full of indeterminacies and vagueness and empty spaces. Driven along by their own private needs they latch blindly onto each other, then pull away, then latch again. Their little sadisms and their little masochisms are surface phenomena. Anyone will do to play their roles. They never really see each other at all. There is no relationship, dear Morgan, which cannot quite easily be broken and there is none the breaking of which is a matter of any genuine seriousness. Human beings are essentially finders of substitutes.

... and so, Julius proceeds to put his theories into practice by sabotaging the relationships he sees as conceited and insincere. He uses Simon's insecurity, Axel's reticence, Morgan's self-centeredness, Rupert's idealism, Peter's teenage rebelliousness, Hilda's complacency. The comedy that entertained me so much in the beginning of the novel gains tragic dimmensions as the victims of Julius seem unable to escape his devilish machinations. Jealousy rears its ugly head, and reason flies out the window .

Julius : Mix up pity and vanity and novelty in an emotional person and you at once produce something very much like being in love.

Murdoch defines the ensuing chaos as a 'muddle' , the very opposite of order and clarity, the very thing that Englishmen find abhorrent (I believe I'm quoting E. M. Forster on this). Life is a mess, and good intentions are not enough to see us through. I've been quoting most of the characters in the book, it's time to shine the spotlight on Axel :

Eating reveals the characteristic grossness of the human race and also the in-built failure of its satisfaction. We arrive eager, we stuff ourselves and we go away depressed and disappointed and probably feeling a bit queasy into the bargain. It's an image of the decu in human existence. A greedy start and a stupefied finish. Waiters, who are constantly observing this cycle, must be the most disillusioned of men.

Pretentious drivel or astute observation? As a seriously overweight person, I cannot refute this, at least as far as expectations and fullfilment in the matter of food are concerned. There is lot more to discover in the book than just troubled relationships and self-deceiving individuals. I could go on at length about age and disillusionment as seen through the eyes of Leonard, the one actor who isn't playing the game anymore and is just waiting for the exit. But I don't want to end the review on such a bleak note.

I have seen several interpretations of the 'defeat' from the title : Rupert's awakening to the shallow nature of his philosophical musings when confronted with a real life crisis, Julius exile from London when his dirty deeds are exposed, Morgan's inability to see beyond her own needs, Tallis slovenness and incapacity to put either his kitchen or his emotions in order. But Murdoch chooses to close the novel with neither of these images, she picks the only couple to emerge strengthened and closer to each other from the ordeal:

Of course our love is selfish. Almost all human love is bloody selfish. If one has anything to hang onto at all one clings to it relentlessly. We've tried to face it and to suffer it. To take refuge in love is an instinct and not a disreputable one.

[Chrissie · Rating 4 out of 5]

I have enjoyed this book a lot. I have found it humorous. Never was I bored. From the start to the finish my head was busy.

The story focuses on character portrayal rather than plot. Events circle around nine characters. Only nine, there are no subsidiary figures. We start with a husband and wife—Rupert and Hilda Foster. It is their twentieth wedding anniversary. They have a solid marriage. They have a son named Peter. He is at Cambridge. Into the picture is drawn Hilda’s younger sister, Morgan Browne, Morgan’s jilted husband, Tallis Browne, and Tallis’ elderly father, named Leonard. He has an ache; is it arthritis? Two family members left to be mentioned are Rupert’s younger, homosexual brother, Simon Foster, and his partner, Axel Nilsson. One character remains. He is not part of the family. Let’s call him the disturbing outside element. He is a biochemist named Julius King. These are the nine characters. All nine live in the world of academia--university lecturers and a student, writers and authors, a scientist, individuals concerned with the arts and design, philosophy, literature, semantics, philology. Conversations revolve around philosophizing and theorizing, at times leaning towards the esoteric. All are well-to-do.

One’s attention is drawn to understanding each of the nine—their personalities and the complicated relationships existing between them. No relationship is simple or straightforward. Each character has opinions about the others. It is up to the reader to figure out what is true and what is not. The focus is on how each behaves and why they behave as they do. What are the underlying motivations? One observes a split between elegant philosophical reasoning and reality.

One can question if plot events are realistic. Could, would what happens here occur? In the given situations that arise, what the characters say and do seem reasonable, natural, feasible. The consequences turn out disastrous. “How did this happen?” you ask. And yet, as a whole, that which unrolls seems unbelievable. This you find yourself thinking about too.

One element of the story I did not like--that Julius had during the war been incarcerated at the concentration camp Bergen-Belsen. This is thrown in at the very end. Is it meant as an explanation for his bizarre behavior? If this is what is implied, it is not adequately developed.

A word about the humor. Simon is sure to make you laugh. He is so very much who he is, SO Simon! The author draws through dialogues funny situations.

I have yet to read a book that describes homosexual characters as well as this does.

Overall, the prose is stunning. What characters say perfectly mirror their personalities. Physical attributes of people, places and objects are drawn with flair. Murdoch draws scenes so you see them.

Adam James narrates the audiobook superbly. At the start, before you have learned the sound of each person’s voice, listening is difficult. Be patient; you’ll soon be able to hear who is speaking without being told. This helps you understand what is going on. Possibly, the audio narration might even improve the reading experience. When Simon gets talking, you will laugh yourself silly. Other characters are wonderfully impersonated too. One stutters. One has a lisp. I do not hesitate to give the narration performance five stars.

I should not have put off reading Iris Murdoch this long! Good writing, amusing and plenty of food for thought. I read this before The Sea, The Sea, because I was told it was better.

********************
*A Fairly Honourable Defeat 4 stars
*The Bell TBR
*The Unicorn TBR
*The Time of the Angels TBR
*The Flight from the Enchanter TBR
*The Black Prince 4 stars
*The Sandcastle 4 stars
*The Sea, The Sea 2 stars.

[Dr. Cat in the Brain · Rating 5 out of 5]

There's evil.

There's Satanic.

And then at the very last level of Dante's Inferno, beneath chains of ice and frozen tombs of fallen angels, there sits Iris Murdoch.  

Under a blanket, getting cozy by an open fireplace, having tea and eating cake.

Iris is a diabolical trickster, a goddess of strife.  

Iris is also one of the most important writers of our modern era.  One of the most talented.  Her skill at plotting is Shakespearean, her craft at philosophical debate is unmatched in fiction. Even with Camus? Kafka? And Cormac McCarthy?  Oh yes.

Murdoch also develops and writes better characters than the majority of her peers.

And she's absolutely full of poison.

She is an existential threat to your worldview. No matter what that worldview may be.

The more I return to Jackson's Dilemma, The Sea the Sea, The Black Prince and Message to the Planet the more the philosophy in those books starts to make Conspiracy Against the Human Race look like My Little Pony.

On one hand you see a nihilist say 'life is cruel and inflicting it on others is a moral evil',  and here is Murdoch clicking her tongue like a devil and replying 'actually moral evil is beloved by all and that is why life is cruel.'

Oh dear. No matter who wins the debate, everybody loses.

In a Fairly Honorable Defeat, Murdoch has a villain sit in a scene and nearly break the fourth wall to pieces, espousing that 'actually we hate goodness and love evil'. And then she proves it to you, the reader, while having the same villain butcher relationships and destroy lives and giggle about it over the telephone like some filthy Puck.

Now that, my darlings, is a trick.  

It is one thing to turn a man into a cockroach, it is another thing entirely to turn a man into a cockroach and make your audience love the insect.

That's a sadistic game.  Of course the character is a representation, it is not real, but by drawing attention to its own artificiality and asking you to accept its behaviour as wrong, while writing it to be so entertaining that you know you cannot help but admire them? That's a painful little play.

Iris' work here is much like the Treachery of Images, in that it is telling you 'this is not a pipe' while drawing attention to the pipe. Where you can notice nothing else but the bloody pipe. Creating a paradox of bias. And it is an artful destruction of our morals. Like Aaron in Titus Andronicus making a confession that should bring down the wrath of the gods themselves. And by doing so, and not being immediately struck by a lightning bolt, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Gods are not listening.

If they exist at all. 

Murdoch plays the game like a boxer who tells you exactly where they are going to hit you and how. And that you will be unable to do anything to stop it. Because you can do nothing.

And then she proceeds to beat you with ease and precision. Exactly how she predicted. To the point that you would think fate itself moved through her hands.

A Fairly Honorable Defeat is a diabolical book. It is Mephistophelian. It makes Machiavelli look like a kitten. The Satanic Bible is a hysterical wet-fart compared to this elaborate nest of razor-wire.

The book centres around an antagonist Julius who makes a game of destroying lives. The villain is revealed to be so deliberately cruel and horrendous that he's almost inspiring. His abandonment of all rules of social conduct and civilisation making him innately anti-authority in a way that the Joker could only dream of being.  At first the game seems like a comedy. Arrogant moralists and overblown hedonists thrown into a tizzy by hilarious deceptions and clashing in the night, bumbling around each other like confused lovers.

It's so classic Shakespeare, the bard's fingerprints are all over it.

Until Iris Murdoch does the unthinkable and shows you the real-world consequences of these kinds of social games.

So many steps of Julius' character are set up in advance to reveal his true nature in the final chapters of the book. His stuttering, which makes him come off as an underdog, hides the depths of his primal cunning and manipulation. His own lies and deceit are held in contrast to other characters attempting to lie to spare loved ones from cruel truths. And Julius scolds such behaviour, showing it is not honesty or deceit that he values, but cruelty. He is portrayed as a truth-teller, honest to a fault of being daring, but this is itself Julius' greatest lie. His 'brutal honesty' is simply a mask for glib viciousness. His destroying of people's clothes and destroying their hearts and trust on a whim are not the actions of a person unburdened by social codes, as they are impulsive deeds of childish glee. Sickening. Stupid.  Ill-minded.

And then Murdoch pulls back and shows you the bigger picture in the final moments. Shows you exactly where and how Julius learned his little tricks. It's a reveal that hits you like a cold wind.  The weight of it landing on you like a hundred years. It makes you want to defend him, even when you know you cannot.

It is unmitigated cruelty.

The very nature of his character is a play on the reader's own morality. The simplistic laws of black and white. Good and evil.  Just and unjust. Absolutes torn to shreds. To accept the unspoken justification for his deeds is to accept his worldview. Which allows you to be manipulated by him. Like his stutter, he uses sympathy as a weapon.

This sets him against most villains.

Most fiction dealing with evil and death and harm are actually very straight-forward in their morality. The Judge in Blood Meridian, Anton Chigurh in No Country for Old Men, Lester Ballard in Child of God are all magnetic, but ultimately uncomplicated. For all the outrage and the clutching of pearls around horror, the vast, vast majority of horror fiction lands on the side of the righteous. Good may not always conquer evil in such stories, but evil is openly, obviously, evil.  

Easy to point out in a line-up.

One will never mistake Freddy, Pennywise or Slenderman for your average Joe. They are mutants. Freaks. Twisted on the outside as on the inside. Even iconic villains like Hannibal Lecter are pretty straight-forward. They challenge us not because their actions are complicated, but their nature is. They are not intriguing or frightening because of their lack of morals, but because of their seductive charisma. It is easy to say 'serial killers are bad', it is quite another thing to say 'serial killers can be charming'.  That's the actual scary part.  

That something dangerous can be charming.  

But here Iris Murdoch goes much, much, further. She dissects our steadfast desire for moral absolutes. Opens them up like rotting fruit.  Reveals the sick and easy and almost pathetically fragile hypocrisy in our sense of justice. How our lust for drama and gossip and rumour-mongering corrupts our civilised codes, our kindness, our humanity. She makes evil engaging, easy to underestimate, easy to dismiss, cavalier and breezy. Simple to be swept up in. Evil waltzes through our rules and our lives, cutting us to pieces in a dance that is equally whimsical and devastating. Not what we like to think evil is, but what it really is. Childish. Free. Unburdened. How we envy it. How we desire it.  How evil people use our own lust for evil against us. Making us complicit in their schemes and then driving us collectively off a cliff.

And leaving us to burn in the wreckage.

This is one of the funniest and most disturbing books I've ever read. It's like if Jack Ketchum wrote Much Ado About Nothing.

Iris Murdoch puts a blade to your genitals and opens you from crotch to gullet. With a smile in her step and blowing a kiss to your still warm and trembling lips.

She's an absolute spider.

We love it though.

Just like she knew we would.  10/10

[Jean-Luke · Rating 3 out of 5]

[note to future self: proofread before posting reviews]

“Human beings are roughly constructed entities full of indeterminacies and vaguenesses and empty spaces. Driven along by their own private needs they latch blindly on to each other, then pull away, then clutch again. Their little sadisms and their little masochisms are surface phenomena. Anyone will do to play the roles. They never really see each other at all. There is no relationship, dear Morgan, which cannot quite easily be broken and there is none the breaking of which is a matter of any genuine seriousness. Human beings are essentially finders of substitutes.”

Iris Murdoch takes a page from the playbook of Ivy Compton-Burnett. In which everyone is constantly talking, and talking about everyone else. Each chapter, at least initially, is a protracted conversation between two or three characters in which they, instead of the author-cum-narrator, reveal much more information than any two people having a conversation, especially, for example, a married couple just having an conversation, would ever normally feel a need to repeat or reveal. There's something a little Days of Our Lives-y about all of it. Like sands through the hourglass...

And then there's Simon. Lively Simon. Perhaps the most fully realized gay character Iris Murdoch ever created, and a sheer delight. Her depiction of his perfectly ordinary relationship with Axel, an older man, is something extraordinary--with few exceptions the novels prominently featuring gay characters were written predominantly by gay men themselves. Ever heard of a kouros? I hadn't, but I have now, and I can only hope that Axel and Simon's museum meeting in Greece sometime replays itself in my dreams.

Who were the other characters again? Oh yes, Julius King--one of the author's beloved soap opera villains enchanters. But once his machinations begin (i.e. Part Two), purloined letters, eavesdropping behind false façades etc., things go downhill rather quickly. There's much musing on love, and vanity, with a clumsy here's-how-it-happened by Julius King, but I wouldn't say that it adds up to anything in the end.

[Cecily · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a tangled web set in the late 60s, concerning Rupert and Hilda; their 20 year old drop-out son Peter; Rupert’s younger brother Simon and his boyfriend Axel; Hilda’s unstable younger sister Morgan and her estranged husband Tallis and her former lover (and college friend of Rupert and Axel), Julius.

Things are intertwined from the start, but later there are strong echoes of Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream when the stage is set for a (non magical) enchantment, leading to illusions of love and betrayal with the metaphorical puppeteer appearing to soothe, whilst actually sowing doubts and creating scenarios.

Although the story is entirely naturalistic (rather than magical realism etc), there are occasions when some of the characters think they sense supernatural demons or ghosts, yet none of them realise the real power that is manipulating their lives.

It opens inauspiciously with a long conversation between Rupert and Hilda, which explains the back story, but which they would not be discussing in that way between themselves. However, after that it becomes a trademark Murdoch psychological novel. In some ways her protagonists are a little like the British equivalent of Woody Allen’s shrink-addicted New Yorkers, as they endlessly analyse their relationships, interconnectedness, motives etc.

The narrative slips seamlessly between pages of pure dialogue, to more descriptive passages. In some of the dialogue sections it is not always clear who is saying what, but that is actually very effective, especially when there is a large gathering, with multiple conversations and the reader is effectively eaves-hopping between them.

The book is slightly dated in places (especially early on, when Murdoch seems embarrassed about the terminology regarding Simon and Axel: “liaison”, “association”, “his friend” and there are a couple of awkward racial comments), but mostly it reads very well and would also be good for a reading group, though probably too unfashionable to be picked – unless it rose to prominence on the back of a film. You could spend ages merely on “Both you and X are wounded people. X is the more wounded because X is the more guilty and for that reason is probably the more proud.” And “Good is dull. What novelist ever succeeded in making a good man interesting?”. Fortunately this novel devotes plenty of pages to those who are not good.

I’d love to read another book about Julius, so this one must have been excellent.

[Sebastian · Rating 4 out of 5]

Comedy or rather tragicomedy of errors, very fast-paced and well-written. I wanted to pick something from Iris for quite some time now, particularly after seeing the movie about the last years of her life with Kate Winslet and Judi Dench. Eventually I managed and the first contact with the writing of Iris was an unforgettable ride. The plot is pretty complex, but also pretty tabloid-like with different characters feeling something for other ones what pretty often is unrequited. The dialogues are extremely lively and sometimes I had a feeling that this novel was written for theatre adaptations since all comes to life so naturally on the pages of this book. It is a novel that definitely makes the reader think about fragility of human relations and shows us that each day we should cherish what we have since things can take an unexpected turn at any moment.

[David · Rating 5 out of 5]

I read Iris Murdoch and then I wonder why I ever read anything else. Brilliant characters, fabulous set pieces. It should be an opera. The dialogue, the philosophy and the plot can be a bit clunky, but everything is forgiven because it is so dramatic and the characters so charming.

I've decided that, with Iris Murdoch, I know I’m going to love it when a) it is set in London and / or b) I have to write my own list of characters inside the front cover to keep a track of everyone.



"'Your letters weren't terribly informative, actually! They moved from the curt to the enigmatic to the frantic.'"

"'And take eating, if you're lucky enough to do any. Stuffing pieces of dead animals into a hole in your face. Then munch, munch, munch. If there's anybody watching they must be dying of laughter.'"

"as if his mouth were a sea anemone trying to turn itself inside out."

"'Well, why don’t you treat yourself to a shave if it comes to that? You look like something growing on the side of a tree trunk. ... The sort of thing you can't resist scraping off with your foot and then wish you hadn’t.'"

"'It's so gorgeously untidy, like London.'
'Exactly, I love the village life of Rome.'
'Those innumerable little squares.'
'And the fountains.'
'And the white statues among the trees.'
'And the ancient pillars built into Renaissance walks.'
'And the neon lights at night on tawny-coloured houses.'
'And the naked boys bathing in the Tiber.'
'Ah, the naked boys bathing in the Tiber!'
This could go on forever, thought Simon."

"'I couldn’t live like that.'
'Like what? Without a false picture of yourself?'
'No. In cynicism.'
'Why use that nasty word? Let us say a sensible acceptance of the second-rate.'
'I won’t accept the second-rate.'
'If you stay in the same house as yourself you may have to.'"

"How could her dreamy converse with Rupert have occasioned, have caused, this terrible violence? It was like the humming of a song causing an aeroplane crash."

"He remembered Morgan's jokey self-consciousness about her wedding ring and the peculiar shy ache of his pleasure when she displayed it."

[Marla · Rating 4 out of 5]

This paragraph at the beginning of the novel, after the first few lines of dialogue, captures why I love Iris Murdoch so much:

"Hilda and Rupert Foster, celebrating their 20th wedding anniversary with a bottle of rather dry champagne, were sitting in the evening sun in the garden of their house in Priory Grove, London. S.W.10. Hilda, a plumper angel now, reclined limply, exhibiting shiny burnished knees below a short shrift dress of orangey yellow. Her feet were bare. Her undulating dark hair showed some needle-thin lines of grey. Her burly boyish-faced husband, whom she had at last persuaded to stop wearing shorts, sat open shirted, cooking in the sun. He was red, hoping later to be brown...."

There is no one like her in all of literature!

[Colin Baldwin · Rating 4 out of 5]

Embarrassingly, I saw another review/currently reading post on Goodreads and noticed my rating was only 3 stars - something I did when I first joined. That was definitely a typo (quick-finger rating). I corrected it. CB

[Nancy · Rating 4 out of 5]

I first read this book in graduate school in the 70's and I've re-read it several times over the years. It may or may not be one of the best books I've ever read, but in some ways it is probably the most powerful.

For many years, it was the only Murdoch book I'd read, but over the past five years I've picked up others and that altered my reading experience this time. I still felt the chilly dread of what the characters were going to encounter next, but I was also hit over the head with Murdoch's philosophy. . . in the same way that I did reading Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged (okay, okay. . . I get it!)

This awareness didn't diminish my interest in this novel, or Murdoch's writing, but it made me think about how present her voice and her personality are in the book. It chills me to consider her cynicism and contempt for people, but also intrigues me that in addition to the frightening, amoral personalities she creates there is also a seeker and a hopeful belief that "love conquers all. "

I haven't decided whether it would have been fascinating or frightening to sit down to dinner with Iris Murdoch at her peak, but I am confident it woul have been memorable.

[David · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is the 3rd Murdoch novel I've read - following a conflicting experience. I first read 'The Black Prince', which I found to be immensely engaging and satisfying - and followed that with 'The Sea, the Sea'. one of the author's most celebrated works, which I nevertheless (after its promising beginning) found to be rather tiresome (mainly due to what seemed a surfeit of pointless repetition). 

'A Fairly Honourable Defeat' falls somewhere in the middle, though thankfully closer to the merits of 'The Black Prince'. Its drawback is that it doesn't quite succeed in its plot construction in the way and to the extent that 'TBP' does.

From what I gather, 'plot construction', to Murdoch, amounts to the various angles from which she approaches human / emotional entanglements. She seems to concoct a nucleus of characters in varying degrees of fragility, then pits them against each other in an elongated series of (usually) one-on-one confrontations - or lesser conversations meant to augment her overall theme(s). 

Murdoch appears to be preoccupied with certain themes (perhaps most writers are). Here, as in the other two novels I read, she is concerned with the ill-defined nature of love and the frailty of honest, direct communication. She doesn't seem to cater to societal demands when it comes to matters of the heart; she often suggests that there are workable alternatives - if people are (I guess) smart enough in navigating them. 

As for communication - which propels the action of 'AFHD' - Murdoch adopts the argument that people need to acquire the strength necessary to handle unvarnished truth. The depth of that argument rests in the question of whether people are capable of acquiring such strength - or whether the more common inability is proof of the weakness of humans. There is more than a suggestion here that deception is most often fueled by people's fear of each other (and fear of that stated weakness). 

Even some of Murdoch's more admirable characters (here there are a few more than I've noticed previously) are presented 'warts and all', with stalwart matriarch Hilda holding her own commendably - until she is forced into an unnatural reality that alters what she knew to be secure. 

The specifics of the novel's intent aren't revealed until midway (up to that point, with some slight longueurs that 'TBP' seems free of, Murdoch takes her time establishing personalities). In another example of the author 'lifting' from Shakespeare, the author finally reveals that the antagonist - the conscience-free Julius - is her Iago:

"I could divide anybody from anybody. Even you could. Play sufficiently on a person's vanity, sow a little mistrust, hint at the contempt which every human being deeply, secretly feels for one another. Every man loves himself so astronomically more than he loves his neighbour. Anyone can be made to drop anyone."

This comes long after the primary importance of love has been set as a Rosetta Stone by a crucial subordinate character. Early on we learn that Axel - the elder of two men in a gay relationship - has admonished his younger lover:

"Don't tell me lies, even trivial ones, and don't conceal things from me. Love should be without fear."

The younger man (Simon) has struggled with that request. (Even with their minimal flaws, Axel and Simon make for a refreshing depiction of a gay couple; this in 1970 - two years following 'The Boys in the Band'.) 

Though Murdoch manages to keep the proceedings on a steady simmer throughout, it's in the novel's last third that things boil, steering towards a restrained but definite melodrama. 

All of those who reside inside 'AFHD' (well, all but Julius) are nothing if not malleable (one to an unfortunate degree) - and one major character surprisingly comes to the welcome front (twice!) in a way that holds the rest of the cast in unusual abeyance. 

'AFHD' may not be as seamless as 'TBP' but, equally, it does raise interesting questions. I'm finding I may want to pursue the Murdoch mind a bit more. 

[Valentina Vekovishcheva · Rating 5 out of 5]

Unlawfully good

[Елвира · Rating 5 out of 5]

Какво ли да кажа, освен че съм хвърлена в поредния шок. Класически Мърдокиански роман, даже бих казала опънат до крайност в ирационалността на инстинките, а така също и в бруталната произаичност на последиците. Човек трябва да има познания по философията на морала или поне смътна идея за доброто, злото и човешката природа, за да разбере този роман. Обичам писатели, в които са навлезли множество идеи от външния свят и другите хора, а Айрис е точно такава. Умна и сложна. Но същевременно е безскрупулен първоизточник на неподражаема нешаблонност и собствени философски възгледи за нещата, майсторски материализирани в чисто литературна форма чрез героите ѝ. Толкова силно я харесвам, защото не залага на събитията, а на чувствата и мислите на хората, които ги извършват и предизвикват. Страхотия!

[Corey · Rating 5 out of 5]

Iris Murdoch is my favorite writer. I have been saving this, the last one I hadn't read. And it is, in a word, magnificent. Of course I've never not liked one of her books, but this one ranks near the top. About Murdoch, John Updike said, “Our actions, our decisions, our vows do matter; what can fiction tell us more important than that?” I love her complicated plots, her mysterious characters, her oftentimes outrageous interaction, and, most of all, her dialog. She uses dialog to delineate her characters better than any other writer I can think of. Thanks, Dame Murdoch, for decades of great reading. I guess I'll start over now and re-read my favorites.

[Derek Driggs · Rating 5 out of 5]

Iris Murdoch continues to astound. This one is comic and tragic and Shakespearean, and still manages to be a treatise on philosophy at the same time. Excited to continue my Murdoch kick.

[Jo · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 stars

Iris Murdoch’s thirteenth novel is a surprisingly quick read despite the fact it’s the longest out of the initial thirteen. This is probably in part to the fact that a large part of it is dialogue and partly because there is a morbid desire to keep reading as events play out. I say morbid as the plot is a spiral into which there seems nothing good can happen and leaves you eagerly waiting to see if secrets are revealed and everyone ends up where they deserve.

The novel has the usual, slightly, claustrophobic, small cast and is set in London moving primarily between the rich and comfortable homes of Rupert and Hilda, a blissfully happy couple at the beginning of the novel, the home of a gay couple, Simon, Rupert’s younger brother, and Axel, and the decrepit and filthy dwelling of Tallis, the erstwhile husband of Hilda’s sister Morgan who has just returned from America after a disastrous affair with Rupert’s acquaintance Julius. Tallis lives with Peter, the son of Rupert and Hilda, his father Leonard and various immigrant families from Pakistan.

Julius is the instigator, and indeed the puppet master, of a scheme that plays with the emotions of these individuals and causes upset as the novel progresses. He is a Machiavellian figure whose behavior is partially explained, though never excused, a biochemist who treats those around him as just another experiment or even as an art piece he is arranging. He seems to see himself as some harbinger of justice, stripping away vanity and artifice and taking great glee in being ‘evil’ which he sees as far more exciting and attractive than goodness. Tallis is his agentless, saintly counterpart, a bystander who only once breaks out of his shell, who is primarily apathetic, has visions of his dead twin sister and is attempting to right all the world’s problems alone. By the end of the novel, he is still as enigmatic in some ways as Julius, despite their revelations to one another.

Morgan, Tallis’s wife, is a vain and often irritating figure who is emotionally unstable, for good reason to a certain extent, while Peter is just a spoilt and annoying child who has a mummy complex. Leonard, Tallis’s father, is a far more readable character who has some great lines, in fact his introduction in the novel is one of the best speeches of the book and he is an unashamed misanthrope who Tallis nevertheless dotes upon.

Simon and Axel, particularly Simon have to be my favorite characters of the novel. Iris Murdoch often includes gay characters in her novels but this one is the first time where they are just another couple and one that is just as much, if not more successful than the others in the book. In contrast to these two, Hilda is rather vague and Rupert becomes less attractive as he gets further entangled in Julius’s scheme; I got rather tired of listening to the tortured conversations between him and Morgan. I also tend to glaze over whenever Iris Murdoch starts to get overly philosophical and there is rather a lot about different types of love which gets confusing and still wasn’t clear to this reader by the end of the book.

There are, however, the usual masterful character studies in the book as that is primarily what Iris Murdoch’s novels are. You don’t read her for plot but for people and although there is this scheme in place to propel the book along, it is still secondary to the reactions, behaviors and hang ups of those involved in it. Her characters often frustrate and even now I’m not sure whether the reason this wasn’t a favorite is because the frustration just got too much, whether Morgan, for example, just irritated me beyond measure, or was it simply that the suspense of what would eventually come of all this was too much for my sensitive nerves? I know this happens to be a favorite with several other Iris Murdoch fans so, as with all her novels, this is probably one that will reward a rereading but for now I’ll have to let it sit for a while.

Favorite Lines

“Swimming refreshes the soul, but does not affect the waistline, I’m afraid. Anyway, drink is good for my insomnia. Thank heavens I’m so happy. Insomnia must be hell if one isn’t.”

“Good is dull. What novelist ever succeeded in making a good man interesting? It is characteristic of this planet that the path of virtue is so unutterably depressing that it can be guaranteed to break the spirit and quench the vision of anybody who consistently attempts to tread it.”

“Interesting! When people don’t understand something they feel they have to say that! It’s so conveniently non-committal!”

[Nicole · Rating 4 out of 5]

It's been a very long time since I read any Iris Murdoch. When you've been much attached to an author in the past, there is always the fear that a later reread will reveal you've grown out of that author and that then you will lose your happy memories. Not so here. I think, too, that I am better able to articulate what I like about her: I've been carrying around memories not of my own impressions, but rather my impressions of secondary criticism, my memories of my impressions of others' impressions of Iris Murdoch.

Specifically, I remember (if hazily) a Martha Nussbaum lecture about her that described her books as little clockwork machines: the characters wound up and placed into a moral dilemma to provide a sort of real world philosophical experiment, and investigation into philosophical particulars rather than general principles. In a way, think this is true, but it places too little emphasis on that particularity, oh how different it is to talk about or think about specific people and specific situations than to provide general principles, abstract arguments. One of the things I had forgotten was just how calmly and precisely Murdoch describes the people in her books: not only their physical attributes, but what kinds of things go on in their heads. There is a detachment in this description, but I think that it is actually a mistake to therefore assume that disinterested equals uninterested. The author is not Julius. She is curious, but she is not cruel.

I liked too what this book has to say about the value of truth in relationships. In this respect, Simon and Axel's story is the one that I found the most moving and the most familiar. Simon's interior workings seem very real to me: a shame about feeling ashamed or insecure to begin with, a humiliation about having a problem that stops a person from doing exactly that thing that would fix the problem, a spiral down into lies, not to hurt the other person, but out of a lack of genuine respect for one's self, and inability to believe that he could truly, genuinely be loved. And Axel is not as secure as he seems, either; his rules about absolute truth are correct and effective, but they are not coming from a place of philosophical conviction, but rather from a deep-seated fear that he has himself. I was quite moved to see them end happily, and I think the lesson about love relationships and intimacy is quite specifically true.

I felt like I recognized other characters as well, though I had less empathy for them. Though the "villain", in so far as there is one, is meant to be Julius, I found him far less frightening and horrible than Morgan. Perhaps she is upset, perhaps she is even ill, but the damage that she inflicted seemed somehow so much worse, a narcissistic flailing that destroyed everything in its path, and had a frightening randomness that Julius's cruelty lacked. I was sorry but not surprised to see her forgiven.

I'm so pleased, Iris, that you've held up for all these years. The temptation to binge read everything now is huge. Perhaps one more over the summer is enough for now.

[Bryn Hammond · Rating 5 out of 5]

My most personal Murdoch so far. I loved it, in spite of its eccentricities (philosophy a bit overt by most standards, but she's an ethicist-novelist). Quite a terrifying read once the Iago began to do his thing -- with plot points from the set-up of Malvolio and other uncomfortable comedy of Shakespeare. I found Iris Murdoch's versions truly sinister and more discomfiting than the Shakespeares, possibly because I had no idea what Murdoch was going to do to them or me or where she was going to stop. A disconcerting read on several fronts.

Tallis is her scarcely-effectual saint in squalor and I am devoted to him. Julius is probably the devil. Simon and Axel are a dear gay couple who do not have an unhappy ending [that does not count as a spoiler].

I'll come back to this for life wisdom. Also to puncture that adventurism in love that I remember (who does this like Murdoch?)

[Zeynep Haktanır Eskitoros · Rating 3 out of 5]

Çok hevesle başladım kitaba. İlk bölümünü de keyifle okudum, tüm karakterlerle tanıştığımız bölüm ilk bölüm ve güzelde bir tanışma oldu ama Julius'un oyununun başladığı ikinci bölüm beni tam bir hayal kırıklığına uğrattı.

Romanın çıkış noktası -Julius'un ilişkiler üzerinde ahlaki bir deney yapması- güzel bir fikir esasında ve çok güzel işlenebilirdi ama bence deney hiç yaratıcı olmayan basit bir deney. Karakterlerin hepsi insanın içini kıyacak şekilde 'salak' ve sahneler hiç inandırıcı değil. Julius'un habire çat kapı Tallis'e gitmesi nedir yahu? Ya o Morgan ve Rupert'in çocuk kandırır gibi diyalogları.

Bence de Murdoch’un zekâsı ve tematik ustalığı düşünülünce, bu deneyin çok daha karmaşık, psikolojik olarak daha çarpıcı bir şekilde işlenmesi mümkünmüş. Deniz Deniz'deki karakter manipülasyon derinliğini burada da görmek isterdim.

[Jonathan · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is really very very good indeed. Certainly one of her best.

[Baz · Rating 3 out of 5]

My experience with my second Murdoch was pretty close to how I’d imagined it. Pretty positive, a pretty enjoyable, interesting, thought-provoking read – though a little long. But not long in the sense that some parts felt overwritten, or that I feel overall that it could have been shorter, because whenever I read it it was always a pleasure, the writing always flowed beautifully, and every part seemed to belong. I think it felt a little long because in my first week of reading it I was tired from work and so I didn’t have the readerly energy required and read a small number of pages each night. Or maybe it is long and could be cut down, who the fuck knows! I’m always thinking long things can be shorter.

Anyway set in London, A Fairly Honourable Defeat features a sizable cast of self-satisfied characters whose comfortable domestic lives are disturbed by the entrance of the sly, gleefully menacing Julius King who decides to test the solidity of their relationships and pretensions. The plotting is excellent, the writing moves at a brisk pace, it has great narrative drive and is packed with stimulating ideas. It is, basically, a novel of ideas. Murdoch is an assured writer, both brainy and entertaining, and this was a weird and wild ride.

Quote: ‘He never mixed into his behaviour that hazy little bit of falsehood which most people find necessary for the general easing of social intercourse.’ Aren’t you aware of the hazy little falsehoods in people’s, and your own, behaviour? And not just in your behaviour, but on a more serious level in your morality and convictions about yourself and life as well? I know I am. And it disturbs me. Authors in their fiction try to cut or sort through this crap, or attempt at the very least to look at it.

Murdoch is doing that work in this novel. The effect is sort of painful. She shows how frail relationships can be, how easily changeable, and how capable we are of self-deception. And especially scary, how thin the structures that uphold our reality and veil what’s behind.

[Kristen · Rating 4 out of 5]

This novel tells the story of three different couples and their frenemy Julius, a malevolent singleton who decides to mess up of their relationships out of a combination of boredom and petty revenge. It's a dark comedy, and while it's not exactly laugh-out-loud funny, it could be fairly described as zany. I was a bit lukewarm on the book for a while, mainly because Julius is so unpleasant and the other characters, while sympathetic in some ways, are exasperating. But as the story got going and Julius's plots became more involved, I found the book more and more compelling. What made me decide that I really liked it is that Murdoch, as usual, has something very interesting to say.

The book's narrative is not that Julius is a terrible person, and we should be shocked by his behavior. That goes without saying. Rather, Murdoch's take is that Julius is simply one malevolent, uncontrollable force in a world that has no shortage of malevolent, uncontrollable forces. We see echos of this throughout the novel: in the scene of the thugs beating up a Jamaican man, in the revelation that Julius himself had been in a concentration camp during the war. There are differences of scale, but it's a certainty that all humans will eventually run up against some kind of evil. And when when it comes down to it, Julius's ploys are actually kind of flimsy. It's the other characters' own vanities and fears that allow them to be manipulated and ultimately lead to tragic outcomes.

[Poornima Vijayan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Reading Iris Murdoch is like being in the company of a very intelligent friend. Feels warm, exciting and productive!

A Fairly Honorable Defeat is brilliant. Only Murdoch can come up with truly despicable characters who are dignified.

Rupert and Hilda are happily married. The only blip in their happiness is their intelligent son Peter who has withdrawn from academics and society. For a change of air, he is sent to Tallis', the husband of Hilda's sister Morgan. Morgan is all over the place. She has no clear grip on reality and is ready to fall in love with anyone who shows the vaguest of interest in her. Except with Tallis who perhaps loves her despite (perhaps because) of it all. Then we have Simon, Rupert's brother and his partner Axel who support the entire drama that unfolds. And we have the conductor Julian King who meddles into people's already muddle-some lives.

The beauty of a Murdoch book is that even if you tell it all, plot, spoilers everything, it takes nothing away. The pleasure lies in reading. Every single word.

[Jana · Rating 5 out of 5]

What an amazing classic! Murdock was a brilliant woman and her writing and philosophizing is proof of that. This book is an amazing look at dialogue and character development almost totally through dialogue. I've been reading so many modern books that it was a treat to read a classic again. The characters in this book are not worthy of our admiration or sympathy and yet I really did not want the "Iago" character to destroy everyone. I can see how she is credited with giving new life to the novel. Pure character development!

[Brooke · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5

[Josefina Wagner · Rating 5 out of 5]

Yazarın bir eserini daha okudum. Umarım hepsini okuyabilirim. Yazılacak söylenecek tartışılacak bir eser kara komedi deniyor bana kalırsa aynı zamanda dram komedi trajik her türlü unsuru barındıran bir eser.Muhteşemdi tek kelimeyle...

https://edebiyatdanostalji.blogspot.c...

[Audrey · Rating 5 out of 5]

I’d say more of a 4.75/5 because it hasn’t topped The Sea, The Sea for me, but I really liked it. Never have I dog-earred so many pages because a sentence took my fancy. The characters are great, Murdoch really is a master of characterisation. I’m so glad I found this author I enjoy so much. Can’t wait to read another book from her!

[Chris · Rating 5 out of 5]

‘Good is dull. What novelist ever succeeded in making a good man interesting?’ Julian.
— Part One, Chapter 18.

Where does one start with assessing a novel by a writer as tricksy as Iris Murdoch? Should one start with her inspirations? The literary parallels? Her analysis of the psychology of her characters? Her dissection, in this case, of the compromised morality of the metropolitan middle classes?

Or should the reviewer rely on choice quotes from the brilliantly wicked dialogue to indicate how this story of illusion, delusion, collusion and deception plays out as a tragicomedy in the human equivalent of a puppet show? And if the characters are marionettes, who is the puppeteer if not Murdoch herself?

But A Fairly Honourable Defeat is also studded with multiple symbols glittering like jewels – a swimming pool during a sweltering British summer – white, pink and yellow roses concealing thorns – a broken necklace of amber beads that keeps being mended – outer garments violently removed or destroyed – which in different ways reveal weakness or vulnerability. It all suggests, in the words of one charismatic character, a ‘spectacle of self-deception’.

Murdoch’s dramatis personae consists of eight main characters and one or two minor ones. We first meet Whitehall civil servant Rupert Foster – a ‘stern father’ writing a book on moral philosophy – and his loving wife Hilda, ‘an emotional mother’ for Peter, their student son who’s disenchanted with Cambridge. We also meet Rupert’s younger brother Simon, who trained at the Cortauld Institute and is now in a seemingly steady relationship with the rather humourless Axel Nilsson.

Then there’s adult education lecturer Tallis Browne, in thrall to his vituperative invalid father and depressed because his wife Morgan – Hilda’s younger sister and a linguistics lecturer – left him to have a short-lived affair in America with a shady biologist. And finally there’s the biologist himself, Julius King, responsible for researching what he calls ‘mysterious virus ailments’, many of which he implies accidentally escape from ‘establishments all over the place’. His is the name which forms the first two words of the novel, and his person is the sole focus of the very last chapter.

Let’s be clear: Julius is a sociopath. In Morgan’s words he is, like Loki, “a mischief-maker”. A cynical manipulator who affects being world-weary, his entrée to the lives of the Fosters and their coterie was through having attended Oxford with Rupert and Axel. Though he doesn’t make an appearance until around a sixth of the way through the narrative his amoral philosophy pervades every page, as when he later tells Rupert that ‘your world of good and evil is simply a consoling superstition.’ And his charisma is such that, like many an individual with antisocial personality disorder, he is able to persuade those with whom he associates to act against their own self interests.

‘Human beings are roughly constructed entities full of indeterminacies and vaguenesses and empty spaces. Driven along by their own private needs they latch blindly on to each other, then pull away, then clutch again. Their little sadisms and their little masochisms are surface phenomena. Anyone will do to play the roles. They never really see each other at all.’ — Part One, Chapter 19.

The mention of ‘roles’ alerts us to the fact that the novel (as Garth Greenwell’s introduction to this edition tells us) was written after Murdoch embarked on rereading Shakespeare’s plays. The dialogue-rich narration lends itself to dramatisation, and the tiffs, misunderstandings, ill-conceived stratagems and cross-dressing doubles are very reminiscent of Shakespearean comedies. And of course Julius is the counterpart of tricksters on the Jacobean stage in the shape of magicians, enchanters and double-dealers such as Oberon, Prospero and Iago, plus Jonson’s Volpone and Milton’s Comus.

More than that, Murdoch is well aware that character names can also conjure up associations. Simon and Peter, like their New Testament namesake, are constantly in denial; the seemingly impassive Tallis recalls Talos the protective bronze automaton in Greek myth; when it’s suggested that Morgan might have seen Tallis as a chivalrous knight from Arthurian legend we’re also reminded the role of Morgan le Fay, half-sister to and sometime lover of Arthur who gives birth to Mordred, the son responsible for the break-up of the Round Table order. The identification of the exceedingly indiscreet Morgan Browne with the enchantress fairy is virtually confirmed when she tells the smiling villain Julius ‘You must forgive me if I believe in magic.’

As with Arthurian legend this tragicomedy doesn’t end happily: it’s constantly foreshadowed with statements such as Morgan’s ‘I think we do live through each other’s consciousness, even if painfully’ and – even more presciently – ‘There are people who communicate with the deep abysses of one’s mind and these people are frightening.’ Part Two of the novel plays out the consequences of the ten guinea wager Julius made with Morgan in Part One:

'There is no relationship, dear Morgan, which cannot quite easily be broken and there is none the breaking of which is a matter of any genuine seriousness. […] All human beings have staggeringly great faults which can easily be exploited by a clever observer.’ — Part One, Chapter 19

That Julius embodies the clever observer exploiting those faults is emphasised throughout, as he shamelessly tells any dupe who’s prepared to listen.

‘I could divide anybody from anybody. Play sufficiently on a person’s vanity, sow a little mistrust, hint at the contempt which every human being deeply, secretly feels for every other one.’

What represents a bit of fun for Julius King may prove a lot less enjoyable for his acquaintances: as Simon asks himself, How could this tangle not have some agonizing dénouement? For us observers however Murdoch’s novel could prove either horribly delicious or deliciously horrible. And remember, this all takes place at the end of the Swinging Sixties, a superficially glittering era with an ugly underbelly of prejudice against perceived differences.

[Tara · Rating 4 out of 5]

I love Iris Murdoch. This is not my favorite, but I do like it a good deal. I would have given this three and half stars if I could; since I wasn't able to, I let my adoration for Tallis and Simon determine my decision. In many Iris Murdoch books you kind of dislike most of the characters. This was one of the few where I really thought some of them were decent people. The title was pretty dead-on, and I felt strangely better at the end of this one than I often do with some her books. She's great, it's a shame her work is not more widely acclaimed.