About 30 pages into the book, I found myself thinking, "Damn, this is going to be a tough read." However, I knew I had to persevere as it had been selected by my book club. Surprisingly, as I continued reading, it began to draw me in. I have never come across such a collection of wretched characters before. What I really liked was the way the author alternated between prose, letters, and the party one-liners. There is so much happening in the novel, yet there doesn't seem to be a clear and straightforward plot. Nevertheless, I am still looking forward to discussing this book with my book club. I'm curious to hear what others think about the characters, the writing style, and the overall message of the story. It will be interesting to see if we all have the same perspective or if there are different interpretations. I'm sure the discussion will be lively and engaging, and I can't wait to participate.

I didn't know how to understand it. There was no emotional impact from what had been the most interesting all along. I realized I still had to read the introduction to An Accidental Man. I hadn't wanted to read it beforehand to avoid influencing my innocent perspective.

As I was reading, I must have known which character failed the moral test when watching two strangers stab another. But by the time I finished, I was attributing the failure to another character. I've done that before, confusing two characters. However, Murdoch was very good at distinguishing each of her numerous characters, so the fault is mine.

Except that the better character wasn't that great either, or I wasn't sure the dilemma he faced was fairly presented and could have been motivated by what I was wrongly attributing to him. I scanned through the book to make sure the introducer was right and I was wrong.

I wasn't sure how I would behave if I saw two men stabbing a third. One doesn't know how one might instinctively react, and it is an instinctive reaction in the first place. I've said, "Stop that!" when seeing someone hit someone else, thinking I'd then have to act if he didn't, so I'm guessing I might have done the same on an American city street.

I'm much less likely to go over and shake the hands of protesters in a Soviet society and get involved and be needlessly arrested myself. The better character had committed himself to another and had second thoughts. So what? He's entitled to. I find it less convincing that he should therefore do what he decides to do because it's good. Is it really? Isn't it stupid? He himself doesn't think he's such a great man. He's not.

I found myself anticipating what the author would have the character do next, not just that character but also what others would do next or what would be done to them due to the exigency of the plot. It took me a while to figure it out.

There's an intricate philosophical discussion that clarifies things for him, but I'm not sure I followed it successfully. It has something to do with a link where God would be if He existed but doesn't, yet the link still holds. It seems like a shaky argument to me unless you take it a step further, which Murdoch doesn't, and conclude that the God who doesn't exist was a projection of that good in the first place.

Murdoch is putting herself in the position of God, which makes sense of the rationale of the book, that of the omniscient author monitoring her characters, distancing them a little from the reader and herself almost coming through the text transparently. This distancing is furthered by the artistry exhibited in chapters of letters and social dialogue.

I was just thinking she doesn't do working-class characters when she did, quite effectively, though I doubted she'd ever have one as a hero or anti-hero. The introducer says she was responding to criticism that she never did.

It's funny: 'they took Dorina's description and promised to let the family know if she turned up drowned.'

I was surprised she couldn't spell 'lachrymose'.

One quotation is from Milton, the other apparently from a Sophoclean fragment I don't have but is approximately if love's there, only love is. The letter writer would assume the recipient understood, so any auctorial translation would be crass.

I've thought, from her peppering the book with 'accident' and the accidents she's plotted, given the rationale, that she's demonstrating the compatibility of free will with God's, which would work through accidents etc. But she'd need to invoke the unconscious for that, something that's part of the whole character if not evident, and she doesn't do that. Neither, for that matter, does Shakespeare in Hamlet.

Some in my book club had the opinion that the title character was evil and horrible. They seemed to view him in a very one-sided way, only seeing the negative aspects of his actions and personality.

However, I held a different perspective. I believed that he was a compelling character. There was something about him that drew me in and made me want to understand more about his motives and the forces that shaped him.

I also thought that he was misunderstood. Perhaps the other members of the book club didn't take the time to look beyond the surface and see the deeper layers of his character. Maybe they were too quick to judge based on the initial impressions.

In my view, the title character was a complex and multi-faceted individual, and it was this complexity that made him so interesting and worthy of discussion. I was glad that I had the opportunity to share my thoughts with the rest of the club and engage in a lively debate about this fascinating character.

I don't believe I've read Story One from Murdoch before. So this is a first for me. It's a paperback version from 1971, dedicated to Kreisel.

On the cover, it says "a scintillating novel of fate, accidents and moral dilemmas." Umm, I'll read this despite the cover blurb.

She has quite a long list of stories, it seems like 20 or more, along with a couple of works of non-fiction. The story begins with "Gracie, darling, will you marry me?" and Gracie replies "yes." Ludwig Leferrier stares down at the small, calm, radiant, unsmiling face of Gracie Tisbourne. He wonders if the girl is joking. It's quite possible. Oh lord.

"Look, Gracie, are you serious?" he asks. She says "yes" again. "But I mean--" he starts, and she cuts in with "of course if you want to back out of it--"

Okay then, as the good doctor said, onward and upward.

There are updates along the way. At the page-62 mark, on 27 Jul 12, Friday evening, 8:32 p.m. E.S.T., we have a list of characters. Gracie Tisbourne becomes engaged to Ludwig. Ludwig is an American in England who doesn't want to fight in the American war. There's Mitzi "Margaret" Ricardo, 35 years old, where Ludwig rooms. Sebastian is a name of a man who won't marry Gracie. Clara Tisbourne is Gracie's mother and sister of Charlotte Ledgard. George Tisbourne is Clara's husband. Patrick is Gracie's homosexual brother away at school. Garth Gibson Grey will be the best man for Ludwig. Austin Gibson Grey is the accidental man. Charlotte Ledgard is the sister of Clara. Mavis Argyll, age 50, is the sister of Dorina. Matthew is Austin's older brother. Dorina looks 18 and is Mavis's sister and perhaps Austin's 2nd wife. Mr. Bransome is Austin's boss who lets him go. Miss Waterhouse works with Austin and Bransome. Junior also works with them. There's Mr. O. "Owen" Secombe-Hughes. Betty is Austin's deceased 1st wife. Doctor Seldon tends to Alison Ledgard. Nurse Mahoney also tends to Alison Ledgard. Alison Ledgard dies by page 62 or earlier. Pearl is a maid no longer tending house for the Ledgards. Father Minnell is an R.C. priest. Mr. Enstone is the local parson. Treece is the Ledgard family solicitor who is asked for at the end but not available. There's Mrs. Carberry and her 10-year-old retarded son Ronald, one of 5 children. Walter might be Mr. Carberry.

The brief synopsis of what's happening to page 62 is that Gracie and Ludwig are engaged and planning. Austin has been sacked at work. Mitzi, due to a single moment, is single, 6'1", owed money, and invites Austin to live in one of her rooms. Alison Ledgard dies, and Clara and her husband believe they will get the family home while Charlotte believes it's hers. The old lady dies before the solicitor can be brought to her, and a priest and a parson are tending to her in the meantime.

At page 179 of 446, on 28 Jul 12, Saturday evening, 8:22 p.m. E.S.T., Murdoch has sections of narrative composed of letters written by most, if not all, of the characters. The 3rd section begins here. The 2nd section was more like notes. It's an interesting narrative device. Patrick, Gracie's brother, is only seen through letters between the two. He tells her of his desire for the same sex and signs the first letter "Petroclus Tiresias Tisbourne" from the Iliad. Garth, a writer it would seem, lost a novel manuscript. He saw two P.R. beat/kill a black man in NYC and walked on without feeling guilt. The novel was about this scene. There seems to be bad blood between Matthew and Austin. Austin believes his 1st wife, Betty, committed suicide, and there are hints that he may suspect something between Matthew and Betty, but it's not fully developed yet. There's a scene where Austin hallucinates that Matthew is in a telephone booth and wants to report a murder. Murdoch also uses dreams in the story, which is nice.

On 29 Jul 12, Sunday evening, 9:45 p.m. E.S.T., when it's all said and done, Murdoch throws a party and has them all write letters. This is an interesting way to bookend the sections of the story. The character list above is not complete, and there are a half-dozen or more additional characters, most of them minor. A dog, a black lab named Pyrrhus who has had three other names prior, makes a brief appearance. I'd be curious to read more from Murdoch, maybe one of her later or earlier stories to see how they compare. This one was a bit of a task to get into as I didn't think much of the characters at first, but I suspect that's the point.

A Murdoch treasure.

The lead characters in this work are plunged into a whirlwind of various experiences. There are tragedies that tug at the heartstrings, moments of humour that bring a smile, opportunities that seem to offer hope, and absurdities that make one question the nature of reality. The story unfolds with elements such as novel writing, a bathtub suicide attempt, dodging the draft, engagements, and comas.

It serves as a sharp criticism on the common vanity that we all share. It shows how our own selves can only extend a limited amount of sympathy to others. The letter writing sequences in particular capture this sentiment and revelation with great precision.

Moreover, the doubling within this novel is a source of delight. It is unexpected, not strictly necessary, but is timed to perfection. It adds an extra layer of complexity and intrigue to the already rich tapestry of the story, making it a truly engaging and thought-provoking read.

Overall, this work is a gem that showcases the author's talent for creating a vivid and engaging world filled with memorable characters and events.

This rather obscure book penned by Murdoch first came to my notice through a NYT article that was centered around 'the funniest book I've read' and accompanied by several responses from various writers. The typical and well-known choices were present, but I had never before heard of 'An Accidental Man'. In fact, I even faced difficulties in locating a copy. Eventually, I turned to Alibris and managed to obtain a used copy, which was complete with penciled notes in the margin, clearly indicating a student's thoughts and interpretations.

The book, to my pleasant surprise, is indeed quite funny! I found myself thoroughly enjoying the quick blurbs as Murdoch skillfully exposes the complex and often comical relationships of approximately 20 or so people within this London society circle. However, at 425 pages, the book is a bit on the long side in certain parts. It could have benefited from some careful editing to improve the pacing. Nevertheless, despite having to wade through those slower sections, the rest of the book more than makes up for it. The humor, the characters, and the overall narrative make it a worthwhile read.

All the philosophy detracts more than it adds.

Philosophy is often regarded as a profound and thought-provoking field that aims to explore the fundamental questions of existence, knowledge, and values. However, upon closer examination, one may argue that the contributions of philosophy are not as significant as they are often made out to be.

On one hand, philosophy has given us many important concepts and ideas that have influenced various aspects of our lives. For example, ethical theories help us to make moral decisions, and epistemological inquiries have enhanced our understanding of how we acquire knowledge.

On the other hand, philosophy can also be overly abstract and theoretical, leading to endless debates and discussions that do not always result in practical solutions. Moreover, different philosophical schools of thought often contradict each other, making it difficult for us to determine which ideas are truly valid.

In addition to philosophy, there are also lots of fun stylistic experiments. These experiments can take many forms, such as exploring different literary genres, playing with language and grammar, or creating unique visual artworks.

Stylistic experiments allow us to break free from the constraints of traditional forms and express ourselves in new and creative ways. They can also help us to discover new perspectives and ways of seeing the world.

Whether it is through philosophy or stylistic experiments, we are constantly seeking to expand our knowledge and understanding of the world around us. While philosophy may have its limitations, it still plays an important role in our intellectual and cultural development. And stylistic experiments offer us a fun and exciting way to explore our creativity and express ourselves in unique ways.

So, let us continue to engage with both philosophy and stylistic experiments, and see where they take us on our journey of discovery.

“Beyond the bounds of normal order and duty, there is nothing but chaos.”

Before us is the fourteenth novel of a classic of English literature, the recipient of numerous awards and titles, the former passionate communist and at the same time the Cavalier Dame OBE (1987) Iris Murdoch. “One of the best and most influential writers of the 20th century” (Guardian). Well, “The Accidental Man” only confirms this.

The protagonist of the plot is that very “accidental man” named Austin Gibson Grey. Just a classic loser, yet with a not inconsiderable charm and magically attracting women, a kind of British Ilya Ilyich Oblomov. Austin is out of work, his second wife Dorina (his first wife, Betty, died under mysterious circumstances) leaves him and moves to a shelter for the homeless, which is run by the willful and decisive Mavis Argail (“Quite a brave look. And at the same time, it was unerringly guessed that she was an old maid”). Austin constantly makes plans on how he will overcome this crisis, find a job, and get Dorina back, but... “All my beginnings are senseless, they lack logical connection.” And here Austin's older brother, Matthew, who has made a fortune and a brilliant career in the East, returns to London. The relationship between the brothers - is generally a separate part of the novel, from childhood traumas to the current difference in social status. And, by the way, it is precisely what constantly happens to Austin that gives the novel its name - the word “accident” in the title should be attributed not so much to random events as to unfortunate events. Such events constantly pursue Austin, such a walking magnet for misfortunes. From these scrapes, Austin is sometimes even pulled out by his older brother against his will. Gratitude? No, this is not in Austin's nature. Love for Dorina? Rather, it is some kind of painful egotistical passion. And in general, Austin - in modern language, he is an abuser who, however, due to the absurdity of his life, cannot extract any benefit from his abuse, rather the opposite.

The second pair of main characters is the young American historian Ludwig Leferrier. He simply fled to England to avoid being drafted into the army (let's not forget, the Vietnam War was in full swing). Here he gets engaged to the heiress of the wealthy Tisbourne family, Grace. On the one hand, everything seems fine - Ludwig is offered a job in Oxford, and his fiancée is not stingy with her soul in him, but... Ludwig is tormented (or pretends to be tormented?) by pangs of conscience for his desertion, which is also facilitated by letters from his parents from the States. And the intellectual snobbery also makes itself felt - Grace clearly “does not correspond” to Ludwig's academic heights. And the environment of Grace, all this “high London society” also does not arouse enthusiasm in Ludwig.

Against this background, there are still a mass of characters in the novel. Each of them, as is proper for the classics, Murdoch describes vividly, in detail, bringing them to life and giving the narrative extraordinariness, and her heroes - unique and expressive characters. Even one of the critics noted that in “The Accidental Man” the characters are very believable in contrast to the heroes of the previous novels (“puppets in a metaphysical Punch and Judy show”, Anatole Broyard, The New York Times). I don't even want to go into a description of each of them, believe me, the author does it much better than your humble servant.

Perhaps the novel is essentially about responsibility, about the fact that everything we do has its consequences, and the choice of a solution is always a painful process and often leads to dramatic and even tragic consequences. As the researcher of Murdoch's work Peter J. Conradi wrote, ““The Accidental Man” can be called an amazing combination of moral passion and idealism with the absence of illusions and moral skepticism, which leads to a dry-ironic tone.” Yes, there is enough irony and comedy here, but this is such a cocktail of moral quests à la Dostoevsky, a sarcastic description of high-society realities and the absurdity of the situations in which the heroes of the book find themselves. Even in the details, Murdoch does not refrain from digs - for example, the constantly breaking car that one of the heroes cannot get his friends to buy is called “Kierkegaard” - well, Murdoch didn't like the existentialists, what can you do.

Of course, the discoveries of the novel are, firstly, the conversations at social events that are periodically interspersed, the gossip and the anger of the old ladies are shown very vividly:

“- Isn't that Mavis Argail? How many years have they not been seen in society!

- Sebastian got a job at the Bank of England.

- Look, Grace Tisbourne has live orchids in her hair.

- More money than taste.

- The shopkeeper Mollie Arbuthnot incurs a loss of a hundred pounds a week.

- And I heard that Henrietta Seys poisoned Mollie's cat with gas, is that true?

- Ann, how white suits you, charming!”

And, secondly, sometimes the narrative is interrupted by separate chapters that are letters from the heroes to each other and which tell about the characters in the book sometimes even more than their replicas and actions.

Several times the heroes of the book repeat the French phrase “C’est impossible de trop plier les genoux impossible” - “It is impossible to bend the knees too much, just impossible.” The question is only how much we bend them and for what - perhaps this is the question that the outstanding Irishwoman Iris Murdoch poses with her highly talented novel.

The novel of someone who has delved into Shakespeare and moral philosophy, yet seemingly skipped over novels, presents an interesting conundrum. Murdoch's works make extraordinary demands on the reader. While a typical novel might have a manageable six or seven characters to follow and care about, Murdoch's can have fifteen or sixteen. In this particular one, some characters only make brief appearances at parties, spouting inanities, misapprehensions, or startling news and home truths in hilarious single-liner dialogues, only to fade back into the background.

The age range of the figures in the novel is vast. There's a woman who passes away during the course of the book, bequeathing her spacious home not to her daughters (by different men) but to her unusually level-headed granddaughter. And there's a ten-year-old girl, an offstage character from Oxford, who accidentally gasses a cat while performing a home science experiment and then tragically dies herself.

The eponymous 'accidental man', Austin Grey, still attractive in his late forties, with fair hair and a charisma that elicits a mothering sort of affection, views himself as 'accidental' in how life's events have 'happened' to him. He is fired from his clerkly job, runs over and kills a child (though it's not his fault), and then asks his older brother Matthew, a figure of ambiguous wisdom and reputed Zen balance with life, to shoulder the blame. He is later blackmailed by the child's stepfather and haplessly strikes him with a box containing the man's awful psychological novel, putting him in a coma.

The novel's theme explores the moral necessity (from one perspective) or the bad moral hygiene (from another) of involving oneself in the moral confusion and even squalor of others. Is this an unavoidable aspect of life, or will it only lead to other characters (all from a smart, well-to-do, cultured London-Oxford set) becoming compromised, besmirched, or dragged into lowering or catastrophic imbroglios? Gracie Tisbourne, one of the young couple at the center of the story, senses a kind of pollution in the complicated, involving feelings that Austin exudes towards all those he comes into contact with. She advises her fiance, the classical historian and American Ludwig (the son of highly moral refugees from Nazism, German and French-Alsatian), to keep clear.

Austin, always gutless, slippery, and self-interested, responds to his financial困境 after losing his job by renting out his flat (to Charlotte, Gracie's evicted aunt, a fiftysomething woman who seems to think the world is ending and is a study in self-denial) and moving in with a former Olympic pentathlete and Wimbledon tennis player, Mitzi. Mitzi's career-ending ankle injury led her to give up and turn to drink. Not educated, she becomes a pitiable dependent. Austin's wife, Dorina, from whom he is separated despite a relationship of committed, confusedly loving co-dependence, has taken refuge in a Catholic home for displaced women in Kensington run by Mavis, a former admirer of Matthew whose faith has waned and life has emptied. The critical event in the Austin plot occurs when his waif-like, vagrant wife stumbles upon a drunken sexual encounter between him and Mitzi.

For Murdoch, involvement in the lives and quandaries of others can be intriguing, duplicitous, or exploitative, even as it has its own compulsion and easily finds justification. Gracie, who fears Austin, sees in the bisexual Matthew, who has returned from Japan after moving in worldly diplomatic circles in the East, becoming a renowned porcelain collector and successful speculator on the Hang Seng, an estimable spiritual guide. Garth, Austin's son from his first marriage who may have committed suicide, views Matthew as a dubious 'entangler'. Ludwig may suffer from his late-night discussions with Matthew about his duties as an objector. Murdoch, as is not uncommon, doesn't seem to fully understand the moral import of her key events. Austin's killing of a child is surely of moral significance, yet she seems to focus on the power relations between the brothers as the novel's central dynamic, answering to an obscure right. It's part of the fraternal mythology that Matthew started a landslide from the top of a quarry, permanently injuring Austin's wrist, and Austin believes that his elder brother, more successful or magnetic, was having an affair with his wife (the more lurid undertones of the book hint that he may have killed her himself in desperate revenge, hiding the evidence that she was a strong swimmer).

Very fully peopled, incident-packed, morally serious, and armed with a rich moral vocabulary, yet arguably obtuse or flawed, the novel is a characteristically absorbing and frustrating read by Murdoch. It's difficult, from a vantage point in the twenty-first century, to envision a culture - a public culture of deliberation and government, a literary culture, or an academic culture - in which writing so unique could have been central.

I absolutely adored this book.

Surprisingly, I didn't have any particular fondness for any of the characters.

However, upon reflection, I believe that was precisely the author's intention.

It made the story all the more thought-provoking and unique.

One thing that would have been really helpful, though, is a family tree.

It would have made it easier to keep track of all the complex relationships and connections within the story.

Despite this minor drawback, I can't wait to read this book again.

I'm sure there are still many hidden details and nuances that I missed the first time around.

I'm excited to explore the story from a different perspective and gain a deeper understanding of its themes and messages.

This book has truly left a lasting impression on me, and I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a captivating and unconventional read.

I have embarked upon the journey of re-reading Iris Murdoch. She was a philosopher at my cherished Oxford and one of my favorite female authors of the past 50 years, along with Isabele Allende and Louis Erdrich.

Her fiction is remarkable for its precision, seamlessly uniting the author, the reader, and the characters. In her works, love and regret seem to find a way to be reconciled, creating a profound and moving literary experience.

I desire nothing more than to share a passage from "An Accidental Man." It states: "One should do simple separated things. Don't imagine you are that big complicated psychological buzz that travels around with you. Above all don't feel guilty or worry about doing right. That's all flummery. Guilt is the invention of a personal God now happily defunct."

This passage offers a thought-provoking perspective on life and how we should approach our actions and emotions. It challenges us to simplify our lives and not get overly burdened by complex psychological notions or the need to constantly worry about doing the right thing.

David Taylor Johannesen's words in this passage serve as a reminder to embrace simplicity and let go of unnecessary guilt and worry.

3.5

Here's the thing. This book is truly a remarkable workshop in literary craftsmanship. It is written with such finesse and skill that I found myself pausing not just once or twice, but like 10 times, to audibly exclaim to myself, like a rather dumbfounded person, "wow, this is really well done." However, that being said, I have to admit that I despised every single person in this book. And while I understand that perhaps this is half of the author's intention, I am not immune to the fact that my enjoyment of a book and its characters can significantly affect my rating.

This is the story of a truly despicable character named Austin, who, under the guise of privilege, manages to literally get away with murder. It is also a story about rich white people and their increasingly obtuse ways of avoiding the Vietnam war draft by using so-called "conscientious objector" reasons. This book is a masterclass in exploring the shittier side of the human condition, showing how we are capable of convincing ourselves and rationalizing our way out of things. Murdoch truly surprised me by demonstrating how a character can completely believe in something in one chapter and then, as if it were nothing, go in the opposite direction in the next. This is exactly how real people think. We are all too good at deluding ourselves, but Murdoch has cleverly removed the thought process in this third-person narrative. Instead, we only see the end result, the dialogue, and this is part of what makes us feel so detached from the characters.

Another masterful aspect of this book is the style of the narrative. The chapters alternate between a standard narrative, an epistolary format, and pure dialogue, as if we are eavesdropping flies on the wall at a high society party. Using gossip as a storytelling device is really quite cool and engaging.

All in all, I'm glad that I read this book, but I must admit that getting through it was occasionally a bit of a slog and depressingly awful. I yearn for redemption, for characters that I can relate to, for the good guy to win, but unfortunately, that simply doesn't happen here.