Having recently read Murdoch's wonderful The Black Prince, I was filled with eager anticipation as I turned to The Nice and the Good, hoping to experience the same enchanting magic. However, to my slight disappointment, it didn't quite live up to that expectation. Although there are indeed some elements of actual magic within the plot itself, it didn't have the same captivating charm as its predecessor.

That being said, Murdoch is undeniably a terrific writer, and the book is eminently readable. As the title suggests, the philosophical foundation of the story lies in an examination of the difference between the Nice and the Good. Murdoch does offer us some vivid glimpses, such as the sordid, stale smallness of Evil and the transcendent power of forgiveness, which is the ultimate Good.

Nevertheless, most of the novel resides amidst the confusion of the Nice, much like our own lives. With its large cast of characters, each with their various loves, quandaries, and serious errors of judgment, I'm not entirely certain that we ever quite obtain a clear vision of what exactly Murdoch wishes to illuminate here. Still, despite these uncertainties, the book is highly entertaining, intelligent, and filled with interesting and quintessentially English characters. It is well worth a read for anyone interested in exploring Murdoch's unique literary world.

I have a profound love for reading Murdoch's works.

Every time I delve into her books, I am filled with a sense of reassurance, knowing that I am not alone in my thoughts and feelings.

What makes her writing truly remarkable is the way she analyzes her characters.

She doesn't simply explain their actions in a straightforward manner; instead, she weaves a web of subtleties and nuances.

Through the construction of her stories, we just instinctively understand the motives and emotions of her characters.

This book, in particular, has become my favorite among all of hers that I have read so far.

It has a certain charm and depth that keeps pulling me back, making me eager to explore every page and uncover the hidden layers of meaning within.

Murdoch's writing is like a magical journey that takes me to a world where I can fully immerse myself and gain a deeper understanding of the human psyche.

I am truly grateful to have discovered her works and look forward to reading more in the future.

Let's face facts.

I really can only endure Murdoch's novels up to approximately the two-thirds mark, as the final one-third always drives me crazy.

My problem with Murdoch is her failure to fully realize her potential. The Nice and the Good, like other Murdoch stories I've read, starts off well. The philosophical concept of what "good" is, in its various forms (good as being kind, good as morally right behavior, good as socially acceptable behavior, good as the value placed on its opposite, "bad", good as an object that brings pleasure to others), is explored through a cast of characters meant to represent those different forms and worked out through their personalities.

Combined with the idea of "nice" - which, characteristically, is never named like "good" throughout the novel - in the action of, or in the service of, being or acting good. Yet the determination of "good", regardless of its forms, seems to keep revolving back to the action that invariably leads to acts of niceness transforming a person into being complacent, selfish, and self-centered.

Equally interesting is the juxtaposition of the "mystery" of Radeechy's suicide, which plays a dual role by first defining and fleshing out what "good" might mean and then mirroring those earlier romantic scenes in the "mystery" scenes, repeating the elements that earlier defined "goodness" but now are considered "bad", depending on perspective and circumstance.

And that's where the goodness ends.

Perhaps Murdoch's ideas are too extensive to be expressed within the framework of a novel, or maybe she simply doesn't have a clear argument yet and instead uses her fiction as a means to convey her ideas, or quite possibly, it could be a combination of both. At any rate, this still leaves readers unsatisfied.

Her biggest shortcoming in The Nice and the Good lies in her complete lack of fully developing her characters. Why does this matter? If you're setting out to discuss the intricacies of the moral conundrum of what "good" means, it makes sense to have recognizable characters, especially since so much depends on who represents which form of "good" (i.e., I shouldn't have to wonder who Mary is by page 200 [oh, that unhappy single woman pining for the wrong man, I thought it was the other one]) in order to uncover the motivations that prompt good behavior or to examine how or what provokes good behavior to distinguish what it then means to be good. If you have characters that lack depth or any distinguishing features, how can an examination of goodness even begin?

Aggravatingly, how Murdoch attempts to cover up these mistakes is by introducing clumsy resolutions that are completely cliched, rendering her entire argument invalid... unless Murdoch is seriously suggesting that "goodness" attracts "goodness" and therefore, whatever enters your life is based on how good you are. Have I walked into an Eckhart Tolle novel? Please, no.

I had rather high expectations for "The Nice and the Good" on account of its great title and black magic elements. However, I was somewhat disappointed in how these aspects were actually manifested in the book.

To be honest, in terms of philosophy, this one is a bit lacking. Many of the characters were only very faintly sketched, and the book lacked cohesion.

It truly shone in the introductory chapters that depicted the menagerie in Dorset. Interestingly, the two Murdoch novels I've read that have children as significant characters have been some of her worst (with "The Green Knight" being the other one). That being said, the children themselves were a charming element of the novel (though better executed in "The Green Knight" in my opinion), and I really relished the sense of community established at the beginning of the novel.

The slow unraveling of this throughout the novel perhaps felt a bit random, and part of that was due to the balance of plot and philosophical reflection from Murdoch. This is indeed one of her pulpier works.

Another highly entertaining novel by Iris Murdoch awaits the readers.

The character development in this book is excellent, with the secrets being gradually and interestingly revealed.

The story commences with what appears to be a suicide, which immediately grabs the reader's attention.

Throughout the novel, Murdoch delves deep into the exploration of goodness and morality, mainly through the relationships among a group of friends who spend their time at the estate of Octavian and Kate Gray in Dorset.

Fans of Murdoch are sure not to be disappointed as this novel offers another satisfying read.

Although "The Bell", "The Sea, The Sea", and "The Black Prince" remain my top favorite Murdoch novels, this one also has its own unique charm and allure.

It is a must-read for those who appreciate well-written, thought-provoking literature.

A joy, a dirge, and so sincere I cried.

It's both a tame London murder mystery and a sliding-doors comedy of manners in Dorset. The two plots dream of each other, running laminar. These mere genres are electrified by Murdoch's ethics and filled up with her wit. Like Greene, she is the apotheosis of trash conventions. I feel I am a better person afterward, or at least a better fool.

The following derives its power from 200 pages of buildup suddenly letting loose, but it might give you an idea:

\\n  
\\n  Jealousy is the most natural to us of the really wicked passions... It must be resisted with every honest cunning and with deliberate generous thoughts, however abstract and empty these may seem in comparison with that wicked strength. Think about the virtue that you need and call it generosity, magnanimity, charity. You are young, Jessica, and you are very delightful – may I just take your hand, so? – and the world is not spoilt for you yet. There is no merit, Jessica, in a faithfulness which is poison to you and captivity to him. You have nothing to gain here except by losing. You wish to act out your love, to give it body, but there is only one act left to you that is truly loving and that is to let him go, gently and without resentment.
Put all your energy into that and you will win from the world of the spirit a grace which you cannot now even dream of. For there is grace, Jessica, there are principalities and powers, there is unknown good which flies magnetically toward the good we know. And suppose that you had found what you were looking for, my dear child? Would you not have been led on from jealousy through deceit into cruelty? Human frailty forms a system, Jessica, and faults in the past have their endlessly spreading network of results. We are not good people, Jessica, and we shall always be involved in that great network, you and I. All we can do is constantly to notice when we begin to act badly, to check ourselves, to go back, to coax our weakness and inspire our strength, to call upon the names of virtues of which we know perhaps only the names. We are not good people, and the best we can hope for is to be gentle, to forgive each other and to forgive the past... \\n

It's an essay on the benefits and limits of polyamory; on the trials of self-conscious virtue; an extended gag about virtue's unlikeability. I love the appalling drawling fops Octavian and Kate, I love the notably indistinct Fivey, and I clutch Ducane to myself like a home-knitted scarf against strong winter wind. So pure!

SUMMARY:

A book that delves more into ideas than characters, and not loving the cast was indeed the essence. The ending seemed too tidy for my taste, yet it's one I'm inclined to revisit - as its philosophy comes alive.

This is my second encounter with Murdoch's works (I've been perusing the Booker Prize lists), and I'm a devotee. 'The Nice and the Good' might not be widely regarded as a 'classic', but for me, it was a powerful novel.

I particularly relished its (1) vivid sense of place, with petrol-scented and shuttered-summer London, and seascape slopes that whisked me away to Dorset beaches. In 2020, I delved into several philosophers (+ introductions) and adored the (2) moral ambiguity at the core of Murdoch's endeavor here, which operates almost like Platonic discourse, disrupting the reader's presumed sympathies with Ducane and the rest of the characters. Not loving the characters was the point, and like me, you might find yourself pondering 'is that what I would do?' in uncomfortable moments. If you have a penchant for (3) extended metaphors, then I believe Murdoch manages them adeptly, with a relatively light touch. True, cuckoos seem to spring up like seagulls on nearly every other page. However, as Kate's internal narrative (pp.266 - 269) reveals, the metaphors provide a crucial unity to the entire work. I closed the book and began ruminating on other cuckoos-in-the-nest (Mary, Eric, McGrath, Pierce in relation to Barbara, and Ducane in regard to almost everyone). The labyrinths (cellars, caves, empty houses) also linger darkly in my thoughts, intertwined with the moral maze Murdoch creates. I'm still reflecting, and that, to me, is the hallmark of an excellent book.

It's significant that I anticipate re-reading it, which is uncommon. However, like 'The Sea, The Sea', I've hesitated to award it the highest marks. For (1) the ending appears unexpectedly neat after such a delicately balanced set of moral conundrums. I almost craved a cliffhanger, but the sea-rescue culminates in an undesirably cinematic ending. The other concern for me was that while I was prepared to dislike the characters, I also (2) struggled to envision them clearly in my mind's eye. Murdoch's philosophical emphasis might partly excuse this (harkening back to the Platonic parallel, one could contend that they are archetypes through which ideas can be explored). Nevertheless, personally, I found it distracting to have the age and physiognomy of the characters so abstract.

The faces remained indistinct, but the places and ideas shone with vitality throughout. Ducane, Paula, Kate, Mary, Biranne, and others are like chess pieces, polished in their hardness by human interaction. The diagonal movements across the board from London to Dorset were self-preserving, and mutual misunderstandings are rife. Having just read Woolf's magnificent 'To the Lighthouse', this misinterpretation of other minds is something I cherish - and in this thought-provoking and unapologetically cynical portrayal where niceness and goodness are perpetually just out of reach.

Although I initially thought it was rather odd that the mystery simply sputtered out and that everyone ended up hooking up in the end,

upon further reflection, I realized that this is truly a morality tale. It delves deeply into the theme of forgiveness,

showcasing how important it is in our lives. This book is not only rich in its narrative but also has extremely well thought-out themes.

Each layer of the story adds depth and complexity, making it a truly engaging read. It forces the reader to confront their own beliefs and values regarding forgiveness and how it can impact our relationships and our lives as a whole.

Despite the initial strangeness I felt, I now see that this book is a powerful exploration of a fundamental human emotion and a valuable addition to the literary canon.

This is, in some senses, a family saga.

A happily married wealthy couple resides in a beautiful house on their estate by the sea in Dorset. They have a group of friends who either live in their house or on the estate. Each of these adult long-term guests has a complex and troubled past, filled with secrets (or perhaps lies?) that they have carefully hidden from others. The question that looms large is: which of these characters are truly "nice" or "good"?

A mysterious suicide (or could it be a murder?) in an office in London serves as a catalyst, drawing in all the various characters. As a result, at long last, the secrets are shared, and relationships are either restored or begun anew.

Overall, it is an enjoyable read, although it is somewhat of its time, both in terms of class and way of life. It offers a fascinating glimpse into the lives and relationships of a diverse group of people, filled with drama, mystery, and unexpected twists.

I have a great fondness for Iris Murdoch's writing style.

The characters she creates and their interactions within the book are truly remarkable and highly believable.

The description of the house and the couple residing there vividly brings to mind the image of Greek gods dwelling on their exalted mountain top, relishing in the power to manipulate the lives of others for their own entertainment.

However, as the story progresses, it seems that the storylines lack a clear direction and often fizzle out before reaching a satisfying conclusion.

This lack of a coherent and engaging narrative arc led me to rate the book only a 3.

Despite the initial promise and the interesting characters, the overall experience of reading the book was somewhat disappointing due to the unresolved storylines.

Nonetheless, I still appreciate Murdoch's unique writing style and her ability to create such vivid and believable characters.

I look forward to exploring more of her works in the future, hoping to find a more fulfilling and engaging reading experience.

Who is nice and who is good?

The novel commences with Ducane delving into a suicide within a government department. This investigation compels him to yield to blackmail and causes him to forsake his duty to conceal a colleague's failure to report a murder. Ducane hits a child, and subsequently, the child's mother falls in love with him.

There is an abundance of falling in and out of love without any discernible build-up. Characters assert that they are in love, yet the essence of love appears to be absent. This is particularly true for Mary and Ducane. Simultaneously and independently, they both reach the conclusion that they are in love with their friend. There seems to be no requirement for courtship or the exploration of a developing relationship; instead, love turns on like a light switch.

Kate and Octavian have an unconventional relationship. They are in love but pursue others - Kate emotionally and Octavian physically.

Biranne cheats on his wife, violently assaults a man, his wife's lover, maiming him for life, and then abandons his wife and child. However, after being essentially blackmailed by Ducane (who holds the threat of Ducane actually fulfilling his duty in an ethical manner over Biranne), he agrees to return to his wife. Paula, despite Biranne's infidelity and violence, is only too eager to resume the relationship and doesn't even urge Biranne to reform his ways. Wallflowers likely possess more backbone.

Jessica falls madly for Willy moments after meeting him. Of course, this is not long after Mary had determined that she was in love with Willy and had proposed marriage. Fortunately, for the story, Willy declines.

There seems to be a significant imbalance in the sexuality of the genders. Biranne is promiscuous but cannot tolerate the idea of his wife having a lover, and even after resuming his marriage, he refuses to promise faithfulness. Kate does seek out entanglements, but they do not seem to progress to sexual partners, unlike Octavian and his secretary (is that a lazy trope?). Until she meets Willy, Jessica cannot do without Ducane; then, of course, she cannot do without Willy.

Possibly, the most interesting character is Theo, but that would be the subject of another book. And the flying saucer at the end is simply strange and adds nothing.

Still, it is a Murdoch novel, so it is entertaining, witty, and intelligent in parts. But, overall, it just does not hold together convincingly.

I’ve read and thoroughly enjoyed all of Murdoch’s novels. This particular one, however, holds a special place as it is the first one I’ve chosen to reread. I must say that my enjoyment has increased exponentially upon this reprise. The first time I read it, I did so only sporadically, and I found the large number of characters and the potential meanings they might represent a bit tiresome.

This novel offers a fresh treatment of the ‘manor house novel’ genre. The reference to the painting by Agnolo Bronzino (‘Venus, Cupid, and Time’) and the Shakespearean maelstrom of romantic feelings, both requited and unrequited, is truly brilliant.

The contrast between what is ‘nice’ and what is ‘good’ lies at the heart of the novel. The Whitehall lawyer, John Ducane, constantly struggles to do what is good, both in a legal and ethical sense, despite being sorely tempted. His hostess, Kate, engages in a long flirtation with him, and her husband, Octavian, not only seems not to mind but actually encourages it. Meanwhile, Ducane wrestles with the decision to break free from a relationship with a much younger woman, feeling that it is somehow wrong for him to monopolize her and put her future and happiness at risk.

Murdoch provides a superb analysis of the Bronzino painting, highlighting minutiae that most viewers overlook. The first edition of the novel included a drawing of the ‘butterfly kiss’ between Venus and her son Cupid, which later editions either ignore or abbreviate. If you decide to read this book, I highly recommend looking up the Bronzino in the Web Gallery of Art or some other resource.

There are numerous subplots in the novel. There is the resident Jewish classicist, deeply damaged by his experiences in Auschwitz. There is the widowed mother who is in love with the previous. There is a mother of charming twins who pines for her ex-husband. There is a teenaged boy who is in love with the daughter of Octavian and Kate Gray, the owners of the house. There is also Uncle Theo, who ‘left India under a cloud’, and the mysterious suicide in Whitehall of a man who practiced the dark arts. It is this suicide that John Ducane is tasked with investigating, and it serves as the driving force behind the novel.