In contemporary literature, it seems to me that there is an increasingly notable option for plot in favor of language. Of course, there are still writers whose work around the lexicon prevails over the plot, but they are a clear minority. And then, even rarer than any of the previous examples, there are those writers who manage to perfectly conjugate these two elements: Iris Murdoch is one of these writers.

This work is achieved in full with the existence of only six characters. However, if we talk about those who have a true influence on the narrative, in this case there will be five. In a real web of relationships, where everyone seems to be involved with each other - and I'm not referring exclusively to love relationships - the author manages the feat of making believable what would have everything to not be. The dialogues are masterful, loaded with intelligence and undertones, while at the same time giving us some introspective narration, as if to say to us "calm down, appreciate now this that I'm already giving you more plot". And the truth is that we appreciate it, a lot. Always growing, it is a book that does not suffer from interruptions or low-pressure zones. Everything is always at a high level, with the reader constantly working to guess what is coming. And although it is not always difficult to predict the turns of the plot, Iris Murdoch still manages to always surprise us, whether through the ability to manage the emotions of the characters or even through the point of view that she decides to assume. All this watered by an excellent and unwavering prose. Iris Murdoch is a writer with a full hand and it seems to me, unfortunately, one of those cases of undervalued author.

**Operatic Drama with a Civilized Veneer**

Martin Lynch-Gibbon, a 41-year-old high-end wine merchant and amateur historian, is contentedly married to Antonia, who is five years his senior. He also has a mistress, the eminently sensible Georgie, fifteen years younger. The situation seems stable and pleasing. However, less than a dozen pages later, Antonia tells Martin that she has fallen in love with her analyst, Palmer Anderson, a mutual friend. The couple wants an amicable and civilized divorce, with no one suffering.

But the story doesn't remain static. It soon reminds the reader of an 18th-century opera, with a small number of characters being shuffled around in every possible permutation. The foursome of Antonia, Georgie, Palmer, and Martin is joined by Palmer's half-sister, Honor Klein, a rather ferocious Cambridge academic. Now we have two sopranos, a mezzo, a baritone, and a tenor (or perhaps the complaisant Martin is a castrato?), engaging in different confrontations and frequently stopping for arias to analyze their feelings in detail.

For all its talk of passion, this is a curiously academic work, plotted out on a drawing board rather than coursing through the blood. It's no surprise that Murdoch later collaborated with J. B. Priestley to turn it into a play. It belongs on the stage or in a Handel opera. However, Handel might not have known what to do with the almost-comic tone. There's a point halfway through when a bedroom door is opened and the reader almost laughs. Murdoch may not have intended it to be funny, but surely she saw something absurd in the number of sexual changes in so few pages, all with the utmost civility. But then, thinking back to the early Sixties, the cusp of the sexual revolution, when young men reveled in the opportunity, the fungibility of relationships and the polite acceptance of partners' freedom opened the curtain on a bleak and chilling vista. Iris Murdoch's novel, despite its cleverness and control, leaves a bitter aftertaste.

Qué bueno...

It's so good. I don't know how I had never read anything by this author before.

The irony she uses and how she surprises us in each chapter through her characters is just wonderful. It's completely unpredictable.

And her characters are indeed her greatest strength. They are complex, with many facets, and they surprise themselves with what they discover about themselves throughout the novel.

Their morality becomes blurred, and they don't even know what it is anymore, just like their ideas about love, fidelity, or commitment.

But it's also a novel that addresses and confronts the established social norms of the time (the sixties in the UK). It asks questions without answering them and doesn't take anything for granted for the reader.

This last aspect is perhaps what I liked the most.

Overall, this novel has been a truly engaging and thought-provoking read.

It is a testament to Iris Murdoch's remarkable power as a novelist that "A Severed Head" is an incredibly gripping and enjoyable read, despite the complete absence of a sympathetic character. This novel manages to artfully combine that very British kind of sex comedy, where everyone seems to be with the wrong partner (much like "Lucky Jim", which was published just seven years earlier), with astute and incisive examinations of the human condition. Spending time with this novel will surely surprise and delight the reader.

"A Severed Head" perfectly demonstrates that the residents of very nice Central London addresses, with a taste for the finer things in life, can treat each other just as badly as the worst guests on shows like Jeremy Kyle or Jerry Springer. The story follows the trials of Martin, an almost permanently sloshed dilettante who is a London wine merchant, and his efforts to keep the women in his life in line. These women include the one he is married to, the one on the side, and the one he can't seem to live with or without. He is a man determined to have his cake and eat it too, but not before making a bit of a mess by throwing some of it around first.

Martin is coddled like an over-indulged child, often reacting with tantrums that can lead to violence when it becomes clear that he doesn't have as much control over "his" women as he thinks he does. From crushing his wife Antonia's hands when he learns of her infidelity (while neglecting to come clean about his own), to attempting to deal with his inner turmoil by punching his way out of it (a tactic that proves as ineffective as trying to punch through a thick London fog), Martin's actions are both self-destructive and revealing. There is a thick London pea-souper fog swirling throughout the story, obliterating the once-familiar terrain, much like Martin's attempts to blunder through life, trying to "take it well" as per his allotted role.

For all her youth and the constant patronizing references to it by the others, it is Martin's mistress Georgie who seems to have the best understanding of him. Right from the start, she notes that "you're always looking for a master". The only question that remains is who will be in command by the end of the novel. It is unlikely to be young Georgie herself, as she is quite on the mark when she confidently states that "no one is essential to anyone".

Reading this brilliant book is like perusing an early draft of the 2004 play/film "Closer." It was conceived by a woman who adopts the perspective of a man, Martin. Martin experiences degradation and despair as he chases sexual specters. It is an incredibly precise, almost samurai-sharp (more on that later...) case study of both true incest and a more socially acceptable form of partner swapping.

Let me attempt to explain the plot (SPOILER! SPOILER! SPOILER!!): Martin is in love with his wife, Antonia, who is having an affair with Martin's best friend, Anderson (he seems very similar to Cooper!). Meanwhile, Martin also "loves" his mistress, Georgie. Then he falls for Anderson's sister, Honor, who has a sick relationship with her brother. Anderson, after being rejected by Martin's brother, Alexander, then falls for Martin's mistress. Phew!

Obviously, there is more to it than this. The charm of the book lies in its exquisitely convoluted plot. Every line of dialogue reveals some intimate feeling that each character is trying, but failing, to express. It is clever and very risque, taking the incest issue to new and frightful heights. The main character, Martin, is a Tom Ripleyesque figure - we trust him only because there is no one else to side with. The Japanese imagery that emerges at crucial points indicates the sense of war that accompanies betrayal. Sword play is clearly a motif for sex play.

Martin attempts to lead different lives with all the different women in his life. They are like "severed heads," emblematic of nothing, perhaps only of history or symbols of a sexually-stunted psyche. They are bodiless, spineless, and heartless. These are the characters in the novel, truly magnificent beings for being truly unmagnificent.

Next to "The Blithedale Romance" and Arthur Schnitzler's "Traumnovelle," this gem of "Normal" sexual depravity finds its place on the bookshelf.

**Original Article**: This is a short article. It doesn't have much content. But it can still convey some basic information.

**Expanded Article**:
This is a rather short article.

It doesn't possess an abundance of content.

However, despite its brevity, it is still capable of conveying certain fundamental information.

Although it may not be filled with detailed and elaborate descriptions, it manages to get across the essential points.

Sometimes, even a concise piece like this can have its value in presenting the key ideas in a straightforward manner.

It shows that not all articles need to be long and complex to be meaningful.

A simple and concise one can also serve its purpose effectively.

So, we should not underestimate the power of a short article like this.

It can make a quick and clear impact on the reader.

My name is Martin Lynch-Gibbon. I'm a 41-year-old pretentious wine dealer residing in London with my wife, Antonia. She's an extremely elegant woman who's five years older than me, which I think is really old. However, she piles on the mascara and still looks decent in the right light. I'm crazy about her. I also have a mistress named Georgie, who's 26 and a lecturer in some subject I never bothered to ask. I keep her in a flat and visit her whenever I please, always bringing a lively bottle of Prun Gaacher Himmelreich.

Two days later, I discovered that Antonia is having a passionate affair with her psychiatrist, Palmer. She claims she's been in love with him for a year. How dare she! Only I'm supposed to cheat because I'm a man and a wine dealer. Now she has the nerve to ask me for a divorce! This has really caused a stir, as Georgie will surely want to marry me when she finds out. They always do. But to be honest, as a wife, I don't think she's suitable. Sorry, Georgie. Anyway, I'm still in love with Antonia.

Two days later, Antonia and Palmer found out about Georgie! Now I can't mock them like I wanted to. In fact, they're the ones sneering at me! It's unbearable. I've consumed three bottles of a rather presentable whisky to help me figure things out.

Two days later, it was Honor Klein, Palmer's half-sister and an anthropology professor, who ratted me out. So I hit her in the face. Well, anyone would. Okay, I was a bit drunk.

Two days later, I finally realized I'm madly in love with Honor Klein! That's awkward since I hit her face. Oh well, I'm a passionate man, so I'm sure she'll forgive me. They always do.

Two days later, I followed Honor Klein to Cambridge and broke into her house. To my surprise, I found her in bed with Palmer! What a shock! I didn't know what to do.

Two days later, being an honorable man, I didn't mention the scandalous scene to Antonia. The good news is that my beautiful wife doesn't love Palmer anymore and has come back to me. Now I have her, still have Georgie somewhere (I forgot the address but will remember soon), and I'll have sex with Honor Klein soon. I'm a very perceptive person.

Two days later, my brother, who always steals my girlfriends, showed up with Georgie and announced they were getting married because they're in love. This is unacceptable. I need a drink. Two bottles of a very bold Chateau de Boursault will calm me down.

Two days later, I realized I'm actually in love with myself. This is awkward. I need a drink.

Two days later, my brother, my girlfriend, my wife, her lover, and his half-sister have all sailed to the Caribbean and are now in love with each other. What a strange and twisted story. Anyone would think I made it all up.

Iris Murdoch once said, "And yet I cannot do it without you." This simple yet profound statement holds a wealth of meaning. It implies a deep dependence and connection between two individuals.

Perhaps Murdoch was referring to a loved one, a muse, or even an inner source of inspiration. The idea that she couldn't accomplish something significant without the presence or influence of this other person is both touching and thought-provoking.

It makes us wonder about the people in our own lives who have had a similar impact. Are there those without whom we feel we couldn't achieve our goals or reach our full potential?

Murdoch's words also remind us of the power of human relationships and the importance of relying on others at times. In a world that often emphasizes individualism and self-sufficiency, it's easy to forget that we are all interconnected and that we can accomplish more together than we can alone.

So, the next time you find yourself facing a challenge or striving for something great, take a moment to think about those who have supported you along the way. And remember, like Iris Murdoch, there may be times when you realize that you simply couldn't do it without them.

Oh Iris, Iris, Iris....

I just have an inordinate love for her. This remarkable book is teeming with characters that are flawed and, to be honest, fabulously unlikable. However, against all odds, they manage to stir up my sympathies. They are very much like lab rats. I must admit that I'm not particularly partial to rats. But when I see them trapped within mazes, getting zapped as they are compelled to navigate their restricted little world, after a while, I find myself thinking, "a poor things." Such is precisely the situation with these self-absorbed, amoral characters in the book.

Yet, the confined maze-like lives depicted in this book are not quite as circumscribed or foreseeable as those of the poor rat. Doors open, and the maze expands and transforms, and on occasion, so do the characters. Although more frequently, they are like Shaggy and Scooby Doo, inadvertently and absentmindedly leaning against a bookcase that unexpectedly flips them into some hitherto unknown place (Ruh-roh, Raggy!). A few individuals manage to achieve a small modicum of emotional growth here and there. But mainly, everyone is simply finding a new lover who is better suited to them than their previous one, without any bothersome new personal awareness. Oh, it's all great fun. If you haven't delved into any of Iris Murdoch's works, then I wholeheartedly recommend that you take the plunge right away and relish the experience.

**"A Severed Head" by Iris Murdoch: A Complex and Intriguing Novel**

Iris Murdoch's 1961 novel, "A Severed Head," which followed the more conventionally realist "The Bell" in her oeuvre, has a cult following. It begins as a traditional English realist novel with the narrator, Martin Lynch-Gibbon, cheating on his wife Antonia with Georgie Hands. But the story soon takes a surreal turn. Antonia is having an affair with her psychoanalyst Palmer Anderson, and the plot involves Anderson's half-sister Honor Klein and Martin's brother Alexander. The rapid couplings and implausible revelations, like the incestuous relationship between Honor and Palmer, give the novel an air of farce.

Murdoch's philosophy of fiction, as expressed in her essay "The Sublime and the Beautiful Revisited,"提倡 novelists should reject Romanticism and modernism and restore an objective ethic of character-creation. However, "A Severed Head" seems more in the Romantic mode she demotes. The novel's torrid erotic exchanges are formulaic, and the characters speak of freedom but are confined by the plot. The presence of a psychoanalyst and an anthropologist adds a sense of the characters enacting mythologies. The prose, with its repeating motifs and Orientalist idiom, further smothers the characters' freedom.

Yet, we can also read the novel as a parody of Romantic/modernist subjectivism and totalitarianism, a warning about the dangers of liberation gone wrong. The characters, under the influence of psychoanalysis and anthropology, abuse and traduce one another's individuality. Martin comes close to understanding this when he realizes he wants to immobilize Georgie. If this is the novel's ultimate meaning, it is consistent with the anti-Romanticism of Austen, Eliot, and Tolstoy.

However, Murdoch's consistent depiction of Palmer and Honor in terms of myth makes it hard to believe they have a merely quotidian reality. Their Orientalist motif, associated with their Jewishness and connection to Japan, gives them a status as archaic outsiders, both irresistibly seductive and destructive. Murdoch seems to be half-parodying these racial ideas while also reveling in the disruption they offer to English realism.

In conclusion, "A Severed Head" is a complex and intelligent novel that refuses to take the form of the novel or its ethics for granted. It offers a model of imaginative boldness and philosophical seriousness, even if it sometimes feels like a curio from a bygone era. While it may not have the narrative pleasures of "Lolita," it still has much to offer the contemporary novelist and reader.

Oh, Iris, what have you done to me? How on earth will I ever be able to read one of your books again? If I stop here and now, it's solely because of you!

Remember my infatuation with Charles last summer? Of course you do, as every now and then I go back and compare male characters with him. Now, guess what? Not only did I not like Martin (Charles' counterpart in this novel), but I didn't like any of the characters.

Stop for a minute and try to envision how dreadful it is for the reader to search for someone to like (identifying with is out of the question) and find no one. You could have had me, you know I have a soft spot for classy, witty, art-loving, wine connoisseur Brits. I can even tolerate a little infidelity and some twisted relationships. It's not that I'm living in a bell jar, but hey, this maze was simply too much for me.

The same 6 people bonding and breaking up among themselves, showing no remorse. But, my goodness, there is so much good behavior and understanding towards each other's choices, and they want to divide their refined furniture equally so that no one is deprived of the luxury and comfort they're accustomed to. Rats! It feels as if these people are devoid of the most basic human feelings. Or perhaps it's just me. Maybe I am living in a bell jar, after all.

I suppose the humor is not intentional, but after a certain number of combining possibilities, I found myself bursting into laughter, thinking, "My goodness, Iris, this is worse than a soap opera!" :)

What ties people together when they, whether by choice or necessity, break free from the security of their own habits and find the comforts of domestic life lacking?

The author appears to answer this question through a series of equally unlikable characters who come together in an accidental manner. Here, no emotion is intense or enduring, no relationship is reliable or without inconvenience, and no thought is independent of others' caprices.

In this newfound freedom, contrary to expectations, we do not see autonomous, powerful individuals, but rather those who are suffering from despair and immobility. No one can now be overly cautious of everyone else because it becomes evident that anyone can be and is a cheat.

Being on the watch is the only way to orient oneself in this newly opened horizon where foreign rules prevail (of which 'the severed head', from one of her distant tribe-expeditions, is the symbol).

When attachment is no longer a necessity, the protagonists, in their search for humanity, have to find comfort in the 'I suffer, therefore I care' mentality. However, they are suffering from nothing more than vanity, jealousy, and leisure.

The initial crossing of borders only exposes them to fleeting, forbidden, and disappointing experiences. But after the painful rearrangements, a little gratification can still be found.