This novel appears to delve into Murdoch's concept that "being indifferent to one's own misery is not the same as being indifferent to others" (pp 292). I was initially attracted to this novel precisely because of a completely valid criticism that, by concentrating on questions regarding what is good within the context of desires and duties among the educated, English middle class, Murdoch both illuminates and misses a great deal. Although a classical education is constantly referenced in this novel, the protagonist Hilary is an orphan whose language skills enable him to attend Oxford only to have love and desire shatter his life... twice. The backdrop of the civil service workplace, with its careers, daily bureaucracy, and office politics, effectively conveys the themes of duty and desire that Murdoch is exploring.

Hilary seems to be indifferent to his misery, yet is also obsessed with it. He desires to repent but only repeats his mistakes. The novel has the typical amusement of characters who drink far too much, inappropriately fall in love, and act on their desires while being fully aware that they are making a mistake. And the characters discuss their desires and conflicts so well that I, at least, feel no guilt in reading it. I have found other books by her to be more enjoyable to read, but this one is as well.

Hilary is an entirely unlikable character in many respects, and I cannot understand the relationship between pity and attraction that binds much of the book's action together. And all the other characters are deliberately flat because we are viewing them from Hilary's internal perspective. But Hilary is incredibly hilarious due to the type of nihilism that his indifference to his own suffering engenders.

The image of the book that will remain with me is that of Hilary's highly routinized life, which organizes the book as chapters all named after the days of the week. "I relied upon routine, perhaps ever since I realized that grammatical rules were to be my salvation; and since I had despaired of salvation, even more so." Sunday poses a problem for Hilary in this context, and there are few chapters under its name.

The other image that persists in my mind is Hilary's preferred drinking spot, the platform bars at Sloane Square station or Liverpool Street station. "In the whole extension of the Underground system, those two stations are, as far as I've been able to discover, the only ones which have bars actually upon the platform. The concept of the tube station platform bar excited me.... These two bars were... the source of a dark excitement, places of profound communication with London, excitement, with the sources of life, with the caverns of resignation to grief and to mortality" (pp 37). This is an escape for Hilary. But I keep wondering: were there really bars on tube platforms in the 1970s?

Alcoholic Tale. The power of the word, even when the meaning is absent, the way it finally overcomes the resistances of the most powerless, the most superficial. A man, a hostage of himself, of the talent he has with words. De Saint recognizes people as victims and sacrifices, there are no other categories besides these, neither men nor women, only victims and sacrifices. This is also confirmed by Mernauck.

Succulent speech, spreads, dissolves. The whole is comic, the whole is tragic, the whole is solid and sometimes in waves like the blue that is so close to black and yet is not black nor any other color, just as these colors are not found inside the objects but on the objects. They float and do not float, they touch or are waves. In a world that moves, we move with them.

Hilary reminds me so much of myself upside down. Every day is a special day, dedicated to routines that purify in order to avoid any violation, excess, possibility of reacting differently, of repeating to live, leaving only the SK (which are my own special days) in a free negotiation. Slowly, only one fact is enough to lose this order, the thread that unwound a little but enough so that it can no longer regain this factory, useless look. And then everything changes, one by one. Last week something similar happened to me too, the safety of Saturday was lost and then simply (and this'simply' hurts because it is simply, both for Hilary and for anyone else) it was not restored. If you have lived once on the edge and you have paid for it then either you try again and again like Marmota's Day to change the conditions, to transform yourself and transformation means displacement, continuous displacement, or you give up, you find your corners. And then one day...

Who is the one who has more to lose? The victim? The sacrifice? Or finally the passive smoker?

In 1.5 months, Yourcenar - Pynchon - Mernauck, extremely difficult, particularly demanding and I aim to do it again. All three are amazing writers, wild, ecstatically lovable.

5

We live in a fantasy world, a world of illusion.

The great task in life is to find reality, as Iris Murdoch, who taught philosophy at Oxford University and wrote numerous novels, believed.

Her writings are renowned for interweaving moral philosophy, evocative prose, and characters that are often “most passionate and comically absurd.”

Although it is tempting to label this story a tragedy, the protagonist Hillary Burde firmly objects, stating, “And it was not a tragedy... Tragedy belongs in art. Life has no tragedies.”

However, the reader is frequently unsettled by characters who must endure lives filled with despair.

Their despair is enhanced by interesting symbolism. Big Ben looms large, constantly reminding of the passing of time, while Hillary’s perpetual alcoholism serves as an antidote for the lack of forgiveness and reconciliation.

The significance of these latter two terms cannot be overemphasized, especially in a worldview devoid of absolute truths.

Hillary Burde is a master of words, exclaiming, "I discovered words and words were my salvation," which gives the book its title.

As always, Murdoch’s prose is breathtaking.

The novel is a page-turner, difficult to put down, with each chapter enticing the reader forward.

This novel (Murdoch’s 17th) has an engaging plot, containing a profound undercurrent regarding the existential nature of forgiveness – for ourselves and for others.

It is a work that will keep readers captivated and思索ing long after they have turned the final page.

Left to my own devices, I would have likely dragged through this novel, viewing it as a festival of narcissistic navel-gazing, with only a few key events sparsely dispersed at wide intervals throughout.

Fortunately, I took advantage of the plentiful online resources that analyze the book.

I was particularly intrigued by three academic articles. One compared the main character to Wittgenstein's shift from the Tractatus to the Investigations. Another employed cognitive linguistics to illustrate the character's moral growth within the book. The third article didn't even mention this particular novel but delved into Murdoch's philosophy of un-selfing in a manner that I could easily recognize within the book.

As a result, I actually ended up enjoying a book that I could have potentially hated. It's a technique I've utilized before when faced with reading material that is above my comprehension level. When I find myself stuck, I seek help.

For more information, see my blog post at A Just Recompense.

Why has Hilary Burde, a promising young Oxford grad and languages phenom, ended up at 41 unmarried, sharing a dingy flat in a dodgy London neighborhood, and slowly dying in a low-paid government office job?

From its seemingly grim opening pages, this book quickly shows itself to be in fact a highly entertaining work of literary fiction full of ideas, action, and fast-paced, often witty dialogue among a cast of well-drawn characters.

When we first meet Hilary, the book's narrator, he lives a self-regimented life. Each evening is compartmentalized for visiting separately either his beloved, shy young sister Crystal, her fiancé Arthur, a couple of senior colleagues, or his failed-actress girlfriend Thomasina. He blames his current restricted life on two things: his devotion to Crystal's well-being and his deep-seated guilt over a mysterious long-ago "Oxford disaster" that led him to resign a prestigious fellowship for 15 years of self-imposed downward mobility.

It is easy to dislike him for his self-pity and brusque patriarchal rule-making for Crystal and Thomasina. That sweet, bright, attractive young Tommy remains devoted for so long in the face of his distancing self-absorption borders on implausibility. Perhaps the glimpses we get of Hilary's clever conversational abilities and tall, dark good looks are meant to be enough counterweights.

Near the book's midway point, a new character at the heart of his deadly "Oxford disaster" reappears surprisingly and the disaster's full details are painfully revealed. From this point on, the tale's momentum builds towards a surprising climax as Hilary struggles at long-shot redemption.

The author, in her mid-'50s when the book was published (1975), was herself the only child of an Irish civil servant father. Murdoch was reaching her creative peak, with 16 books behind her and a Booker Prize winner three years ahead (The Sea, The Sea). Though the first-person narration was rare for her, the book shines with a number of her characteristic features. A fascination with London runs throughout. Interiors of flats, offices and both natural and man-made exteriors are described in careful detail. Hilary adores his soulful walks in the parks, his solitary drink after work every Thursday in Liverpool Street tube bar. He feels emotionally "moved" by the entire underground region. And I think there is much for readers to feel moved by in this imperfect novel.

Bleak but gripping, this novel is hugely concerned with words and their (mis)uses.

It delves into the damage that occurs when there is a mismatch between the word and its referent. Words, in this context, can be a double-edged sword. On one hand, they have the potential to cause harm and confusion when misused. On the other hand, they can also be a part of the healing process.

The characters in the novel constantly evade the truth and create small intrigues. Set in a London thick with smog, which is symbolic of Hilary Burde's intense solipsism, the atmosphere is oppressive and claustrophobic.

Adding to the overall bleakness, much of the food consumed in this book is described as being totally disgusting. This detail further emphasizes the unappealing and almost dystopian nature of the world presented in the novel.

Despite its dark and often disturbing themes, the novel manages to grip the reader's attention and keep them engaged until the very end.

Sadly, I’ve only read this single Murdoch novel this far.

However, I have to admit that I truly loved the book. Even decades later, I can still vividly remember the author’s remarkable intelligence that shone through every page.

The way she crafted the story, developed the characters, and explored the complex themes was simply outstanding.

It made me eager to explore more of her works.

In fact, I’ve decided that I’ll try reading The Sea, the Sea soon.

I’m looking forward to experiencing the same kind of literary brilliance and being immersed in another captivating world created by Murdoch.

I have a feeling that it will be just as unforgettable as the first novel I read.

Who knows what new insights and emotions it will bring?

Only time will tell, but I’m excited to find out.

It would be all too facile to simply state “a thoroughly unpleasant novel about a thoroughly unpleasant character”. However, the term “thoroughly” doesn't quite ring true for either aspect.

If this work is intended to be a realistic portrayal, then it falls short. It lacks the authenticity and believability that one would expect from a truly realistic novel.

On the other hand, if it is supposed to be a comic piece, then it is an extremely dark form of black comedy. Arguably, it is even crueler than the works of Evelyn Waugh and not nearly as humorous.

In terms of writing quality, it can be said that, in the abstract, it is well-written. The prose is perhaps technically proficient. But it is so thoroughly overwrought, so completely committed to the narrator's mind that it becomes a kind of failure nonetheless.

One can't help but think that Penelope Fitzgerald, with her remarkable talent, could have taken the raw material of this 400-page monstrosity and transformed it into a delightful 140-page success. She would have known how to pare down the excess, bring out the essential elements, and create a work that was both engaging and satisfying.

Although the writing style of this book is exquisite and the character description is vivid, the overall frustration it brought me is too great for me to give it a higher rating.

The beginning and the end are definitely too long, filled with many unnecessary explanations and internal monologues. It seems that the author is trying to convey too many details, which actually makes the story lose its momentum.

If Hilary were a nicer and more relatable character, perhaps I might have been able to tolerate these flaws and enjoy the book more. However, as he is portrayed as stupid and arrogant, it is difficult for me to have any sympathy or connection with him.

The ending is also a letdown, as it is overly predictable and lacks the excitement and surprise that I was hoping for. Overall, while there are some aspects of this book that are值得称赞, the negatives outweigh the positives, and I cannot recommend it highly.

One of my favorite Dame Iris novels is "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie."

This novel tells the story of a unique teacher, Miss Jean Brodie, who has a profound impact on the lives of her students.

The characters in the novel are vividly portrayed, and the plot is full of twists and turns.

Dame Iris Murdoch's writing style is both beautiful and profound, making this novel a classic.

Reading this novel, I was deeply attracted by the complex emotions and relationships of the characters.

It made me think about the meaning of education and the influence of teachers on students.

"The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie" is not only an excellent novel, but also a thought-provoking work that makes people reflect on life and values.

I highly recommend this novel to anyone who loves literature and wants to explore the depths of human nature.

For me, there are two important aspects in a novel for it to please me:

- The characters, their personalities and the story they tell.

- The way this story is told.

To put it simply, I liked neither one nor the other in this novel.

I found the main character detestable: hateful, selfish, immature, who spends his time lamenting his fate and devising plans in his head, with sexist and inappropriate behaviors. Moreover, the story is rather slow, we spend a lot of time in the head of this character precisely, which did not help me in my reading.

Regarding the style, I found it unnecessarily pompous and convoluted. Maybe it's because English is not my mother tongue but I clearly did not appreciate it.

Overall, this novel failed to engage me on multiple levels. The unlikable character and the slow-paced story, combined with the unappealing style, made it a rather disappointing read for me. I had hoped for more depth and excitement, but unfortunately, it did not deliver.

The novel is a success in every respect: an engaging plot, complex characters - in which both positive character traits and destructive impulses with dramatic consequences are combined -, a sharp sense of humor, and extraordinary writing. In other words, it lacks no ingredient from the literary universe of one of the greatest writers (regardless of genre) of all time.

The Son of the Word is narrated in the first person by Hilary Burde, a character who, despite a dark past and especially an episode in which he behaved like a demented man obsessed with destroying everything he loved most, still manages to captivate the reader, but also to disgust him to an equal extent. Hilary, forty-one years old, works in some ministerial department, holding one of the lowest positions there. He himself confesses: "It was a banal job, without pretensions, but I didn't dislike it. I had a humble, obscure post, and when it was time for promotions, the rule was "they passed over me".

His life is organized according to a routine from which he never deviates, having a programmed day, always the same day of the week, in which he visits his friends or his sister, Crystal, thirty-seven years old, of whom he is very fond. These daily visits will decisively mark the structure of the novel, which is organized according to the days of the week in which either Hilary visits someone, or is visited by someone, or arranges a meeting with various individuals. It is also from this that it results that the people with whom Hilary interacts are important both for him and for the reader, they forming a gallery of characters whose variety is very wide. First of all, there are Hilary's hierarchical superiors, first of all, the Impiatts, Laura and Freddie, who share a marriage that seems to be flawless, but, as is well known, appearances often deceive, but also Clifford Larr (who holds the second position in the organization, an enigmatic character, tortured by his own anxieties), or Arthur Fisch, a rather dull man who is madly in love with Crystal. In the same category must also be included the new head of the department, Gunnar Jopling, who was Hilary's professor at Oxford and is married for the second time to Lady Kitty Mallow. Incidentally, Kitty, who is much too playful, will play an essential role in the plot of the novel.

Secondly, there is Hilary's hopelessly in love, a thirty-four-year-old girl with the ridiculous name of Thomasina Uhlmeister, or Tommy for short, for whom the reader cannot help but feel sorry and to whom, to our relief, the author seems to do justice at the end, which shows us that perseverance often has its rewards. Other characters who will leave their mark more or less on the plot are: Christopher Cather, Hilary's clerk (from whom an interesting episode is worth remembering, all the more so since Iris Murdoch will place a similar event at the origin of the drama in The Good Apprentice, namely the intentional introduction of a drug into the slices of cake that were offered to Hilary and Laura Impiatt) and Alexandra Bissett, who is called Biscuit and is Lady Kitty's colored maid, etc. Of course, Crystal also plays a very important role in her turn.

How did a former Oxford student who knows a great number of foreign languages and has an extraordinary ability to remember an infinite number of words, as well as the grammatical rules that govern them - so that he can justifiably claim about himself that he is "a son of the word" - come to have such a small job, in which he deals with simple payments? This is a question whose answer lies in Hilary's past, being his most hidden secret, but which almost everyone (including the reader, of course) will find out, a secret that refers to an episode in his past that poisoned his life until the moment when Gunnar becomes his boss (indeed, the tragic event is directly related to his former professor and mentor). Hilary is honest enough to confess that he himself fully contributed to the ruin of his academic career hopes, but this honesty weighs very little in relation to the facts from the past. And now the past seems to be returning with fury, but also with new surprises. An enjoyable read!