She did not know herself. It was not possible, it was not necessary, it was perhaps not even proper. Real compassion is agnosticism; and we must be compassionate to ourselves too. Tasks lay ahead, one after one after one, and the gradual return to an old simplicity. She would never know, and that would be her way of surviving.

She was in a state of self-ignorance, a condition that seemed both impossible and unnecessary, and perhaps not even appropriate. True compassion involves a certain degree of agnosticism, and we should also be kind to ourselves. There were numerous tasks waiting in line, one after another, and a slow return to an old-fashioned simplicity. She would never understand, and this would be her means of survival.

The character of An Unofficial Rose has transition as its key trait, but it's difficult to know if it's a virtue or a vice. Among Iris Murdoch's published works, it sits between her earlier The Bell and later The Italian Girl. In reviewing those, I characterised them as "stirred and uncaged" and "stolidly and rigidified" works, respectively. But there are three books in between those two, and An Unofficial Rose is only the second and central of these. That gives me to wonder if it ought to be thought of as an increase and whether the change for Murdoch has been sudden or gradual.

There is a new sympathy: what previously called for comic treatment is more softly delineated and the happy picked out from the sad. Themes are that familiar couple, Love and Goodness. For Murdoch, these have to be married by a third, Vision (or Attention). So, this is a number of linked ceremonies - all interrupted. The ideas and play do achieve their vibrancy and volume, but the voice of these within the festivities is mute in all but the concluding toast. Still, the toast is memorable. It lingers in the mind, leaving a lasting impression of the complex and nuanced world that Murdoch has created in this novel.

Overall, An Unofficial Rose is a thought-provoking work that challenges readers to consider the nature of change, compassion, and the relationship between love, goodness, and vision. It is a testament to Murdoch's skill as a writer and her ability to create characters and stories that are both engaging and profound.

Love will come unnoticed when you do not expect it at all.

Whether through the hardships of suffering or during those times when it seems as if your entire life is being lived completely without love, and then, at the sunset of the years, it arrives like a bolt from the blue, knocking on your door.

Love comes in different forms, with different sensations, and at different ages. We have no control over this real feeling that can suddenly take the ground from under our feet.

The lives of completely different people, perhaps those who have already lost their belief in miracles and fate, will, sooner or later, be compelled to open their hearts to a genuine feeling. Only those who have lost hope and faith in love will resist this.

So, who is this book for? It's an easy read that simply reminds us that love is very close. Sometimes, we just need to close our eyes and allow ourselves to move towards something special, without losing time.

If you have a penchant for romance and are interested in peering into the lives of others, those who have lost their time but found the strength within themselves to say "yes" to love, then this book is for you.

However, for me, unfortunately, it only merits a C grade. The feelings it evoked were not overwhelming, and not a single tear was shed.

But perhaps for others, it will be a different story, and they will find themselves deeply moved by the power of love as presented in these pages.

This is indeed Iris Murdoch, presenting a highly perceptive observation of a dozen unhappy and stodgy British individuals (along with one visiting Australian) in the post-war era of the 1950s. The group is each firmly set in their ways, genetically and romantically intertwined over the decades. Their entanglements are both vicious and painful. Hugh, the patriarch of half the cast, loves a Tintoretto as much as his family. Murdoch meticulously analyzes each of these tortured souls, leaving no stone unturned and allowing no room to question her diagnoses. Well, they are her creations after all! (I might have been more lenient!)

The characters and their actions seem dated and almost unimaginable in the present. They are very insular and of the near upper class in Britain, with London flats and servants in their country homes. Sadly, there is no glimmer of light anywhere, despite Murdoch's beautifully described settings with light. The first chapter has been praised as masterful – all the characters are neatly introduced at a funeral – and indeed it captured my attention. However, all these potentially nice people end up with their emotions spiraling out of control and ruining their equanimity.

It's an easy read – it's Murdoch, after all – but it feels too long (even though it's only 287 pages!). The author could never quite determine which conniving woman was responsible for the dark entanglements; she finally settles on the youngest cast member – which I think is hardly fair (I object!). As I mentioned earlier, Murdoch has no pity and no room for alternate explanations for her characters. Escaping to Delhi (!) is the only way out.

This is not top-notch Murdoch. Her magnificent work, The Sea, The Sea, comes 15 years later.

Finally, I finished reading this dull book.

It's not in my habits to throw a book halfway, and perhaps I was hoping for an interesting turn all along.

There are too many names, overly burdensome descriptions, and too many neurotic and unhealthy characters.

The story seems to drag on and on without much excitement or real depth.

I found myself constantly losing interest and having to force myself to keep reading.

Maybe it's just not the right book for me, but I can't help but feel a bit disappointed.

I was looking forward to a captivating read, but instead, I got this rather lackluster experience.

Oh well, at least I can now move on to something else and hope for a better literary adventure.

Another satisfying read.

Here, the author skillfully manipulates the characters, taking the readers on a journey of philosophical explorations. The dialogues are engaging and thought-provoking, adding depth and authenticity to the story.

One thing is certain: when reading Murdoch, one doesn't focus solely on the plot. Instead, it's the unique way she crafts her characters and presents her philosophical ideas that make the reading experience truly interesting.

Murdoch's works have a certain charm that draws readers in and makes them want to explore the deeper meanings hidden within the text. Her ability to create complex and multi-dimensional characters, along with her profound insights into human nature and the human condition, is what sets her apart as a remarkable writer.

Whether you're a fan of literature or simply looking for a good read, Murdoch's works are definitely worth checking out. You're sure to be captivated by her writing and inspired by her ideas.

A really unpleasant, yet still readable novel.

This is my very first encounter with Iris Murdoch. To be honest, I quite enjoyed being tickled by this rather malicious author.

The ending, however, is a little bit hasty. I didn't really like the short-circuited attitudes of the persons in love. It seems to be a modern malady of aromantic sex.

But as a whole, I truly admire her depictions. They don't include explicit revelations but are filled with sinister wit and a caricature of the good old days.

Her writing style is unique and engaging, making it difficult to put the book down. Although the story may not be to everyone's taste, it definitely has its own charm and吸引力.

I look forward to exploring more of Iris Murdoch's works in the future and seeing what other surprises she has in store for her readers.

Hhhmmm... I'm currently having a rather problematic relationship with Iris Murdoch.

The first books of hers that I delved into were The Bell and The Sea, the Sea. In these works, I discovered numerous aspects that I liked, loved, or at least admired. However, since then, it has become increasingly difficult.

This novel is indeed detailed and clever, boasting a superb analysis of characters and a terrific use of place. Nevertheless, the 'bad' characters are bad in truly nasty, manipulative, selfish, and destructive ways, which makes them completely unsympathetic. On the other hand, the 'good' characters are weak and often defeated by their own traits as much as by those of the bad characters pitted against them. There are very few characters to actually like, and any happy endings for those who deserve them arrive late and are rather meagre. It's definitely not a form of escapism.

Nonetheless, I can't deny that it is well-written and true to life. It's just that there are so many other things happening in life that I would much rather read about, or that would at least add a bit of excitement to an otherwise rather dreary story.

Oh dear.

This is the first Murdoch that I didn't manage to finish.

I'm not entirely certain whether I've simply outgrown her writing or if this particular work just isn't one of her better efforts.

There are some truly typical, excellent, and sharp-witted dialogues within the story. These exchanges showcase her talent for creating engaging and intelligent conversations between the characters.

However, there is also a significant amount of what feels like immature, repressed, and oh so English bla bla drama. It seems that there is an overabundance of this latter aspect, which detracts from the overall enjoyment of the book.

Perhaps if there had been a better balance between the sharp dialogue and the more subdued drama, I might have been more inclined to see the story through to the end.

As it stands, I'm left with a somewhat mixed impression of this particular Murdoch novel.

My god, but this book was truly interminable. It is of medium length, consisting of 280-odd pages, yet it took me a full two weeks to drag myself through it. The sole reason I read it at all was that it was part of a compendium of critiques in a book I have by AS Byatt, and I wanted to have this read for the sake of completion. It completely baffles me as to why it was included as a good example of anything, especially when pitted against masterpieces like Mansfield Park, Villette, Beloved, and The Professor’s House. Maybe this is the best of Murdoch’s work? I’ve only read The Sea, The Sea, literally decades ago, and all I recall of it was that I liked it better than Banville’s The Sea.

The plot, such as it is, involves three so-called ‘love’ stories. Hugh rekindles a romance with his mistress Emma after the death of his wife. Hugh’s son Randall runs off with Emma’s companion, Lindsay, perhaps because paid companions were still a thing in the sixties. And Hugh’s teenage grandson Penn, visiting from Australia, falls in love with his FIRST COUSIN Miranda, Randall’s daughter. Much is made of the fact that no one seems to know what age Miranda is; she still plays with dolls, but she’s old enough that Penn being ‘in love’ with her is considered reasonable, if funny, by the adults. The object of Miranda’s fevered affections is in fact her rejected mother Ann’s longtime suitor-in-the-shadows, Felix, who is also brother to Mildred, who’s been in love with Hugh for years. It’s implied that Mildred’s confirmed homosexual husband Humphrey has some kind of liaison – platonic, hopefully, but possibly not – with Penn, who is fifteen, and Humphrey, who is in his fifties. Considerations of age gaps, power imbalances, and emotional maturity matter not a whit to Murdoch.

Then there’s this incredibly weird plot point about a Tintoretto that Hugh inherited from his dead wife. Randall demands that Hugh sell it so he can give the proceeds to Randall to finance his running off with Lindsay, which HUGH ACTUALLY DOES. It’s absolutely wild. Never mind that none of this money goes to Hugh’s other child, or to his grandchildren, or to Randall’s wife Ann, who is left running HIS rose-farm business alone in his absence. Never mind that Randall is a raging alcoholic who is literally going to piss this money away. Hugh thinks this is the ‘artistic’ thing to do, and Randall thinks ‘committing crimes’ is a good way to achieve happiness – even though what he did isn’t actually a crime; it’s just disgusting and repugnant.

The writing is so interior and circuitous. Ann worries about her marriage, Randall blames Ann for stifling him, Mildred pines for Hugh, Felix pines for Ann. Yet they never take any care or consideration for the relationships they do have. Ann barely parents her child and nephew, and Randall is even worse. Hugh washes his hands of all his relations in the most weaselly fashion possible. They’re all awful people to spend time with, but not in any grand artistic supervillain sense. They just all suck in rather boring little ways. And who in their right mind calls a cat HATFIELD?

I love Iris Murdoch.

Her works are like a magical realm that draws me in and holds me captive.

Murdoch's writing is characterized by its profound exploration of human nature, morality, and the complex web of relationships.

She has the ability to create vivid and multi-dimensional characters that seem to leap off the page and into our hearts.

Each of her novels is a journey of self-discovery and a meditation on the meaning of life.

I am constantly amazed by her insights and the depth of her understanding.

Whether it's the philosophical discussions or the emotional turmoil of her characters, Murdoch's writing always manages to touch me on a deep level.

I love the way she weaves together different themes and ideas, creating a rich and textured narrative that keeps me engaged from start to finish.

Iris Murdoch is truly a literary genius, and I feel privileged to have discovered her works.

I'm still deeply pondering over An Unofficial Rose. It's merely my second encounter with Iris Murdoch's works, and based on these two that I've read, I'm not entirely certain if I'm inclined to explore further.

The characters within this story form a rather peculiar blend, engaging in actions that appear irrational. I struggle to think of a single one who seems like a normal, well-adjusted individual. Perhaps the closest might be 15-year-old Penn, an Australian boy visiting his English relatives. Even he, however, has inexplicably fallen in love with his 14-year-old cousin, Miranda, a particularly disagreeable young girl who enjoys playing with dolls and decapitating them when the mood strikes.

Miranda is the child of Randall and Ann, an oddly matched married couple who seemingly no longer communicate yet somehow manage to coexist well enough to operate a rose nursery and reside in what appears to be a large, rambling country house. Then there's Hugh, the father of Randall, whose wife, Fanny, has just passed away. There's also Hugh's former lover, Emma, and Emma's companion, Lindsay. Mildred, who is in love with Hugh, and Felix, Mildred's brother who loves Ann from afar. Oh, and let's not forget Humphrey, who is married to Mildred and wants to take Penn to London.

When Randall abandons Ann to run off with Lindsay, I initially thought it might be a stroke of good fortune for Ann, as it turns out she is also in love with Felix, and Randall certainly has no redeeming qualities, unlike poor Felix, who is the very embodiment of an English gentleman. The plot is driven by a complex web of unwise and seemingly illogical decisions and actions. Hugh sells his Tintoretto painting, which enables Randall to leave Ann. Lindsay leaves Emma for Randall. Miranda jumps from a tree. Ann remains passive and rejects Felix. In the end, it didn't really seem to lead anywhere, leaving me feeling rather confused.

Overall, while there were certain aspects of the story that intrigued me, the lack of a clear resolution and the preponderance of seemingly random and illogical events left me with a sense of dissatisfaction. I'm not sure if this is typical of Iris Murdoch's writing or if it was just a quirk of this particular novel. I'll have to give it some more thought before deciding whether to venture further into her body of work.

Zo rond mijn twintigste raakte ik verslingerd aan de boeken van Iris Murdoch. Haar works truly fascinated me with their unexpected yet logical plot twists. It was as if she had the ability to lead the readers down a path that seemed ordinary at first, only to suddenly take a sharp turn and reveal a whole new world of possibilities. The love for her books endured until I started to find them a bit too meandering.

Van "Een wilde roos", dat ik in de begintijd moet hebben gelezen, herinner ik me niets. However, I do recognize the atmosphere of a small, prosperous social circle in the British countryside that is dealing with its own internal conflicts and interpersonal relationships. Back then, I thought it was beautiful. But now, I find that the protagonists, no matter how intellectually or socially successful they may be, often behave more like teenagers or adolescents. It's rather childish, to be honest.

This evolution in my perception of Murdoch's works reflects my own growth and changing perspective over the years. While I still appreciate her unique writing style and the depth of her characters, I can't help but notice the aspects that I now find less appealing. Nevertheless, her books will always hold a special place in my literary journey.