Come, there are disagreements which divide even the gods.

Men will love a monster if he has bella figura.

The study of history is menaced by fragmentation…. Such fragmentations open a space for false prophets, old and new. Not only the shades of Hegel and Marx and Heidegger, but also those, you know who I mean, who would degrade history into what they call fabulation…. Above all be aware of a relaxed determinism which haunts our increasingly scientific and technological civilization …. Another piece of advice. Do not marry. Marriage ends truthfulness in a life. Solitude is necessary if real thinking is to take place.

* * * * *

There’s a passage at the beginning of this novel, Iris Murdoch’s twenty-sixth and penultimate and when she thought she was “beginning to lose my grip”. It helps to clear up a certain ambiguity I’ve always had about her. Three girls, sisters, preternaturally clever and with literary and artistic tastes, now on the verge of womanhood after a happy and contented childhood, talk between themselves. They say, “As for this stuff about being innocent and harmless and pure in heart, we are really just lucky and sheltered and naïve. We are awfully nice to people, but we don’t go out into the violence and the chaos ….” In one of her letters, the authoress says this about herself: “I lived in a universe of perfect harmony until I was thirteen and went to boarding school and found out that the world was not composed purely of love but it was too late by then.” Murdoch claimed to have kept herself and those she knew well out of her stories, but of course that cannot be. Her vision of an ideal but still imperfect world reflects her own fairly ideal one, into which really beastly wickedness and commonplace sordidness does not enter. It is deliberately and not ineffectively kept at bay by something like a safely-staged, sinister-sounding but not really very threatening presentation of wickedness in which anyway no judgement is ever conclusively stated. That very subtle technique accounts, I think, for why some people like her so much while others would express a more open contempt if they dared. We’ve had the Dark Ages, the Age of Enlightenment, the Age of Reason, the Age of Revolution, the Age of Elegance and if Edith Sitwell is to be believed, the Age of Satire. Now we’ve descended into the Age of Spite, into which Iris Murdoch does not fit and the confusion, if that’s what it was, could as well be seen as an awareness that her time was passed.

The Green Knight contains amongst others the usual collection of conscientious fussers, titillating themselves over their own moral lapses and aspirations. One of them, for want of anything better to do, has decided he wants to be a monk and receives this piece of discouragingly-sensible advice from a real monk, deftly inserted into the story, in a letter: “An excessive cultivation of guilt may become a neurotic, even erotic, indulgence. You should not imagine yourself to be in an ‘interesting spiritual condition!’ What is needed is a cool, even cold, truthfulness” (advice that goes unheeded, needless to say, the hopeful acolyte persists in his fascination with a vocation mostly involving dreams of a khaki-clad Jesus and a stern but highly attractive militaristic archangel with a blatantly-phallic sword). An antidote to all this evasive mucking about is supplied by Joan Blacket, who leads a more rackety existence in some mysterious capacity and whose preoccupations, no less intense, revolve around more practical matters such as how to get another man, preferably a rich one, whether her eighteen-year-old son may or may not be ‘gay’, and if so, how that may best advance or hinder any schemes of her own. Along with Tessa Millen, a liberated feminist, “Adolph Hitler in knickers”, Joan, not liberated at all, has all the best lines: “Si ça ne vous incommode pas je vais garder mes bas, sexiest thing Sartre ever said”. No loss of grip there, and not all that innocent either! On the whole and hardly unreasonably, the authoress is sharper with her own sex than with the other, who always lack a very positive virility, though she makes splendid entertainment of both.

But tittle-tattle soon gives way to a much more dramatic revelation. Professor Lucas Graffe, a man known to all the others but kept at a distance on account of a completely unconsolidated reputation for intellectual superiority except for some rather sardonic speeches, is the subject of much unnecessary sympathy and concern because he’s had to face a ‘humiliating’ court inquiry after killing someone, in self-defence his lawyer successfully claimed. In fact, he was attempting to murder his own brother with a blunt club and someone accidently got in the way. Acquitted, he’s quite unashamed of admitting this to the lucky brother, a sort of would-be actor relying on fading charm, and when asked why, says matter-of-factly: “Why did Cain kill Abel. Why did Romulus kill Remus? I have always wanted to kill you, ever since the moment when I learned of your existence. Do not let us waste time on that.” Cue for some more subtle philosophical musings, neatly avoiding the traps of facile psychoanalysis, but nothing as to what is come. The supposedly accidentally dead victim resurrects and confronts both brothers, one by now a quivering wreck (it’s all his fault!) and the other somewhat at a loss for words for once. They all shake hands, but the question of retribution lours heavily and increasingly ominously in the air. In a subsequent ingeniously managed exchange between the muddled would-be monk and the unexpectedly-intelligent ‘victim’: “He may be an evil man and a murderer, but there may have been a streak of nobility, I thought he might not be willing to lie. However, he chose to leave the lying to his brother. I am disappointed in him. I am disappointed in the brother too, but that doesn’t matter, he is a weak silly man. The Professor may be, as you said, brave. We shall see.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I was giving him a challenge, more precisely a chance. He refused it. His refusal leaves me no alternative, it precipitates another less amusing phase in our relationship.”

“What do you mean, what do you want?”

“If I may emulate the ruthless frankness of the Professor, I want his death.”

I’ll resist the temptation to continue with the exciting ins and outs for the next three hundred or so pages, which are summarised elsewhere, except for one short but very powerful and affective episode. A dog, replaced by his owner in a fit of senseless masochism in a good but alien other home, escapes and runs half-way across London trying to find his former faithless master. It is so beautifully described that it brings tears to even hardened eyes as the anguished tantrums of the human characters do not. It is, indeed, a perfect illustration of what Murdoch upheld as true love, the attentive concentration of thought on someone or something outside oneself and mostly only ever achieved when we say we “love” a painting or a place or something we read or whatever – “how lovely” – because there cannot be any reciprocal response to flatter the lover’s self-esteem. The poor dog can think as he exhausts himself, he knows what he’s looking for, but he has no sense of himself and expects no reward other than to be re-united as Plato’s analogy depicts severed creatures forever in search of the other half in order to be complete. We’re mercifully spared more than temporary distress here, all has a happy ending.

Murdoch’s extraordinary quality, eschewing ‘real-life’ portraiture while representing it as if it were and thus inventing human vehicles for the enactment of abstract perplexities that concern the universal human condition – a series of more or less haphazard individually-unique ‘contingencies’ over which the players have far less control than they suppose – is to make metaphysics as readable as scintillating satire or a detective thriller and defying Manichean classification as no-one else has ever done. Either because of the ‘grip’ or something else, this late book to be honest is inclined to be over-blown, almost a little silly in some places, “it’s like living in a slow motion mental home” as one of the characters describes it - or anyway it is on superficial reading. They all have abominable taste (“Harvey had put on his second-best suit of dark brown tweed with a blue-striped shirt and a red and green tie; Clement and Louise were wearing, respectively, Louise a pale blue velvet dress with a lace collar, and Clement a light golden brown suit with a dark red shirt and a light red bow tie”), and in spite of eternal friendships and caring deeply none of them really has a clue about each other (“Who is he when he’s not with me, who does he go to bed with?”). Finally and inevitably and in spite of the above cited warning, they all get married to more or less anyone at hand in the expectation of entering a door to eternal bliss, though here the authoress does interject on her own account: “The word ‘happiness’ was often used, although since they were all in their own ways sober and reflective people (exclamation mark mine!) each wondered for a moment or two what it was and how they were destined to achieve it. At least one for a second thought, ‘Am I mad?’” Only three people are not mad. Cora, a minor character and an onlooker, reflects “better not to think about happiness at all, cheerfulness will do”. Kenneth Rathbone, an unlikely Australian publican and the repository of what might have been too significant a secret to be disclosed to the others or even to the reader, declares “I’m going back to dear old Oz where the sky is where it ought to be, way up far above in heaven, not sitting on top of your head the way it is here”. The third of course is Iris Murdoch herself. I’d like to think that what’s she’s really providing here is a fictional demonstration in practice of one of her recurrent themes, the mischievous power of the ragged urchin and demi-god Eros whose function it is to introduce divine disorder into the already muddled affairs of mortals.

* * * * *

“He had composed these ridiculous speeches, and even uttered them, with some sort of genuine passion while imagining that people might actually start to giggle.”

This is a review of a book. The reviewer starts by stating that it is a good book. However, they docked 1 star from the rating because of the portrayal of marriage in the book.

Perhaps the way marriage was depicted did not resonate with the reviewer's personal views or experiences. It could be that the book presented a negative or inaccurate representation of what marriage truly is.

Nevertheless, despite this one drawback, the reviewer still acknowledges that the book has its merits. It might have had interesting characters, a captivating plot, or valuable insights in other areas.

Overall, this review shows that while the book was generally good, the aspect of marriage left something to be desired in the eyes of the reviewer. It serves as a reminder that different people may have different perspectives on various elements of a book, and that a single aspect can sometimes influence the overall rating.

I've never witnessed Murdoch's writing being anything short of extremely good.

And the story she presents here is equally excellent.

It delves into family issues, exploring the complex dynamics within a family unit.

It also touches on the theme of coming of age, showing the challenges and growth that individuals experience as they transition into adulthood.

Furthermore, the story examines the difficulties in finding happiness.

It makes the reader reflect on what truly brings joy and contentment in life.

Murdoch's ability to handle these themes with such skill and depth is truly remarkable.

Her writing draws the reader in and keeps them engaged from beginning to end.

Overall, this story is a testament to Murdoch's talent as a writer and is well worth reading.

It is a story about a close-knit group of family and friends.

All their relationships to themselves and each other are suddenly shifted by the arrival of a mysterious figure.

For me, the writing in this story is not only beautiful but also extremely compelling.

The characters are portrayed so vividly that I have the distinct feeling that I truly know them.

In fact, I have this strange sense that if I were to see them walking down the street, I would immediately recognize them.

I have read this book probably a dozen times.

Whenever I feel like my life is undergoing major changes, I tend to go back and reread it.

I have read many books by Iris Murdoch, but none of them have left such a lasting impression on my mind as this particular one.

It has become a sort of comfort and inspiration for me during times of transition and uncertainty.

The story's ability to capture the complexity of human relationships and the impact of unexpected events is truly remarkable.

It makes me reflect on my own life and the relationships I have with those around me.

Each time I read it, I discover something new and gain a deeper understanding of the characters and their experiences.

This book is truly a masterpiece that I will continue to cherish and revisit for years to come.

I simply couldn't make it even halfway through this book.

The main story, along with its backstory and all the side-stories, just trudges along at a snail's pace.

It's as if you're a deity, painstakingly observing every single minute detail of these characters' lives.

When it began to be told from the dogs' point of view, that was the final straw for me.

This book seems to be overly self-important.

And let's not forget, I have an English degree!

One would think that with my educational background, I would be more inclined to appreciate such a literary work.

However, in this case, it just didn't click for me.

The pacing was too slow, and the multiple perspectives didn't add any value to the overall narrative.

Perhaps it's a matter of personal taste, but for me, this book was a disappointment.

I have read a number of Iris Murdoch's books over the years and have truly enjoyed them all.

I hadn't heard of The Green Knight until I chanced upon it on a friend's bookshelf. She very kindly passed it onto me.

This novel was written towards the end of her writing career in 1993. It follows a group of friends who, after a series of events described throughout the book, undergo significant transformations.

At the start, Lucas Graffe, an academic, has disappeared following an incident where he claims to have killed a man in self-defence. This disappearance causes great consternation for his brother Clement, a charismatic actor, and their friend Bellamy, who is going through a crisis and has given away all his possessions, including his dog, and is considering becoming a monk.

The inhabitants of Clifton, where Louise, the widow of one of Lucas' university friends, lives with her three talented teenage daughters, Aleph, Sefton, and Moy, are also affected. Joan, another friend, and her son Harvey are frequent visitors to Clifton, and Aleph and Harvey have formed a close friendship.

Lucas then returns, and a mysterious man is seen watching Clifton. He reveals himself to Lucas and turns out to be the man he killed, who has miraculously recovered from the head injury. His name is Peter Mir, and he claims to be a psychoanalyst demanding 'justice' as his injury has made him unable to work.

At first, he just wants to meet Lucas' friends, and reluctantly Clement introduces him to the Clifton circle. Lucas does not attend the gathering at Clifton, as he is very reclusive. At this gathering, Peter drops a bombshell, claiming that Clement was present on the night of the attack and that Lucas was actually intending to kill Clement, out of jealousy as Clement was adopted and born to his adoptive parents a couple of years later.

Thinking Peter not quite right in the head following his injuries, no one believes his account, except Clement, who knows the truth but denies it out of loyalty to his brother. With Peter still wanting justice, Lucas is persuaded to stage a re-enactment of the attack with Clement and Bellamy in attendance as'seconds'.

This causes Peter to remember that what he had forgotten was his faith; he had been a Buddhist. Following a very bizarre incident where Peter cuts Lucas with a knife concealed in his umbrella, he feels justice has been done and invites everyone to a dinner party at his home.

Bellamy, meanwhile, has had a mystic experience during the re-enactment, seeing Peter as an angel and feeling that he will be his salvation. During the dinner party, Peter offers him a job as his secretary, having decided to do benevolent work. Bellamy is ecstatic.

However, this is short-lived as midway through the party, medics appear to take Peter Mir back; he has absconded from the hospital where he was still undergoing treatment. And it turns out he is not a psychoanalyst but a butcher, albeit a rich one as he had built up his father's business.

Aleph goes on holiday with a friend and then vanishes. After a couple of days of great anxiety, Louise receives a letter from her eldest daughter revealing that Aleph has gone to America with Lucas to be married.

At about the same time, we learn that Peter has died in hospital from his injuries. This unexpected pairing of Aleph and Lucas frees up other characters to find happiness. Sefton and Harvey have fallen in love, and Clement has long loved Louise, who is now free to be with him.

There is a lovely scene where the two delighted couples share their news and everyone is happy - except Moy. Everyone thinks this is because she is in love with Clement, but we learn at the end of the book that it's Harvey she loves.

Even Moy, the most fragile character, is transformed following being rescued from the sea by Bellamy and his dog Anax. Bellamy too finds happiness with Emil.

As usual with Iris Murdoch, this book is full of strange events and black comedy. The recreation of the attack is a definite highlight. There are also many quirky details, like Clement returning to the scene of the crime to retrieve the'murder' weapon, only to find it taken away by a Belgian family.

I loved the bohemian atmosphere of Clifton, with its aviary and the room where the sisters spent their time. Although they lived together, each inhabitant tended to live separately, not always eating meals together and spending a lot of time alone in their rooms.

I also liked many of the characters. Moy was a lovely gentle soul, and I disliked only Lucas, who was arrogant and did not deserve his brother's loyalty.

My favourite scene was the dinner party. I wanted to be there and enjoy the food. Interestingly, food often featured in this book, usually just ordinary food like bread and cheese or coffee and biscuits.

This book is told from multiple viewpoints, which is interesting as we only see the actions of Aleph and Lucas through the eyes of others, yet their actions are crucial to the transformations of the other characters.

I really enjoyed this book and would rank it highly among the other Iris Murdoch books I have read. It was one of the last books she wrote, but I feel she was still at the height of her powers before dementia robbed her of her voice. Excellent 5/5!

What a truly strange story this is!

One that I can't truthfully claim to have wholeheartedly enjoyed, yet I felt an irresistible compulsion to see it through to the end.

There were an abundance of annoyingly portrayed characters. Yes, I'm well aware that it was inspired by Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and features twists on both Biblical and mythological themes.

I even picked up a slight A Room with a View vibe, which, given the London setting, albeit decades apart, seems somewhat logical.

I find myself with rather mixed feelings because this book is a curious mixture in itself.

Is it a satire? A modern-day reimagining of a myth? A romance (what with multiple pairings by the conclusion of the story)? A murder mystery? Or perhaps a tragedy?

I did appreciate many aspects of this tale, not the least of which is the author's vivid and figurative writing style.

However, as interesting and entertaining as this novel managed to be, the elements of annoyance and confusion ultimately led me to award it a middle-of-the-road three stars.

Clement is deeply in love with Louise. Louise's husband has passed away, leaving her a widow. Everyone around believes that Moy has feelings for Clement, but in reality, Moy is in love with Harvey. Harvey, on the other hand, thinks he is in love with one sister, yet he is actually in love with another. One of the sisters has a crush on Lucas, who happens to be Clement's brother. Lucas once attempted to kill Clement, but instead, he ended up killing Peter Mir. However, Peter Mir is not dead! In fact, Peter Mir is our beloved Green Knight, who was beheaded but still manages to remain among the living.

Now, the question arises: Who is Sir Gawain? Was there ever really a Gawain?

It all sounds like utter nonsense or a jumbled mess from a mass-market paperback. But this is Iris Murdoch's work, and the absurd and convoluted web of human emotions is her way of delving into our deepest motivations, ideals, sins, relationships, and loves. To me, she was a first-rate philosopher. She didn't just sit in an ivory tower surrounded by abstractions. Instead, she walked among us, paid attention to the world, and made philosophy not only coherent but also highly relevant.

Adding to the charm, it's late-autumn in London, with all kinds of peculiar characters sitting in cold rooms with flickering fires. I simply adore it.

Renato introduced me to Iris Murdoch through this book, and I truly relished it.

It's almost inconceivable to clarify precisely why or in what manner. The plot essentially tracks a group consisting of two upper middle class families and their close friends in England.

There is a murder, a mysterious stranger who insinuates himself into their lives, and numerous metaphysical/mythical allusions and activities.

Murdoch deftly manages the large cast, with excellent dialogue and sharp prose that has an undercurrent of dry humor.

My only major gripe was that nearly all of the male characters grated on my nerves. They were extremely high-strung and dramatic, and it constantly fell to the female characters to bring them back to earth.

This was okay, but by the end, I felt sorry for the female characters who had to coddle those guys.

Overall, despite this minor annoyance, the book was a captivating read that left a lasting impression on me.

DNF (Did Not Finish) is a common term in various fields, especially in competitions or challenges. It often implies that one was on the verge of completing a task or achieving a goal but ultimately fell short.

In my case, I was so close to finishing something related to DNF. Maybe it was a project at work, a race, or a personal goal. I had put in a lot of effort and had come a long way. But in the end, for some reason, I just couldn't cross that final line.

However, surprisingly, I don't really care. It's not that I don't value the effort I put in or the progress I made. It's just that I've learned to look at things from a different perspective. Sometimes, the journey itself is more important than the destination. The experiences, the skills I've gained, and the lessons I've learned along the way are far more valuable than the actual completion of the task.

I believe that every DNF is an opportunity for growth and improvement. It shows me where my weaknesses are and what I need to work on. Instead of being disappointed or frustrated, I choose to embrace it and use it as a motivation to do better next time. So, even though I was so close to finishing and DNFed, I'm okay with it and I'm looking forward to the next challenge.

I had an extremely hard time assigning a star rating for this confounding, mesmerizing, and overlong book.

The setup couldn't be any simpler. A close-knit group of long-time friends is suddenly shaken up by the arrival of a mysterious visitor. This visitor insinuates himself into their clique with the promise of long-withheld secrets.

However, the pacing is rather slack. Scenes seem to repeat themselves over and over again to the extent that I thought I had lost my place on several occasions. It was somewhat entertaining, but it lacked depth.

And golly, was it long! It felt like it dragged on and on, making it a bit of a chore to get through at times. Despite its flaws, there was still something about the story that kept me engaged, but it definitely could have benefited from some tighter editing and a more focused narrative.

I must admit that I truly didn't believe I would ever manage to complete this. It consisted of a whopping 472 pages, all of which were filled with extremely dense writing, and yet, almost nothing of significance seemed to occur throughout.

I had thoroughly relished reading works like The Severed Head and The Black Prince. However, this particular piece was a completely different story. It came across as an overwritten and overly long soap opera.

The excessive verbosity made it a laborious read, and the lack of a coherent and engaging plot only added to my disappointment. I found myself constantly struggling to stay interested and motivated to continue turning the pages.

By the time I finally reached the end, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief rather than satisfaction. It was a reading experience that I would not soon forget, but unfortunately, for all the wrong reasons.