I have to admit that I have a soft spot for 20th Century novels in which the gay characters are not simply used as metaphors or conveniently killed off because the author runs out of ideas by the end of the book. In this particular book, we encounter a gay couple who are dealing with their problems in a highly believable manner.

Murdoch's dialogue can sometimes lean towards the schematic, but despite this, the ethical impetus of the novel manages to avoid esoteric theories and philosophical abstractions.

Love is the irrational element that we often accept into our lives without much thought or questioning. 'A Fairly Honourable Defeat' brings those questions to the forefront of the characters' lives and explores their consequences to various degrees.

What is demanded of us in order to accept the love of another person? And, ultimately, what does it truly mean to live without love? These are the very questions that draw the reader through this novel of intersecting and colliding lives. When the drama finally comes to an end, those questions still linger for us, challenging our own perspectives on love and life.

Not one of her best, this book does require a few too many moments of suspension of disbelief. However, it is still well worth the read. The characters are truly fabulous. The portrayal of a gay couple is excellent. Murdoch makes no special mention of their homosexuality, yet it is not trivialized either. Given that the book was written in 1970, with mentions of the 'dirty run down slum houses in Notting Hill', it really makes you realize how long ago this was. In this regard, Murdoch was really ahead of her time. She managed to present a relationship that was not the norm at that period in a natural and respectful way. The story unfolds with a certain charm and despite its flaws, it engages the reader and makes them think about different aspects of life and relationships. It is a testament to Murdoch's writing skills that even with its imperfections, the book still holds a certain allure and can be enjoyed by readers today.

I really enjoyed this book.

Fairly certain that Tallis Browne might just be my very first literary crush. I can't for the life of me put my finger on exactly what it is that I like so much about him.

As has been mentioned in other reviews - or at least one - there does indeed seem to be a connection to A Midsummer Night's Dream. And I'm not just referring to the allusion. Julius comes across as a demonic Puck who gets himself in way over his head, with a touch of Oberon thrown in. The crossing of lovers and the "spell" cast on them is all very reminiscent of a Midsummer's Madness.

Morgan seems to be very much a vehicle for the madness that is inherent in much of the story - almost as if she were meant to be Hermia. Critics that I'd read of the book online seemed to miss by a wide margin what I think both Morgan and Hilda were meant to symbolize. (Mind you, many of these critiques were from the 70s.) While Morgan may in fact have been truly mad (Iris seems to drop it after she finds Rupert in the pool), she was really so much more than that. Hilda's identity seems so wrapped up in the house, and it's Morgan's realization after Hilda leaves for the cottage that illustrates not only her taking Hilda for granted, but also the reality of Hilda herself.

There's so much symbolism implicit in this story. It isn't just about women in their polar roles. Julius symbolizes a white dragon of sorts, while Tallis symbolizes the red one. Now whether or not they symbolize what these are generally symbols of in Britain remains to be seen. This particular novel is very much a product of its time. The rotary phone, which is arguably a major vehicle in the ending of the novel, is a great example of this.

One question though. Iris made a big deal about Julius being a Jew and a concentration camp survivor. This is a fact that doesn't seem relevant to the rest of the plot. Why is it important?

Human beings are complex and flawed entities, filled with uncertainties, vaguenesses, and empty spaces. Driven by their own private needs, they blindly latch onto each other, only to pull away and clutch again. Their little sadisms and masochisms are mere surface phenomena, and anyone can play the roles. In fact, they never truly see each other. As Iris Murdoch aptly put it, there is no relationship that cannot be easily broken, and the breaking of any relationship is not a matter of genuine seriousness. Human beings are essentially finders of substitutes.

Murdoch seems to have taken a page from the playbook of Ivy Compton-Burnett, where everyone is constantly talking about everyone else. Each chapter, at least initially, is a long conversation between two or three characters. Through these conversations, they reveal far more information than two people would normally feel the need to repeat or reveal. It all has a bit of a Days of Our Lives-like quality to it.
And then there's Simon, the lively gay character. He is perhaps the most fully realized gay character Murdoch ever created and a sheer delight. Her depiction of his ordinary relationship with Axel, an older man, is extraordinary. With few exceptions, novels prominently featuring gay characters were usually written by gay men themselves. I had never heard of a kouros before, but now I have, and I hope that Axel and Simon's museum meeting in Greece replays in my dreams.
As for the other characters, there's Julius King, one of the author's beloved soap opera villains enchanters. However, once his machinations begin in Part Two, with purloined letters and eavesdropping, things quickly go downhill. There is much musing on love and vanity, but in the end, it doesn't amount to much.

[note to future self: proofread before posting reviews]

A Fairly Honourable Defeat is a truly splendid Shakespearean tragicomedy, presented in the form of a superbly written novel.

It delves deep into a plethora of philosophical paradoxes, masterfully straddling the fine, and at times, extremely fragile lines.

These lines separate the concepts of selfish and unconditional love, where one is driven by personal desires and the other by selfless dedication.

It also explores the contrast between freedom and entrapment, highlighting how easily one can find themselves caught in a web of circumstances that restrict their liberty.

The novel further examines the complex relationship between judgement and acceptance, showing how our tendency to judge others can often prevent us from truly accepting them.

Finally, it delves into the realm of honesty and deception, revealing the consequences that come with choosing one over the other.

Overall, A Fairly Honourable Defeat is a thought-provoking and engaging work that offers profound insights into the human condition.

I really liked the premise of the book. It was about a super-scientist who conducted social experiments on unsuspecting and gullible couples and siblings. The aim was to reveal how our hidden desires, insecurities, needs, and perceptions of self drive our relationships, rather than real, true love.

However, I did get bogged down in some parts. I just couldn't take all the "darlings" and the excessive use of italics. I wondered if Brit men really talk like that. Also, some of the detours the author took seemed very irrelevant. While I usually enjoy such interruptions in a story, these ones weren't very interesting. For example, that bit about property rights when Tallis asked if stealing was wrong. It just didn't seem to fit.

In conclusion, I would not recommend this book as a quick read. It has its interesting aspects, but the drawbacks made it a bit of a struggle to get through at times.

I initially believed that I had a comprehensive understanding of the book. I thought I had grasped all its nuances and could predict where the story was headed.

However, to my surprise, it suddenly morphed into something entirely different. The plot took an unexpected turn, and the characters' actions and motives became unclear.

It was as if the book had a mind of its own, and I was left scrambling to keep up. This new development made me realize that I had underestimated the complexity of the story.

I now find myself重新evaluating my initial assumptions and looking at the book from a new perspective. I am eager to see where this transformation will lead and how it will ultimately impact the overall narrative.

It just goes to show that even when we think we know something inside out, there is always the possibility of it changing and presenting us with new challenges and opportunities for discovery.

Complete and utter drivel.

I gave up twice before page 30, so exasperated was I with this dire novel. I eventually threw in the towel at 175. I simply can't remember reading such a desperately awful novel from a serious writer whose output I've previously enjoyed.

The characters were mostly awful, smug, complacent, and loathsome. Apart from the acerbic Leonard, whom we got far too little of. Some of the dialogue was just ludicrously unbelievable. Who in the world has such conversations?

As for the set piece 'comedy' situations, they were way off the mark and mostly left me incredulous about how poorly executed they were or exasperated at the sheer implausibility of them.

What irritated me from the outset was the stupid names. Tallis for a man, and Morgan for a woman? I know these days it's de rigueur to give children stupid names, but surely not when this was set.

The introduction to this edition says the book doesn't work, and it's certainly correct. Definitely one to dump in the charity shop.

Good is often considered dull. As Julian put it, “Good is dull. What novelist ever succeeded in making a good man interesting?” This thought-provoking question sets the tone for our exploration of Iris Murdoch's complex novel.

When assessing a novel by a writer as tricksy as Murdoch, where does one begin? Is it with her inspirations, the literary parallels, her analysis of character psychology, or her dissection of the compromised morality of the metropolitan middle classes?

Or should the reviewer rely on choice quotes from the brilliantly wicked dialogue to show how this story of illusion, delusion, collusion, and deception unfolds as a tragicomedy in a human puppet show? And if the characters are marionettes, Murdoch herself is surely the puppeteer.

“A Fairly Honourable Defeat” is also filled with multiple symbols that sparkle like jewels. For example, a swimming pool during a sweltering British summer, white, pink, and yellow roses hiding thorns, a broken amber bead necklace that keeps getting mended, and outer garments being violently removed or destroyed. These symbols, in different ways, reveal weakness or vulnerability, suggesting a “spectacle of self-deception” as one charismatic character puts it.

Murdoch's “dramatis personae” consists of eight main characters and one or two minor ones. We first meet Rupert Foster, a Whitehall civil servant and “stern father” writing a book on moral philosophy, and his loving wife Hilda, an “emotional mother” for their disenchanted student son Peter. We also meet Rupert's younger brother Simon, who trained at the Cortauld Institute and is in a relationship with Axel Nilsson. Then there's adult education lecturer Tallis Browne, in thrall to his vituperative invalid father and depressed because his wife Morgan left him for a short-lived affair in America with a shady biologist named Julius King. King, who is responsible for researching what he calls “mysterious virus ailments,” is a sociopath and a mischief-maker. His amoral philosophy pervades the novel, and his charisma allows him to persuade others to act against their own self-interests.

The novel is rich in Shakespearean allusions and character names that conjure up associations. It is a tragicomedy that doesn't end happily, constantly foreshadowed with statements about the pain of living through each other's consciousness and the fear of those who communicate with the deep abysses of one's mind. As Simon asks, “How could this tangle not have some agonizing dénouement?” For us observers, Murdoch's novel could prove either horribly delicious or deliciously horrible, especially considering it takes place at the end of the Swinging Sixties, an era with a glittering surface and an ugly underbelly of prejudice.

‘Good is dull. What novelist ever succeeded in making a good man interesting?’ Julian.
— Part One, Chapter 18.

This question challenges us to look beyond the traditional concept of a good character and consider the potential for complexity and interest in other aspects of a novel.

‘Human beings are roughly constructed entities full of indeterminacies and vaguenesses and empty spaces. Driven along by their own private needs they latch blindly on to each other, then pull away, then clutch again. Their little sadisms and their little masochisms are surface phenomena. Anyone will do to play the roles. They never really see each other at all.’ — Part One, Chapter 19.

This passage highlights the flaws and uncertainties within human nature, as well as the superficial nature of many relationships. It also emphasizes the role-playing aspect of human interaction, which is a recurring theme in the novel.

'There is no relationship, dear Morgan, which cannot quite easily be broken and there is none the breaking of which is a matter of any genuine seriousness. […] All human beings have staggeringly great faults which can easily be exploited by a clever observer.’ — Part One, Chapter 19

Julius King's cynical view of relationships is both disturbing and thought-provoking. It makes us question the true nature of our own relationships and the extent to which we are vulnerable to manipulation.

‘I could divide anybody from anybody. Play sufficiently on a person’s vanity, sow a little mistrust, hint at the contempt which every human being deeply, secretly feels for every other one.’

This statement further emphasizes Julius's power as a manipulator and his willingness to use people's weaknesses to achieve his own ends. It also serves as a warning about the dangers of allowing others to influence our thoughts and actions.

Finally, I finished this DENSE masterpiece. It's truly amazing how Murdoch can be such a magician/philosopher. The story she weaves is nothing short of glorious. Each page is filled with profound insights and captivating narratives that keep the reader hooked from start to finish.

And oh my, that final defeat was absolutely honorable. It added a layer of depth and complexity to the story that made it all the more memorable. Fucking Julius, he was such a complex character, his actions and decisions driving the plot forward in the most unexpected ways.

This book is a must-read for anyone who loves literature that challenges the mind and touches the heart. Murdoch's writing is a work of art, and I feel privileged to have experienced it.

What a painfully long read!

It feels as if one is trapped in a never-ending cycle of words, trudging through each sentence with great effort. The text seems to stretch on and on, offering little relief or excitement.

The pages turn slowly, and the eyes grow tired from the continuous strain.

Every paragraph seems to add to the burden, making it a truly arduous task to reach the end.

One can't help but wonder if there is any point to this long and tiresome journey.

Will there be any reward or satisfaction waiting at the finish line?

Or will it all have been in vain?

Only time will tell as one perseveres through this painfully long read.

3.5 stars

Iris Murdoch’s thirteenth novel offers a surprisingly swift reading experience, despite being the longest among the initial thirteen. This might be due, in part, to the significant amount of dialogue it contains, and partly because of a somewhat morbid compulsion to keep turning the pages as the events unfold. I use the term “morbid” because the plot seems to spiral downward, with little hope for anything good to occur, leaving the reader eagerly anticipating the revelation of secrets and the ultimate fate of the characters.

The novel features the typical, slightly claustrophobic, small cast and is set in London, primarily revolving around the wealthy and comfortable homes of Rupert and Hilda, a seemingly blissful couple at the start of the story. It also includes the home of a gay couple, Simon (Rupert’s younger brother) and Axel, and the dilapidated and filthy dwelling of Tallis, the former husband of Hilda’s sister Morgan, who has just returned from America after a disastrous affair with Rupert’s acquaintance Julius. Tallis lives with Peter, the son of Rupert and Hilda, his father Leonard, and various immigrant families from Pakistan.

Julius is the instigator and, in fact, the puppet master of a scheme that玩弄 the emotions of these individuals and causes turmoil as the novel progresses. He is a Machiavellian figure whose behavior is partially explained, though never excused. A biochemist, he treats those around him as just another experiment or even as an art piece he is arranging. He seems to view himself as a harbinger of justice, stripping away vanity and artifice and taking great pleasure in being “evil,” which he finds far more exciting and attractive than goodness. Tallis, on the other hand, is his agentless, saintly counterpart, a bystander who only once steps out of his shell. He is primarily apathetic, has visions of his dead twin sister, and is attempting to right all the world’s problems single-handedly. By the end of the novel, he remains as enigmatic in some ways as Julius, despite their revelations to each other.

Morgan, Tallis’s wife, is a vain and often irritating character who is emotionally unstable, to a certain extent for good reason. Peter is just a spoilt and annoying child with a mummy complex. Leonard, Tallis’s father, is a far more engaging character with some great lines. In fact, his introduction in the novel is one of the best speeches in the book, and he is an unashamed misanthrope whom Tallis nevertheless dotes on.

Simon and Axel, particularly Simon, are my favorite characters in the novel. Iris Murdoch often includes gay characters in her works, but this is the first time where they are presented as just another couple, and one that is perhaps even more successful than the others in the book. In contrast, Hilda is rather vague, and Rupert becomes less appealing as he becomes more entangled in Julius’s scheme. I grew rather tired of listening to the tortured conversations between him and Morgan. I also tend to zone out whenever Iris Murdoch begins to get overly philosophical, and there is a significant amount of discussion about different types of love that can be confusing and was still not entirely clear to me by the end of the book.

However, there are the usual masterful character studies in the book, as that is primarily what Iris Murdoch’s novels are about. You don’t read her for the plot but for the people, and although there is a scheme in place to drive the story forward, it is still secondary to the reactions, behaviors, and hang-ups of those involved. Her characters often frustrate, and even now I’m not sure whether the reason this wasn’t a favorite is because the frustration became overwhelming, whether Morgan, for example, simply irritated me beyond measure, or whether it was simply that the suspense of what would ultimately come of all this was too much for my sensitive nerves. I know this happens to be a favorite among several other Iris Murdoch fans, so, as with all her novels, this is probably one that will reward a rereading, but for now I’ll have to let it sit for a while.

Favorite Lines

“Swimming refreshes the soul, but does not affect the waistline, I’m afraid. Anyway, drink is good for my insomnia. Thank heavens I’m so happy. Insomnia must be hell if one isn’t.”

“Good is dull. What novelist ever succeeded in making a good man interesting? It is characteristic of this planet that the path of virtue is so unutterably depressing that it can be guaranteed to break the spirit and quench the vision of anybody who consistently attempts to tread it.”

“Interesting! When people don’t understand something they feel they have to say that! It’s so conveniently non-committal!”