For being well-written, this book could earn a 5-star rating. However, it just wasn't my kind of 5-star book.

This story, about a middle-aged man and his past actions coming back to haunt him, lacked catharsis. As a hugely optimistic person, I cannot do without catharsis if I'm going to find the story incredible.

Though, Murdoch was such an incredible writer. Even thinking about the lack of catharsis for the protagonist, Hilary, created BIG thoughts about why she would choose to not give Hilary catharsis and what that said about modern life, about religion, about people raised in unloving families. See, the more I think about it, the more I like it.

One of my favorite things about this book is Murdoch's ability to write Hilary's thoughts as though they are just occurring to him. So, you'll read a passage and see Hilary go through lots of possibilities and reasons why he should or shouldn't do something and watch him come to a decision. But he doesn't tell the reader, even though he's the first-person narrator. He just thinks it. This is even more of a feat than it seems because Hilary references throughout the book that this all happened in the past - he's writing it down at a later time. However, since he never moves his narration into his present life in which he's writing the book, he (and Murdoch) are able to suspend the reader in the past events like they're actually just happening. Truly masterful.

Also, unlike many tragic books with difficult-to-love characters, there wasn't a feeling for me of an overwhelming pile of bad things happening to the characters. It wasn't just one horrible thing after another after another. Yes, there were LOTS of horrible things that happen in this book, but there was also a lot of leaven in the lump. Hilary makes good choices sometimes and loves deeply, even though he's flawed. This is especially helpful because the book is building up to a climax that you can feel coming a mile away even though you're not quite sure what the final form of the tragedy will look like.

There is so much misogyny in the male characters of Iris Murdoch (+ narcissism, cynicism, and several other politically and emotionally incorrect seasonings), and yet, a narrative voice so magnetic, flamboyant, incisive, ironic, and penetrating (into the inner workings of psychological mechanisms) that I can't let go of her books.

Two things intrigue me overly - and amuse me a little in Iris (it's the third book of hers that I'm reading) : the preference for the male voice (which she makes sound authentic, as Roth manages with female characters, also some urgencies of nature, and the irrational is king in both, with this whole splitting of the psychological thread into four, which seems very rational, cognitive) and her blatant contempt for the world of the theater, evident here too - although her novels could easily be transposed into plays (or films). She says about the long-suffering Thomasina, this eternal Penelope waiting for the errant Hilary: "Everything that was cheap and shrill attracted her. (Hence her passion for the theater)".

I liked it more than The Bell, but it didn't overwhelm me like The Sea, The Sea. It's comforting to have another author for whom I know I will always find refuge on the days when nothing new (to read) catches me.

I continuously resisted going back to this book, which is always an inauspicious sign. There was just sufficient happening within it that I desired to discover how it concluded. Regrettably, the ending was completely dissatisfactory to me, and I pondered why I selected this book, until today when I witnessed how numerous people had adored it. To each their own, I suppose.

Unlikable protagonists have always been an issue for me, and Hilary Burde (what an eccentric name!) is surely one such. He is entirely self-centered and for the most part lacks sympathy for others. His life is strictly organized, with weekly dinners in sequence with Tommy, the Impiatts, Arthur, Clifford, and Burde's sister, Crystal. He appears to take no pleasure in any of these and frequently storms out in fury. He drinks far too much, falls in love with women he scarcely knows, and treats Tommy, the woman who loves him unwaveringly, disgracefully. He has an odd fixation on Crystal's virginity. What is there to like here?

The plot is a sensational and overdone one. There are three deaths, and many of the characters engage in sexual relations with each other in ways that stretch credibility. People make choices that baffle me. But all of this takes nearly four hundred pages to occur, and there are lengthy stretches where the reader gets nothing but Burde's bitter musings.

The only positive aspect for me was London. I am well-acquainted with the neighborhoods (Chelsea, Bayswater, and others) where Burde frequents, and it was somewhat enjoyable to revisit them. Unfortunately, this bonus was hardly sufficient to make me feel that the time spent reading this was well-utilized. It is rare that I wish I had not read a book, but unfortunately, that is the case here.

My "rating" of this novel gradually deteriorated as I delved deeper into it.

To begin with, the plot increasingly relied on absurd elements. What was initially a captivating story took a turn towards the realm of the ridiculous, making it difficult to suspend disbelief.

Secondly, after a certain early stage, there seemed to be no real development or change. The characters remained stagnant, and the story failed to progress in a meaningful way.

However, it is important to note that this novel also has its strengths. The psychological acuity with which the characters are portrayed is truly remarkable. Each character has a distinct personality and voice, which makes them come alive on the page.

Despite my misgivings about the plot, I am not entirely discouraging others from reading this novel. If you find yourself halfway or two-thirds of the way through and still think it is a great book, then perhaps it is best to put it down and preserve that warm feeling.

In conclusion, while this novel has its flaws, it also has its redeeming qualities. It is ultimately up to the individual reader to decide whether the good outweighs the bad.

Is it possible for Murdoch NOT to be engrossing? This novel feels like a bit of a departure.

Her plots usually hinge on one character--a "destroyer" who enters the scene and changes the other characters' lives forever (usually not for good). In A Word Child, however, the protagonist Hilary is himself the [unwitting:] destroyer. He's truly awful, really. But you just can't help but watch as he makes bad decision after bad drunken decision.

One of Murdoch's recurring motifs is the idea that we frequently come to despise those we've wronged. A Word Child explores this theme more convincingly than any others I've read.

Throw in some memorable characters (Clifford Larr, in particular) and one really bizarre drug scene, and you've got a recipe for a great novel. It is highly recommended to anyone new to Murdoch or a seasoned fan.

This book offers a unique perspective on human nature and relationships. The way Hilary's actions unfold and the consequences that follow make for a captivating read.

The exploration of the theme about despising those we've wronged adds depth and complexity to the story.

Overall, A Word Child is a must-read for fans of Murdoch's work and those who enjoy thought-provoking novels.

One word, Tristram.

Tristram is a name that holds a certain charm and mystery. It has an air of elegance and sophistication.

Perhaps it is the way the letters flow together, or the unique sound it makes when spoken.

Tristram could be the name of a noble knight, gallant and brave, riding off into the sunset on his trusty steed.

Or maybe it belongs to a brilliant scholar, poring over ancient tomes in a dusty library.

It could even be the name of a charming artist, painting beautiful landscapes or creating captivating sculptures.

Whatever the case may be, the name Tristram evokes a sense of wonder and curiosity.

It makes us want to know more about the person who bears this name, to discover their story and the adventures they have had.

Tristram is a name that has the power to transport us to another time and place, to a world of knights and scholars, artists and adventurers.

It is a name that will always hold a special place in our hearts and minds.

Iris has an extraordinary talent for twisting and turning a story.

I came across a review that seemingly contained a spoiler, yet it failed to deter me.

The characters and their circumstances were so captivating that I continued to relish Murdoch's prose.

To my slight surprise, the supposed spoiler emerged at approximately the 25% mark.

However, there were several additional plot twists that awaited before the final resolution.

These unexpected turns added an extra layer of excitement and kept me on the edge of my seat throughout the reading experience.

Despite the initial hint of a spoiler, the story still managed to maintain its allure and engage me fully.

Murdoch's ability to craft a complex and engaging narrative is truly remarkable, and I look forward to exploring more of her works in the future.

I read this book with caution as I’m now familiar with Murdoch’s novels.

She commences the narrative in a deliberate and unhurried manner, painstakingly constructing the various layers that give shape to the story through the introduction of several distinct characters and intertwining plots.

Each character is developed with care, their motives and desires gradually revealed, adding depth and complexity to the overall tapestry of the story.

The plots, too, unfold in a measured way, leading the reader along a path that seems to have a certain destination in mind.

And then comes the ending. It is not what one might have anticipated, defying the typical conventions and expectations that often govern the conclusion of a novel.

However, upon reflection, it is generally satisfying. It ties up the loose ends and brings the story full circle, in a way that feels both unexpected and yet strangely appropriate.

While I’m not entirely certain if this particular ending is completely satisfying to me on a personal level, I can appreciate the artistry and skill with which it has been crafted.

It forces the reader to reevaluate the events and characters that have come before, and in doing so, offers a new perspective on the story as a whole.

The narrator of this, the seventeenth novel by Iris Murdoch, is Hilary Burde, a forty-one-year-old man. He had a difficult childhood as an orphan and could only express himself through violence. Eventually, he was mentored by Mr. Osmand, went to Oxford, but after a tragic event, his glorious rise in life was derailed, and he became a poorly paid, underutilized civil servant, which is where the story begins.

To maintain his sanity, Hilary has a strictly regimented life. He has specific routines for what he eats, wears, and even the days of the week he has dinner with different people in his life. These include his childlike sister Crystal, his subordinate Arthur, and Laura and Freddie Impiatt. Each of these relationships provides a different atmosphere for Hilary to play his acknowledged part.

However, something clearly has to give in this mundane and repressed life, and it eventually does. As the story unfolds, we learn about the tragic event and see its continuing repercussions play out in a tempestuous fashion. Hilary may be aware of his cruel, rude, and selfish behavior, but he takes few steps to change it. He seems unable to stop himself from torturing those he sees as weaker or beneath him, such as his "girlfriend" Thomasina, Arthur, and Christopher, his ex-boy band flat mate. His excessive alcohol consumption only exacerbates the situation.

Hilary's relationship with Crystal is particularly disturbing. He wants to keep her in a box like a toy, as she represents the innocence he has lost. He comments on women in general, saying, "I was feeling so intensely sorry for myself by this time, I was delighted to see Tommy. After all, a woman is a woman and it is her job to be a ministering angel. Tommy ministered."

We only see the other characters through Hilary's eyes, and for the most part, he takes them for granted. The Impiatts and Clifford seem to use him as much as he uses them, either for entertainment or company. The humor in the novel often relies on Hilary's strident rudeness to others or his unwillingness to play along with their jokes and schemes.

The weather in the novel is a major presence, with the cold, fog, and wet being pivotal in the events that take place. There are numerous scenes of walking through London, of meetings in parks and by the river, which are made more dramatic by the dripping hair and ice-cold fingers. London itself and its landmarks, such as Big Ben and the crammed tube trains of commuters, add to the hemmed-in atmosphere.

Despite the frequent desire to strangle Hilary, he makes for an engrossing read. The writing is top-notch, and Murdoch's ability to create a world of squalid apartments, gloomy streets, and thoroughly dislikable characters, yet still draw the reader in from the very first page, is as present as always. Some favorite lines from the novel include: "There is nothing like early promiscuous sex for dispelling life's bright mysterious expectations," and "After a pause Tommy said, 'Aren't you thinking rather too grandly of yourself? You are just you after all, with the crinkly hair and the crooked face and the odd socks on.'"

Hilary is a boy who has faced deprivation and difficulties in his life. Fortunately, he is saved by a school master who nurtures his love for language. Eventually, he makes it to Oxford. However, most of the novel is set nearly 20 years later, when he is still dealing with the consequences of a disastrous incident that brought an end to his Oxford days.

This novel has more of a plot compared to a typical Murdoch novel, but it is not entirely believable and feels a bit rushed at the end.

Motives play a significant role in this story. It is quite hard to understand the motivation of many of the characters and why they tolerate certain people and situations. But perhaps this is what piqued my interest and made me want to keep reading. Some of the minor characters, like Clifford and the office colleagues, were the most vivid and realistic.

Making a novel work with an unsympathetic main character is no easy feat, especially when there are very few sympathetic characters overall. However, in this case, it manages to do so.

In Hilary's case, whether Murdoch was aware of it or not (considering the condition was not widely diagnosed in 1975 when the novel was written), his behavior seems to be classic Asperger's syndrome. This would definitely explain his lack of empathy, obsessive routines, and fascination with the mechanics of grammar rather than using language for expression and inference.

It is interesting to compare this novel with The Curious Incident by Mark Haddon and The Housekeeper and the Professor. Each of these novels has characters with slightly similar traits, yet they are also very different in their own ways.

The mysterious, simple, magnificent and impressive narrative is in the spotlight in this realistically intoxicating, wordy and unassailable story.

Merntoch's writing is obsessive and captivating. It passes through the reader like a song,

a musical work that composes all human situations as they come to the stage, through the innocent memory.

I will not refer to the plot of the story.

Anyway, it could be characterized as a story of spiritual farce.

A sad, caustic and desperate form of love that is imposed to redeem the anti-hero and the other characters from the eccentric, oppressive and self-destructive consequences of their choices.

Many problems of conscious burden and different situations bring our heroes face to face with the making of ethical decisions.

They really suffer when these decisions go against their innate ethics. Somewhere in between, each reader recognizes himself.

The sense of experience that prevails during the reading of this book leaves the aroma of interpersonal and eternally problematic relationships among the people of the global community.

However, Merntoch skillfully guides the characters of the human race in a deeply philosophical and unassailable way.

With mastery, irony, wisdom, vision and empirical ingenuity, she presents the global relationships that we all have in our lives, precisely at the moment when the passions, the desires and the fear grow and suffocate in stormy seas of debris and psychological shipwrecks.

Arriving here, there is no other choice but the imposition and submission of the love that truly redeems, that exorcises the horror, that colors the darkness of the soul.

The lexicon is a luxurious story with soft touches of madness and crucial philosophical aroma of forgetfulness as a panacea for comfort and endurance.

Merntoch creates with a supreme astral writing.

Read it!!

✿◕ ‿ ◕✿

Good reading.

Many greetings.

Not as light-hearted and comical as works like The Sea, The Sea or The Black Prince, this novel delves into a darker realm with greater psychological profundity. At the heart of the story is the typical narcissistic and self-destructive male character. All the female characters, and even some of the males, find him irresistibly charming, yet the reader's sympathies are severely challenged. While the anti-heroes in the aforementioned novels often seemed needlessly cruel and misanthropic, this one appears to be shattered by the traumas of his early life. He is trapped in a cycle of behavior that causes even more suffering for himself than for those around him. It might be a stretch to say that the supporting characters are completely believable, but they are skillfully crafted and recognizable types. I cared about them enough to be annoyed by the book's ending, which gave the impression that Murdoch had grown tired of the endeavor and thought, "sod it, that'll do."