The title doesn't really do justice to this great story.

Often, a title is the first thing that catches a reader's attention. It's like a gateway to the wonderful world within the story. However, in this case, the title fails to fully capture the essence and excitement that lies within.

This story is filled with thrilling adventures, complex characters, and unexpected twists and turns. It takes the reader on a journey through different landscapes and emotions. The plot unfolds in a way that keeps the reader on the edge of their seat, eagerly turning the pages to find out what happens next.

Despite the shortcomings of the title, the story itself is a masterpiece. It has the power to transport the reader to another time and place, making them feel as if they are a part of the action. It's a story that will stay with you long after you've finished reading it.

So, don't let the title deceive you. Give this great story a chance, and you'll be rewarded with an unforgettable reading experience.

Literary Criticism

Hilary's fundamental friend offers a contrasting view on life and forgiveness, defying internal demons and defeating those in Hilary's mind. Arthur Fish is Crystal's future husband. Cristopher Crampton is a colleague who serves as a foil to Hilary's character. Clifford Larr is a close friend, linked by the death of his sister at 20. Mr. Osmand, a schoolmaster, taught Hilary to love literature as an escape. The conflict centers on Hilary, with guilt devouring him against his desire for redemption. Love may defeat his inner monsters. The themes of fate and free will are explored, like Anne's accidental death. Hilary's driving in an altered state doesn't justify his decision. The description of Big Ben in the fog is a great passage, associated with his state of mind. It's a novel about a man's internal conflicts after causing a woman's death unintentionally.

Philosophical Reviews

The main philosophical message is about coping with guilt. It implies having a moral code, conscience, and the awareness that free will can harm others. Causing an innocent person's death haunts us with conscience and guilt, leading to a search for redemption. However, this approach may be seen as selfish. Hilary didn't commit suicide due to his love for Crystal and Lady Kitty's letter. His free will to drive fast caused Anne's death. A dilemma exists as to whether it was fate. If Hilary can change fate, is his free will irrelevant? Hilary defeats his inner monsters by telling Gunnar it wasn't his fault. But he can't quantify the pain caused, and Gunnar hasn't forgiven him. The good characters are Lady Kitty and Thomasina.

Fiction Reviews

Hilary Burde takes us through his typical days, like Thursdays at five when he must shower. His sister Crystal wants to marry Arthur Fisch, and Hilary tries to convince her otherwise. Hilary had a terrible childhood, with his mother dying at seven and never knowing his father. He had an affair with Anne Jopling, Gunnar's first wife, and they have a son. Hilary is driving with Anne when the car crashes at high speed, killing her and her unborn child. Hilary is consumed by guilt. He wants to talk to Gunnar, but it doesn't happen until Lady Kitty writes a letter. They meet along the Thames, and Lady Kitty slips and dies. Hilary explains to Gunnar that he didn't kill Anne on purpose. Thomasina is crucial for his mental healing, and they marry, as does Crystal to Arthur. Mr. Osmand is also a central figure, teaching Hilary to escape through words.

A preposterous plot, when combined with a largely unlikable protagonist and a hefty 400 pages, simply does not make for a good book.

The initial 100 pages held some promise, hinting at a potentially engaging story. However, as the narrative progresses, Murdoch attempts to juggle farce, drama, melodrama, and comedy all at once, and unfortunately, fails to succeed in any of these aspects.

This has been a big disappointment for me, especially since this was my very first Iris Murdoch novel. I had hoped to at least find some enjoyment in it, but alas, that was not the case.

The book seems to lack a clear direction, with the various elements clashing rather than complementing each other. It is a pity, as Murdoch is a well-known author, and I had high expectations.

Perhaps I will give another of her novels a try in the future, but for now, this one has left me feeling rather dissatisfied.

This is one of my favorite Murdoch novels.

Hilary Burde, a complex and troubled character, attempts to recover his soul from the deep misery of his troubled past. The story is filled with a diverse cast of colourful and well-drawn characters, each with their own unique personalities and motives.

The novel is a complex and thoughtful exploration of several profound themes. It delves into the possibility and meaning of redemption, asking whether a person can truly be redeemed from their past mistakes and sins. It also examines the nature of the human memory, how our past experiences shape who we are and how we remember them.

Furthermore, the novel explores the possibility of love for the tarnished soul. Can a person who has been damaged by life still find love and acceptance? Murdoch's writing is both beautiful and thought-provoking, making this novel a must-read for anyone interested in exploring the human condition.

The most egregious facet of my Vintage Classics paperback edition of Iris Murdoch’s “A Word Child” is undoubtedly the clumsy quote on the front cover from The Times: “Iris Murdoch is incapable of writing without fascinating and beautiful colour.”

While my sanity refuses me any scope to contest the fascinating colour of Iris’s writing, it would be crass and unacceptably unfair to attribute this particular book with beautiful colour. Instead, it is with a master craftswoman’s artful poise that Iris draws a very real, monochrome yellow rendition of London.

Into this necessarily murky landscape, Iris captures the complex frailties of human relationships and the fragile edifice of social behaviour. She draws the reader through the guilt-ridden, habitual purgatory of the protagonist, Hilary Burde’s, passive reminiscence of life. This is quite on a par with the devastating culpability which powers [R]R’s War and Peace. Engraving her legendary intelligence into every line of every page, Murdoch entices the reader into a heartily pumping and fabulous charade of pain. It is a calamitous world of sickening sibling relationships, haunting nostalgia and naive virgin worship.

As the plot inevitably weaves into a powerful tapestry depicting childish renouncement of responsibilities, the disaster slowly unravels in almost farcical proportions. Iris Murdoch displays what can earnestly be called one of the most cunningly paced and thoroughly unblemished examples of the genius at work on a novel.

Don't undermine your reading experience by beginning with the introduction. It has its merits, but not everything that passes through the consciousness of the unconscious, such as imagination, is necessarily known by it.

Moreover, a novel is a fictional creation, and unless the author clearly defines what should be regarded as reality and what not, it becomes difficult to determine which words are true to reality and which aren't.

The interpretation that came to my mind, that it's about two men who are attracted to each other and act through their women, is equally valid. The dialogue is excellent, with no hint of the author behind the character. "You've changed the past," I said. If I'm any judge, and I am, "One's deep mind is indifferent to time" is true.

I wouldn't have done what the narrator does in penance by negating himself to help the person he injured in the past, but the dialogue in that scene is among the best, though shortly surpassed. The narrator is so emotional, like a weather vane, but I like him.

There may be an allusion to Barkus in "Arthur will always be here." The narrator is not without self-awareness, as seen in "it seems stupid to have suffered so much because of something so accidental." "To think her, as a mystic thinks god with a thought which goes beyond thinking and becomes being" might well be an example where the word isn't connected to reality.

The scene of Laura's confession is incredibly funny. I did expect Gunnar to spy on his wife with the narrator, but I didn't see how it could avoid being melodramatically contrived. I anticipated another catastrophe coming, but that doesn't detract from the effect. I cannot recommend this novel highly enough. It is beautifully resolved in the sense that, after all that, he'll make do, but not necessarily. Just because you're loved doesn't mean you have to love back if you don't. A change will have been effected in his unconscious, though.

For someone so unattractive, ungracious, acerbic, and rude, it seems highly improbable that the ‘hero’ of this novel should be as sought after as he appears to be. However, implausibility is almost a Murdoch trademark. The miraculous thing is that the reader hardly notices and continues to be fascinated until the last word. Just about equally miraculous is the authoress’ ability to conjure up over the course of a long career such an enormous range of diverse characters. All of them must to some extent have been modelled as it were ‘from life’, even if she insisted that none of them are actual portraits. The implausibility lies not in the individual characterizations – they’re all thoroughly convincing, or at least the reader is persuaded that they are without necessarily the desire to know any of them. Instead, it lies in their juxtapositions and the resultant outcomes, which are logical in the context of the story but unlikely in ordinary life. Murdoch is a master of story-telling, as well as everything else.

Hilary Burde, on the face of it, is the classic deprived child. He was ill-treated when young and is surly and prickly as an adult. He happens to have an extraordinary gift for languages, which wins him an Oxford Fellowship. He’s also extraordinarily liable to fall violently in love (perhaps also as a result of the deprivation?). Unfortunately, his choices are not wise ones. The near-insanity of the state of ‘being in love’ is also of course a recurrent Murdochian theme, played to the hilt here. Literally completely carried away, Hilary manages to kill in a car accident the wife of a man who has befriended him and who was largely responsible for his social elevation. But this event is gradually related in flashback (in the first person, to add to the brilliance of the literary technique). At the time of the beginning of the story, he’s employed in a minor capacity in a Civil Service Department described accurately in every ludicrous detail (Murdoch herself being similarly employed as a young woman after the War). He tortures himself – and everyone else - with emotions of remorse, regret, guilt, and revenge which he’s determined to perpetuate. Nor does it occur to him to wonder if the erring wife herself had not been guilty of a few lies. His only affections are reserved for an excessively meek and plain sister, the companion of his early hardships, and even she he tyrannizes over for his own purposes. He has a ‘girl-friend’ who he treats abominably, but perhaps she asks for it by clinging out of desperation of her own. Inexplicably, he also has a man friend, homosexual, left over from Oxford, who he half admires because he gives as good as he gets, and whose literary function is as a sort of sarcastically-pointed commentator on what’s going on elsewhere.

Because there’s so much remembrance of the past, the story seems to be extended far further than it is. In fact, the action takes place during one winter, evoking a cold London and its foggy landmarks as a suitable setting. Murdoch always pays great attention to weather and landscapes. The former wronged and cuckolded husband suddenly re-appears, not quite living up to former expectations. He has a new wife, who by different means suffers the same fate as the first, in the mud of the freezing Thames, thanks again to the amatory intervention of Mr Burde. The rest of them have to make what they can of it amidst the ruins. Life is just a matter of haphazard contingencies, as Murdoch observes elsewhere, in which philosophy is not much help except to relieve or confuse further the consciences of earthly muddlers. Very dry and sometimes very funny in a strained sort of way…

Murdoch is a fierce and individualistic writer. The recalcitrant Hilary is just one of her many characters who refuse to conform, question the established rules, and find themselves plunged into moral dilemmas that are too complex to have a smooth solution. In this novel that delves into guilt and vengeance, people are presented in an unflattering light. The puce green of a shabby bedsit serves as an all-too-fitting metaphor for the cramped existences that warp souls. It is truly amusing to observe how Murdoch deftly juggles the elements of the genre plot. Will they marry? Is love reciprocated? Can they counter their self-destructive impulses? As she explores the layers of conscience in quirky set-ups that veer off into curious byways. There are echoes of Dostoevsky and Poe, with a combination of furious self-destructiveness and crippling bouts of guilt. Her writing style is unique and engaging, drawing the reader into a world of moral ambiguity and psychological turmoil.

This is a rather hefty read indeed.

The main character is truly an awful man, whose actions and attitudes are a reflection of the prejudice that prevailed during that era. It is quite confronting to witness such blatant discrimination and bigotry.

However, despite these rather unappealing aspects, it is still well worth putting in the effort to engage with this work.

The reason for this is the sheer genius of Iris Murdoch. Her writing is so masterful that it has the power to draw the reader in and hold their attention captive.

She has a unique ability to create complex and multi-dimensional characters, as well as to explore profound themes and ideas.

So, while this may not be an easy read, it is one that is sure to reward those who are willing to persevere and immerse themselves in the world that Murdoch has created.

Depressive nudity...

It is a rather unusual and perhaps even controversial concept. The idea of "depressive nudity" might suggest a state where one feels a sense of vulnerability and emotional exposure, much like being physically naked. It could imply a person's inner turmoil and sadness being laid bare, without the protection of the usual masks or defenses. This could potentially lead to a deeper exploration of one's emotions and a search for ways to heal and find inner peace. However, it also raises questions about the appropriate boundaries and how such a state might be received and understood by others. Is it a form of self-expression or a cry for help? Can it lead to positive change or might it cause more harm? These are all aspects that need to be carefully considered when dealing with the concept of depressive nudity.

Murdoch's descriptive writing is truly what makes this work so irresistibly captivating. Her words paint vivid pictures in the reader's mind, transporting them into the very heart of the story. I found myself completely engrossed in the novel, unable to put it down for even a moment. Every sentence was a delight to read, filled with rich details and emotions. It was as if I was living through the experiences of the characters myself. I cannot wait to explore more of her works and be further enchanted by her unique writing style. Her talent is truly remarkable, and I have no doubt that her future books will be just as精彩.

The competition for the title of the most blackly, grimly, and bleakly depressing of Iris Murdoch's burlesques of selfishness, moral failure, and bad sexual behavior is intense. However, "A Word Child" (1975) has a good chance.

I had a hard time getting through the first seventy pages. The story is about a man with great gifts and a brutal upbringing who goes on to lead a horrible and meaningless life after an awful tragedy. But then, as the parade of seventies awfulness just keeps escalating, I got completely hooked. And beneath it all, but closer to the surface than usual, are Plato, the slippery nature of language, and the corrupting potential of pretty much everything. Murdoch really does ask a lot of the reader.

Murdoch fans will be going through a checklist of Murdoch archetypes. Is there an enchanter figure? Check, arguably there are two candidates. Is there a tortured gay man? Check. Is there adultery? Oh heavens, yes. Is there excessive drinking? Epic amounts. Is there androgyny? Check. Is there a saint figure? Check. Is there a Madonna? Check.

Overall, "A Word Child" is a challenging but rewarding read that delves deep into the human condition and the darker aspects of life.