A man wanders with his demons. He desires to be young again and wants to be God. He wishes to possess everything ("my great", "my mountain") and not be attached to anyone.

"Should there be a fear of death and of the solitude that the great emits"? It seems clear to me that these are the temerities that throw him, irrationally, sometimes even psychotically (as when he sees the sea monster or constructs paranoid scenarios) into the search for love from his youth. Even when he becomes lucid and understands that he has built a chimera, he still cannot stay in that lucidity for long and takes refuge again in the worldly and superficial world of the theater.

The story caught me very strongly. I noted a lot and constantly changed my opinion regarding Charles' motivation in his pathetic attachment to Hartley. But it's not of such great importance. As Charles says, people don't change, they just find new strategies to live with their demons. Perhaps only the great knows how to live its solitude.

More important than holding on to action in this book is to delve into the story. It reveals treasures in every paragraph if you have patience.

Iris Murdoch, the author who intoxicated me with the only book I had read before, has recently been rapidly included in my reading scope. Generally, when reading good books, whether it is with the author or with the heroes in the work, I am in a complete state of dialogue. They seeped into my world, became my guests day and night, and turned my little sleep into a journey in the author's thought garden while wandering in the fictional world....

When reading "The Sea, the Sea", the limitlessness of human ego makes people very difficult. The hero who continues his efforts to save his old love is actually a selfish and dirty person, and although we know that there are quite a lot of such situations in society (we are numbed), we all take our place in this rottenness silently, yet we still constantly judge some people. Love relationships, love, friendship, all are in a state of chaos.

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Review soon.

It truly blew my socks off. I cannot stress enough that one should not read the Introduction to the book first. It will completely ruin the story. If at all, save it for last. I'm so extremely glad that I did just that.

“I live in long—times, not in sudden present moments, don’t you see—I’m married.”

I simply can't begin to express how much fun this book has added to my daily walks. I've laughed out loud, sighed deeply, and probably even talked to it while strolling along. Then, when I got back home, I would go straight to reading the print version.

Murdock takes her time and gradually drags the reader into the story. I almost gave up in the early pages. (Thank goodness for several GoodReads friends who encouraged me to carry on.)

I wasn't entirely sure if I had the stamina or interest in a story about an aging man, a former theatrical artist, who relocates to a small village by the sea to pen his memoirs. He is slightly annoying at times, but mostly so egotistical that it was a little hard to tolerate. However, the writing, the descriptions of the sea, the rocks, the sky - I fell in love with it all, just as in real life. The subtleties of colors, how the weather and the sea are never the same and possess their own unique beauty each day.

“Perhaps it is a sign of age that I am busy all day without really doing anything.”

The real story within the story (at least for me) is about old age and how as one gets older, memories take on new forms, sometimes with only a grain of truth. My other favorite example of this is Barnes’s The Sense of an Ending. It is a difficult lesson to learn in old age - that one can no longer fully believe or trust our memories, a place where we increasingly live. In old age, we often dwell in the past, attempting to understand what a life has meant and what we might have missed or failed to examine or understand the significance of, being too preoccupied with living.

I had to turn to the internet to find out how old Murdoch was when she wrote this book. It was published in 1978 and won the Booker Prize in that same year. So, Murdock was in her late 50’s during the writing of this novel. I wasn't as impressed with the fact that she was a woman writing as an older man as I was completely astounded by the fact that she could describe so accurately the thoughts and mind of an older person.

It is still early days, but I firmly believe that this book is one of the best I've ever read. I'm not sure if I would recommend it as highly for the under 55 crowd, but for those over it, it is a book that should not be missed. The audio version, narrated by Simon Vance, was simply incredible and truly a pleasure to listen to. I'm already eagerly looking forward to listening to it again.

If a person could write his entire life, moment by moment, like a novel, how professional and good the result would be. The pleasant parts would seem twice as pleasant, the boring parts would seem even more boring, and sins and sorrows would be illuminated with a glimmer of consolation.

The book is about a man named Charles Arrowby who writes about his present and past life. He writes about his life like a novel. According to himself, he spends a lot of time thinking, remembering, escaping, weaving philosophy, defining his mistakes and justifying himself, reviewing his bitter and sweet memories and his unfulfilled loves. So this novel, in addition to being about his past, is also a notebook of memories. The past and the present are very close in his view and can even be one. He refers to the importance of writing, durability, and permanence.

He has many ambiguous and unstable relationships, and now that after years he has gone to a house by the sea to have a life without worries, he has not been able to escape from them. Either he has lost those unproductive relationships or those relationships and people have left him...

The book has a lot of explanations and progresses slowly, but since it deals with the examination of the emotions between people who have a certain kind of feeling towards each other, such as betrayal, love, friendship, jealousy, competition, curiosity, etc., it was interesting for me.

The winner of the Man Booker Prize in 1978.

This pseudo memoir titled "The Sea The Sea" is truly one of a kind, distinct from any other book I have ever delved into.

Charles Arrowby, a figure of some renown in the theater world, decides to abandon his previous life and relocates to a house perched high above the sea. His intention is to pen down the story of his life. Right from the start, it becomes evident that Charles is an unreliable narrator. This aspect makes the novel a polarizing one. It either captivates your attention completely, drawing you into its web, or it causes you to shake your head in disbelief, to the extent that you might even consider closing the book.

I, for one, chose the former option. I found myself unable to tear my eyes away from this book, which is at times manic, at times crazy, and at times beyond deranged. I was compelled to know what would unfold next.

The story is a complex tapestry that weaves together Charles' first love, second love, numerous other loves, along with their spouses or significant others, children, neighbors, and so on. It also delves into the world of the theater, leaving us to wonder whether Charles truly conquered it or not. There is a copious amount of liquor and wine consumed, plenty of swimming, and everyone seems to be constantly reminiscing about the past. There are also occasional hallucinations, or perhaps they are not hallucinations at all. Later in the story, there is a reassessment of past truths.

Murdoch has crafted a veritable stew of a life, one that demands careful attention while reading but offers rich rewards to those readers who are ready for a strange and bumpy literary journey. I wholeheartedly recommend this book.

‘The Sea, The Sea’ commences with great promise. It begins with the dry, ironic narrative style of the budding writer Charles Arrowby, and Murdoch's beautiful explorations of nature and vivid descriptions of the sea. For instance, “At the horizon there is a light glittering slightly jagged silver line, like modern jewellery. Beneath it the sea is a live, choppy lyrical goldeny - brown, jumping with white flecks.” Indeed, the first 100 or so pages are truly brilliant. However, somewhere along the way, the novel starts to fall apart. Just like Charles' tenuous grip on reality (maybe this is intentional), the tedious, banal, and unrealistic love story between Charles and Hartley drags on. Eventually, the reader grows weary of the continuous parade of unlikable and insipid characters. It's a veritable smorgasbord of neurotics and narcissists who wouldn't seem out of place in a Dostoevskiian story. Yet, Murdoch lacks Dostoevskii’s gift for the fantastical. The reader hopes that the cast of characters either die (and some of them obligingly do) or emigrate far away from the pages of the novel, perhaps to a place like Australia, so that we never have to encounter them again. That doesn't mean Murdoch has no writing talent. But her attempt at creating a convincing or even interesting love story fails. The reader is left lamenting the quality of the first 100 or so pages compared to the (highly skippable) tedium of the last few hundred pages. The ending, though, does bring a touch of emotional resonance to the novel. In other words, when Charles is sane, he makes a passable narrator. However, during his frequent bouts of insanity, both the narrative and style suffer. The fact that this book won the Booker Prize is more a testament to the irrelevance of literary awards than the quality of the story.

The sea, the sea.

Titles are indeed a funny thing. For me, they have the power to generate images of other things. Recently, I came across an excellent review of this book by a Mexican Goodreads friend. In Spanish, "La mar" instantly recalled my art college days when I was completely fascinated by a Julian Schnabel painting with the same name. That painting was filled with his iconic plates and featured a giant piece of driftwood. Of course, there is also the haunting "La mer" by Claude Debussy and John Banville’s "The Sea". Interestingly, both of these books won the Booker prizes.

I first saw the English sea many years ago when I was in Wales. I vividly recall it being grey and stormy. This is not the enticing sea of some warm tropical climate. No, the English writers have masterfully captured its unrelenting and ever-changing moods and atmospheres. It's a place where things happen.

This book is a journey of self-discovery, filled with lost loves and the way perception can distort one's view. At its core, it is a love story. Or perhaps, more accurately, an obsession. Written today, in the era of MeToo, this book would surely cause an uproar. But it was published in 1978, in a different time.

Iris Murdoch has created a less than admirable main character in Charles Arrowby. He has left the theatre world to seek a slower, more laid-back life in an old house by the sea. There is no fridge, no telephone, and it is lit by gas lamps. It is rustic to the core and far from the sensibility of London. He is trying to escape several love affairs and the ghosts of his past, but they actually show up, challenge him, and he responds rather combatively.

But one day, he runs into his first true love, now forty years later. He pushes everything aside in a desperate attempt to win, or rather, steal her love back. I must admit that at times I thought it was a bit excessive, and often I wanted to give Charles a good slap. He is close to my age but acts like a teen boy. Grow up, man!

Charles finds himself in the Bardo, in limbo. A lot happens. New people enter his life, along with those from the past, and of course, the sea plays a significant role in this tumultuous, yet almost bittersweet book. So much occurs that it was extremely difficult to put down. And the ending was beautifully poignant.

I might even dare to say that this was one of the better books I have read recently. There was so much to ponder. The thoughts, the arguments, and the words constantly had me thinking about the story. How do we each confront the past? Is it truly what we thought it was? Unfinished business? No, for most of us, we move on. Charles had to learn things the hard way, and this is precisely why this book was so good. It definitely deserves a full five stars.

Charles Arrowby, as he presents himself in this "autobiography", is indeed as tragic, as comic, and as changeable as any of the characters he enacted during his successful tenure as a Shakespearian actor.

He has journeyed to the English seaside with the intention of a peaceful retirement, yet he instead encounters a succession of tumultuous disruptions.

Charles is a remarkable character. He is self-absorbed, unpredictable, delusional, haughty, insincere, impulsive, articulate, tiring, narcissistic, foolish, pompous, stormy, obsessive, crafty, domineering, deceitful, self-destructive, and charismatic.

My emotions towards him oscillated with each page. At times I despised him, and at others I adored him.

Ultimately, this novel revolves around one man confronting his past and coming to terms with the verities in his life. It is an outstanding novel. I wholeheartedly adored it! (I highly recommend the audiobook, which is superbly narrated by Simon Vance.)

This story takes the reader on a captivating journey through Charles' complex and tumultuous life, making it a truly engaging and unforgettable read.

This is a truly strange book populated by a cast of equally strange characters. They move in and out of the narrative like actors in a farcical play, yet it is garnished with elements of Buddhist philosophy, magic, and a great deal of soul-searching.

Charles Arrowby, a renowned Shakespearean theatre director, has retired and relocated to a secluded house in the countryside with a view of the sea. His intention is to write a memoir about Clement, the lover and woman who launched his theatrical career. He cooks, swims, and writes in his diary, but curiously, he writes about everything except the memoir on Clement, despite numerous false starts. Then, a series of people from his past life in London begin to appear on his doorstep, staying with him, arguing with him, haunting him, taunting him, and living off his generosity.

There is Lizzie, a forty-something actress and former lover who still loves Charles deeply, along with her gay roommate Gilbert. There is also the wicked temptress Rosina and her drunkard ex-husband Peregrine (Charles stole Rosina from Peregrine long ago, but they remain good friends). James, Charles' rich and celebrated cousin who is a general in the army and a Buddhist with a passion for Tibet, also shows up. Hartley, Charles' first and unrequited love, and her bullying husband Ben, as well as Titus, their adopted son whom Charles desires to adopt, complete the cast of characters.

Suddenly, Charles experiences an irrational desire to relive and correct his aborted relationship with Hartley. He kidnaps her and holds her prisoner in his house, much to the dismay of his houseguests. The situation escalates, with people mysteriously being pushed into the sea, others drowning, and those least suspected confessing to the crimes. In the midst of this chaos, Murdoch slips into her preferred role as a philosopher rather than just an author. Using James the Buddhist, she spouts pearls of wisdom for the reader and the hapless Charles.

Some interesting lines caught my attention. "Emotions lie at the top or bottom of personality. In the middle, they are acted. That is why all the world's a stage." "Every persistent marriage is based on fear." "White magic is black magic. A less-than-perfect meddling in the spirit world can create demons for others." "Leave the past in the past. It cannot be recreated."

The last statement is the moral of the story. Hartley is no longer the youthful beauty of Charles' youth; she is now a frumpy, indecisive, and fear-ridden old woman. Charles woos her with desperate entreaties that border on the ridiculous. Through his insane love for her, Charles also comes across as selfish, conniving, jealous, and possessive. He enjoys the chase but loses interest after the conquest. The relationships between the houseguests and Charles are like the effervescence of soda bottles, bubbling with warmth and caring one moment and flat and tepid the next.

Charles is eventually brought to his senses by James, who tells him that kidnapping a woman who is married to her husband through a combination of fear and bullying will not work. Charles is forced to change his plans. After this tempest subsides and tragedy strikes the house by the sea, the remaining characters pair off and leave to form other ventures and associations, some in remote parts of the world. Charles is left alone, back where he started, with some questions answered, such as his relationship with Hartley and James, but with many more new questions arising from what has occurred at the house by the sea. He will forever be preoccupied by them. Alas, the memoir of Clement is never written.

Yet, Murdoch is able to use the events in the house to raise questions about moral philosophy and use the setting of the sea as a metaphor for the turbulence within Charles. At times, he is in harmony, especially when left alone, while at other times, he is whipped into a storm of passion and rage by Hartley and Ben, or a feeling of guilt by Toby, or jealousy by Lizzie and James. Magic intrudes in the form of imaginary sea monsters that Charles sees on the eve of catastrophic events, and James' mastery of the dark arts provides some interesting twists in the tale.

Although this book won the Booker Prize, it is not my favorite Murdoch novel. I found the relationships of the characters rather superficial, unless that was the author's intention when depicting theatrical types. The actions of the characters also seemed contrived, with people showing up when needed and then leaving just as casually. The foreshadowing was crude, with Charles simply telling the reader that something is going to happen and then it does. There was also a lot of overwriting, with Charles' never-ending mental gymnastics when puzzling over things becoming irritating, and I often found myself skipping. However, the saving grace is the dialogue, which is funny and eccentrically British.

I guess for the Murdoch-aholic, this will be an essential read, as this novel is considered one of her defining works. But I beg to differ.

Charles Arrowby, having retired from a highly successful career in the London theatre, relocates to a house he has bought on the coast. A few miles away lies a small village. We come to know Charles through his attempts to pen his memoirs or autobiography. In this manner, he introduces us to his lovers and friends, many of whom we encounter later in the novel as they show up at Charles’ doorstep for diverse reasons.

In the initial part of the novel, Charles sets up a certain routine, which includes regularly swimming in the perilous ocean. I was completely captivated by Iris Murdoch’s writing in this early stage. She has the remarkable ability to make even the detailed descriptions of Charles’ meals, which consisted of an assortment of snacks and appetizers, sound fascinating, regardless of the number of meals described. I was quite astonished at how much I was relishing this first part of the novel and was almost let down when it transitioned into interactions with lovers, friends, and family.

But why should I be interested in reading about Charles Arrowby? He is egotistical, condescending, and treats the women in his life as mere chattel, to be manipulated at his whim. In fact, as the novel progresses, it becomes evident that he is incapable of imagining a woman not being attracted to him. Although Charles seems to be cognizant of some of his negative traits, he lacks the motivation to change. He is a thoroughly unlikable individual. Despite his anticipation of spending the remainder of his life in this house he has purchased, regularly visiting the nearby village, he makes no effort to get to know anyone and is not perturbed when the locals do not seem to like him and laugh and talk about him whenever he leaves.

When Charles’ friends and cousin start to visit, one is surprised they would do so given how he has treated them over the years and how he continues to behave towards them. It is at this juncture that I began to question whether there was any possibility of Charles ever changing; I found the plot somewhat implausible and regarded Charles as extremely irrational. However, in his theatre career, Charles was a director. It was his job, at which he was highly successful, to control everything and ensure that it was his version of the story that was being told. In life too, Charles cannot fathom that his interpretation of events is inaccurate. Any transformation here is going to be slow and gradual.

This was my first novel by Iris Murdoch, and I truly enjoyed it. Her skills are palpable; her storytelling is intricate. As she was a very productive writer, there is an abundance more for me to explore. I haven’t determined to what extent I am drawn to her writing. Perhaps another of her novels will assist me in arriving at a definite conclusion.

Reading this book has been an extraordinarily unique experience. Never before have I encountered a piece of literature that is so infuriatingly tedious and yet, in a strange way, compelling. It is at once laughable and bizarre, and yet, upon deeper reflection, quite sad.

The story is told through the eyes of Charles Arrowby, a renowned London theater director who decides to step out of the limelight and retire to a secluded house by the sea. His intention is to lead a more contemplative life and write a journal. For the next hundred pages or so, we are bombarded with detailed descriptions of his surroundings, daily routine, and even the food he consumes. This part of the book was truly tedious and had me on the verge of crankiness. However, I assure you that perseverance pays off handsomely.

The real fun begins when unexpected visits from friends and ex-lovers shatter Arrowby's seclusion. Their grandstanding and comings and goings leave him completely confounded. To make matters worse, he discovers that his childhood sweetheart is actually living in the village with her husband. What follows is a comical and madcap attempt to kidnap the woman and revive what has become a one-sided love affair, all with the help and support of a cast of friends and ex-lovers. It all seems, to me at least, not unlike a play that Arrowby would have directed in his former life.

For me, the most rewarding aspect of this reading experience was the process of trying to make sense of the entire story. Charles Arrowby is undoubtedly one of the most maddening characters I have ever come across. He is deluded, manipulative, and controlling. And yet, by the end of the book, I found myself sympathizing with him. The story is rich in symbolism and is filled with an endless stream of images, events, and characters. I realized that all of this had been masterfully calculated by Murdoch to challenge our ideas about life and how we cope with reality.

The book is extremely thought-provoking and, despite the initial aggravation, is well worth the read.

The first thing that truly captivates me about The Sea, The Sea is its remarkable title.

Isn't it simply wonderful? Just picture how uninteresting it would have appeared on a bookshelf if it had been merely titled \\"The Sea.\\" However, with that deeply simple yet ingenious decision to repeat itself, it suddenly exudes an air of horror, madness, and obsession. It's truly brilliant.

It almost makes me wish that Emily Bronte had titled her book \\"The Moor, The Moor.\\"

And then Murdoch engages in this terrific game with the opening sentence.

The first sentence,

The sea which lies before me as I write glows rather than sparkles in the bland May sunshine.

seems like the dull beginning of a book that should be called \\"The Sea.\\" It even uses the word \\"bland\\"!

Blahhhh, it seems rather lame, until you reach the next paragraph:

I had written the above, destined to be the opening paragraph of my memoirs, when something happened which was so extraordinary and so horrible that I cannot bring myself to describe it even now after an interval of time and although a possible, though not totally reassuring, explanation has occurred to me.

And there we have the first sentence of a book called \\"The Sea, The Sea.\\"

Whee! Off we go into a world of madness and horror.