A man who has long been estranged from his mother, his brother, and the entire family finds himself reluctantly returning for the funeral of his mother. As soon as he sets foot back in that familiar place, he is immediately drawn back into a complex and dysfunctional web of inter-relationships, despite his best efforts to escape. It's as if the past has a vice-like grip on him and won't let go. Iris Murdoch does the "relationship web" thing so incredibly well. She has a remarkable ability to portray the intricacies and nuances of human relationships, the hidden emotions, the unspoken words, and the deep-seated conflicts that lie beneath the surface. In this story, we see how the man is caught in the middle of a web of family drama, unable to break free and move on with his life. It's a powerful and poignant exploration of the human condition.

The Classics

The world of literature is rich with various elements that capture our imagination. Among them are the concepts of existentialism, which delves into the profound questions of human existence. Dysfunctional families also form a common theme, revealing the complex dynamics within relationships. Detestable characters add an interesting layer, making us question our own moral compass.

Short novels and drama theatre are two mediums that effectively convey these ideas. They create an atmospheric ambience that draws the reader or viewer in. The Pre-Raphaelites, with their unique artistic style, also contribute to the overall aesthetic.

When thinking about these elements, authors like Dostoevsky, Kafka, Nietzsche, Angela Carter, and Emily Brontë come to mind. Their works explore the depths of the human condition and offer valuable insights into our lives. Reading their books can be a transformative experience, challenging our perspectives and expanding our understanding of the world.

A short Gothic drama exploring the conflict between hedonism and the ethical life, this was my seventh Murdoch novel. Alas, it is one of the less memorable ones, along with An Unofficial Rose and The Black Prince.

The narrator, Edmund Narraway, a forty-year-old engraver, arrives at the family home, a Victorian rectory in the North, on a moonlit night shortly after his mother's death. He is locked out, but fortunately, there is another night prowler, David Levkin, the apprentice to Edmund's drunken stonemason brother, Otto, who can let him in.

Edmund finds his mother Lydia's body laid out on her bed and recalls the almost Oedipal relationships she had with him and his brother. There are also hints of incest in Edmund's infatuation with his niece, Flora. Meanwhile, various characters are in love (or lust) with David and his peculiar sister, Elsa, who both live in the property's summer house. As in A Severed Head, the language of possession marks these shifting bonds as unhealthy and obsessive.

Murdoch often creates stark dichotomies between characters and situations. Here, Otto and Edmund serve as the two poles. "Otto's Gothic, you know," his wife Isabel tells Edmund. "He is the north. He's primitive, gross." In contrast, Edmund clings to the narrow path (as his surname suggests) of morality, taking a hard line on his niece's ethical dilemma and largely avoiding the sexual temptations that come his way. "You are a good man," Isabel tells him. "You are the assessor, the judge, the inspector, the liberator. You will clear us all up."

I found this setup a little too simplistic. The brothers are also referred to by the shorthand of "wet-lipped" and "dry-lipped." Additionally, the generalizing about Jews that bothered me in A Severed Head is worse here, with a whole chapter entitled "Two Kinds of Jew." Given the title, I was unsure what role Maggie, the latest in Lydia's series of Italian servants, is meant to play. She is virtually speechless until the final chapter and seems most like a nun.

A surprise will, a fire, and an interlude in an "enchanted wood" keep the story moving quickly. It is Murdoch's shortest novel, almost novella length. However, this mostly felt to me like an unnecessary reprise of A Severed Head (and perhaps The Unicorn, which I haven't read but know has a very Gothic atmosphere).

Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.

Twisted and weird but enjoyable nevertheless. This description perfectly encapsulates a certain experience or thing. It may have elements that are not conforming to the norm, perhaps even a bit off-kilter or strange. But therein lies its charm. The very qualities that make it seem twisted and weird also contribute to its appeal. It takes us out of our comfort zones and exposes us to something different, something that challenges our preconceived notions. Despite its oddities, it manages to bring a sense of enjoyment. Maybe it's the thrill of the unexpected, or the satisfaction of exploring the unknown. Whatever the reason, it shows that sometimes, the most interesting and fulfilling experiences are the ones that are a little bit twisted and weird.

Delicious drama, as is the case with all of Murdoch's works, is filled with hilarious running jokes and a plot that continuously unfolds with increasing complexities.

However, it has its drawbacks. It is rather short, set in a single location, and has a peculiarly limited perspective. The lead character seems to be somewhat skipping over the description of things, rapidly moving through a series of half-seen locales. Moreover, the description of music in the dialogue is not established in the prose, which gives a rather disjointed feel.

Overall, while it has its entertaining aspects, it also has these limitations that might make it more appealing to the completionists rather than the general audience.

Perhaps with a bit more development in terms of length, location variety, and a more detailed and cohesive description of the elements within the story, it could have been an even more engaging and satisfying drama.

I think I'm a bit surprised because this is the first book I read by Yazardan. Frankly, I don't even know what to think in the face of completely deteriorated family relationships. I guess the author's writing style is like this. Maybe it will be more understandable for me after reading his other books.

When I started reading this book, I was immediately drawn into the complex web of family dynamics. The characters and their interactions were so vividly described that I could almost picture them in front of me. However, as I delved deeper into the story, I found myself getting more and more confused. The relationships between the family members seemed so broken and dysfunctional that I had a hard time making sense of it all.

Despite my initial confusion, I'm still interested in reading more of Yazardan's work. I believe that each book is a unique exploration of human nature and relationships, and I'm eager to see what else he has to offer. Maybe with more exposure to his writing style, I'll be able to better understand and appreciate his stories.

What is truly remarkable are the typical Murdoch themes that are set within a gothic horror setting.

There is the unwed pregnant girl, the Christ figure, the loner narrator, and a person with questionable morals being called "master", among others. Halfway through, I started to suspect that this was a great big joke on her own writing, especially with chapter titles like "The Magical Brothel" or "Edmund is Tempted".

As I was reading this novel, it dawned on me that my love and use of the blank-o narrator, which for me is an unattached third person observing, and for Murdoch is the first person social misfit narrator, stems from the amazing amount of 19th century literature that I read as a teenager. This novel is based on that genre of books, perhaps even in a rough homage.

Nonetheless, I grew irritated with the story line and quickly finished the book with more disinterest than I would have thought possible for a Murdoch book in my hands. Still, I was compelled to finish it.

It seems that while the initial themes and setting were intriguing, the overall execution left something to be desired. The chapter titles, instead of adding to the mystery and allure, felt a bit too gimmicky.

Maybe Murdoch was trying to push the boundaries of her own writing or make a statement about the genre. However, for this reader, it didn't quite hit the mark.

Despite my disappointment, I can't deny that there were still some elements that kept me reading until the end.

Former glimpses of Murdoch's prose had indeed hinted at a certain grace and flow. However, to my great disappointment, I found that the majority of the language in this particular work is rather clunky and scans poorly. The visual details are extremely scant. While there are a few images that showcase a somewhat whimsical use of the imagination, by and large, most of them are colourless and uninteresting.

I made an earnest attempt to care about the characters. But alas, their problems seemed to alternate rather unevenly between the exotic and the mundane. There were no unique observations or enticing portrayals that could truly engage the reader. In fact, the whole book gave the impression of being a first-draft, lacking in polish and refinement.

Thankfully, this experience hasn't completely turned me off from reading more of Murdoch in the future. The reason being that most of the sources I've come across share the view that this is just a minor work of hers. I sincerely hope that her other books will prove to be more impressive and will showcase the true depth and talent that her prose is capable of.

I don't recommend this one if you want to start reading Iris Murdoch.

There are better choices available, such as Severed Head or Under The Net.

These two works offer a more accessible entry point into the world of Iris Murdoch's literature.

Severed Head presents a complex and engaging story that explores themes of identity, love, and morality.

Under The Net, on the other hand, is a humorous and thought-provoking novel that delves into the nature of art, philosophy, and human relationships.

Both of these books showcase Murdoch's unique writing style and her ability to create vivid and memorable characters.

So, if you're new to Iris Murdoch, I would suggest starting with either Severed Head or Under The Net to get a better sense of her literary genius.

You'll be glad you did.

Well, I finished it in 6 hours.

But really, it wasn't because it was amazing.

In fact, it was a rather challenging task that required a lot of focus and effort.

I had to work through several difficulties and obstacles along the way.

However, I refused to give up and kept pushing myself until I finally completed it.

Although it wasn't an easy feat, I feel a sense of accomplishment now that it's done.

I learned a lot from this experience and it has made me more determined to take on future challenges with confidence.

Overall, even though it wasn't an amazing experience in the traditional sense, it was still a valuable one that will stay with me for a long time.

The Italian Girl is the eighth novel in the chronological readalong of Iris Murdoch’s works that I’m taking part in (https://librofulltime.wordpress.com/t...). It brings to mind several of her earlier novels such as The Unicorn and A Severed Head.

Once again, we are presented with a cast of characters who are either thoroughly unlikable or lack sympathy. There are affairs, a teenager left to their own devices and the consequences that follow, beautiful countryside, a country house, dramatic scenes, and an air of enchantment.

Edward, the narrator who comes to the family home for the funeral of his mother Lydia, is an insipid, naive, and moralistic man. He denies judging the rest of the family while doing precisely that, and his behavior is, morally speaking, no better than theirs. His response to Flora, in particular, borders on incestuous.

Although Otto and Isabel, his brother and sister-in-law, are flawed fairytale-like figures – Otto the hulking simple giant and Isabel the princess locked away in her castle like Hannah in The Unicorn – they are more honest in giving in to and accepting their passions. In contrast, Edward is hypocritical and uptight, especially at the beginning of the novel when he tries to distance himself from the family, saying he is ‘only a passer-by’.

Edward’s own intimate relationships have been rather disastrous, and he seems to view women as types. Despite mourning the fact that he wasn’t raised with religion, he often has a puritanical attitude towards the behavior of others, which is ironic considering they are expecting him to assess, liberate, and heal them.

Edward’s instinct is to shy away from ‘emotion and pistol shots’, which are reminiscent of his controlling mother. Meanwhile, Isabel, Otto, and Flora all crave excitement and passion. Eventually, he too falls under some kind of spell that forces him to stay, yet he is constantly being shocked by everyone around him, like some repressed priest. Even women fighting makes him nauseated!

Although the title of the novel is The Italian Girl, Maggie, who is the last in a line of Italian nannies for the brothers, seems to quietly inhabit the background. It is the other female characters who move across the emotional scale from one extreme to the other and fall victim to Edward’s stereotypical views on women.

He describes Isabel as a ‘distraught nymph’ and a ‘harlot’, and David’s sister Elsa as both ‘beautiful as a veiled girl’ and ‘a sorceress and a prostitute’ and a ‘greasy enchantress’. For the reader, she remains veiled, and we don’t get a sense of her like we do Flora or Isabel. She seems simply a catalyst for change in the novel.

Flora, on the other hand, is one of Murdoch’s disturbed and neglected teenagers who flits in and out of the novel and has to fend for herself while her mother Isabel surrounds herself with possessions and fire as a form of self-sacrifice or protection from Lydia and Otto. Along with Elsa, these two are colorful and vibrant in their hair and clothes, while Maggie is plain and ‘anonymous’. Only when her hair is cut like Samson does she, conversely, gain power and a voice.

Apart from the four women and Edward, there are only two other characters. Otto stands in stark contrast to Edward as a passionate and ID-driven hulk with his stained clothes, animal-like eating habits, and persistent dreams of persecution, which provide moments of humor. And David, his apprentice, is a strange and creepy young man who calls Otto his ‘Lord’ and seems one minute to be his Lord’s fool and the next his pimp.

There are several dramatic scenes in the book, which often occur in Murdoch novels. Several of these involve the garden and the ‘Henri Rousseau’ like jungle, which I’m sure whole essays could be written about. There is a chase and several plans that fail, and Edward even manages to behave honorably and honestly by the end. Apparently, he has had his eyes opened to the realities of the world, although the ending of the novel with him and Maggie has an almost fairytale element to it.

Although this novel isn’t as entrenched in the gothic or fairy tale atmosphere of The Unicorn, there is the impression that Otto, Flora, and Isabel were enchanted by David and his sister, the ‘changelings’, who have taken the place of Lydia, who had the entire household in her grip.

The novel seems over and done with very quickly – this is one of Murdoch’s shorter novels. Lydia seems to have been thoroughly exorcised from the house and family, and everyone is moving on with their lives as the veil has been lifted and the drama is over. Although this is one of her slighter books, there is still that indelible Murdoch writing and the spot-on characterization that makes this, though not one of the strongest of her books I’ve read so far, still an enjoyable read.

Some Murdochian lines
‘her face has aged in that imperceptible way, becoming yellower or greyer, as if a fine gauze of frowning and anxiety had been pressed upon it.’

‘there are, I suppose, always for unhappy women many good reasons for bearing the devil they know rather than seeking the other one.’

‘I felt for a second some sympathy with Otto’s view that irony ought to be grounds for divorce.’

What is the term equivalent to "white trash" for the Brits? Well, I don't know.

But here is a menagerie rife with those interesting, yet devastatingly bleak individuals. They are all mad, and they've all taken X. "Beauty is such self-forgetting" (47) indeed. And this is a brilliant and breathtaking family portrait, so very post-Victorian Jerry Springer filthiness!

First off, the strongly redolent, very judgmental narrator (and weakling) Edmund becomes immediately attractive to any reader who often ventures out of a definite comfort zone to stray off into the world's dark undercarriage. And the plot: He finds himself in a mad dream inhabited by imps, by more doubles and doppelgangers than any possible reader could possibly want. The protagonist, like the reader himself, is faced with too much information too soon to possibly fit all too neatly in his restricted view and awestruck mind. He must work out all the cogs in the machine before the orchestra fully unfurls before him.

Lastly, the pace is ominous and foreboding, all of it frosting in an evenly-frosted delicious morsel. (Respect the gods of the almighty novella!) It arrives from the same stratosphere of the macabre as American Hawthorne's "The Blithedale Romance."

There is a commendable and dire need to be anti-Victorian with the superb Murdoch. It's vile and cool in equal measure. The erotic siblings, the not-too discreet lovers, all vicious and dripping in sex. Well, it is all one huge cochinada (pigstyish) maelstrom!