Certainly, it is a truly gripping story, filled with the typical Murdochian twists and turns. Its plot is not only intriguing but also romantic, intertwined, magical, and intellectual, which makes it all the more entertaining and exciting. Murdoch's books are indeed unforgiving, just like their creator. You either love them with all your heart or hate them passionately; there is no middle ground, no shades of grey in between.

After reading "Nuns and Soldiers", a novel that is almost humming (or rather screaming) with ideas that seem to overshadow the characters themselves, one wonders what can be said that hasn't already been said about her other works. Personally, I am inclined to sum this one up by simply stating, "We, human beings, are outstanding at deceiving ourselves and deceiving others." For, in the end, when faced with our own inevitable non-existence, we really don't have too many options other than finding whatever it is that works for us.

To avoid seeing the void, the nothingness that lies at the end of the tunnel of our lives, some people will embark on an existential quest in search of truth, goodness, virtue, and authenticity. While others, perhaps out of exhaustion or despair, will simply give up on this noble quest and settle for the mediocre. But who can really blame them? After all, we are all in this world, knowing deep down that we are nobody and nothing, yet still trying, against all odds, to find some measure of enjoyment and meaning in our brief existence.

I find Iris Murdoch novels as hard to keep separated in my head as Bond movies. Usually, though, there is at least one memorable incident which I clearly associate with the book.

Here, the scene I remember involves Gertrude and the odd, slightly geeky character that everyone calls the Count. Gertrude, a complete beginner in chess, asks him whether he'd like to play. She is unaware that he is very good at it. To her surprise, he refuses. When she asks "Why not?", he replies, "Because it would be a completely different game for me."

And at that moment, Gertrude suddenly feels very close to him. This simple exchange reveals a depth of understanding and connection between the two characters that is both touching and thought-provoking.

****************************************************
I cheated and looked at the Wikipedia entry to get some more clues as to which book this was. Okay, it was the one where the ex-nun has the very strange encounter with Jesus. That's also a great scene. I should say, in case you're wondering, that I love both Iris Murdoch and Bond. I just wish I had a better memory.

Perhaps if I read the novels more carefully or took better notes, I would be able to distinguish between them more easily. But for now, I'll just have to rely on these vivid memories of specific scenes to keep them apart in my mind.

My occasional project of finishing all of Iris Murdoch's 26 novels is now drawing near to its completion. After this particular one, I only have four late works remaining (The Good Apprentice, The Green Knight, The Message to the Planet and Jackson's Dilemma).

This novel is yet another ensemble piece that combines farcical and philosophical elements. I found it to be a quite engaging read, although at times it was more than a little implausible. There is only a single nun (now a former nun) in the cast, and the closest thing to a soldier is the Polish exile inaccurately referred to as the Count.

The initial part of the book presents the cast as they assemble to offer support to the dying Guy Openshaw. The four main characters are Guy's widow Gertrude, Anne, the ex-nun who was her best friend during university days, the Count (Peter Szczepanski), whose love for Gertrude is mostly unreturned, and Tim, a painter of rather limited talent and even more restricted means. Tim is employed by Gertrude as a caretaker at their holiday home in France. When Gertrude comes to stay, they embark on an affair and soon decide to marry once a suitable interval has passed since Guy's death. As is always the case with Murdoch, the plot is far more intricate than a straightforward description would imply. She arranges for nearly every member of the cast to love the wrong person, and some of her plot twists seem almost arbitrary.

In her introduction, Karen Armstrong remarks, \\"Finally, Tim has to undergo ordeal by water. This is a frequent motif in Murdoch's novels; characters often have to endure some watery trial before they can see their way clearly.\\" This had never occurred to me before, but I can think of several examples (The Sea, The Sea, The Nice and the Good, The Philosopher's Pupil and The Unicorn all fit the bill), and there are three distinct watery incidents in this book.

The blurb mentions Tim's \\"punk girlfriend\\", but Daisy, the character to which this refers, is not a punk in any sense that I would recognize. She is an alcoholic former painter who enjoys speaking her mind in earthy language, but she is not malicious and does not attempt to cause trouble for Tim.

They say ‘never judge a book by its cover’, and this one was pretty awful!

However, once I started reading, wow! What a fantastic book it turned out to be. I completely indulged myself and was able to switch off from the real world.

The writing was beautiful, and the characters were likeable yet flawed, all striving to make sense of love. It was such a delicious novel.

Can you tell I liked it??!! This book truly exceeded my expectations. It took me on an emotional journey and made me think about love and relationships in a whole new way. I would highly recommend it to anyone looking for a great read.

4 stars?

4 1/2 stars?

5 stars?

Somewhere in there.

This book is truly one long and profound heartbreak. It delves deep into the feelings and emotions of the main characters, exploring them page after page. For me, those emotions felt incredibly real. I often found myself wondering if Iris Murdoch had actually endured the experiences she so vividly illustrated. Because otherwise, it would seem to require either a touch of magic or an extremely close examination of someone(s) going through such intense yearnings, regrets, and loneliness to be able to perceive, understand, and capture them with such authenticity. In this regard, despite having some flaws that are quite tolerable, this book can rightfully be considered a masterpiece.

“Gertrude wanted him to do the impossible, to accept her marriage to (???) and to go on loving her all the same.

He struggled, or rather he did not struggle, he lived, with black demons of jealousy and resentment and remorse...”

The story unfolds in a way that keeps the reader completely engaged, drawn into the complex web of emotions and relationships. It makes you reflect on the nature of love, longing, and the human condition. It's a book that will stay with you long after you've turned the final page.

This particular work is a far more approachable read compared to the previous Murdoch novels that I have endeavored to peruse. However, the dialogue within it often comes across as overly sweet and delicate. All too frequently, the abundant use of "my darlings" and "my dears" and professions of eternal love serve as a reminder that real individuals do not converse in the same manner as Murdoch's characters.

Perhaps the upper strata of British society truly are as insincere and self-absorbed as portrayed. Nevertheless, there never appears to be a character in a Murdoch novel who is self-assured and at ease in their own being. Gertrude Openshaw is indeed the princess that her friend Anne Cavidge perceives her to be, and ultimately, she is perfectly paired with the irresponsible and directionless Tim Reede. The Count is a caricature and martyr, much like Anne Cavidge, and both are burdened by a sense of honor that others of their class seemingly lack.

All things considered, these wealthy, educated gossips and manipulators seem scarcely different from the less fortunate whom they despise. And perhaps this is precisely Murdoch's intention. None of us are who we envision ourselves to be, and surely not what others assume. We all stumble along in a realm of illusion and delusion, passing one another, as the saying goes, like ships in the night.

The work in question seems to suffer from a significant flaw. It lacks a truly convincing intellectual core that is essential for her larger, later creations. Without being firmly tethered to a strong central theme, it unfortunately drifts into a state of rambling melodrama.

To be fair, it is a very well-written and cleverly structured piece of melodrama. It does manage to be entertaining, which is no small feat. However, when one looks beyond the surface, it becomes clear that it is ultimately barren and unsatisfactory.

The redeeming quote offers some interesting food for thought. It states that we are all both the judges and the judged, victims of the casual malice and fantasy of others, and also potential sources of fantasy and malice ourselves. It poses the question of whether, when we are sometimes wrongly accused of sins we didn't commit, there are other sins of which we are guilty and the world is unaware. This quote adds a layer of depth and complexity to the overall work, even if the work as a whole falls short in other aspects.

Perhaps with a stronger intellectual core and a more focused central theme, this work could have achieved greater heights and left a more lasting impression. As it stands, it is an entertaining but ultimately flawed piece of writing.

A story of love affairs unfolds, with one being almost platonic and devout, another that, if not erotic, is lustfully compulsive, and others that are spiritual, either hampered by reserve or fuelled by pretended youth and alcohol. As a story, it progresses quite happily, featuring characters who are mostly believable, if not always likeable. If only the author could have reined in the lengthy philosophical insights into people's behavior, whether intellectual or carnal, and clarified at least some of the many symbolic devices.

For instance, the china monkey band, the rushing, turbulent canal, and the tall rock face that terrifies Tim – mind you, everything frightens Tim. It would be nice to know if they all truly held a psychological meaning.

Guy, Gertrude's first husband, is clearly wealthy, yet it's never entirely clear how he amassed such substantial wealth. In fact, he seems too kind and principled a person to have gained it through anything other than inheritance. Guy is dying of cancer, and surrounding him and his wife is a circle of relatives, friends, and acquaintances, all of whom have reasons to appreciate his generosity of spirit and finance. However, the story focuses on Gertrude and those orbiting her new independent state.

The Count, a Polish exile whom Guy helped into a job, is deeply but shyly in love with Gertrude and is also burdened by guilt for failing his father as a Polish patriot. Anne, Gertrude's best friend from university days, who shocked everyone by becoming a nun but may now have lost her faith and left her convent, comes seeking refuge with Gertrude and perhaps to resume the relationship that may have driven her into a life of religious penance years earlier. And then there's Tim, the most interesting of them all. Tim is a useless and lazy artist whose only success lies in painting cats. His father was a friend of Guy's, and Guy had been supporting him with handouts. He has a relationship with Daisy, an artist and writer who may actually have talent but is drinking herself into alcoholism, a situation not helped by putting up with the hopeless Tim (she is by far the best character in the book). With Guy dead, he needs to do something – perhaps swapping Daisy for Gertrude?

As a romantic comedy, the story only clicks when Gertrude and Tim get together in France and a touch of farce is generated. It becomes classic stuff: two of Guy's relatives unexpectedly appear to console Gertrude, Tim shouldn't be there, but he is, they come in, Tim climbs out the window, Gertrude pacifies the relatives, and Tim comes back, ooh la la. Of course, there's more to it than that – I'm silly, Iris Murdoch wasn't. The relationship between Tim and Daisy works so well precisely because it's not comic. They are two people, no longer young, who are in danger of squandering what's left of their lives with booze and false ambitions, and pinning their hopes on social security payments and cheap rents. One feels like jumping into the story and giving them a good shake. If it has a drawback, it's the promotion of the stereotypical right-wing view that all people claiming welfare benefits are work-shy idle scroungers.

I persevered through the weighty philosophical passages with dogged stoicism, and by doing so, I enjoyed the other 80 percent.

As always, Iris was an excellent writer.

Her novels were known for their deep and thought-provoking themes.

In this particular novel, the characters seemed to have an almost excessive amount of inner turmoil and self-reflection.

While I doubt the average person thinks as much as her characters do, the novel was still incredibly interesting.

It presented complex ideas and moral dilemmas that forced me to stop and consider my own beliefs and values.

The story was engaging from start to finish, and I found myself completely immersed in the world that Iris had created.

Overall, it was a great read that gave me a lot to think about long after I had finished the last page.

Iris Murdoch's books have always presented a complex and somewhat paradoxical relationship for me.

On one hand, her writing is truly brilliant and beautiful. The language she uses is often poetic and has a certain allure that draws the reader in. Her ability to create a mysterious and engaging atmosphere is remarkable.

However, on the other hand, her books can also be quite rambling and boring at times. The main themes of religion, morality, and philosophy, while interesting in themselves, are sometimes satirically combined with modern life and everyday roles in a way that feels forced or overly complicated.

This is my third book by her, and unfortunately, I found that neither the characters nor the plot were particularly interesting. Despite the charming writing, the story seemed to drag on, and at just over 510 pages, it felt unnecessarily long.

Perhaps I should take a different approach and stick to her best-known and most highly regarded books in the future, rather than trying out every new one that comes along. This way, I can avoid the disappointment of reading something that doesn't quite live up to her potential.

This is perhaps my favourite Murdoch.

The Count is truly one of her best realised characters. His complexity and depth make him a fascinating figure to explore.

I find myself completely engrossed in his story, and yet, at the same time, I love to hate Gertrude and Tim. Their actions and personalities are so frustrating and infuriating that it's almost a pleasure to despise them.

Murdoch has a remarkable ability to create characters that evoke such strong emotions in the reader.

Whether it's the love we have for the Count or the hatred we feel towards Gertrude and Tim, her writing makes us feel deeply invested in the story.

It's this emotional connection that makes her work so engaging and unforgettable.

I can't wait to see what other characters and stories she has in store for us.

My least favourite Iris Murdoch so far.

I always know that when reading her works, I'm encountering characters crafted for philosophical impact rather than for the sake of a traditional plot. However, the narrative devices and characters in this particular one are completely lacking in any redeeming qualities.

I do appreciate that her books have a lasting effect on me and make me think. For instance, "Message for the Planet" also dealt with a messiah figure and disciples, but this one left me truly struggling.

Perhaps due to the lockdown, it took me an eternity to read, and by the end, I'd even forgotten the divine visitation bestowed upon Anne Cavidge. It's rather strange - what are we supposed to make of it? There's an overabundance of symbolism related to water and near drowning.

Wet Tim, whom I initially thought was some sort of Sartrean character due to his extreme inability to act - so passive that it made me want to scream. And saintly Anne - why did IM make her fall in love with the absurd Count who seemed to have leaped from the pages of a Stefan Zweig story? Why couldn't Anne be in love with Gertrude like a lesbian instead of having this pained, chaste adoration?

Didn't IM have affairs with women? All those extraneous "tantes et cousins" who suddenly appeared to fill us in on the story when we hadn't heard from them throughout the entire novel - such a strange omniscient narrator IM is! And bloody Gertrude, just selfish, self-obsessed, and very poorly dressed.

The kindest characters with the purest intentions - the Count - ends up as a sexless lackey to the awful Gertrude, and Anne, who actually connived to win the Count away from Gertrude, has to return to a near-religious cloister. I can only hope she met up with Daisy in the US and they had a passionate affair.

There's some Freudian influence, some Polish history, and a plethora of religious symbolism, but I'm damned if I can figure out what the message is!