A Severed Head is a captivating story that, without revealing too many details (since it's a short book and almost any mention could be considered a spoiler), follows a stodgy Englishman. His life takes an unexpected turn when his wife confesses her love for her therapist, entangling him in a complex love-triangle. As the therapist attempts to rationalize to him why he shouldn't feel remorse, the plot thickens with the introduction of more characters. What begins as a triangle soon morphs into a square, a pentagon, and several other configurations before reaching its conclusion. This novel offers a scathing yet humorous critique of post-Freudian psychology, vividly depicting how those who prescribe certain theories and treatments may end up severing the best aspects of themselves.

For a more in-depth exploration of this book, check out my full review at http://coreysbook.wordpress.com/2011/...

This book appears to be a rather light-hearted comedy tale, somewhat reminiscent of the movies from the 1950s.

The six main characters almost all have some sort of connection with each other at one stage or another. Morality and decency are highly esteemed yet constantly trampled upon.

An underlying theme is the perpetual uncertainty of human relationships. The story is also filled with Freudian "spielereien" (playfulness).

London and its unrelenting fog clearly serve a metaphorical purpose. It is highly entertaining, but not overly memorable.

Perhaps this is because it lacks a certain depth or emotional resonance that would make it truly stand out.

However, for those looking for a轻松愉快的 read that doesn't require too much thought, it can be an enjoyable choice.

It offers a glimpse into a world of complex relationships and the often comical situations that can arise.

Overall, while it may not be a literary masterpiece, it does have its charm and can provide some entertainment value.

Once again, Iris Murdoch presents a captivating tale in "A Severed Head." The story unfolds with a sense of artificial suspension and a veneer of civility, as the characters find themselves trapped in a web of bizarre and ever-changing circumstances. Martin Lynch-Gibbon, a wealthy wine merchant, seems content with his double life until his wife Antonia leaves him for his best friend Palmer Anderson. This unexpected turn of events not only makes Martin fall in love with Antonia more than ever but also upends his entire social set's love lives.

  It was for me a moment of great peace. I did not know then that it was the last, the very last moment of peace, the end of the old innocent world, the final moment before I was plunged into the nightmare of which these ensuing pages tell the story.

Murdoch's writing is both assured and convincing, especially from the male POV. Martin's voice is humorous and engaging as he unfolds the story. The author is particularly adept at first-person narration of morally reprehensible men, and Martin is no exception. He is a man-child who only cares about his own happiness and convenience, often taking out his aggression on the wrong people. The passivity of his character is fascinating, as he allows others to decide his marital and relationship status.

Throughout the novel, Murdoch explores themes such as enchantment and the savagery of love and relationships. The characters' behavior is abominable and vicious, without a care for others' feelings and lives. There are power shifts and imbalances, and love is poisoned by violence. However, the novel also offers many insights into human psychology, especially through Martin, an exemplar of white male privilege. Murdoch comments on toxic masculinity and the consequences of infidelity and divorce.

The dialogue in "A Severed Head" is sharp and hilarious, with the nonsense psychobabble spouted by Palmer and Antonia adding to the absurdity. The novel also features some truly shocking moments of brutality, making it a deeply psychological and engaging read. With its many twists, surprises, and reversals, it's impossible to guess who will end up with whom. The ending is a surprise that will leave readers thinking long after they've finished the book.

Silence was broken by a deep and suffocating inner turmoil as the fog enveloped me. I opened my mouth to call out to her, but then realized I had forgotten her name. (s.117)

Some books have the power to draw you in with a mix of curiosity and tension. You read with bated breath, yet at the same time, you wonder what will happen next... And that's exactly what Iris Murdoch's "A Severed Head" is like.

Translated into our language by Serdar Rifat Kırkoğlu and published by Ayrıntı Yayınları, the first edition of this work in our language was published in March 1988, and the one in my hand is the October 1989 edition. The fact that this book, published just one month after my birth, is in my hands at my age gives me a strange feeling.

These days, I'm trying to read as much literature as I can before the start of my postgraduate studies. This was one of the books that I prioritized in my library as something I must read. However, this book evoked in me the feelings I had when watching a David Lynch film. To be honest, while I wanted to write a criticism of modernism, I think it turned out to be a work that has lost some of its literary value. The psychological analyses in the book are quite significant, and in this respect, it resembles the works classified as "psychological novels". The main character is almost as naïve and illogical as Peyami Safa's characters, and thus, I couldn't enjoy the reading process enough.

The weather has started to get slightly cooler in Mersin.

Keep reading.

But read good books. Didn't Schopenhauer say that life is not long enough to read bad books?

Your friend, M.B.

06.09.2019

https://agacingovdesi.com/2021/03/21/iris-murdoch-kesik-bir-bas-kitap-yorumu/

I found myself lost in the pages of "A Severed Head", both intrigued and slightly disappointed. The story had its moments of tension and mystery, but something was amiss. The psychological aspects, which were meant to be the highlight, sometimes felt overdone. The main character's actions and thoughts seemed a bit too far-fetched at times. It made me question the overall authenticity of the narrative.

Despite these flaws, I still managed to get through the book. Maybe it was because of my initial curiosity or perhaps because I was determined to give it a fair chance. But as I reached the end, I couldn't help but feel that it could have been better. It left me with a sense of dissatisfaction, as if something was lacking.

Nonetheless, I won't give up on reading. There are still so many good books out there waiting to be discovered. And I'm hopeful that the next one I pick up will be a real gem that will make up for the shortcomings of this one.

Iris Murdoch's A Severed Head is a captivating novel with a first-person narrator, Martin Lynch-Gibbon.

Martin seems to have it all. His wife Antonia is beautiful, refined, and five years older, while his mistress Georgie is attractive, educated, and closer to half his age. Martin himself is a tall, good-looking, and successful wine merchant.

He believes his situation is stable, but he couldn't be more wrong. Antonia wants a divorce as she is in love with Palmer Anderson, her psychoanalyst and friend to both of them. Martin initially dismisses it as nonsense but soon realizes it's not.

He then crumbles into a pathetic victim. Antonia and Palmer assure him they'll help, but this is just the first of many changes in his life.

When Martin's sculptor brother Alexander and Palmer's half-sister Honor Klein are introduced, the stage is set for a hilarious sequence of pivoting relationships.

The characters are credible and well-portrayed. Martin is weak-natured, selfish, and lacks self-awareness, making him the most affected by the changing dynamics.

The novel is vintage Murdoch, with all original relationships shaken up. The action is fast-paced, keeping readers engaged.

There are clever plot twists along the way, and the comedy almost turns into farce but is skillfully rescued.

If you're not a Murdoch fan yet, you likely will be after reading this entertaining and stylish novel.

A truly marvelous work of art!

It stands before us as a testament to the boundless creativity and skill of the artist. Every stroke, every color choice, seems to have been carefully considered and executed with precision.

The details are exquisite, drawing our eyes in and captivating our attention. We find ourselves lost in the beauty and wonder of this creation, unable to look away.

It has the power to evoke a wide range of emotions within us, from awe and inspiration to a sense of peace and tranquility.

This work of art is not just a visual delight; it is a masterpiece that will be cherished and admired for generations to come.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

I did not like this book. To be honest, when I first picked it up, I had high hopes. However, as I delved deeper into its pages, I found myself growing increasingly disenchanted. The story seemed to lack a certain spark, and the characters failed to truly engage me.

But then, I started hearing a lot of good rationale for liking it. Some people praised the author's unique writing style, which they said added a certain charm to the narrative. Others lauded the book's thought-provoking themes and the way it made them think about life and society in a different light.

Despite hearing these positive reviews, I still couldn't quite bring myself to change my opinion. Maybe I just didn't "get" the book, or perhaps my expectations were simply too high. Whatever the reason, I can't help but feel a little disappointed that I didn't have the same experience as those who loved it.

I loved Iris Murdoch when I first read her, twenty years ago when I was about twenty years old.

I was completely captivated by all the clever characters and their profound academic musings on life. It was as if I was being drawn into a world of intellectual exploration and deep reflection.

Everything about her works seemed to fascinate me, not so much the universe perhaps if my recall is correct, but the intricate web of human relationships and emotions she so skillfully weaved.

However, now, my feelings have changed. This particular work is pretty much a bedroom farce. It starts off in a rather silly manner and as it progresses, it becomes completely ludicrous towards the end.

I actually thought about drawing a diagram to figure out which characters didn't end up in bed together, if any. There is lots of angst and a clever veneer on top of the bed hopping, of course.

But to be honest, I found it more of a chore to read than a delight. Having read it as an ebook, I was surprised to see that it's actually only around 200 pages. My perception was that it was much longer, which might be why I'm so down on it.

I think I ought to reread one of the Murdoch's that I loved when I first read it to see whether they still have the same magic.

On the other hand, I'm also a bit hesitant because I don't really want to find out if the answer is no. What if the magic has truly vanished?

“A Severed Head” by Iris Murdoch is an internal novel, set in bourgeois rooms decorated with understated taste where dialogues pile up; yet, it is not theatrical, although in the tones of a caustic comedy it tells the events of a handful of men and women who love and betray each other against the backdrop of a particularly foggy London.

The point of view of Martin, the narrator, reveals all those secrets that the protagonist himself pretends not to know. In practice, Martin is shortsighted: he is taken by surprise by the subterfuges of all those around him (even though he himself has a well-established extramarital relationship). Murdoch uses his voice to tell the reader much more than Martin himself believes he knows, but his surprise remains suspect. Martin's ignorance does not seem real; rather, it seems to be the glue that holds together the various pieces of his family hypocrisy: Martin does not want to see his wife's betrayals, and he does not want to think that his wife sees his. In truth, Martin is made of rubber; everything bounces off his surface and he never empathizes with the pain of others. When he himself feels bad, this happens for unknown intimate reasons to the crowd of his loved ones. In a sense, Martin carries out a small unconscious, opportunistic but exhausting revolution. And as a hypocritical revolutionary, he has the power to manipulate others even when they are the ones trying to influence him, and he even manages to get what he wants before he knows he wants it.

“A Severed Head” is a novel about polyamory, published in 1961 but by no means dated. The nonchalance and tranquility with which the protagonists face their entanglements place it outside of time and social trends. There is something of the open couple of the 1970s, but the surrounding messiness is lacking (the setting is ultra-bourgeois and academic, permeated by an austerity not very typical of the 1970s); and the serenity with which the characters reason about their love problems is rather far from the insecurities of our present - overall very traditionalist - and yet (wrongly) we would never attribute it to a pre-1968 world.

It is a kind of family “Rondelay,” but lived only from Martin's point of view. We do not jump from one character to another, as in Schnitzler's “Rondelay” and in Yasmina Reza's similar “Happy Days Are Here Again,” texts that reveal the sentimental lies one by one, showing what happens when a character is thrown into a different situation, then passing the baton from one protagonist to another. Murdoch performs a similar but subliminal operation, because the univocal focus on Martin still shows in silhouette the specters that agitate around him, leaving the reader to decide what is the true degree of Martin's awareness (paradoxically an unreliable narrator for himself, but not for us).

It is a pleasant novel, caustic at the tip of the pen. It is easy to read thanks to short chapters and the use of dialogue. For once, we find bourgeois characters who are indeed tormented, but not too unhappy; on the contrary: they are rather satisfied adults, a bit stupid perhaps, but always reasonable.

The title gives an ominous impression, but rest assured, there will be no actual beheadings. However, there are a few symbolic "heads" that need to be severed, and there is a bronze head of one of the main characters.

The story commences around 1962, a few weeks before Christmas in London. Martin Lynch-Gibben is in bed with his young mistress, Georgie. It is assumed that they have just completed their amorous encounter and are now engaged in a discussion. They talk about Martin's wife, Antoina, her Psychoanalyst, Palmer Anderson, and Palmer's half sister, Honor Klein. Martin shares his plans for Christmas, stating that he will have a quiet day with Antoina and will not be visiting his brother Alexander and sister Rosemary. Georgie wonders when Martin will leave his wife and marry her.

At this juncture, all the players are on the board, like the King, queen, rook, bishop, and knight. But in the end, we will discover that they are all pawns in a larger game. The next day, Antonia shocks Martin by announcing that she is in love with Palmer and desires a divorce immediately.

As the story progresses, the alliances of sexual partners seem to change daily, and I felt as if I needed a scorecard to keep track. One can think of the author as a cook preparing a stew, with the ingredients being sex, adultery, jealousy, attempted suicide, deception, and just a hint of incest.

Despite the fact that, with the exception of Rosemary, all of the characters were rather unlikable, I still found enjoyment in the book, seeing it as somewhat of a farce. If it were a movie, it might be labeled "soft porn." It also reminded me of Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream" when Puck addresses his King with the line, "Lord, what fools these mortals be."

On the whole, the statement "do what you want" costs others less than "do what you ought" is an interesting one.

But does it really hold true? Consider "A Severed Head," a remarkable and complex work. It presents a situation where there is a glorious love pentagon in the foggy South Ken area. In this world, God is considered dead, and everyone seems to have plenty of lovely money.

With such a setting, the question of what is the right thing to do becomes highly ambiguous. Who can truly say? In a society where traditional moral guidelines seem to be lacking or at least challenged, the idea of simply doing what one wants might not necessarily cost others less. There could be hidden consequences and emotional turmoil that ripple through the lives of those involved.

Perhaps, in this context, the concept of "ought" needs to be reevaluated and redefined in a way that takes into account the new realities and the fluid nature of human relationships and desires. \\"On the whole 'do what you want' costs others less than 'do what you ought'.\\"

Or does it? 'A Severed Head' is a doozy! Quality time spent with a glorious love pentagon in a foggy South Ken. God is dead and everyone has lots of lovely money... who's to say what's the right thing to do?

Martin is blissfully married to Antonia, yet he also has a mistress named Georgie. Antonia, who is older than Martin, is undergoing analysis. Suddenly, she abandons Martin and moves in with Anderson, her analyst. Anderson's sister Honor reveals the existence of Georgie to Antonia. Honor is such a truly eccentric character that in comparison, the rest of them seem only slightly strange.

Once again, this is a 1961 novel about infidelity. In contrast to Wallace Stegner's A Shooting Star, this one is like a breath of fresh air, with that almost slapstick quality that Murdoch does so well. Every time I thought I had a handle on the plot, she veered in exactly the opposite direction that I would have predicted.

I can just picture some of the ladies in my reading group getting worked up because not a single character is likable or admirable. I surely didn't envision that the tormented, self-unaware Martin would end up with...ah, I can't say. But as she tells Martin, "This has nothing to do with happiness, nothing whatever."

And that is the joke simmering throughout the entire story. Many of us experimented with open marriage in the 70s. What a Pandora's Box! We should have read A Severed Head first.