Hilary Burde, saved by education from a delinquent childhood, cheated of Oxford by a tragic love tangle, cherishes his obsessive guilt and disappointment in a dull, orderly civil service job.
When the man whom he has harmed and betrayed reappears as head of his department, Hilary hopes for forgiveness, even for redemption and a new life, but finds himself haunted by a ghostly repetition.
Irish-born British writer, university lecturer and prolific and highly professional novelist, Iris Murdoch dealt with everyday ethical or moral issues, sometimes in the light of myths. As a writer, she was a perfectionist who did not allow editors to change her text. Murdoch produced 26 novels in 40 years, the last written while she was suffering from Alzheimer disease.
"She wanted, through her novels, to reach all possible readers, in different ways and by different means: by the excitement of her story, its pace and its comedy, through its ideas and its philosophical implications, through the numinous atmosphere of her own original and created world--the world she must have glimpsed as she considered and planned her first steps in the art of fiction." (John Bayley in Elegy for Iris, 1998) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iris_Mur...
”What a stupid coagulated mass of indistinguishable guilt and misery I had become. How perfectly futile all my sufferings had been. If only I could separate out that awful mixture of sin and pain, if I could only even a for a short time, even for a moment, suffer purely without the burden of resentment and self-degradation to which I had deliberately condemned myself, there might be a place for a miracle. And I reflected too, as I walked and walked around London, on the absolute doneness of what was done.”
Hilary Burde has had a fair share of hard knocks. For one thing he doesn’t know who his father is, in some cases that is a gift, but certainly it is never a good start for anyone. His mother died young leaving him orphaned. For a while he is raised by his Aunt Bill (I know strange name for an aunt.) who much prefers his half-sister Crystal. Aunt Bill soon has him packed off to an orphanage for his burgeoning bad behavior. Of course if you tell someone he is a bad person enough times eventually he will start to believe you and act accordingly. Hilary is on a ruinous course, a poster child for a man destined to commit increasingly more violent crimes, and eventually end up incarcerated for at least the rest of his testosterone influenced years.
A teacher, Mr. Osmand, is the first adult to ever show an interest in him. He introduces Hilary to the world of...words.
”Looking up words in the dictionary was for me an image of goodness. The endless endless task of learning new words was for me an image of life.
Violence is a kind of magic, the sense that the world will always yield. When I understood grammatical structure I understood something which I respected and which did not yield. The exhilaration of this discovery, though it did not ‘cure’ me, informed my studies and cast on them a light which was not purely academic. I learnt French and Latin and Greek at school. Mr. Osmand taught me German in his spare time. I taught myself Italian.”
His dedication to language lands Hilary a spot at Oxford. Mr. Osmand may have saved Hilary from rattling the bars of a cage, but Hilary lands in a cage none the less. He meets a woman named Anne.
”Anne met me as a stranger, saw me as a stranger, and miraculously understood me. Her presence made me rest, every muscle, every atom, became quiet and relaxed. I lived, I saw, I was. “
Wonderful, he has met the woman of his dreams. Of course there is always a hitch, she is married to his best friend Gunner. Hilary, incapable of restraint, creates chaos that leads to tragedy. He walks into his cage of remorse and misery, and swallows the key.
For most of the book we are with Hilary long after the events at Oxford. He has landed a job, a low level civil service position that requires very little of him. It allows him to wallow in poverty and leaves him with enough energy to properly cultivate and maintain his own special concoction of anxiety and self-loathing. He doesn’t really have a life, but he has caught his sister in the web of his own need.
”I deliberately made Crystal suffer with me. Could her pure suffering have redeemed me? In some ideal theory, yes, in reality, no.”
He has a girlfriend, Tommy, who he is in a perpetual state of breaking up with. He keeps her strung out with a series of letters, misdirection, cruelty, and brief moments of tenderness.
”A lot of what Tommy said was true. She had been a surprise package. After I had despaired of communications this soft-voiced clever little Scot had managed to get through. For she was clever. She argued quite well, she remembered things, one had to keep one’s wits sharp, there was even a pleasure in arguing with her about leaving her.”
The interesting thing about Hilary is that he has assembled, despite his acerbic personality, a collection of friends. Like with Crystal and Tommy he manages his relationship with them even to the point that everyone has their assigned days and times to spend with Hilary. He allows very little interaction between his friends because he likes controlling the narrative. He is a different person with each friend, and can only continue to be so if there is not too much interplay between those people and the slight variations of himself. What is truly amazing to me is that all these people allow Hilary so much influence on their behavior. They indulge him because he fascinates them. They find his idiosyncratic behavior humorous. He gets very angry though when his friends see him at the wrong place or at time when they are not scheduled.
”I liked to live in other people’s worlds and have none of my own.”
I’m sure there are a whole host of psychological terms to better define Hilary.
Hilary’s carefully constructed life goes into a tailspin when Gunner arrives, out of the mists of the past, to take a job “upstairs” in the same department as Hilary. He meets Gunner’s new wife Kitty.
”I thought she was a saucy minx. I don’t mean anything to do with impropriety. I’m sure she is a perfect picture of propriety in the strict sense. After all, she would have the wit to play safe. But she is one of those numerous women who can’t stop flicking their eyelashes at anything in trousers, a compulsive flirt. She flirted with the prime minister. I suppose she flirted with you.”
Is history doomed to repeat itself?
Will Crystal break away from the tenacious grasp of her brother and find a life for herself?
Will Biscuit, in the bluish-purple sari, ever escape the clutches of Lady Kitty? And why does Hilary keep *shiver* kissing her?
Will there be a grand reconciliation scene with Gunner?
Will Tommy finally leave Hilary for good and marry that guy...whatshisname?
More importantly will Hilary’s desk ever be moved back where it is supposed to be in the office?
Sigh
Those questions and many more will be answered when you read this book.
What is remarkable is that Iris Murdoch has created this pathetic creature; and yet, she handles his story so deftly that this reader was knuckle deep into the book before he realized that he really didn’t like Hilary; and for that matter, really didn’t care for the other characters either. This is the second Iris Murdoch I have read and her dialogue and the social situations she creates are well structured, smart, and entertaining. I will certainly be reading more.
Η μυστηριώδης, απλή, μεγαλειώδης και εντυπωσιακή πεζογραφία είναι στο απαύγασμα της σε αυτό το ρεαλιστικά μεθυσμένο απο λέξεις και ασυμβίβαστο μυθιστόρημα.
Η γραφή της Μέρντοχ είναι εμμονική και σαγηνευτική. Περνάει μέσα στον αναγνώστη σαν ένα τραγούδι, ένα μουσικό έργο, που μελοποιεί όλες τις ανθρώπινες καταστάσεις καθώς έρχονται στο προσκήνιο, μέσω της αλώβητης μνήμης.
Δεν θα αναφερθώ στην πλοκή του μυθιστορήματος. Έτσι κι αλλιώς θα μπορούσε να χαρακτηριστεί ως ιστορία πνευματικής φάρσας. Μια θλιβερή, καυστική και απεγνωσμένη μορφή αγάπης που επιβάλλεται για να λυτρώσει τον αντί-ήρωα και τους υπόλοιπους χαρακτήρες απο τις εκκεντρικές, καταθλιπτικές και αυτοκαταστροφικές συνέπειες των επιλογών τους.
Πολλά προβλήματα συνειδησιακού βάρους και διάφορες καταστάσεις φέρνουν τους ήρωες μας αντιμέτωπους με τη λήψη ηθικών αποφάσεων. Υποφέρουν πραγματικά όταν οι αποφάσεις αυτές αντιβαίνουν την εγγενή ηθική τους. Κάπου εκεί, ανάμεσα, ο κάθε αναγνώστης αναγνωρίζει τον εαυτό του. Η αίσθηση της εμπειρίας που κυριαρχεί κατά την ανάγνωση αυτού του βιβλίου αφήνει το άρωμα των διαπροσωπικών και αιωνίως προβληματικών σχέσεων ανάμεσα στους ανθρώπους της παγκόσμιας κοινωνίας.
Ωστόσο η Μέρντοχ με αριστουργηματικό τρόπο χειραγωγεί τους χαρακτήρες της ανθρώπινης ράτσας με έναν βαθιά φιλοσοφικό και απαράβατο τρόπο. Με μαεστρία, ειρωνία, σοφία, διορατικότητα και εμπειρική ευφυΐα , παρουσιάζει τις εγκόσμιες σχέσεις που όλοι έχουμε στη ζωή μας, ακριβώς την στιγμή που τα πάθη, οι πόθοι και η φρίκη γιγαντώνονται και πνίγονται σε φουρτουνιασμένες θάλασσες απο κατάλοιπα και ψυχικά ναυάγια.
Φθάνοντας εδώ δεν υπάρχει άλλη επιλογή απο την επιβολή και την υποβολή της αγάπης που πραγματικά λυτρώνει, που εξορκίζει τη φρικωδία, που χρωματίζει τα σκοτάδια της ψυχής.
Ο λεξιλάγνος είναι ένα πολυτελές μυθιστόρημα με απαλά αγγίγματα τρέλας και κρίσιμα φιλοσοφική αύρα λησμοσύνης ως ελιξίριο παρηγοριάς και αντοχής. Η Μέρντοχ δημιουργεί με μια αξεπέραστη αστρική γραφή. Διαβάστε το!!
Hilary, a deprived and difficult boy, is saved by a school master who nurtures his love of language. He ends up at Oxford, but most of the novel is set almost 20 years later when he is still suffering the results of a disastrous incident that ended his Oxford days. More plot than a typical Murdoch novel, but not entirely believable and too rushed at the end.
Motives It’s hard to fathom the motivation of many of the characters and why they put up with particular people and situations – but perhaps that’s what intrigued me and compelled me to continue. Some of the minor characters were the most vivid and realistic (Clifford, office colleagues etc).
Unsympathetic Characters It’s tricky to make a novel work with an unsympathetic main character - indeed, very few sympathetic characters, but overall this one does.
In Hilary’s case, whether Murdoch knew it or not (I don’t think the condition was widely diagnosed in 1975, when it was written), his behaviour seems like classic Asperger’s syndrome. It would certainly explain his lack of empathy, obsessive routines and fascination with the mechanics of grammar (rather than using language for expression and inference).
Novels With Slightly Similar Characters? It is interesting to compare this with the very different Curious Incident by Mark Haddon (my review HERE) and maybe The Housekeeper and the Professor (my review HERE).
Hilary Burde grows up in poverty, abused. He's saved by a tutor who notices his language skills and works with him to hone them. Hillary is admitted to Oxford and finds a lush learning environment and yet another devoted tutor. He thrives and dreams of saving himself and his younger sister from their childhood. Just when he's ready to soar he commits a horrible act and his world crashes. Burde is one of the most despicable literary characters I think I've ever encountered yet Murdoch's portrayal is compelling, her revelatory pacing exquisite.
Hillary seems to say "I can't forgive myself so it's your responsibility to, if not forgive me, excuse my bad behavior towards you. You owe me. I'm entitled to indulge my basest instincts. I hate myself so much I'm entitled to hate and abuse you." His outlook is pretty mesmerizing. Murdoch's style is outside almost any other writer. The writing is at times incredibly beautiful but the characters, especially the main one, are horrible. I've read her "Black Prince' and "The Nice and the Good" which I also liked but "A Word Child" is on a whole different level. I wish I could say I loved her books but they're so lurid I can't. As with all her books "Word" has an aura of exulted learning, the kind that Oxford and other institutions of its ilk are known for. It makes the action harder to relate to. "The educated Psychopath" could be an alternate title.
Though "Word Child" was written in the mid 80's it could easily be mistaken for something written in the fifties because the mores and sexism would be more at home during that time. Maybe Philip Roth was her proof reader, though this cast of characters prove not only men can be misogynists. More likely Murdoch's illustrating a point about one individual's twisted mind. Poor Hilary. Poorer still are the women who bump against him. The men who cross his path aren't enjoying his company much either.
I almost feel stupid reviewing Murdoch's book because she writes with a depth of knowledge and an understanding of people, at least a certain segment of them, that her books seem untouchable by mere mortals. She's like a scientist cutting live things open to see what's beating, crawling or bleeding inside. I don't think she's the greatest writer who ever lived but she's whizzing in and out of them. She's not for everyone though. She's dark. Her characters writhe about and suffer and they make the reader suffer with them. It ain't pretty. Well, ok, it kind of is lovely. It's a loveliness that catches you unawares especially when you turn the page only to encounter something even more tawdry, flip another page and you're in an oasis of beauty. Yet, even as you turn the next page you're trembling, knowing you're gonna get plunged back into icy waters.....and it's the dead of winter. It's too late for me. This book solidified my devotion to Murdoch. It's not too late for you. SAVE YOURSELF.
E a doua carte scrisa de madame Murdoch pe care o citesc si care mă sustrage cu totul din realitate. Pentru mine romanul are un puternic caracter teatral, astfel ca nu l-as putea eticheta ca fiind neverosimil sau telenovelistic, cum am mai vazut in comentarii, chiar daca abundă in replici patetice si scene paroxistice. Lectura filtrata printr-o grila realista ii face un mare deserviciu. E cu siguranta o mascaradă, dar una absolut geniala.
Personajele care-l populeaza nu sunt oamenii banali din jurul nostru, nu suntem noi, sunt oamenii de hartie, oamenii construiți doar de cuvinte si de o imaginatie indelung cultivată. N-are sens sa încerci sa-i umanizezi mai mult decat e cazul. Hillary e odios. (si greu imi vine sa cred ca am dat 5 stele unei naratiuni care aduce in prim-plan un astfel de caracter). Crystal e o umbră. Thommy o proastă. Laura e ridicolă. Kitty e frivolă. Arthur e credul, Clifford, un etern sinucigas, Cristopher pluteste mereu in aburi de marijuana, Gunnar e (poate) vindicativ. Exista vreun personaj placut? Poate stafia Annei. (Glumesc). Mai ramane, deci, Biscuit cu ale ei safariuri.
Etichetele astea conteaza doar in masura in care vrei să faci un exercitiu de imaginatie si sa-i plasezi pe toti, in diferite combinatii, in jurul unei mese. Oare ce enormități si-ar spune? Câte secrete ar ascunde? Câte fraze ar rămâne neterminate? Ce intrigi ar unelti? Adevarul e că mi-au placut la nebunie mesele lor, cele riguros plănuite si pline de șarm (dat de infinitele impunsături). Da, se mananca mult, se bea, se face mișto. Se si plange mult. Râul de lacrimi produs de scotianca mai ca mi l-am imaginat ca afluent al Tamisei. (Ups) Se mai si moare. Subit si stupid, dar si simbolic.
Si trebuie sa mai recunosc ca ni-cio-da-tă Londra nu mi-a parut mai fermecătoare ca in paginile romanului astuia, si zic asta din postura cititorului usor anglofob. Hai, plecăciuni. Briliant.
Atât de mult misoginism în personajele masculine ale lui Iris Murdoch (+ narcisism, cinism și alte câteva condimente incorecte politic și emoțional) și totuși, o voce narativă atât de magnetică, flamboiantă, incisivă, ironică și pătrunzătoare (în interiorul mecanismelor psihologice), că nu îi pot lăsa cărțile din mână.
Două lucruri mă intrigă peste măsură - și mă și amuză puțin la Iris (e a treia carte a ei pe care o citesc) - : preferința pentru vocea masculină (pe care o face să sune autentic, cum reușește Roth cu personajele feminine, tot niște urgii ale naturii și ele, de altfel iraționalul e rege la amândoi, cu tot despicatul ăsta al firului psihologic în patru, care pare foarte rațional, cognitiv) și disprețul ei oțărât față de lumea teatrului, evident și aici - deși romanele ei ar putea ușor fi transpuse în piese (sau filme). Zice despre îndelung rabdătoarea Thomasina, această Penelopa veșnic așteptându-l pe rătăcitul Hilary: "Tot ce era ieftin și țipător o atrăgea. (De aici pasiunea ei pentru teatru)".
Mi-a plăcut mai mult decât Clopotul, dar nu m-a copleșit ca Marea, marea. E reconfortant să am încă o autoare la care știu că voi găsi mereu refugiu în zilele când nimic nou (de citit) nu mă prinde.
Μεθυστικό μυθιστόρημα. Η δύναμη της λέξης ακόμα και όταν απουσιάζει η έννοια, ο τρόπος που καταλύει τελικά τις αντιστάσεις των πιο αδύνατων, των περισσότερο επιφανειακών. Ένας άνθρωπος έρμαιο του ίδιου του εαυτού του, του ταλέντου που έχει με τις λέξεις. Ο Ντε Σαντ αναγνωρίζει τους ανθρώπους σε θύτες και θύματα, δεν υπάρχουν άλλες κατηγορίες πέραν αυτών, ούτε άντρες, ούτε γυναίκες, μόνο θύτες και θύματα. Αυτό επιβεβαιώνει κι η Μέρντωχ.
Χυμώδης λόγος, διαχέεται, διαλύει. Το σύμπαν είναι κωμικό, το σύμπαν είναι τραγικό, το σύμπαν είναι συμπαγές και άλλοτε σε κύματα όπως το μπλε που είναι τόσο κοντά στο μαύρο κι όμως δεν είναι μαύρο ούτε άλλο χρώμα, όπως αυτά ακριβώς τα χρώματα δεν βρίσκονται μέσα στα αντικείμενα αλλά πάνω στα αντικείμενα. Ακουμπούν και δεν ακουμπούν, εφάπτονται ή είναι κύματα. Σ’ ένα κόσμο που κινείται, κινούμαστε μαζί τους.
Ο Χίλαρυ μου θυμίζει τόσο τον εαυτό μου απ' την ανάποδη. Κάθε μέρα είναι μια ειδική μέρα, αφιερωμένη σε ρουτίνες που λυτρώνουν ώστε να αποφεύγεται οποιαδήποτε παράβαση, υπέρβαση, πιθανότητα να αντιδράσεις κάπως αλλιώς, να επανάλάβει να ζήσει, αφήνει μόνο τα ΣΚ ( που είναι οι δικές μου ειδικές ημέρες ) σε μια ελευθέρια διαπραγμάτευση. Σιγά σιγά ένα μόνο γεγονός αρκεί για να χαθεί αυτή η σειρά, το κουβάρι που ξετυλίχτηκε λίγο αλλά αρκετά ώστε να μη μπορεί ξανά να αποκτήσει αυτή την εικόνα την εργοστασιακή, την αχρησιμοποίητη όψη. Κι έπειτα όλα αλλάζουν, ένα προς ένα. Την περασμένη εβδομάδα συνέβη κάτι αντίστοιχο και σε 'μενα, η ασφάλεια του Σαββατόβραδου χάθηκε και μετά απλώς ( κι αυτό το ''απλώς'' πονάει γιατί είναι απλώς, τόσο για το Χίλαρυ, όσο και για τον οποιονδήποτε άλλο ) δεν αποκαταστάθηκε. Αν έχεις ζήσει μια φορά στην κόψη και το έχεις πληρώσει τότε είτε προσπαθείς ξανά και ξανά σαν τη Μέρα της Μαρμότας να παραλλάξεις τις συνθήκες, να μεταμορθωθείς και μεταμόρφωση σημαίνει μετατόπιση, αδιάκοπη μετατόπιση, είτε παραδίδεσαι, βρίσκεις τα κουτάκια σου. Κι ύστερα μια μέρα...
Ποιος είναι αυτός που έχει περισσότερα να χάσει; Ο θύτης; Το θύμα; Ή τελικά ο παθητικός καπνιστής;
Σε 1.5 μήνα Γιουρσενάρ – Πύντσον – Μέρντωχ, τρομερά δύσκολο, ιδιαίτερα απαιτητικό και σκοπεύω να το ξανακάνω. Εκπληκτικοί συγγραφείς και οι τρεις, χαώδεις, εκστατικά ερωτεύσιμοι.
I'm giving this book four stars, but "liking" is not exactly an emotion I associate with this read. Frustration, yes, despair. Exasperation at the way the characters all seem to be caught in their behavioral patterns. Admiration for the intellectual eloquence of the narrator. Respect for the author, who weaves her words so that I stayed with the story for all of its 400 pages.
For a long time, I wanted to read something by Murdoch. She has been praised and awarded, and now I know why, since she really is a very accomplished writer. I'm glad I read this book, for the experience of having read a book by her. But I would not lightly recommend this read to anyone else.
The themes are those of the great Tragedies: being haunted by the Past, being driven by Fate toward some inescapable Doom. Wanting to be Forgiven. There are many beautiful philosophical musings in the book on these subject, which make it worth while for anyone wanting to read about them.
But for anyone not particularly craving to be depressed, this is not an advisable book.
The main character deports himself in such an unlikable manner, he attracts a crowd of people who either mock or pity him - or both. I found it hard to depict him in my mind's eye. He's big, bullying and brusque, and yet has a following of females who make him the center of their lives - out of pity, or a sense they can save him, or masochism.
There seems to be a misogynist trait to this novel - all the women derive their worth from being with, or waiting for, a man. This book does not pass the Bechdel test, which simply dictates that it should answer the following three criteria: (1) it has to have at least two women in it, who (2) who talk to each other, about (3) something besides a man.
I was a bit surprised by that, since I always thought of Murdoch as a "modern" woman. It makes the book a bit unrealistic for me, even if it is set in the seventies. None of the women seems to have a voice that is truly her own, they all use the same language and phrases. Even the "simple" Crystal is quite eloquent and intelligent, there is nothing in speech or demeanor that distinguishes the characters from each other.
But that goes for the male characters as well. Even though difference in class and standing play a great role, it is never really felt in the conversations. They are all on one level, even when they argue.
The end of the novel answers to the laws of tragedy, which is slightly satisfying. On the other hand, there is no real change in the main character, at the end he and his main woman continue in the same unresolved manner they had in the beginning.
All in all, reading this book was like being trapped in a windowless small room without any fresh air. Since that is obviously what the writer intended, I can respect the craftmanship. Putting the book away now that I've finished it, feels like a great relief.
This is definitely my favourite of the Iris Murdoch book that I have so far read for the Murdoch a month challenge. The characters are fascinating complex beings, the story so finely plotted and yet it is a very readable Murdoch, a page turner. I loved the descriptions on London in this one, London is a feature of IM's work, but with this novel there were a lot of references to places I knew in London (I go there very seldom.)I also enjoyed Hilary's "Office life" - with the bickering and gossip and desk moving.
The narrator of this, the seventeenth novel by Iris Murdoch, is a forty-one year old man called Hilary Burde who had a difficult childhood as an orphan and could only use violence to express himself. He is eventually mentored by a teacher, Mr. Osmand, goes to Oxford and then after a tragic event sinks from his potential glorious rise in life to become a badly paid, underutilized civil servant which is where the story begins. To maintain his sanity, Hilary has a strictly regimented life whether it be what he eats and wears, or the days of the week he has dinner with the various people in his life. These include his childlike sister Crystal, his subordinate Arthur and Laura and Freddie Impiatt, all of whom provide different atmosphere’s for Hilary to play his acknowledged part. Something clearly has to give in this mundane repressed life and it eventually does as we find out what the tragic event was and see its continuing repercussions play out in tempestuous fashion.
Hilary may have had a difficult start in life but this, as so often with Murdoch’s male characters, is not a man we can like or particularly empathize with. He may be aware of his cruel, rude and selfish behavior but takes few steps to change it and can't seem to stop himself torturing those he sees as weaker or beneath himself; his “girlfriend” Thomasina, Arthur, Christopher his ex-boy band flat mate, all are subjected to his emotional brutality in one way or another, not helped by the copious amounts of alcohol he consumes. As his emotions vacillate from day to day so do those around him and by the end of the novel every main female character has been in tears at least once, often because of Hilary who has ideas in his head of the role they should play and that they can only fail to live up to. He is constantly grabbing women by the wrists in the novel like he’s putting manacles on them and there is a sense of his restrained violence even with his beloved sister Crystal.
His relationship in particular with Crystal who he seems to want to keep in a box like a toy, is sometimes touching but primarily disturbing. Crystal is a symbol of the innocence that Hilary has lost and as such he wants to keep her cloistered, unable to be potentially sullied, ‘She just had to be always available in a place fixed and controlled by me. I had to know, at any moment, where she was.’ If that wasn’t enough, here is his comment about women in general, >b>‘I was feeling so intensely sorry for myself by this time, I was delighted to see Tommy. After all, a woman is a woman and it is her job to be a ministering angel. Tommy ministered.' Yup, he’s a charmer alright.
We only hear about the other characters through Hilary’s eyes and for the most part he takes them all for granted although the Impiatts and Clifford appear to use him as much as he uses them, either for entertainment or company. Much of the humor of the novel relies on Hilary’s strident rudeness to others, or unwillingness to play along with their jokes and schemes. Most take place in the offices and in scenes in the flat and there is one particularly amusing scene between the Impiatts, Hilary and Christopher. This is very much, however, a sad and frustrating novel in so many ways as the inevitability of what is going to happen becomes clear and each character ‘muddles’ their way through this wintry London life.
The weather in the novel is a major presence, it seems as though Murdoch’s novels either take place in the blazing sunshine of summer or the cold and fog of winter, this is a winter novel and the fog, the cold and wet are pivotal in events that take place. There are numerous scenes of walking through London, of meetings in parks and by the river that are made more dramatic by dripping hair and ice cold fingers and London itself and its landmarks, such as Big Ben and its crammed tube trains of commuters, is also part of this hemmed in atmosphere. The park at Hampstead itself serves as Hilary’s ‘happy place’, in a quote which shows us not only this but Hilary’s desire for structure and suppressed violence, he says,
‘For me the park was the great divide between myself and a happier land into which I thought that I was destined to enter. It was not to be. It turned out that I was unfit for ordinary life. I was always sorry that I had been too young to be in the war. I would have enjoyed the war.’
Nevertheless despite the frequent desire to strangle Hilary, he makes for an engrossing read, the writing is top notch and the ability of Murdoch to create a world of squalid apartments, gloomy streets and thoroughly dislikable characters and yet still create that feeling of sinking into a good book from the very first page is present as always.
Some favorite Lines ‘There is nothing like early promiscuous sex for dispelling life’s bright mysterious expectations.’
‘After a pause Tommy said, “Aren’t you thinking rather too grandly of yourself? You are just you after all, with the crinkly hair and the crooked face and the odd socks on..”
‘Her beautiful golden eyes were hidden by the thick glasses whereon all sorts of reflections were playing as she moved her head, dealing with the bottle. Her frizzy orange-tinted hair hung heavily down as if a small thick mat had been laid upon her head.’
‘I stared at that face and the universe seemed to circle round quietly like a great bird and come to rest.’
My favourite Iris Murdoch, and one of my favourite books. London in the winter... compare with "Under the Net" for London in the Summer. Peter Pan...Sloane Square on the tube....I may be wrong, but I think the boy at the centre of the Peter Pan story killed himself at Sloane Square Underground station.
One of my favorites by by Ms. Murdoch, a great place to start if you've never read her fiction, very darkly funny, also about mad love. The ‘word child’ of the title is Hilary Burde, the narrator. Using one of her rare first person narratives, the book has an interesting structure, with each chapter headed by a day of the week. This is based on the order and routine Hilary has attempted to establish for his life by having certain things that he always does on certain days of the week and the novel follows him as this routine is gradually upended.
From childhood he escaped into his own world through a talent for languages, partly due to the inexpiable horror of having caused the death of another man's wife--an event which ended his promising Oxford career and sent him into a decade of self-flagellation. Gunnar, the wronged widower, reappears remarried but as paralyzed as Hilary by the events of twenty years ago. Through the agency of an unfathomable half-Indian servant, Gunnar's second wife begins an equivocal intrigue with Hilary on the pretext of getting Gunnar to come to terms with his feelings about Hilary and Anne's death. The moral imperatives of the developing situation are perceived in contradictory terms by Hilary and his small circle of confederates: a persistent, half-wanted mistress; a placid co-worker and his effusively solicitous wife; a rancorous homosexual friend; the beautiful and mysterious servant; his unpresentable but adored sister and her humbly devoted fiance. Murdoch gives us all the machinery, and then some, for a cause of conscience of the most perverse, contradictory, and surreal complexity--in a subjectively perceived, post-Christian universe where moral impasses obstinately continue to exist and to have consequences, but no canon law can help us predict them.
The result of the events is a resounding triumph. One can see themes develop and abound; the first person narrative keeps you riveted in spite of the limits of this point of view. Essentially it is a Gothic tale whose atmosphere concerns fall and redemption. The author's use of stylistic effects is outstanding. I enjoyed the neat, obvious, and effective structure of the book which kept the events within reasonable limits. Some may find Murdoch somewhat challenging, but but I relish the feeling that the in this case, as with her best novels, goods have been delivered.
I gave this one star because I didn't like it. It was not a pleasurable experience, reading this book. I felt like I needed a hot bath after all that narcissism and despair and beans on toast.
Although exquisite in writing style and character description, the general frustration this book brought was too much for me to give it a higher rating. The beginning and the end are definitely too long, with many unnecessary explanations and internal monologues. If Hilary would have been a nicer, more relatable character I might have enjoyed them but since he's stupid and arrogant, I cannot. The ending is also disappointing through its boring predictability.
Hilary Burde is the word child of the title. In school, the only thing he did really well in was languages. He excelled at words, but not in using them creatively; his interest was in learning how they worked together; the grammar, not the poetry. An abused orphan, his plan was to get a position at Oxford- which he did- and bring his sister, Crystal, to come live with him and be educated by him. But an ill-advised love affair with a married woman results in a tragedy and he finds himself working at a dead end government job, his sister supporting herself as a seamstress. He has a girlfriend, Tommy, who he treats horribly, and a few friends who tolerate him. It seems he has found his niche- or, rather, his rut- and will go on this way. Until the wronged husband of his ill-advised love affair comes to work as a higher up at the office he works at. How will he deal with this? Will he do the right thing this time around?
Burde is a thoroughly unlikable character. He’s weak, he’s narcissistic, he expects the women in his life to just orbit quietly around him until he has use for them. He has no ambition and no longer any dreams. Basically, he contributes little or nothing to the world. Despite this, Murdoch as managed to make the novel one I could not stop reading. I have to admit it was rather like watching a slow motion car crash, one where you wonder how many others he will take down with him this time.
Thankfully, the supporting cast members are more likable than Burde- well, most of them are. His office mates are pretty strange. All the supporting characters show themselves, ultimately, to have a lot more to themselves than Burde assumes- they have life, love, and volition beyond their association with him. A very good book all round, if you can take a main character who is a d**s***.
I kept resisting returning to this book, which is always a bad sign. There was just enough going on that I wanted to find out how it ended. Unfortunately, the ending was utterly unsatisfying to me, and I wondered why I chose this book, until today when I saw how many people had loved it. To each their own, I guess.
Unlikable protagonists are always a problem for me, and Hilary Burde (what an odd name!) is certainly one such. He is totally self-absorbed and for the most part devoid of sympathy for others. His life is rigidly organized, with weekly dinners in sequence with Tommy, the Impiatts, Arthur, Clifford and Burde's sister, Crystal. He seems to enjoy none of these and often storms out in anger. He drinks much too much, falls in love with women he barely knows, and treats Tommy, the woman who loves him unrelentingly, deplorably. He has an odd obsession with Crystal's virginity. What's to like here?
The plot is a potboiler and overdone. There are three deaths, and many of the characters sleep with each other in ways which strain credulity. People make choices which confound me. But this all takes almost four hundred pages to happen, and there are long stretches where the reader gets nothing but Burde's sour musings.
The only upside for me was London. I know well the neighborhoods (Chelsea, Bayswater and others) where Burde hangs out, and it was sort of fun to revisit them. Unfortunately, this bonus was hardly enough to make me feel the time it took to read this was well spent. It's rare that I wish I had not read a book, but unfortunately that is the case here.
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 as 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 as she draws the reader through the guilt-ridden, habitual purgatory of the protagonist, Hilary Burde’s, passive reminiscence of life – 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; 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 as 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.
Not as funny or farcical as the likes of The Sea, The Sea or The Black Prince but darker and with more psychological depth. There is the usual narcissistic, self-destructive male character at the centre of proceedings, who all the female characters (and some of the males) seem to find irresistibly attractive and towards whom the reader’s sympathies are sorely tested. But whereas the anti-heroes in the novels mentioned above seemed most of the time to be gratuitously cruel and misanthropic, this one comes across as broken by the traumas of his early life and locked into a cycle of behaviour that inflicts even more misery on him than on those around him. It would be stretching things to describe the supporting characters as entirely believable but they are cleverly crafted, recognisable types who I cared about sufficiently to feel irritated with the book’s ending, which felt a bit like Murdoch had become bored with the exercise and thought "sod it, that'll do".
I read the first half very quickly but then ground to a halt and found that I didn't immediately want to carry on and read a few other things before returning to it. I think that her books are rather like very rich food - tasty at first but rapidly leading to queasiness and indigestion. The main problem, I think, is that it is far too long - there is an amazing amount of repetition with the main character doing the same things over and over and over again. This may have been deliberate but it just becomes so wearisome for the reader. Apart from that I found the whole story to be utterly unbelievable, the characters ridiculous and the style tedious. Her writing has dated very quickly and it's hard to believe that she had such a great reputation. Overblown nonsense which, when I got to the end my main reaction, apart from intense relief, was one of: "So what?". Deeply disappointing.
Hilary Burde isn’t an anti-hero, he’s more like an awful person who happens to be the protagonist of a novel. Murdoch is one of my favorite authors of all time and shines here by building a story around a main character that somehow has many people that care for him even though he is, quite simply, a turd. But with all the wonderfulness that is Iris Murdoch, she creates a swirl of relationships that make the reader believe that somehow these people could actually care about the deeply enigmatic Hillary Burde. And, as always, the story is veined with questionable moral situations and decisions along with a heavy dose of fate. Very good. Probably not the best place to start your Murdoch journey; but, if you enjoyed The Sea, The Sea or The Sacred and Profane Love Machine, you will enjoy this one too.
A plot that goes from tragic to improbable to somewhat absurd, a protagonist who's spent half his life wallowing in grief and guilt who seems to have no intention of learning from the past, and a five star review. Indeed. Thing is, it's so incredibly well written. Hilary Burde is so well drawn, it's impossible not to warm to him, and there is a gruff charm under all his faults and weaknesses. Characterisation is everything here, and Burde's a triumph. His inability to deal with his past is a spotlight on all of us for when we fail to do so, and as such it's a powerful piece. It's also a fine exercise in the English language, and so a joy to read. My first taste of Murdoch, but definitely not my last.
One of my favourite books of all time. Beautifully written, engaging, funny but sad, with complex characters who draw us into their world. I must re-read this.
I found this book so compelling—a wonderful Greek tragedy, yet hopeful. The power of selfless love to redeem. Gripping story that’s just staying with me.
Ένα δυσκολο βιβλιο, καθε κεφαλαιο ξεκινα με περιγραφές παγωμένου αγγλικού καιρού, εύγλωττη πολυ ικανη συγγραφεας, το 75 στο απόγειο των διανοητικών της ικανοτήτων ψυχανάλυσης ηρώων, εμβάθυνσης με λεξεις στον ψυχισμό τους..εν τούτοις καπου κουραζει, ισως σημερα εχουμε ξεμαθει με βιβλια αυτης της κοπής και οξυνοιας..η υποθεση ειναι αξιόλογη αλλα βασικη, περισσοτερο θα το εβλεπα σαν μια μυθιστορηματική περιγραφη κάποιου νευρωσικου ανθρωπου με κακα παιδικά χρονια που τον καταδιώκουν κ κατοπιν τον καταδιώκει ο ίδιος του ο εαυτος, ενα ειδος ανθρωπολογικης ανατομιας ενος πολυ ικανου παρατηρητή, αν ημουν νεωτερος και πιο φιλοπεριεργος αποσο ειμαι τωρα θα το ειχα απολαύσει..και θα ειχα μαθει και πραγματα για την ανθρωπινη φυση, τωρα που μεγαλωσα και ειμαι πιο αςφαλης και προβλεψιμος ετσι κ ετσι. Η Μέρντοχ ειναι κορυφαία συγγραφεας οπως και να χει, αλλα παιζει σε συγκεκριμενο πεδιο.
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, yet implausibility is almost a Murdoch trademark and the miraculous thing is that the reader hardly notices and continues fascinated until the last word. Just about equally miraculous is the authoresses’ ability to conjure up over the course of a long career such an enormous range of diverse characters, all of which 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 – but rather in their juxtapositions and the resultant outcomes, 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, ill-treated when young and 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?) but 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), torturing 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….
The protagonist and narrator of this story is a thoroughly unpleasant character, completely self-absorbed. Yet his agonized reflections and preoccupations are described so intensely that they draw the reader in and engage her to the extent that she almost sees the world as it appears to Hilary Burde. We enter into his life and discover the act with which he and his nemesis, Gunnar Jopling, are both obsessed. The story develops around their renewed encounter, several years after the event. While Hilary’s academic career ended and he became a low-level civil servant, Jopling has prospered and returns into Hilary’s life as the new head of his unit.
Other characters throw further light on Hilary’s self-absorption. It is difficult to understand why women such as Tommy, Anne, Kitty and even his sister, Crystal, are infatuated with him. Hilary certainly takes this for granted and treats women as well as men dreadfully. His opinion of himself is such that he even believes Laura Impiatt, the wife of a friend, to be in love with him as well, although her affections are engaged elsewhere.
Iris Murdoch successfully delves into the nature of obsession, showing its devastating impact on both Hilary and Jopling. The scope for forgiveness is examined and the difficulties of achieving this successfully rendered. It is only the more simple Crystal who has the capacity to bring comfort, not the more intellectual characters. This is definitely a book that makes one think!
As some of the critics say, Iris Murdoch has a very powerful way in writing. She's not afraid to make some afirmations about certain things in life. I really, really enjoyed the description in this book. Especially the descripton of people, it's so accurate, I couldn't believe it! The guilt, the envy, the internal problems of a man that's haunted by a past empty of happiness, these are not feelings easy to describe. But Murdoch made it - and she did it with grace and a lot of courage.
Hilary Burde is the perfect subject for a psychyatrist : he's guided in life by feelings of a simplicity that terrifies. His life is monotony in it's purest form. He's fallen into a routine he can't and won't escape. His sister is a victim of his own pathetic thoughts. Though he claims he wants her to be happy, he somewhat stands in front of that happiness. And troughout the book he manages to realize who he is, but not change it, though. He reaches a type of peace. A type of peace that comes from knowing that you lost time and effort on nothing.
Is it possible for Murdoch NOT to be engrossing? This novel feels like a bit of a departure. Her plots usually hinge on one character--a "destroyer" who enters the scene and changes the other characters' lives forever (usually not for good). In A Word Child, however, the protagonist Hilary is himself the [unwitting:] destroyer. He's awful, really, but you can't help but watch as he makes bad decision after bad drunken decision.
One of Murdoch's recurring motifs is the idea that we frequently come to despise those we've wronged. A Word Child explores this theme more convincingly than any others I've read. Throw in some memorable characters (Clifford Larr, in particular) and one really bizarre drug scene, and you've got a recipe for a great novel. Highly recommended to anyone new to Murdoch or a seasoned fan.