There is some truly entertaining and also thought-provoking writing within these pages.

However, it cannot be ignored that there are also some rather dated ideas regarding gender and race.

The reader spends an inordinate amount of time delving into the problems of thoroughly unlikeable characters, problems that seem completely unrelatable.

Worse still, there is very little plot development to speak of.

And then, out of nowhere, the author simply blows everything up.

It's almost as if this is a rather neat way for the author to convey to the reader that the previous three-hundred or so pages were, in essence, just a waste of everyone's precious time.

This sudden and rather drastic conclusion leaves the reader with a sense of dissatisfaction and a feeling that perhaps more could have been done to make the reading experience more worthwhile.

Nonetheless, it does make one stop and think about the choices the author made and the overall impact of the story.

Perhaps there is a deeper meaning hidden within this seemingly chaotic and somewhat frustrating narrative.

Only further analysis and reflection can truly determine the value and significance of this piece of writing.

Iris Murdoch's magic wand manages to transform an apparent melodramatic pulp fiction, almost vaudevillian, into a profound (and extremely funny) reflection on the miseries of the human soul and its needs.

Her works have this remarkable ability to take what seems like a simple and perhaps even clichéd storyline and turn it into something much more meaningful and thought-provoking.

She delves deep into the inner workings of the human psyche, exploring the desires, fears, and insecurities that drive us.

Through her vivid characters and engaging plots, she shows us the complexity and absurdity of human existence.

Whether it's the petty jealousies, the unrequited loves, or the moral dilemmas that her characters face, we can't help but be drawn in and compelled to think about our own lives and the choices we make.

Iris Murdoch's writing is a true gift, allowing us to see the world in a new and different light.

(#46 in my Year of Reading Women)

Why do I always find Iris Murdoch so frustrating? I truly feel that I should relish her work to a much greater extent than I actually do. This particular work is of a middling nature, yet there is a great deal that intrigues me as a reader. Murdoch takes what initially appears to be a "happy" marriage and then methodically tears it apart. The "Love Machine" in the title, unfortunately, is not nearly as salacious as one might hope. It seems more (I think, but I'm not entirely certain) that the "machine" pertains to how love, in both its sacred and profane manifestations, emerges without any conscious effort. It simply happens, and then it proceeds to grind you up and spit you out.

As is the case with all of Murdoch's books, I quickly encountered what I perceive as a complete and utter inability to pen believable dialogue. Everyone, from the professor to the mistress, to the teenage child, speaks as if they are sitting around a university senior common room table engaged in a philosophy discussion. And that is precisely my issue (and the reason why this only receives 3 stars, when I could easily have convinced myself that it deserved 4). Everything she writes seems to be in the head and not in the heart.

However, having said all of this, I did discover that I enjoyed it more in the final third. Although I'm not sure whether this was because the action picked up, that I was beginning to attune to the style, or simply because I was delirious that the end was drawing near.

I see that people have a great love for this book! And I must admit that it was written beautifully, and the characters, unfortunately, seem all too believable.

However, we are told that even complete a-holes are created in the image of God. But that doesn't mean I have any desire to spend time with them. Just like Murdoch's skill didn't make me want to spend time with this book. Since then, I have thought about it, but in the same way that you keep coming back to an unpleasant encounter and getting angry or upset all over again.

It's as if the book has left a bittersweet taste in my mouth. On one hand, I can appreciate the literary craftsmanship that went into it. But on the other hand, the content and the characters just didn't resonate with me in a positive way. Maybe it's a matter of personal preference, but for me, this book just didn't quite hit the mark.

Nevertheless, I can understand why others might love it. Everyone has their own unique tastes and perspectives when it comes to literature. And perhaps for those who enjoy more complex and morally ambiguous characters, this book would be a real treat. But for me, I think I'll stick to books that leave me with a more positive and uplifting feeling.

I saw someone reviewed this novel as "a British love pentagon", and I thought, hey, that was my life back in the day. So why not re-live a little PTSD? (Yes, I did experience nightmares of British men with gapped teeth, considerable noses, and patchy facial hair while reading this.) I was not disappointed, either. I mean the incest was a little much, but I get all the Freudian sexual, mother-son, theories. I GET IT, REALLY. I just wish there was a little more homosexuality, but this isn't my autobiography.

Anyway, there are several reasons worth reading this novel. Firstly, it presents Freudian psychoanalysis in a narrative format, which can be quite interesting if you're into that kind of thing. Secondly, it has philosophical underlyings that make you think about deeper issues. Thirdly, the complex relationships, especially the British love pentagon, add an element of drama and intrigue. Fourthly, there's a character named Monty, who might bring some unique charm to the story. Fifthly, the writing is beautifully done, which makes it a pleasure to read. Sixthly, there's masturbation, which might add a bit of spice. Seventhly, the idea that the sacred and profane love machine is the male genitalia that women must ultimately get on their knees and worship (quite literally) is a bold and thought-provoking concept.

Overall, this novel has its pros and cons, but it's definitely worth a read if you're looking for something different and challenging.

**"The Sacred and Profane Love Machine"**

"The Sacred and Profane Love Machine" overflows with all that one expects from a novel by Iris Murdoch (1919 - 1999). It features complicated and unpredictable sentimental relationships - though the resolution of the plot is what least convinced me. The characters are solid, and there is a psychological penetration that Henry James himself would have approved of. There is also a philosophical density, an exquisitely drawn world, and above all, an atmosphere in which anything - the light, dreams, sex, a cameo, the memory of a painting - is saturated with suggestions and connections.

Published in 1974, in the same decade as "The Black Prince" and "The Sea, The Sea", it is another example of the narrative astuteness, exuberant imagination, and immense stylistic resources of an author whose stories are capable of making us forget our routines more than any journey.

"Of course she had her problems, especially David, and sometimes the painful sensation of a small talent wasted, but she was loved and she loved, and she had a calm conscience and that was enough, for someone of her temperament, to achieve happiness, that deep, confident and slow relationship with time. Hers was at times a sad happiness, but always smiling." (Translation by Camila Batlles)

A novel has the remarkable ability to transport you into the minds of others. It is like a magical portal that allows you to experience the inner workings of different characters. The narrator serves as your guide, skillfully leading you from the interior of one person and seamlessly into the next. Iris Murdoch's art of narration is truly a sight to behold. She masterfully showcases the chaos of consciousness, revealing how our minds have a tendency to firmly fix on a particular course of action. However, as new desires take hold, our resolution often dissolves, leaving us in a state of flux.

I can't help but feel that this novel is a 'proper' novel. It is rich and dense, offering a deep and immersive reading experience. By this, I mean that it beautifully connects the inner life of words and feelings with the external world of objects. The clothes, curtains, toys, and in particular, the furniture, all play significant roles in the story. Pay close attention to the kitchen table, adorned with its red and white tablecloth. Witness how it becomes the center of infidelity, torture, and chaos that surrounds it. And then, as the novel reaches its climax, try to work out the profound meaning behind the usurpation of the old wooden table by the modern, plastic, Scandinavian furniture.

It is these intricate details and thought-provoking elements that make this novel a truly captivating and unforgettable read.

A hot train wreck of Freudian musings unfolds before us, filled with the most hilariously tragic individuals. They are all attempting to love each other, sometimes loving when they really shouldn't, at other times loving when they desire it the most or need it the most.

Love, as we all know, is an incredibly complicated affair. It weaves a web of emotions that are often difficult to untangle.

And it's a sad truth that hurt people tend to hurt others. In this chaotic dance of love, nobody seems to truly win. Everybody seems to lose at some point.

Yet, in a strange twist, we can also say that everybody wins and nobody loses.

Murdoch's rich prose swells like a powerful tide, and the dialogue dances with a unique blend of humor and heart. With grand gestures that keep us on the edge of our seats, Murdoch offers us one helluva ride through the complex world of love and human emotions.

Melodrama, but somehow profound.

Iris Murdoch's novels often seem beautiful and brave, yet it can be seen that the author is a philosopher. A truly somewhat puzzling combination.

The Sacred and Profane Love Machine tells of a psychologist who has a secret mistress and a family. And in fact, all of our characters have some kind of loophole in their relationship agreements.

The characters all have a touching side (except perhaps Murdoch's compulsory libertine characters), something semi-profound was said about love here. The twists and turns of the final plot and the summary were a bit strange, but typically Murdochian.

Overall, a really enjoyable human relationship drama with the nuances of a melodrama.

This novel is perhaps interesting in demonstrating how the English language has evolved over the past 40 years, or at least how the writing of novels has transformed.

Although I suspect that Murdoch was writing in a style that was already regarded as old-fashioned back in 1974, and I suspect she took pleasure in doing so. Her sentences are frequently long and seldom straightforward.

She engages in an enormous amount of telling, particularly regarding her characters' emotions, fantasies, and self-delusions. It is the psycho-therapist who deceives himself the most, while exploiting his gullible patients and deceiving his women. But they are all guilty of it, yet all convinced that they understand themselves.

This tests the reader's patience. Life-changing events are briefly announced but not dwelled upon. Nevertheless, the story is more interesting than the characters, with whom the long-winded author's commanding prose compels the reader to spend an excessive amount of time that could be better utilized in the real world.

Overall, this novel offers an interesting perspective on the evolution of the English language and the art of novel writing, but it also has its flaws that may test the reader's endurance.

For a period of time, I held a theory that each Iris Murdoch novel features a central figure with whom all the other characters become obsessed. This figure enters and exits, leaving everything and everyone transformed in their wake. However, after reading twelve of her novels, this theory has begun to show cracks.

Specifically, The Nice and the Good is clearly an ensemble piece, and there is no obvious candidate for the said figure. One could argue that it is Monty, but it could also be Blaise.

Nevertheless, I still enjoyed this novel, albeit slightly less than many of her other works. The enjoyment level is still quite high. Her characters are truly astonishing, and her understanding of their inner thoughts and feelings is unrivaled.

However, the domestic drama in this novel seems to have narrower concerns than usual. Additionally, the various events towards the end, such as a mauling by dogs and a massacre in an airport, seem to have been transplanted from some other story. (Admittedly, the former is quite humorous.) I think this novel is mainly for us Murdoch completionists.

I really enjoyed this piece and it truly felt like a 'classic' Murdoch.

It was a profound philosophical exploration of morality, with a gradual unravelling of characters as they responded to and created both real and imagined scenarios.

The setting, in supposedly idyllic middle and upper class England, added a layer of charm and contrast.

Vivid depictions of rural life, country houses, and even the squalid London flats were combined with the obsessive internal monologues of the characters.

I absolutely love her ability to conjure up such familiar and real worlds.

She shows how the seemingly mundane or everyday occurrences of the human experience are felt so uniquely and surprisingly by each person.

Murdoch has this remarkable talent that makes me feel simultaneously safe and yet like I will never truly know another person.

Her works are like a mirror that reflects the complexity and depth of human nature, leaving me in awe and constantly思考 about the mysteries of the human psyche.