Possibly the best Iris Murdoch I've read yet.

Her writing is like a magical web that entraps the reader from the very first page. The characters she creates are so vivid and complex that they seem to leap off the page and into our lives.

The storylines are always engaging, filled with unexpected twists and turns that keep us on the edge of our seats.

Murdoch's ability to explore the human psyche and the deeper meanings of life is truly remarkable.

She delves into the darkest corners of our souls and uncovers the hidden emotions and desires that we often try to suppress.

Each word she writes is carefully chosen and placed, creating a beautiful and powerful narrative that lingers in our minds long after we've finished reading.

This particular work of hers is a masterpiece, a shining example of her literary genius.

I can't wait to explore more of her books and see what other treasures she has in store for us.

3.5 stars

The Sacred and the Profane contains all the elements one anticipates from an Iris Murdoch novel. It is set in the suburbs/London, with love affairs, tortured souls, unlikable characters, tragedy, and a whole host of symbols and tropes that recur throughout her works. The story centers around the Gavender family - Blaise, Harriet, and their son David - and their connections with three other characters: Emily, Pinn, and Luka, as well as their neighbor Monty and his friend Edgar.

Blaise, a psychotherapist, like Palmer Anderson in A Severed Head, seems to be a vehicle for Iris Murdoch to express her distaste for the profession. He is portrayed as a selfish, egotistical, and immature individual. When thinking of his career, he tells himself, "Of course he enjoyed power, all meddlers with the mind enjoy that! And of course he was aware that this absorption in other people’s misery had more to do with sex than with either altruism or science." Blaise appears unable to take responsibility for his actions and, despite being perhaps the most immoral character in the novel, constantly frets about whether he has "goodness" and blames everything on those around him. His lack of self-awareness, ironic for someone supposed to help others achieve it, is neatly summarized in this paragraph: "He knew he was not a bad man, not a wicked man really. He had got into this muddle in such a natural, simple way. Lots and lots of men did what he had done and got away with it. He had just had dead rotten luck all the way along the line."

Blaise not only believes that everything is fated and out of his control but also expects those around him, especially his gentle wife Harriet, to forgive and accommodate him. Harriet, initially embracing her role as the saintly forgiver and asserting her power in the relationship, quickly realizes that she needs support in her life. This support could come from either Monty, their neighbor and a successful thriller writer, or Edgar, a big, bumbling Oxford house master. Monty, a recent widower with his own secrets and troubles, has little sympathy for others. I found his brutal honesty very refreshing and darkly funny, yet I also appreciated the lovelorn, generous, intellectual Edgar, who wants to embrace and help everyone while also seemingly having his own secrets.

Just as Monty and Edgar are opposites, so are Emily and David. David is preoccupied with the role of religion, especially Christ, in his life as a tortured teenage virgin, while Emily is a far more devilish presence, once saying, "You must descend to the underworld to find me and make me live again. If you don’t come for me, I’ll become a demon and drag you down into the dark." Although Blaise claims that it is Harriet and Emily who are the sacred and the profane, David also seems to fit into the former category, particularly for Pinn, who tells him, "I worship your innocence." Poor little Luka, at eight years old, seems one of the more mature and genuine characters in the book, despite being reduced to an "It" in Blaise’s mind by the end of the novel.

The novel is not as clever or witty as The Black Prince, for example, and there are fewer passages of beautiful lines. However, the writing of place and nature is always notable in Murdoch’s novels. I did appreciate the seventies color schemes and trends in fashion and interior design, from Kiki St Loy’s "apple green tights," very brief black velvet shorts, and "shapeless scarlet shirt" to Emily’s outlandish decoration of her apartment: "the russet carpet, the purple and blue blotchy curtains, the maroon armchair of corded velvet (they could not afford a “suite), the long haired, tasseled multi-coloured woolen Finnish rug, like a big animal, the long low glass coffee table, the gilt mirror." As a child of the seventies, this brought back some memories!

The "machine" of the title moves relentlessly throughout the novel as the mechanics of love play out and everyone seems to love someone who doesn’t love them. The plot is relatively simple, but dissecting it would provide too many spoilers, and the ending is somewhat unsatisfying both morally and sympathetically. This isn’t one of my favorite of her novels, but once again Iris Murdoch has created a suburban novel that has all the passion and tragedy of a Greek play while undoubtedly having layers of complexity that I’ve barely scratched the surface of.

Some Favorite Lines

‘The presence of both the men in this sort of quietness filled her with a kind of happiness which was also anguish, was terror. Life had been so terrifyingly generous to her.’

‘He was wearing a white shirt and one of his narrowest, silkiest indigo ties, and suit of speckled close-grained black. He looked like a rich, discreetly foppish eighteenth- century curate.’

‘the room was full of garden smells but fairly cool, the marbled wallpaper dimly swirling, the coffered ceiling studded with shadows, the narrow stained-glass cupboards, designed for tall vases, and willowy Madonna, gleaming sully, their jeweled foliage extinguished.’

‘Vague images of girls floated around him, battering him like malevolent butterflies.’

‘Once outside the front door, they were suddenly in a different world. The clouded sun was already announcing twilight. A blackbird, bright as a toy amid the motionless swirl of the leaves, was singing in a tall snaky birch tree. He sang against silence.’

This book is truly devastating. When compared to other Murdoch novels that I have read, it stands out as shockingly bleak. Of course, other novels such as A Word Child or The Nice and the Good also deal with rather ugly themes like child abuse, infidelity, and death. However, in those novels, there is always the sense that love and forgiveness possess a redemptive power. That is, by loving and forgiving, people have the potential to become better.

None of that seems to be the case in The Sacred and Profane Love Machine. In fact, my impression after finishing this book is that love and forgiveness only serve to make things worse for those poor souls who practice them. Meanwhile, the wicked and cruel people seem to come out on top. Harriet's story is truly heartbreaking, and Blaise, in my view, is one of the most selfish, twisted, and morally corrupt characters in all of literature.

But don't let its bleakness deter you from reading this one! Murdoch's understanding of her characters' psychology is nothing short of perfect. Her writing is both introspective and detailed. The fact that the story affected me so strongly is a clear testament to its emotional power. I am truly amazed at Murdoch's ability to handle the theme of infidelity in a comic way, as seen in A Severed Head, and then turn around and make it so tragic that you simply can't stop thinking about it. What an incredible range she has! What a wonderful talent she is!

This is a vivid depiction of the emotional and moral implications that arise when a husband has been involved with a long-term mistress for numerous years.

I had initially anticipated something more profound and complex, but unfortunately, the affair seems to be the sole focus.

Iris Murdoch truly has a remarkable gift for delving into the tiniest thoughts and feelings, as well as all the attitudes, responses, and hesitations of her characters.

However, she portrays them with such minute detail and unwavering intensity that I ultimately grew rather weary of it.

Although I greatly admired the author's eloquence and ability to express these subtleties, I couldn't help but wonder why I was expected to invest so much emotional energy in every little nuance and fluctuation of emotions within what was, in essence, a rather common and, by certain standards, even a somewhat sordid affair.

Perhaps there was a deeper message or theme that I failed to fully grasp, but on the surface, it left me with a sense of dissatisfaction and a longing for something more substantial.

Nevertheless, it is undeniable that Murdoch's writing style is both intricate and engaging, and her exploration of human nature and relationships is thought-provoking.

Despite my reservations, I can still appreciate the skill and craftsmanship that went into creating this work.

Maybe upon further reflection or a second reading, I will discover the hidden gems and deeper meanings that I initially overlooked.

Only time will tell if this novel will ultimately leave a lasting impression on me or if it will simply fade into the background as yet another story of love and betrayal.

I have made several attempts to engage with Iris Murdoch's work, only to find myself constantly getting bogged down and ultimately giving up. This particular piece had a similar allure, as it didn't seem to be the type of novel that would appeal to me. In fact, it hardly had any plot to speak of. Instead, it presented more of an agonizing situation, which was repetitively described from the perspectives of multiple characters.

Finally, some actual events occurred that led to a very surprising conclusion. It was clear that Murdoch took great pleasure in fooling the reader with a false ending near the end. One Goodreads reviewer accurately commented that she really put her characters through the wringer in this one. And indeed, that is the case.

Some of the scenes were quite humorous, while many others were too dark to be considered funny at all. The nature of the machine and which loves were sacred and which were profane remained tantalizingly ambiguous for me. However, there were far too many pages dedicated to repetitively describing the characters' self-justifications and self-serving analyses of the situation.

When actual dialogue and confrontation did occur, they were vivid and memorable. I believe that the reader could have deduced much of what Murdoch painstakingly explained in the exposition from these scenes alone. But in the end, there was not a great deal of plot, and very few, if any, admirable characters.

I don't think I've ever come across another book that features such a convincingly well-developed cast of characters. This is my initial encounter with Murdoch's work, but given how masterfully she executes this ensemble psychological interplay here, I assume it was her forte. This is precisely the kind of book that makes you acutely aware of your own limitations as a writer, because some individuals are truly exceptionally talented in this regard...

I can't claim that I adored "The Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea, the Sea

My first encounter with Murdoch was truly an unforgettable experience.

Her work offers an unsparing and laser-focused perspective on relationships, existing in a space that lies somewhere between the classic novel Jane Eyre and something more contemporary, yet entirely unique.

The depth and authenticity with which she portrays the complex dynamics of human connections is simply remarkable.

I found myself completely engrossed in her words, as if I was peering into the inner workings of the characters' hearts and minds.

It was a reading experience like no other I've had before.

Her writing style is both captivating and thought-provoking, making me question my own assumptions and understandings of relationships.

I can't wait to explore more of her works and continue to be amazed by her literary genius.

Murdoch has truly left an indelible mark on my literary journey.

I have an Iris Murdoch headache. She has this uncanny ability to make me cry, just as she always does. It's a strange feeling, vaguely like I've just devoured a huge piece of blue cheesecake.

That dense richness is both heavy and hypnotic, dotted with sour bits that keep it from being too sweet. Her characters are incredibly real and audacious. They're crazy, yet somehow convincing. I find myself thinking, "Yes, this is very true. People are like that, damn them."

In this novel, there isn't really a main character. Instead, it revolves around a coterie of characters. There's David and his parents, Harriet and Blaise Gavender. Blaise has a mistress, Emily McHugh, and they have a son named Luca. Then there's the Gavender's neighbour, the well-known author Monty Small, his dead wife Sophie, his mother, and his old school chum Edgar Demarnay. Constance Pinn and Kiki St Loy play smaller roles. These are the people we'll get to know in "The Sacred and Profane Love Machine". They eat and drink (and boy, do they drink a lot), they walk or kick dogs, they talk, they think, they love, they try to understand, they fight, and they fantasize.

This novel exudes sex, even though it's practically sexless compared to some of her other works. I became attuned to the characters' desires, rooting for them to sort out the messes they've created, the messes they are.

I know I'm reading Iris Murdoch, and yet she does this to me every time. She starts by lulling me with the comforts of the domestic scene, only to begin unravelling it. Then she hits me over the head with her philosophizing, here trying to get to the truth of love through its dualities, even as Harriet rescues another dog.

That's not to say the novel is perfect. Monty's constant preoccupation with maybe trying to be a schoolmaster again might have some significance that I'm not aware of, but I really wanted him to stop talking about it. Sometimes there are passages like this. And sometimes it's just hard spending time with these characters. They can be quite hateful, even if they're artfully executed. It's difficult being with them. Hence, the headache. I've seen other reviews complain about the ending. It didn't spoil the book for me, and I won't spoil it here. But I'll admit she tricked me completely. I didn't see it coming, but it didn't feel like a cop out. It felt real to me, even if I didn't especially like how things turned out. And that's why I keep coming back to Murdoch. Though her words might make me sick in my head and my heart, I'm going to come back for more because they all seem so true.

Complex, unfathomable and profound, just like everything by I. Murdoch. It is a work that demands deep thought and careful consideration. One can easily get lost in its intricate web of ideas and themes.

Perhaps in another crucial moment of life, I would have enjoyed it even more. At this particular time, however, I still recognize its genius. The way the story unfolds, the characters are developed, and the language is used is truly remarkable.

It challenges the reader to think beyond the surface and explore the deeper meanings hidden within. It makes one question their own beliefs and values, and forces them to look at the world from a different perspective. I. Murdoch's work is a true masterpiece, and this piece is no exception.

The sacred can only be so when it means salvation.

Salvation is a profound and essential concept. It implies a deliverance from something harmful or a state of being redeemed. When we talk about the sacred in relation to salvation, it takes on a whole new level of significance.

The sacred represents that which is holy, revered, and set apart. It has the power to touch our souls and bring about a transformation within us. It is through the experience of the sacred that we can find a sense of purpose and meaning in life.

When the sacred is intertwined with the idea of salvation, it becomes a source of hope and comfort. It offers us the possibility of being saved from the trials and tribulations of this world and finding eternal peace and happiness. It is a reminder that there is something greater than ourselves, something that can guide and protect us on our journey through life.

In conclusion, the sacred and salvation are closely intertwined. The sacred can only truly be sacred when it means salvation, when it offers us the promise of a better life and a connection to the divine.

Murdoch展现出了一种特别的施虐倾向。在这部小说中，她让她的角色们经历了情感的折磨，使他们遭受一个又一个的苦难。有些角色的行为动机显而易见，而有些角色的动机则更加晦涩难懂，甚至连他们自己都不知道。作为一名读者，我被深深吸引住了，不得不看着这场戏剧展开，见证一些真正令人不安的场景，以及一些非常有趣的场景。Murdoch的天赋之一就是让读者如此深深地关心这些本质上不可爱的角色，并暂时从他们扭曲的视角看待世界。这是一本令人不安的读物，但一如既往地令人非常满意。

她对角色的刻画入微，每一个细节都仿佛在诉说着角色内心的挣扎与痛苦。这些角色就像生活在我们周围的真实人物一样，有着自己的欲望、恐惧和无奈。通过阅读这部小说，我们可以更好地理解人性的复杂性，以及我们在面对生活中的挑战时所做出的各种选择。

总的来说，这部小说是一部非常优秀的作品，它不仅具有深刻的思想内涵，而且具有很高的文学价值。它让我们在阅读的过程中感受到了人性的光辉与黑暗，也让我们对自己和世界有了更深刻的认识。

I just looked it up in our wonderful Wikipedia and found that Iris Murdoch wrote 27 novels, with the rest of her writings encompassing philosophy, plays, and poetry. I haven't read them all, but by comparison, The Sacred and Profane Love Machine stands out from the rest, which are also excellent, of course. Well, what can I say about Iris Murdoch that hasn't been said before - and better?

What is so very enjoyable in any book by Iris Murdoch is how she utilizes her vast knowledge, studies, and readings - in short, her knowledge and intelligence - to create a novel that strongly reminds us of authors such as, to name just two, Dostoevsky or George Eliot. She writes about flawed people, delving into their most secret thoughts and sharing with the reader a collection of protagonists who make you alternately despair, feel embarrassed, angry, or full of almost furtive empathy. When you dare take a short breath, you'll even be invited to giggle from time to time.

It's a novel I read before, and I now read it for the second time after several years have passed, and I'll read it again, each time uncovering more delicious nuances that may have eluded me before. It's like a fine wine that improves even more with age.

Her works are a treasure trove of literary excellence, offering deep insights into the human condition and captivating the reader with their complexity and charm. Murdoch's ability to bring her characters to life and make us care about them is truly remarkable.

Whether you're a fan of classic literature or simply looking for a thought-provoking and engaging read, Iris Murdoch's novels are definitely worth exploring.

So, pick up one of her books and prepare to be transported into a world of rich characters, profound themes, and beautiful prose.