Henry And Cato

by Iris Murdoch

This is the story of two prodigal sons. Henry returns from a self-imposed exile in America to an unforeseen inheritance of wealth and land in England and to his mother. His friend Cato is struggling with two passions, one for a God who may or may not exist, the other for a petty criminal who may or may not be capable of salvation. Cato's father and sister Colette wait anxiously to welcome Cato back to sanity.

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

352 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1976

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

[Guille · Rating 4 out of 5]

Iris Murdoch me enamoró desde la primera novela que leí de ella, su propuesta narrativa me pareció desde el principio exuberante y atractiva, sus reflexiones estimulantes y sugerentes, su inteligencia y elegancia para combinar ambos planos admirable.

No es una autora para leer con prisas. Murdoch es amante de la morosidad, de las digresiones que desembocan en otras digresiones, de describir cada escenario, cada color, textura, luz, sonido, cada rostro, figura, gesto, cada sentimiento, pensamiento con todas sus ramificaciones y resquicios. Nada es superfluo o caprichoso, todo está al servicio de la definición precisa, de la atmósfera adecuada, de la tensión dramática requerida, del desarrollo preciso de los personajes.

Para Murdoch, el arte, la literatura y la novela no son cualquier cosa. La autora está firmemente convencida de la importancia de la novela en el desvelamiento de la complejidad del ser humano y del poder del arte para sacarnos y salvarnos de nosotros mismos. Para disfrutar su obra hay que aceptar su juego, entrar sin prejuicios en su mundo particular, un mundo muy parecido al nuestro -Murdoch es una novelista de corte realista e incluso con un cierto estilo decimonónico-, pero en el que no son raros los sucesos azarosos y extraños, los giros impredecibles, las inspiraciones repentinas y fortuitas de sus personajes capaces de cambiar por completo su visión del mundo y de ellos mismos, y, de paso, la que nosotros nos habíamos formado de ellos; es necesario aceptar sus claves, no siendo la menos importante el patetismo de nuestra condición (“Los seres humanos siempre se las ingenian para fomentar su propio infortunio”) digna de compasión (“la vida es una ópera bufa en la juventud.... y en la vejez nos damos cuenta de nuestro error y solo nos queda la muerte”): nuestros asuntos “no son serios, pero han de ser tomados en serio”.

Nos adentraremos en este mundo con la seguridad de que volveremos a encontrarnos con viejos amigos y enemigos, que no faltará el personaje encargado de personificar la pureza y la belleza, o el personaje dominante y manipulador con facilidad para la humillación de sus entregados admiradores; que nos volveremos a topar con aquel que ha dejado de sentirse a gusto en el sitio que siempre ha querido ocupar o que observa impotente como, poco a poco, es desalojado de él, o el que en su madurez descubre el escaso brillo de los méritos que tan orgulloso exhibía antaño. Pero, sobre todo, nos rodearemos de nuevo de seres perdidos, desorientados, enfrentados a dilemas existenciales y morales que exceden con mucho sus capacidades intelectuales.

Este libro no es una excepción en este universo particular, como tampoco lo es en la abundancia de temas y cuestiones secundarias que nos encontraremos a cada paso. Murdoch nos habla, como no, del azar, de la fragilidad e inseguridad del ser humano, de la culpa y la redención, de la importancia e inevitable necesidad de símbolos, de puntos de referencia que nunca serán definitivos (“Se puede llegar lejos pero no más allá”); del consuelo que nos procura la liturgia de la religión o el arte, fuentes inspiradoras en un mundo donde dios ha muerto; del drama de la vejez y la muerte (“La muerte es lo que más nos instruye de todas las cosas, y solo cuándo se encuentra presente. Cuando falta se olvida por completo. Los que pueden vivir con la muerte pueden vivir en la verdad, solo que es casi intolerable”); de la incomunicación, del desconocimiento de los otros y hasta de nosotros mismos, de las relaciones, del problema de la identidad, del egoísmo, de nuestra individualidad (“La conciencia humana común es un velo ilusorio. Nuestra ilusión principal reside en el concepto que tenemos de nosotros mismos, de nuestra importancia, que no ha de ser violada. De nuestra dignidad, que no debe ser escarnecida. De esta ilusión mana todo nuestro resentimiento, todo nuestro deseo de violencia”); de la búsqueda de una vida digna, de la cuestión de la trascendencia y de los valores absolutos, del bien y el mal; de la fácil caída en la autocompasión y el autoengaño... pero, sobre todo, nos habla del tema por antonomasia: el amor.

Un amor que redime, un amor que despierta, un amor que abre puertas y ventanas, un amor que nos arranca de nosotros mismos, de nuestro egoísmo, y nos mueve hacia ideas elevadas, un amor capaz de cambiar radicalmente la visión que uno tiene de sí mismo, de los demás, de la vida, un amor que derriba barreras que en realidad nunca hubo, un amor que es “tan importante como la verdad”.

"El amor es el último y secreto nombre de todas las virtudes."

Para todo aquel que sienta el deseo de conocer este mundo particular,

“Que el espíritu del amor y de la verdad y de la paz habiten en tu corazón, ahora y siempre.”

[el · Rating 5 out of 5]

my first foray into the world of iris murdoch, who i recently learned was bisexual and cheated on her man with women (#womenwritersinmaledominatedfields).

i think i tabbed my copy of this book like 10+ times and that was me trying to exercise a little bit of restraint, because there were so many mind-altering passages in this. it's rare to encounter a novel that credibly covers so much emotional ground and at such breakneck speeds, despite the fact that we take near-constant philosophical and place-related detours.

henry and cato is melancholy, absurd (at times laugh-out-loud funny), ironic, sentimental, horrifying, sometimes romantic, mostly batshit insane, and there's this incredible trick murdoch is able to pull off where even her unlikable characters (hint: they're for the most part all unlikable) are a treat because she writes them so fully and with such lovingly rendered nuance (many novelists would benefit from a crash course).

if you are a lover of prose/voice above all else, this is a must-read. if you are a lover of convincing emotional terrorists, this is also a must-read. if you are a lover of long, sweeping meditations on place, objects, art, and religion, this is a must-read. and if you like a little bit of psychological dread, there's that as well.

henry might be responsible for one of the greatest "you had me in the first half ngl" character arcs of all time.......like we actually need to grab some pitchforks and kill this guy! and yet, i loved every scene he was in!

some all-timers for me:

I wish I had a goddess to grab me by the hair and tell me what to do, thought Henry.

—

Ever since childhood he had appreciated unconsciousness.

—

"I've no idea. Education is so easy nowadays, they cut out all the hard bits, it's just a form of entertainment. I should have thought it would have suited you all right while you were waiting for the lanky long-haired boy who is your natural mate."

"You could drop me here."

Henry stopped the car at the corner of the lane which led to Pennwood. "You promise you won't be molested and raped before you reach home?"

"I'll be all right. Thank you very much."

"What for? Good night."

Colette got out, slammed the door, vanished.

(genuinely what is wrong with henry?????)

—

"You are in a dream state. Ordinary human consciousness is a tissue of illusion. Our chief illusion is our conception of ourselves, of our importance which must not be violated, our dignity which must not be mocked. All our resentment flows from this illusion, all our desire to do violence, to avenge insults, to assert ourselves. We are all mocked, Christ was mocked, nothing can be more important than that. We are absurdities, comic characters in the drama of life, and this is true even if we die in a concentration camp, even if we die upon the Cross. But in reality there are no insults because there is nobody to be insulted. And when you say 'there is no one there' perhaps you are on the brink of an important truth."

—

"I was crazy. It could never have worked, like that anyway. I used to think there were two things in the world, you and somehow what you stood for, and the hell where nothing matters but money. Now I think there's only one thing in the world. The hell where nothing matters but money."

i mean holy fuck!!!!! murdoch's pen!!!!!!!

—

"We've come together and it's fate, you were made for my situation and my problem. I asked the world a question and you were the answer. I've never been able to make love to a woman like I have to you. And don't say 'then it's just sex.' What do you mean, 'just sex'? Everything is sex, your hankie with the lipstick on it is sex, and the Volvo is sex, and that blue road sign and the moss on the gate and the silly old lark singing and the way I want to look after you. I've never wanted to look after anybody before, I've never had anybody to look after before, I've never had anything of my own since my mother took away my teddy bear."

first of all, no one talks like this and that's why the dialogue in this novel is so exceptionally compelling. second of all, bars. third of all, i love whatever is wrong with henry, like you have this frankly unhinged monologue going on that's masquerading as romance, that you might even suspect is romantic at the very beginning, but by the time we circle back to heart of the matter and the teddy bear that was apparently taken away from him in childhood, you realize how horrifying and absurd and hilarious these people are, how completely and totally self-absorbed their notions of connection continue to be. i keep rereading the teddy bear line and laughing my ass off. 1000/10.

—

i'm including barely any cato in this recap because frankly cato was the most exceptional part of this novel for me, a truly complex, monstrously sympathetic fool, and his inner world is so rich and so poignant, but for me, one of my favorite lines of dialogue in his character arc arrives in the last five pages of the book:

"I've lost my self-esteem and I didn't ever know how much it mattered. It's a great defence against temptation. Now it's gone I feel every sin can tempt me, you name it, I'll do it. Once that spiritual decor is stripped away there's nothing but a demon left."

nothing but a demon left!!!!!!!!!! the moral and metaphysical suffering i feel when i think about him lksjdglkjsfdjklsdfg excellent, excellent.

—

i so rarely encounter writers who explore western conceptions of religion in a way that does NOT make me want to roll my eyes (notable exceptions include literary giants like james baldwin), but this is truly a hall of fame contender for "catholicism as more than simply aesthetic set dressings." a 5/5 novel, defies genre, takes you places you do not expect, does things with language that are frankly unseemly, and if i'm being honest, murdoch's commitment to adjective layering without the appropriate comma usage is really inspiring to me, personally.

[Hugh · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is not a book I would recommend to anyone who is new to Iris Murdoch, but in some ways it is very typical. The book splits into roughly three sections, which are very different in character, and I am not convinced it works as a unified whole.

The two central characters are Henry, who is the second son of a family that owns a substantial house and grounds known as Laxlingden, who has been living in America teaching at a minor college in Illinois, and Cato, who has embraced Catholicism and is living in an idealistic but failing city "mission" in West London. Sandy, Henry's brother and heir to the family fortune has died in an accident, and Henry finds himself returning to England to inherit everything. Meanwhile Cato is embroiled with "the beautiful Joe", a troubled petty criminal from a difficult family background. In the dramatic opening, Cato is seen disposing of a gun by dropping it from Hungerford Bridge at night.

I found the next part rather dull - I had very little interest in why Cato embraced religion or in his subsequent loss of faith, or in Henry's frankly bizarre plan to divest himself of his unwanted fortune charitably. As always with Murdoch, couples form for decidedly strange reasons - Cato's sister Colette is obsessed with Henry, but Henry is pursuing Stephanie, a woman who he discovers when he goes to investigate Sandy's secret London flat. Meanwhile Henry's mother Gerda has a platonic dependency on an older former poet Lucius, who also lives at Laxlingden.

About halfway through the plot takes a bizarre twist and becomes a kidnap thriller, but the final section in the aftermath is different in tone once again.

Murdoch is always interesting to read and at times this book threatens to develop into something more interesting, but overall it seems like a lesser work and there are much better places to start reading her oeuvre.

[Leanne Hunt · Rating 5 out of 5]

As with all of Iris Murdoch's books, "Henry and Cato" is an unpredictable story with really thought-provoking aspects. It features two friends who meet up again as mature adults, each facing a life crisis. Henry is a wealthy landowner who wants to dispose of his property and live as an ordinary individual in America. Cato is a priest with no possessions who wants to leave the church and find the means to assist a delinquent teenager to make something of himself. As such, it raises many pertinent issues around money, religion and traditional family bonds.

Murdoch typically plays around with the element of contingency, with the result that the reader has no idea where the plot is heading and the characters themselves are taken off guard by events. This serves to reveal characteristics in the various men and women in the story which would not have been apparent had events followed a predictable path. For readers who enjoy in-depth character portrayal and the exploration of philosophical and psychological conundrums, this makes for a very satisfying read.

As a writer, I also enjoyed Murdoch's description of setting. The characters interact with their environment in a very engaged way. Emotions are reflected in the weather, the appearance of the trees and buildings, the sounds of insects and birds, and the movement of objects. It is difficult to describe how effective this is, except to say that it charms one into experiencing the scene with vividness and fellow feeling.

So successful is the dialogue, moreover, that whole exchanges can go on without the need for any indicators as to who is speaking. The content and style of the lines is entirely characteristic of each member of the cast, which further drives home the point that people are unique and distinctive not just because of how they appear but because of how they think and communicate. Certainly a fantastic model for any novelist to imitate.

I gave the book five stars because I found so many passages worthy of quoting or recalling for later reference. The conversations in the closing chapters about loss of faith, the dark night of the soul and the reason why people focus on suffering were particularly fascinating and well worth contemplating, coming as they do from a writer who was herself a philosopher by training and profession.

[Plch · Rating 4 out of 5]

more or less finished... rushed the last chapters at the library, just before returning it, finally. I'm happy that I did because a few characters came up more interesting and realistics just in the last pages, even Colette. Anyway, I'll always remember this as the book I read at the hospital waiting for my baby to be born... my boy is now 7 months old and trying to type this comment himself... it was really time to return it.

[Irene · Rating 4 out of 5]

Henry and Cato are young adult Brits who were once school chums. Both are moving through a crisis of personal meaning. Henry, having spent a lifetime resenting the injustice of being the younger son unable to inherit the estate, suddenly finds himself the heir and promptly moves to rid himself of it all, evicting his mother in the process. Cato, having deeply disappointed his enlightened father by joining a Catholic religious order and being ordained a priest, realizes that he would much rather be a messiah than serve the Messiah. When Cato becomes the victim of a violent crime that touches those around him, these crisis are pushed to a resolution. Murdoch has a knack for writing snappy dialogue. Her characters are chiseled to exacting sharpness. This is my second Murdoch novel and I find her characters rather tiresome with their self-absorbed posture. Characters seem to regard others as means to their own goals or expendable. I had the sense that Murdoch was trying to do more than tell a good story, that she was trying to explore some theme or make some point, but I was somehow missing it. The dialogue between Cato and his friend in the final chapter about the unknowability of God and the opposition between certainty and faith seemed to be hinting at a key to unlock the meaning of this story, but I could not figure out how to use it. This novel is an example of wonderful writing in the hands of a less than wonderful reader.

[Parmyc Grimm-pitch · Rating 1 out of 5]

دیگه هیچ وقت به پیشنهاد فروشنده هایی که از قیافشون معلومه high اومدن سرکار، کتاب نمیخرم.

[Luís · Rating 3 out of 5]

None of its characters are winners at the end of this hefty novel, except the reader. The author tells him in the first two pages a slightly curious event, of which he will have the beginning of a sequel, much later. Unless scientific, the reader imagines several hypotheses for what he has just read, one of which will be the logical conclusion of the History of Characters. As a student of Wittgenstein, the author excels in exercising our ability to read people's lives. People. Thus, to guess how the stories of the protagonists will end. The decline of the English landed aristocracy, but above all, decay to different degrees of the characters according to the faults revealed from the beginning. Those who try to resist are those whose dereliction is the fastest.

[ΠανωςΚ · Rating 4 out of 5]

Θα 'μουν 17-18 χρονών όταν πρωτοδιάβασα Άιρις Μέρντοχ. Θυμάμαι ότι είχα εντυπωσιαστεί, τότε. Διάβασα μαζεμένα κάποια έργα της (Μαύρος πρίγκηπας, Μέσα στο δίχτυ, Θάλασσα, Θάλασσα, Ένα κομμένο κεφάλι). Τ' απόλαυσα όλα. Έκτοτε, χωρίς να ξέρω γιατί, δεν ξαναπλησίασα το έργο της. Μου φαινόταν ξεπερασμένο, ντεμοντέ - ή κάτι τέτοιο τεσπά.
Μπουχτισμένος από κάτι φρέσκες μεταμοντερνιές, έπεσα τις προάλλες πάνω στο Ερρίκος και Κάτωνας. Περίεργος να δω, τι εντύπωση θα αποκόμιζα 20+ χρόνια μετά από τη Μέρντοχ.
Το βιβλίο με ρούφηξε. Βυθίστηκα. Νομίζω πως υπάρχει κάτι συντηρητικό στη γραφή του, που με αρέσει. Κάτι παλιομοδίτικο, κάτι πολύ βρετανικό. Οι αναζητήσεις της Μέρντοχ, φιλοσοφικές, ηθικές, καλλιτεχνικές, είναι τόσο έντονες που ενίοτε αναρωτιέμαι μήπως πρόκειται για χοντροκομμένη δηθενιά που περνιέται για ψαγμενιά. Δεν έχω καταλήξει επ' αυτού. Ομοίως, δεν έχω βγάλει συμπέρασμα αν η Μέρντοχ είναι πραγματικά σπουδαία συγγραφέας ή μια μπουρζουά τύπισσα που εντυπωσιάζει με βαθυστόχαστες φράσεις μεταξύ τσαγιού, κρασιού και χαβιαριού. Και η ιστορία του συγκεκριμένου έργου της πόσο πιθανή άραγε μέσα στην σαπουνοπερική απιθανότητά της; Κάτι νουάροθρίλερ πινελιές άραγε είναι σωστά αφομοιωμένες στο έργο ή μπα; Οι δε χαρακτήρες ανταποκρίνονται στην πραγματικότητα ή είναι απλές καρικατούρες-φερέφωνα των ανησυχιών της συγγραφέως; Δεν ξέρω, λέμε. Αλλά καραγούσταρα που το διάβασα το βιβλίο. Και θέλω κι άλλο.

[Jo · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 stars

Henry and Cato, the two title characters of Iris Murdoch’s eighteenth novel are young men in their early thirties who were friends as children yet have grown apart as the years have gone by. Ostensibly it appears there is nothing they have in common apart from mutual acquaintances, Henry is a low level college professor in America, Cato a Catholic priest, yet at the time of the novel they are both at pivotal moments in their life, looking for change and something outside themselves to propel this.

At the beginning of the novel, Henry is looking to make his mark on the world and speaks of becoming something, ‘permanent, significant and monumental’, his inheritance of the family property allows him to follow this dream regardless of how it affects those around him and he really is a selfish, arrogant, sod. He adores art and almost seems to have the same spiritual experience from looking at certain paintings like Diana and Actaeon, as Cato does from his religion. Ironically Cato is struggling with his own faith and is reminiscent of Michael Mead in The Bell particularly because of his feelings about a particular man in his life. For Cato it is the reprobate, Beautiful Joe, who is a catalyst for much that takes place in the novel including much of Cato’s soul searching which, as in The Bell, became too lengthy for me and slowed down my reading for Cato’s chapters.

Other characters that feature include Lucius, Gerda’s long term ‘guest’ who was probably the most sympathetic character for me, an aging poet who has been ‘kept’ for so long that he no longer has the skills to survive in the real world. We also have Cato’s father John Forbes a strident man who believes that education is the only worthwhile path to follow, Colette, his daughter who is one of those willowy young women that populate Murdoch’s novels, leading with her heart and pining for love and finally Stephanie who, despite her opaqueness and apparent fragility, is surprisingly intriguing and for me it is the women who are the most enjoyable element of this novel.

Often where women are concerned, however, there is a great deal of misogyny. Henry and John Forbes are both misogynistic, believing that they are sympathetic to women while at the same time convinced that they know what’s best for the women in their lives and that they are weak and stupid. An example from John;

‘He had always fought for women’s liberation, he had fought, to his best knowledge, for Colette’s liberation! But there was a kind of invincible stupidity in the other sex which simply asked for bullying. After all it had taken them practically the whole of recorded history to invent a simple idea like the brasserie.’

Ironically by the end of the novel, it is the women who have got what they wanted and while going through events far tougher than Henry and John have experienced, have managed to come out the other side, happy and content in the case of Gerda and Colette and stronger and better equipped in the case of Stephanie.

There are moments of suspense as with the scheme to obtain some of Henry’s money and there are moments of mild humor, usually involving Lucius, there are also some beautiful descriptions of the Hall and its grounds, yet I never felt captivated by this book. I don’t think it helped that this is one of those Iris Murdoch novels where the discussion of religion plays a large part, something that I struggle with and while her novels are often filled with dislikable characters, Henry is almost too much. So, not the most successful reading experience but still much to admire and enjoy as always when reading a novel by Murdoch.

[Ms.pegasus · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Hungerford Railway Bridge, built in Victorian times, was replaced in 2002 and re-christened the Golden Jubilee Bridge. The old wrought iron Hungerford Bridge is where this story opens. It's a subtle reminder to the contemporary reader of how Murdoch draws on a style and setting rooted in the 19th century despite the post-war existential crises of her characters. The present is forever grounded in the past. Murdoch is unique in making that connection with primarily literary devices.

In a single compact paragraph Iris Murdoch performs a sensory immersion on the old wrought iron bridge. “The mist, which he had welcomed, baffled him. Damp and grey and gauzy and slightly in motion it arose from the Thames and surrounded him, seeming transparent and yet concealing the lights of the embankment on either side and deadening the footstep of figures who, persistently appearing, would suddenly materialize close to him and go by with a suspicious gait. Or were these all shrouded apparitions of the same man, some plain-clothes police officer, perhaps, whose task it was to patrol the bridge?” (Location 15) Note that the possibility of encountering an officer of the law is no more comforting than the possibility of a mugger. Cato Forbes has come here for the explicit purpose of disposing of a gun. Time itself moves in eerie slow-motion in this meticulously detailed scene.

Cato Forbes, age 31, is a Catholic priest who converted in a moment of ecstatic epiphany. Living in a condemned hovel, formerly a mission in one of the worst parts of East London, he has become obsessed with saving a vicious psychopathic youth excited by violent fantasies — at least that is what Cato tells himself. The two form a deep bond. The nature of that bond is uncertain, a possible mix of sincerity and manipulation on Joe's part. At this point, Cato's faith begins to falter. Is Cato now responsible for Joe? These intense emotions feel dangerous. As confessor is Cato fulfilling his spiritual commitment or is he a captive audience, both enabling and colluding with Joe's fantasies? Joe — Beautiful Joe — Murdoch's characters wrestle with doubt and delusion and with her third person point of view she provides the reader with a front row seat.

Meanwhile, Cato's childhood friend Henry Marshalson, age 32 and employed at a third-rate liberal arts college in rural Missouri, is rejoicing. He has just confirmed that his brother Sandy has died in a road accident. Sandy the simple. Sandy the handsome. Sandy the golden boy, the apple of their mother's eye. Like Cato, Henry feels he has emerged into sunlight. He prepares to return to England to settle the considerable family estate he has inherited. “Henry put the receiver down and fell back on his bed, salivating with relief. Inheriting the property was nothing. What mattered was that bloody Sandy was no more.” (Location 62) His unambivalent joy is unsettling to the reader.

Murdoch's narrative alternates between Cato and Henry, but places the events simultaneously in time. The contrast in tone is as stark as the contrast in character. Henry is a resolute atheist. He is seized by the conviction that this is his one opportunity to enact a grandiose gesture of idealistic beneficence. In his mind, he is the cultural nihilist of the past, a past represented by Gerda, his mother.

Rounding out the cast of characters are Lucius, Gerda's emotionally dependent, past his prime, permanent boarder; Collette, Cato's younger sister who may be in love or may be merely infatuated with Henry; Stephanie who had some mysterious connection to Sandy; and Brendan Craddock, Cato's confessor, friend, and spiritual mentor whose arguments resemble the intonations of a Greek chorus.

In addition to doubt, disappointment figures heavily in this novel. Gerda is disappointed with both Lucius and Henry. Lucius and Henry are disappointed with themselves. Cato is disappointed by Beautiful Joe. John Forbes is disappointed with his two children, Cato and Collette. Doubt and disappointment. Couple them with fear and rationalization. Although uttered from Lucius' point of view, an interjection with its concise asperity is clearly Murdoch speaking: “But human beings are endlessly ingenious about promoting their own misery. Even in catastrophe mysterious barriers can isolate them, barriers of fear and egoism and suspicious and sheer stupid moral incompetence.” (Location 1180). Her pontifications are infrequent, as if finally attempting to reset the course of a rudderless ship.

Murdoch has a dry wit. A love scene between Henry and Stephanie seems cut from a Victorian melodrama. There is grabbing, a heaving bosom, and wild eyed stares. “Henry lowered his gaze, seeing how the linen curved over her rather large bosom, seeing her breathing. He looked down at her glistening black high-heeled shoes. He was reminded of the little elegant hooves of a young donkey.” (Location 2750) She employs Lucius for comedy as well. Dispatched by Gerda to smooth over relations with John Forbes, he totally bungles his mission. Lucius is such a pathetic character that the humor we derive never really feels cruel.

This is the second book by Iris Murdoch that I have read. I must admit that I have little appreciation for the philosophical and theological dilemmas she poses. The arguments are a bit beyond me. What I love is her masterful command of the English language.

NOTE:
I read this book on the Kindle. The highlighting and notes features were invaluable. However, the editing is non-existent. There are frequent shifts between the Cato sections and the Henry sections. Usually the shifts go unmarked — no double spacing, no line of asterisks, nothing. That was annoying.
Artwork:
Diana and Acteon by Titian: https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/re...
Works of Max Beckmann at the St. Louis Art Museum: http://emuseum.slam.org/people/263/ma...

[Samantha · Rating 5 out of 5]

I enjoy Iris Murdoch's novels so much! Oh, to get lost in these worlds alongside these idiosyncratic characters. Murdoch's immersive works are always a guaranteed win for me. I thoroughly enjoyed Henry and Cato.

Henry is an art-history professor who has grown to hate art. His childhood friend Cato is a priest who no longer believes in God. And Cato's younger sister Colette is a student who's just dropped out of college. When Henry's older brother Sandy dies, Henry flies back to England from the U.S., set to inherit Laxlinden Hall. His mother Gerda and her hanger-on Lucius nervously await what he'll do with the estate. Meanwhile, Cato is obsessed with a seventeen-year-old androgynous petty criminal known as Beautiful Joe. Cato tells himself he wants to help Joe find salvation while trying to deny that he's in love with him. And Colette returns home to Pennwood, the neighboring home to Laxlinden. Her disapproving father John is there, despairing of his children for respectively dropping out of college and joining the Church. The lives of these families and friends get all entangled, and the schemes of Beautiful Joe pull the knot encircling them tighter.

Henry and Cato examines questions of what constitutes success and goodness. Several characters lead disappointed lives; theirs are lives gone wrong, full of thwarted ambitions. They ponder settling vs. refusing to settle. They're often scared to try and to branch out so they grow resigned to their lot in life, until the riotous activity of this novel shakes them up. Henry longs for a fated destiny to sweep him along in an unstoppable current. Henry's a big fan of saying things are fated to justify his shitty behavior. At the start he thinks:

Was something going to happen in his life at last? Would he be called upon to make great choices, world-altering decisions? Would he be able to?

As in all her 3rd-person books (that I've read so far), there's a religious fanatic, obsessed by an all-consuming Catholicism. Through this character's fervent faith, we see religion as a mystical, transcendent experience providing the euphoria of a high. Henry and Cato showcases religion and blind devotion used to fill an existential hole in oneself, to blot everything out, and to cede control of one's life to a higher power & an institution. Murdoch fascinatingly explores all this: from complete acceptance to questioning to doubt to atheism to nihilism and beyond.

I always find many sentiments and feelings I can relate to in Murdoch characters. Henry and Cato offers deep character studies; even if you don't like certain characters, you become invested in them by gazing into their psyches and being trapped with them in their circumstances. Gerda is intimidating and imperious. Collette is idealistic, fanciful, and flighty. John is argumentative, ornery, and rigid in his thinking. Murdoch is hilarious writing bad haikus as Lucius, who thinks they're genius. Both Henry and Cato were stunted by the formative experiences of their unhappy childhoods—by abuse and feeling unloved. Henry and Cato each want to escape over the class divide by slumming it with their dependents. They both try to take advantage of a poor person beholden to them. They can both be wasteful, reckless, and refuse to listen to accounts of poverty. Instead, they've fetishized their fallen companions and the idea of having no money.

By using a myriad of sometimes contradictory descriptors before Henry's name throughout, Murdoch illustrates his malleability. He's not fully formed as a person; he's indecisive with low self-esteem. Then he evolves into a brute. With his inheritance, he's drunk on power and develops a reckless nihilism. The theme of feudalism runs throughout, of being dependent on others or keeping them dependent on you. Murdoch explores the male ego and the different kinds of misogyny most of the male characters are guilty of.

Murdoch excels at the atmospheric country house (see also: The Sea, The Sea, The Unicorn, A Severed Head) that feels like a living, breathing entity. I loved the descriptions of Laxlinden Hall, its beautiful furnishings, and the surrounding countryside. The evocative descriptions of art make it possible to see it in your mind's eye. A mood of suffocation and Henry's non-belonging hangs over the Hall as surely as the mist that hovers around the estate. The light & dark, the shifts in time of day, the landscape come into focus beautifully, like a film shot by a consummate cinematographer. (Speaking of, why aren't there more Iris Murdoch adaptations?! They're so rich with drama, psychology, and cinematic locations, they'd make for excellent productions!)

The beginning sections of this novel are so cleverly constructed, like Russian nesting dolls. There's a beautiful symmetry to the beginning and end. Henry and Cato has fantastic stretches of uninterrupted dialogue between two people. This provides a nice balance with the in-depth explorations of inner life and the meticulous descriptions of place. The twists and surprises are great; I was shocked more than once! The action and the climax had me sickly anxious to know the outcome.

Henry and Cato is an excellent entry in Iris Murdoch's oeuvre of unusual and engrossing novels. It's a very funny book. The emotions are rendered flawlessly. There are the trademark hard to define relationships. The characters' relations with each other are often uncategorizable. They're not cut and dry lovers or friends. There are no easy, typical mother/son or mentor/student dynamics. It's all complicated by shades of the unspoken, by conflicting impulses. There's the running theme of expecting others to fulfill certain roles for you; certain characters, like those who wish for Cato to remain a priest, do this with a certain arrogance. Iris Murdoch carries off this complex book with its multiple narratives and big cast of characters like a perfectly executed magic trick. Hats off to her!

[Atamoghani · Rating 4 out of 5]

هنری و کیتو دو نفرن که داستانشون به صورت جدا جلو میره و روایت میشه اما یه اشنایی و دوستی باهم دارن و یه جایی بهم میرسن. هنری بعد فوت برادرش داره به خونه و شهرشون برمیگرده چون وارث شده، کیتو هم به کشیش بودن رو اورده و داره باهاش دست و پنجه نرم میکنه که این وسط اتفاق ها و حتی دیالوگ های خوبی هم درجریانه
*مجلل ترین فکر لغزش در شادی را با خودش می آورد*

[Nancy · Rating 4 out of 5]

About once a year I need an Iris Murdoch "fix." Her books are dense, complex, often difficult to read, but always compelling and thought-provoking. This one is no exception.

Immersed in HENRY and CATO, I couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to know Iris Murdoch. Certainly, I wouldn't have had the intellectual gravity to appeal to her as a friend, but I would have loved to sit with her at a dinner party, or observe her at a departmental meeting. (I can imagine her contempt for most of the people she met).

Her writing appeals to me because she is bold enough to present characters with more flaws than virtues--and, often with such base motivations that I pause in shock when reading. It is rare to encounter an author who delves so seriously into man's soul. It is not an easy ride with her, but it is always thought-provoking.

I am a fan of series fiction---and, while Murdoch is certainly not an author who cranked out formulaic books for a hungry audience, she satisfies her most ardent readers by returning to the eternal theme of good vs. evil and the quest for understanding (of life, of the universe. . . . ) in most of her books. So, when you pick up a one of her books, you have an idea of where you're headed.

HENRY and CATO had a much more uplifting ending than most of her books---dare I say it was almost a happy ending ? But, it certainly doesn't leave the reader euphoric. Universal questions of faith are still unanswered. Characters act on base impulses rather than good ones. And, this reader was somewhat unsettled by it all. Yet, it was one of the most interesting books I've read this year and that is why I will continue to read Iris Murdoch.

[Luke Dahn · Rating 5 out of 5]

5 stars! What is this book about? What are all Murdoch novels about? I am reminded of the Cuckoo’s Nest group therapy scene in which Harding shouts out: “I’m not talking about one person, I’m talking about everybody. I’m talking about form, I’m talking about content. I’m talking about interrelationships. I’m talking about God, the Devil, Hell, Heaven! Do you understand?! Finally?”

Henry and Cato is seemingly about everything. It’s about faith, doubt, love, happiness, hatred, cruelty, deception, self-deception, art, life, and death. For someone who was apparently an atheist, Murdoch writes knowledgeably, interestingly, perceptively and even sympathetically about matters of religious faith. I remember the late Jewish philosopher Ted Cohen suggesting that books written by atheists like Hitchens demonstrate that the author "has no glimmer of what it would be like to be a religious person.” This could not be further from the truth in the case of Murdoch. Cato, an ordained priest who wrestles with his diminishing faith, learns that several others in his life rely on his religious devotion even though they themselves do not believe.

Art (often portrayed as a kind of substitute for religion) is also a thematic thread in this book. Henry, who is writing a book about the painter Max Beckmann, turns to art (namely Titian’s painting Diana and Actaeon) at the height of crisis: “Twenty minutes later Henry was sitting in front of Titian’s great picture. His violently beating heart was slowly calming a little. He kept his eyes fixed on the picture as in an activity of prayer.” (p.296) For Lucius, friend of Henry’s mother, poetry is a mechanism for coping with growing old.

If only, he [Lucius] thought, art does not finally fail me. If I can only go on writing something I shall be all right. Perhaps I could write my political autobiography as an epic poem? God, how the time has passed. How can a whole life time pass so quickly with so little done? I thought I would achieve wisdom in the end, and now it is the end and I am still a fool. Well, there’s life in the old creature yet. He took out his notebook and wrote:
The old grey heron
Seeks among the streams of his youth
For one pure source. (p.292)

This book solidifies Murdoch’s spot at the top of my shortlist of favorite writers.

[dale martin dean · Rating 4 out of 5]

I found this iris Murdoch novel strange at times. It starts with cato walking along a bridge he has a revolver on him and eventually chucks it into the river. An intriguing opening scene! Cato later becomes a Catholic priest much to his father's annoyance. He questions his faith quite frequently as he develops a love for beautiful Joe - a vicious seventeen year old petty criminal with bigger ambitions. Meanwhile Henry marshalson is on his way back to England from America to inherit laxlinden hall his ancestral home upon learning the death of his elder brother - Sandy. I was quite engrossed in the plot up to the second half of the book and then couldn't quite keep me intrigued as we learn more of Stephanie and cato's sister Colette. It is a book of questioning faith against the evils that men can do and the allure of money and wealth. Cato wanted to leave the priesthood because for one reason he loves Joe. Henry didn't want his wealth of inheritance of laxlinden hall and wanted a simpler life .I felt it was a book of two halves the first being intriguing and the second part stranger as it takes a violent turn. However I can see that the draw of money finalised people's fates. In fact as the saying goes most things go back to sex or money!

This is the second iris Murdoch novel I have read after reading the sea,the sea. I do think she was a terrific writer and I did thoroughly enjoy this novel however I felt the second part was slightly more diluted and ran out of ideas.

[Joan · Rating 5 out of 5]

I save five-star reviews for books about which I can say one of two things: that I will read them again, or that they both enriched and excited me. This book is in the latter category, and I will also say that if you're not already a fan of Iris Murdoch, don't start with this book...start with either "The Sea, the Sea" or "The Sacred and Profane Love Machine."

However, if you *are* already an admirer of Murdoch's, you'll know that she has created her own world, with a recurring Tarot deck of recognizable characters whom she deals out into different patterns to create stories. This book is no exception; we have the powerful virgin, the wayward androgynous adolescent boy, the aging failed creative, the Greek chorus/observer, and the beautiful older woman who finds that the currency with which she has been accustomed to buying her place in the world now has a counterfeit ring. These Murdoch-specific archetypes are no less compelling for being recognizable figures in her mythos, and it's always interesting to see how she sets them in motion. As with all of Murdoch's novels, the reader has a sense that she is a simmering volcano of ideas, and there is not world enough and time to even begin to fathom the depths of her capacity.

You're not allowed to write novels nowadays in the way this one is constructed, with the first 20% of the book being unintegrated exposition, an excellent example of telling rather than showing. It's a bit tedious, but if you like big ideas, you'll slog through it because you'll realize that this part is like the very careful construction of kindling for a perfect bonfire, and you'll want to see what happens when that sucker goes up in flames. You won't be disappointed; when the book really takes off, Murdoch throws on a can of gasoline and a handful of lit matches, and the explosion is heard for miles. A marvelous incorrect impression is given that this is in fact a refiner's fire, and one of the chief delights and distresses of this novel is the ways in which the characters undergo arcs that double back and leave them substantially where they started.

But to say more about this would be to ruin the story--and it's a good story, though this is primarily a novel of confrontational ideas, and it will madden and enlighten you. Stick with it, and you'll be unsettled and disturbed for weeks. I don't know about you, but I think that really good literature should shove you off-kilter. You can read for pleasure, and that's entirely valid; but you should also read to learn, and you rarely learn from something perfectly aligned with what you already know and believe. Murdoch will misalign you, and that's a great gift in the hands of a genius.

[Vel Veeter]

Iris Murdoch writes strange novels. There’s an element of the grotesque in them that is not quite the same as say a Gothic novel or especially an American novel, but her characters are often quite capable of true horrors and awfulness without the kind of severity and cruelty of a Heathcliff but also not with the kind of detached irony of a parodic or satirical one. On the other hand, characters like Charles Arrowby might just be the most cruelly ironic evil character I can imagine.

In this novel, though, it’s something in the middle of all that. We have Henry, recently returned to London to collect his birthright after the death of his brother Sandy and we have Cato, a struggling priest whose best efforts to let his cloth hide his suppressed homosexuality are failing. Henry’s and Cato’s have a past together, and as the title of the novel suggests, a future. We begin with a salacious scene of Cato throwing a hidden gun off a bridge into the river, which sets a kind of tone for the novel, but more so one of reversals than certainties.

As the novel progresses Henry is generally not a good person, but also not evil, and Cato is more complex and interesting than his initial few moments suggest. They become entangled as Beautiful Joe, a protege of Cato’s has his eyes on Henry’s money, and hatches a plan to win it. Henry, for his part, befriend, and then falls in love with Stephanie, his dead brother’s apparent fiance, while fending off Collette, Cato’s teen sister who falls for Henry.

All of this swirls and swirls to handful of climactic collisions.

The novel, then, is a kind of modernish and ironic sort of Brighton Rock (the novel by Graham Greene), without so much of the Catholic parts, and told not from the narrative perspective of Pinkie, the embodiment of lapsed evil, but from those around him. It’s an interesting book, and quite readable (some of her later novels are repetitive and tedious at times), but ultimately it never quite has the punch of say The Black Prince or absolute magic of The Sea The Sea.

[Persephone Abbott · Rating 4 out of 5]

By page 74 the plot is set. This is the fourth or fifth or maybe sixth Murdoch book I've read. It's very 1977. When I read it I could see 1977 in my mind rolling around like the "fancy" yellow Volvo and the 1977 NY Times review you can read online of the book is still very relevant. But somehow around page 74 I thought, I'm not interested in how this plot is going to be fought out. And then I asked myself "why?" after all Murdoch was a defender of Plato and believed that good would win over evil, and that one could better oneself. But of course I continued to read the novel and I laughed at the funny bits and of course it all ended up "okay" like a goofy soft light 1970's movie. Can love save the world? What love are we talking about? What is the definition of love? The characters were engaging, I liked them and I believed in them, it's just the neatness of the over riding moral discussion somewhat takes away from the charm of the story, but then I grew up in the 80's when "bad" was not longer "evil" and could turn the tables to win against the "good" which was no longer "saintly". I thought maybe Beautiful Joe should win perhaps in his creepy way, and I even feared it until I came to my senses and realized this was an Iris Murdoch book. I won't disagree with the quote on one of the front pages by Jacky Gillot from The Times who said, "Her (Murdoch's) gift for making ideas and action spread infinitely from a single point while retaining firm control of her overall pattern has rarely been more impressively displayed." Actually what fascinated me and kept my nose in the book was Murdoch's retelling of Platonic concepts, she's very clear about them.

[Basia Boroń · Rating 5 out of 5]

Jeśli podczas lektury lubicie utożsamiać się z jej bohaterami i kibicować swoim ulubionym postaciom to absolutnie nie sięgajcie po “Henryka i Kato”. No nie da się tutaj polubić nikogo, nawet tragicznie umarłego od pierwszych stron Sandy’ego Marshalsona.

Historia skupia się wokół dwóch tytułowych przyjaciół, Henryka Marshalsona, który po śmierci starszego brata odziedziczył cały rodzinny majątek w Laxlidnen, co bardzo mu się nie podoba i urządza domową rewolucję oraz Katona Forbes’a, który na przekór ojcu odnalazł swoje powołanie w kościele katolickim i został zakonnikiem, przez co cała wieś się go teraz wstydzi. Henryk i Kato są swoimi przeciwieństwami na każdej płaszczyźnie. Henryk nie przepracował na terapii swojego dzieciństwa i teraz próbuje ukarać matkę na wszelkie możliwe sposoby, jak burza biega między Londynem, a Laxlinden i niszczy wszystko co wiąże się z przeszłością, a Kato traci wiarę i pogrąża się w otchłani siedząc cały czas w swojej rozpadającej się misji. Po dosyć długiej i nudnawej expozycji bohaterów następuje nieoczekiwany zwrot akcji - Kato zostaje porwany przez swojego młodego kochanka.

To moja pierwsza przeczytana książka autorstwa Iris Murdoch. Znalazłam ją w biblioteczce na osiedlowym ogródku i wzięłam do domu. Bardzo mi się podobała (oczywiście mówię o książce, biblioteczka jest w opłakanym stanie, ostatnio odpadły od niej drzwiczki). Kilka tygodni wcześniej znalazłam też “Morze, morze”, na pewno przeczytam.

[Neil · Rating 5 out of 5]

I bought my copy of this book 21 years ago while in the UK for the first time, and I'm proud to say that I have finally read it. It feels like one of Murdoch's more chaotic narratives and it benefits from a third-person narrator who gives us access into the very bad decisions that the title characters, Henry and Cato, persist in making for most of the novel. My sense, coming back to Murdoch after awhile, is that her characters frequently learn, painfully, that their grand plans and ambitious projects are not possible and are, most likely, the product of self-centeredness and delusion. They end up figuring out that the path of least resistance is most likely the one that will make them happy, as happens with Henry here (though I won't say more). Highlights of this volume include Stephanie, Henry's brother's ex-lover with a secret, and Lucius Lamb, one of Henry's mother's friends who frequently writes terrible haikus in which he refers to the woman he loves as "the old girl." During a time when COVID-19 has forced us all to stay home, this book was a nice alternative because it was brimming with life's messy ridiculousness.

[Bruno · Rating 2 out of 5]

Despite featuring a conflicted young priest, an alleged ex-stripper, a kidnapping and a murder, this has been the least engaging Murdoch I've read so far.

[Max Bodach · Rating 5 out of 5]

A perfect little novel. Murdoch never ceases to surprise and delight with her understanding of form, structure, and the vicissitudes of the heart. A gem of a book, the best I’ve read this year.

[kristin conrad kilgallen · Rating 5 out of 5]

well, I thoroughly enjoyed that. reckon it’s likely the closest thing she ever wrote to a romance novel as well

[B. Rule · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book started with a lot of promise. I really enjoyed the first part, where Murdoch masterfully sketches the main characters and sets up the spiritual and psychological trials each will face. However, the second part veered towards melodrama where I had hoped for a tragedy (or at least a psychodrama), and it lost some of my attention.

Kidnappings, murder, and Jane Eyre-style marriage shenanigans aren't really what I'm looking for in a novel. Henry goes from anguished existentialist desiring to throw away his inheritance, to treacly-happy married man (with a slight hint that he's just playing a role). The plot allows him to do away with the charwoman who pretended to be his brother's lover, to whom he was engaged, without any real psychological or moral consequences. Weak. He marries his childhood friend who thirstily throws herself at him, only after she suffers a near-rape and mutilation which nonetheless seems to leave zero psychological scars. Does she get any real character arc or depth of character, you might ask? Nope! She's there as a faithful admirer and reward to Henry for a job well done, choosing the status quo.

Cato, a Catholic priest suffering a crisis of faith, kills a boy who is the object of his affection in a fit of righteous rage while protecting his sister from said near-rape. Sounds juicy for moral conflict, right? Nah, not really, because he's drugged up and at the time it was clearly a justified homicide, although later facts revealed maybe he didn't need to do it. A lot of the moral agency and the difficulties of the ethical choice are burred away by the way Murdoch sets things up. Cato ends up basically a broken man, but the reader finds it hard to sympathize given that his actions at the time were reasonable given the circumstances.

I prefer my characters to be caught upon the horns of a moral/philosophical dilemma, and while there's some of that, Murdoch never really puts the screws to them in a way that feels organic and necessary to their characters. The trials they face are too external, too sensational, and (some of) the endings too happy. That said, there are some great passages scattered throughout (chiefly in the earlier parts) talking about crises of faith, how to make life choices, and wrestling with your destiny (or just the accidents of birth). That stuff, I liked. Murdoch is also great at descriptions, offering very vivid depictions of the settings, and her dialogue is very well done. Although in the end this one didn't excite me too much, I would still read more by her.

[Mathiasquackenbush · Rating 5 out of 5]

Every couple years I treat myself to another novel from Iris Murdoch's blessedly prolific body of work. In typical Murdoch style, this was a rich, complex, masterfully-structured novel of striking yet subtle and deeply-human moral resonance. The death of a wealthy English heir creates chaos and uncertainty. Seemingly-fixed dynamics of wealth and power undergo a seismic shift, creating a space for dynamism and the potential for spiritual and emotional growth as well as for catastrophe. There's something in here about fate- not passive acceptance of a status quo, but active participation in the life we've been gifted, starting from where we truly are. The alternative, as Murdoch's characters show us, is being driven by the deeply-felt emotional narratives we may have uncritically accepted in the wake of early trauma- leading us to feel bound by ego fantasies that obscure the humanity of those people we objectify and cling to as necessary for fulfilling those fantasies and thereby righting the wrongs of the past. Murdoch's novel, besides being a beautifully, wittily-executed display of parallel character development, is a call to humility and human decency- to interrogate our motivations and values and keep re-orienting to the sacred opportunities for connection that abound and that we too often ignore or discount. There's so much in the book that I'm still trying to wrap my head around such that I almost feel like reading it again and may well do so.

[Carl · Rating 5 out of 5]

Loved it. It is written in 3rd person omniscient so descriptions of action and character motivations are trustworthy, even if far fetched. Many plum Murdoch-isms: Beginning scenes with reading a letter; remarkably sensitive and prescient understanding of same sex attraction; comedy from taboo subjects…”At night he took, in moderation, sleeping pills. Ever since childhood he had appreciated unconsciousness;” and a surefooted contempt for organized religion, “a seducing art…belonging to a big show, like joining the Communist Party, international brotherhood and history on your side and so on.”

Henry and Cato is both rom-com and Greek tragedy. Henry is the comic protagonist, discomfited by his love affairs, disaffected by his inherited wealth, and inflicted with wanderlust due to an unhappy childhood. We know he will find solutions to all his life’s problems by the end of the novel and live happily ever after. But how? is what keeps us going. Murdock’s resolution unfolds in the very last chapters, of course, like the spring mechanism of a puzzle box. So satisfying.

Cato is our tragic hero. He suffers from loss of faith in the gods, is powerless to relieve the suffering he surrounds himself with and ultimately, in Dionysian frenzy, kills the object of his desire. We see it coming, it is his fate, and savor every minute of Cato’s decline.

Onto the next novel.

[Antonia · Rating 3 out of 5]

In retrospect, I appreciate the psychological and philosophical depth of the novel, as well as its structure (the plot symmetry between Henry and Cato), though I didn’t always enjoy the read. I thought the writing excellent, but the book really didn’t grab me until about 60% of the way through when the story started to move. And from there on, I couldn’t read fast enough. The first 20% or so was especially tedious (though some of that’s probably due to it being in a style that’s less common today). Even though I did become engaged, I found the characters pretty hard to respond to. I’m not one of those who needs characters to be likable; in fact, I’m often drawn to characters others find off-putting. But in this book, all of the characters were pretty unappealing to me.

Great depictions of the natural world and long (too long) explorations of characters’ internal thoughts and agonizing deliberations (especially Cato). Very mixed feelings about this one. Overall, I guess I like thinking about it in retrospect more than I liked actually reading it. It’s the only Iris Murdoch novel I’ve read and I’m willing to try another, but can’t see myself blasting through her oeuvre.

[Gabi Coatsworth · Rating 2 out of 5]

I couldn't finish this book. I began by listening to the audio version and the reader was so expressionless that I couldn't listen to it. Then I tried to read it myself and just found the characters unappealing.

[Marzi Motlagh · Rating 1 out of 5]

ترجمه فااااجعه بود!! اسم این مترجم رو هرجا دیدین فرار کنین! یعنی هرچقدر از بدی ترجمه بگم کم گفتم. انقدر بده که میتونه گند بزنه به تصورتون از نویسنده.

دوستی دارم که کتابای آیریس مرداک رو به زبان اصلی خونده و بهم پیشنهاد داد بخونم. رفتم دیدم دوتا ترجمه ی فارسی ازش موجوده که هر دو کتاب رو این عزیز بی سواد ترجمه کرده. هنری و کیتو رو خریدم و وقتی شروع به خوندنش کردم کلی خورد توی ذوقم.
یه ترجمه ی ماشینی و خشک با جمله بندیای بی سر و ته! ببینید قلم مرداک کاملا فلسفیه و این مترجم خودش متوجه داستان نشده و اصلا صلاحیت ترجمه نداشته. اگر احیانا خواستید از این مترجم چیزی بخونید که اصلا پیشنهادش نمیکنم، میتونید نمونه ی کتاب رو از طاقچه یا سی بوک دانلود کنید تا کاملا متوجه حرفم بشید. حالا اگر بخش هایی از ترجمه رو با متن اصلی تطبیق بدید که دیگه سر به بیابون میذارید! متن اصلی توی گوگل هست و رایگان در دسترسه.

جالبه بدونید من هرجا که دنبال نظرات نسبت به کارای این مترجم بودم، بازخوردی ندیدم. حتی توی گودریدز ندیدم کاربر فارسی زبان کامنتی داده باشه. ولی توی طاقچه چند تا نظر بود که همش منفی. توی اینستا هم جز تبلیغ ناشر(نیماژ) و بلاگرای کتاب و خانواده و دوستانِ مترجم که تو کامنتا به به و چه چه الکی میکردن، هیچ بازخوردی ندیدم!

خلاصه که مترجم بد میتونه اینجوری گند بزنه به اعصاب آدم. روزم خراب شد و امیدوارم این تجربه ی تلخ هیچوقت تکرار نشه. همونطور که قبل از این برام پیش نیومده بود!

نکته ی مهم: از اونچه که تو نظرات کاربران گودریدز برمیاد، آیریس مرداک نویسنده ی خوبیه. و من منتظرم یه مترجم کاربلد بره سمتش تا با خیال راحت بخونم و ریویو بنویسم. این یک ستاره به خاطر ترجمه ی افتضاح بود نه به خاطر داستان. از این کتاب بیشتر از ۷۰ صفحه نتونستم بخونم و ترجیح دادم نذارم بیشتر از این تصورم از مرداک خراب شه.🍃