The Unicorn

Iris Murdoch is truly a remarkable author. Her works are filled with the most fascinating characters and the wildest plot twists.

But beneath the surface, there lies a deeply concerned gaze upon the human condition and religion, guilt and love.

Love is always a prominent theme in her novels. It weaves its way through the stories, sometimes in unexpected ways.

The characters in her books are complex and multi-dimensional, facing various challenges and dilemmas that force them to confront their own natures.

Murdoch's writing style is engaging and thought-provoking, drawing the reader in and making them reflect on the deeper meanings and themes within the story.

Whether it's the exploration of moral and ethical issues or the examination of the human heart, Iris Murdoch's works never fail to captivate and inspire.

She has left an indelible mark on the literary world with her unique vision and profound insights into the human experience.

I didn't like this at all.

It just didn't meet my expectations or interests.

Maybe it was the content, the style, or something else entirely.

But whatever the reason, I found myself completely unengaged.

I considered giving it another chance right away, but I knew that my heart wasn't in it.

So instead, I decided that I may restart it at another time.

Perhaps when my mood is different or when I have more time to fully invest in it.

For now, though, I'll put it aside and focus on other things that do bring me joy and satisfaction.

Who knows, maybe when I come back to it later, I'll have a completely different perspective and end up loving it.

Only time will tell.

I can't say that I loved it. However, I will state that I read it months ago, and it has remained with me ever since.

As I was reading it, it haunted me. Yes, for the most part, the characters are rather preposterous. And yet... I have a special affection for the old professor.

Now, years have passed, and it is still haunting me. I think I will re-read this again in 2013 and re-assess. I suspect that it will receive a higher rating now that I have a better understanding of Murdoch's writing.

Perhaps with this new reading, I will discover more depth and nuance in the story and the characters. Maybe I will see things that I missed the first time around.

I am looking forward to re-immersing myself in this haunting tale and seeing how my perception of it has changed over the years.

I have been thinking about this novel ever since I finished it, seeking its meaning, a message, trying to find an explanation for the whole story. But I haven't been able to, and now I believe that precisely this is what is really valuable and interesting about reading: that mainly it has raised questions for me. I think it is a very good novel, for this reason and for Murdoch's prose, for her fascinating ability to intrigue and disconcert with the mystery and the themes she proposes in a somewhat "far-fetched" way (some very related to my own obsessions), but that for me has turned out, if not realistic, at least plausible, at least on a theoretical level. It is also a book that I will always keep as a very special object on my bookshelf.

She had never really known how to live, never been able to unfold her personality; and the society in which she had lived until then had not helped her.

...after Geoffrey, she had found her life so empty and her work so bitter that the old, and only half-understood, desire for something more had grown until it became the frenzy that spurred her on and that she had so much thanked and even admired.

Marian Taylor arrives at the castle of Gaze, not really knowing what she is looking for, to be the governess of Hannah, a woman who lives cloistered. But what is that something that I think we all, to a greater or lesser extent, almost always look for without result? Something external or internal? Where and how to look for it? How will we be able to identify our own desires when we don't really know who we are? Does that which we seek really exist?

When she arrives at Gaze, the atmosphere is strange, typical of a gothic story, but there is more: something is wrong, its inhabitants are strange to us, perhaps because they are not people. They are concepts. I don't want to reveal anything about the mystery that presents itself, so I will limit myself to leaving here the questions that the story has been raising for me, and that perhaps don't make much sense to those who don't know it. Hannah, the unicorn, is the center, the character around whom all the others revolve, an enigma. Why does she live like this? (Do we act as others need us to act, are we slaves to the expectations of others?)

Guilt, punishment: A kind of surrender underlay them. What kind of surrender, what kind of resignation, was something that he couldn't quite pinpoint: whether she had surrendered to Peter or to duty or to God or to a crazy personal fantasy; whether in her resided a great virtue or a notable vice. Because undoubtedly it was something extreme, something that, Effingham began to think more and more insistently, he should not disturb with feeble ideas of happiness.

In the absence of guilt, can we accept punishment as a simple duty? In the face of guilt, would we choose punishment as a solution, as a liberating element? Isn't guilt already the punishment most of the time? Can suffering be a consolation? Doesn't punishment then cease to be a punishment? Is self-imposed suffering a twisted form of happiness and freedom? Do happiness and freedom really exist in practice? Is it acceptable to try to impose our ideal of freedom and happiness on others? Is it valid to rescue the one who doesn't want to be rescued, to disturb their peace? Do we do it for the good of the one we believe is imprisoned, is it an act of selfishness, all at once?

Love, the real and the fictional: In a certain way you can't love something that doesn't exist. I think that if you really love, then that something exists.

Do we project our desires onto the object of our love? (Is this, for believers, applicable to God?) Do we love the other or do we love what we imagine the other to be? Do we want to know their reality or do we prefer to keep loving the idea? If we love the idea, do we really love someone? Can we really love someone whom we prefer not to know completely? Is it possible to love someone with whom we put on a mask? Is it possible to love someone who we know is wearing that mask? And vice versa, do those people really love us when we don't show ourselves as we really are?

The power we always exercise over others, suffering: The victims of power, and all power has its victims, are affected by suffering. They then have to pass it on, exercise power over others.

...to lack power, to be a complete victim, can be another source of power. Does absolute good exist, the absolute lack of power? Good as the end of the transfer of suffering: a pure being who only suffers and does not try to pass on suffering.

Is suffering chosen? If so, isn't there something selfish in simply choosing to suffer? Isn't it always the case that suffering makes those around us suffer? Isn't the mere fact of suffering then already passing on suffering?

But can there really be evil in suffering? Suffering is not something to be ashamed of. It is natural. It is part of nature.

This reading has therefore been a constant reflection, on questions that have no solution, or to which each of us will give a different answer.

You may think we're a bit strange at first, but you'll soon find a place among us.

2.5 rounded to 3 stars

This is yet another book that I am perusing as a part of this year's Mooskie Madness tournament. I don't believe that Murdoch and I are on the same wavelength. Many years ago, I made an attempt to read The Sea, the Sea, but I gave up - something that I seldom do. I didn't abandon The Unicorn because I had to read at least one of her books for the tournament. I didn't despise it. It was a facile read. However, I found it to be rather tedious. I felt that the characters were rather uninteresting. They all appeared to be quite absurd, despite the fact that several of them met their demise either by their own hand or someone else's. It had the feel of an exaggerated Victorian novel.

I think that Murdoch's writing style might not be to my taste. The story seemed to lack depth and the characters didn't really engage me. I was hoping for more excitement and substance, but unfortunately, it didn't deliver. Maybe I just need to give her another chance with a different book, but for now, I'm not overly impressed.

You gotta love the seventies. The blurb on the back of my used Avon paperback is truly captivating.

It starts with the bold statement "ONLY IRIS MURDOCH" in a super-ugly font. Murdoch had the remarkable ability to combine the popular Gothic tale with modern psychological insights. This combination results in a story that not only terrifies but also reveals the secret agonies of desire.

In this remarkable novel, a young woman takes a governess' position. She is intrigued by the name of Castle Gaze. As she delves deeper into the "dark" secrets of the castle's "tortured" residents, the events spiral in an unexpected way. Instead of the typical downward spiral, they build up to a "stunning" climax.

The use of words like "dark," "tortured," and "stunning" adds to the mystery and excitement of the story. It makes you want to pick up the book and find out what lies behind the walls of Castle Gaze and what secrets the residents are hiding.

Overall, the blurb does a great job of enticing readers and giving them a taste of what to expect from the novel. It makes me eager to explore the world created by Iris Murdoch and discover the secrets and desires that lie within.

I simply couldn't put this one down. I ended up reading it throughout the entire Thanksgiving weekend. I'm really kicking myself for not picking up Murdoch's work until now. She is truly a genius!! Heck, who can deny an author who has a unifying theme across her works? In this respect, she is similar to D.H. Lawrence (or Ayn Rand or Walker Percy). According to a paper I read, Murdoch is a follower of Plato (and a rejector of many Freudian theories), and there are numerous references to both Plato and Freud in this book. She is especially interested in morality, in doing and being good. She believes that beating the ego down is the only hope humanity has at achieving true goodness. Hannah in this book exemplifies at least the attempt to achieve this. By accepting her own human nature and that of her husband, she lives with the guilt of her adultery and her husband's almost-death, and she spends seven years in repentance. This is her own way of living outside her ego. However, like all human efforts (including novel writing), this fails when she finds herself feeding on the interest this experiment generates in the help, neighbors, and townspeople.

It's fascinating to see how Murdoch explores these complex themes in such a profound and engaging way. Her writing is not only thought-provoking but also beautifully crafted. I can't wait to read more of her works and continue to explore the depths of her genius.

Like a captivating blend of PG Wodehouse's charm and the allure of an English country house mystery, this production unfolds on the West End stage.

It weaves in religious symbolism, with the unicorn representing purity.

The overall atmosphere is unsettlingly creepy, yet it manages to be both subtle and thought-provoking.

The combination of these elements creates a unique and engaging experience for the audience.

As the story progresses, viewers are drawn into a world of mystery and intrigue, where nothing is quite as it seems.

The use of religious symbolism adds an extra layer of depth and complexity, making the production not only entertaining but also intellectually stimulating.

Whether you're a fan of Wodehouse, English country house mysteries, or simply enjoy a good mystery with a touch of the supernatural, this West End production is sure to leave a lasting impression.