Believe it or not this is a pretty good book.

It is a bit dated since much of it relates to agonizing over Vietnam War draft dodging and there is just the beginning of open writing about gay relationships.

In general there is a lot of agonizing over trivialities among the characters in this book. I dislike books about people who make their lives difficult for no reason and then whine about it (see my review of JUDE THE OBSCURE). In AN ACCIDENTAL MAN many of the characters make their lives difficult for no apparent reason except that they are bored and overpriviledged--but thankfully they don't much whine about it.

There is not much plot although some odd, unexpected and violent events occur. There are obscure passages that reminded me of the worst of Henry James. And many passages could be skipped or skimmed. E.g. there are long series of letters back and forth and extended cocktail party conversation.

But I realized that the happily married couples lived their lives calmly in the background while their unattached siblings and children made themselves and others miserable. A great testament to ordinary middle class life (although I'm not sure that's what Iris intended).

Basically, I liked the book because in spite of the above I cared about the characters, got emotionally involved in their lives, and felt that I had been in touch with something interesting and important. The main difficulty that I had with Iris' writing is that she does not, at least in this novel, make any love relations comprehensible or believable. It's as though Iris does not know what love is or has never loved. Maybe however this an artistic aritfice and part of the "message" of the book. It just ain't true that "all you need is love." Mostly it's phony and unrewarding.

Full of subtle humour, a most enjoyable read. As always, Murdoch's characters, even the minor players, are beautifully drawn.

An Accidental man is a delicious read if you enjoy the tongue in cheek writing of Nancy Mitfod and Evelyn Waugh. It is essentially a story of an incestuous upper middle class English family and thier many friends and one imposter, Ludwig, the scholarly American who by way of an accidental birth in Great Britain, is avoiding the draft to the Vietnam war by his parents adopted contry. The dry sharpness of Ms Murdochs portrayal of the characters is as cool as a gin and tonic but Ludwig, who engages himself to Gracie, the much indulged daugter, soon finds his real ideals in question and the apparent tight family bonds are really gossamer thin and superficial. Other characters, Matthew, Mavis, Austin and Dorina play a large part in the story, indeed, Austin, the accidental Man of the title carries with him a series of accidents involving the entrapement and death of two wives, the death of an innocent child and the maiming of a bumbling blackmailer. Matthew sets himself up as the saviour of the accidental brother but there is no salvation for Austin nor any of the gang as thier comfotable world of simple social expectations leads them into a second generation, while Ludwig escapes their prison only to land in a real one back home in America. I recommend this book to anyone who enjoys humour with a black edge. It is fairly long and the multitude of characters sometimes makes it a bit confusing but it well worth settling in to and as it is the first of Ms Murdochs books I have read, I will look forward to the next...and the next!

Can you write a biography without being in love with your subject? The question isn't really relevant to this work, because I don't see any evidence that Conradi can write at all. There's plenty of evidence for his fawning, puppy-dog adoration of Dame Murdoch. There's plenty of evidence for half of Oxford's fawning, puppy-dog adoration of her, along with about a fourth of the population of London and assorted Americans and Continentals. Conradi could have called his book "Iris Murdoch and All the People Who Went to Bed with Her: Lives" or "Iris Murdoch: She Almost Makes Me Wish I Weren't Gay" or "Iris Murdoch: If You're English, Your Parents Probably Had Sex with Her. Yes, Both of Them." The bulk of the book is a catalog of love affairs and intrigues that would be over-the-top for a high school prom queen, mixed up with feeble stabs at placing Murdoch's intellectual development. What there's little evidence for is any sense of irony or humor on Conradi's part. I personally could not plop down one-sentence references to Simone Weil, the allegory of the cave, or Holocaust survivor guilt like a giant blob of oatmeal in the midst of a candyfloss paragraph giving me details of Murdoch's vast network of flirtation without intending to be funny. Conradi isn't funny. He's just incoherent.

This obsessive focus on Murdoch's status as sweetheart to the philosophical regiment is not only incredibly boring to read, it's offensive in the same way focus on Doris Lessing's motherhood is offensive. Male writers and intellectuals who leave a child in the care of others, as did Lessing, or who lead complicated romantic lives on a Murdochian scale, are not presented to the world by others as if these are the central facts of their existences. Conradi's book communicates that the most important parts of Murdoch's life were her sexual intrigues. This is an unforgivable reduction of an important moral philosopher and it's going to take me all day curled up with "Metaphysics as a Guide to Morals" to stop feeling icky at having been exposed to it.

Writer and philosopher Murdoch played a major role in English writing for nearly half a century: Iris Murdoch: A Life provides her first authorized biography, examining her life and work and revealing not only connections between her life and her art, but the moral and social changes she helped introduce to new generations. The depth of coverage is impressive.

This biography proposes to be about a woman who manufactured 26 novels and who knows what else ( plays etc.).How she did that the author never says . Instead we get knowing little talk about the role of Irish protestants in the 20th century,the life of a lesbian with male friends ,and potted biographies of numerous British personalities and celebrities .We never get a handle on the life of a writer who was a brand name for a while in Britain .We never are told whether Iris Murdoch books sold in the hundreds.

Except for Metaphysics as a Guide to Morals, which is disorganized and verges on the incoherent, almost all of Murdoch's explicitly philosophical writing is here. So if you are going to be working on Murdoch's philosophy, this is a resource you need to have. However, if you're new to Murdoch's philosophical writing, you might do better taking a look at The Sovereignty of Good; it's got three of her best four essays, and it's a whole lot shorter and easier to find your way around in.

Murdoch's essays each shine on their own, but collected here you get the full, accumulated brilliance in one volume. She is a needed voice in the post-modernist wilderness --- assuring the careful reader that there are works, though they may be formalist or outmoded or dated, that are worthy of the veneration and study of future generations. And, just as there are works of art that are "good" and that are superior to others, there are also actions and thoughts and moralities that are better than others. Her style is lucid and affecting and is never pedantic --- you are enthralled and rapt while you are being educated. Literature, like the other arts, is a form of communication that never ends. Art speaks to each generation; but some specific works of art transcend time and are contemplated anew by different human minds. Murdoch takes your chin and points your eyes towards these works, and you can see the eternal verities and the truths that shine out from them.

This is a gentle tale filled with scholarly allusions, about the last months and days Iris Murdoch spent in the care of her devoted husband, John Bayley. Since he was essentially alone, with rather formidable demands placed upon him by her Alzheimer's ailment, he coped by retreating into memories. In this situation, his memories were strikingly vivid, and reminded me of the memory-influenced dreams I had during my pregnancies, when my waking hours were racked by nausea. The memories were not so much a comfort to him, as a reminder of the fullness, the "worth-whileness" of life. I recognize this, having experienced it, as a natural way of getting through a difficult time.

Iris is a strong presence in this memoir, but it tells us more about this thoughtful, intellectual, sensitive, and good man. The deep love the two shared is apparent, yet it is not put on display in the arrogant manner, the "no two people ever loved as we did, no one ever had the adventures we did or knew the famous people we did" attitude of some other authors. The book is sweet, gentle, and not nearly as sad as you might expect.

Memories are the essence of the soul. They define our relationships, explain our actions, and shape our perspectives. They are a part of us, so inextricably bound up with our very selves that it is difficult to contemplate ever losing them. And when we do, it is a sentence more punishing than death.

But that is just the sentence that Iris Murdoch, noted British author of The Green Knight and Jackson's Dilemma and Professor of Philosophy at Oxford, received when she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease in 1994. Her husband, John Bayley, has since written two memoirs about his beloved Iris. The newest, Iris and Her Friends, is Bayley's sequel to Elegy for Iris, which was published in December, 1998.

Elegy for Iris is exactly what its title implies: a book that mourns the premature death of Iris's mind, but it is also a tribute to her and Bayley's enduring love. It is a memoir that spans the history of their marriage, from the days of their courtship to the time of Bayley's writing.

Iris is in the later stages of Alzheimer's by the time of Iris and Her Friends: A Memoir of Memory and Desire. Here, Bayley uses his own memories to escape the maddening routine of caring for and worrying about his wife. Most of the memories he recounts do not include Iris at all, but are either recollections from Bayley's childhood or remembrances of old flames he knew before he met Iris. The memories, though they seem to have little to do with Iris, in fact flow from Bayley's desire to share them with his wife.

Bayley refers to the small respites from the worst of Alzheimer's as Iris's "friends." Her moments of clarity and the simple pleasures of holding and hugging become more cherished as Iris' condition worsens. The disintegration of Iris' memory is especially poignant; her incoherence and petulance stand in stark contrast to the gifted and articulate individual she once was. Bayley is brutally honest about his frustration with and sometimes irrational hatred for his wife, but his veracity does nothing to lessen the awesome devotion that is so evident in his innate concern for and awareness of her.

The mundane, domestic events of Iris and John's everyday life are interspersed with his vivid recollections. His escapes into memory inject levity into the sometimes desolate and seemingly hopeless atmosphere of the household. At heart, he is a fun-loving, adventuresome, imaginative individual; stories of his escapades as a child and his days in the army all display the same delightful sense of humor.

It is this flexibility and imagination that enable Bayley to survive the tough times of Iris' illness. His optimistic outlook on life ("Bad situations survive on jokes," he writes) and blunt, concise opinions on suicide, euthanasia, and sex make the entire book seem like a one-sided conversation between close friends. Bayley allows the reader to become intimately acquainted with the inner workings of his mind¡Van openness that is at odds with his childhood practice of keeping secret those things he held dear. Bayley's cathartic storytelling therefore seems to be an attempt to fill a void created by Iris' illness, to find a friend in whom he can confide.

The change in the relationship between Bayley and Iris, from marital to almost parental, is accompanied by a change in the way Bayley sees the world. He often escapes to the comforts of memory and fantasy, seemingly more so as Iris' condition worsens and she becomes almost uncommunicative. Bayley reminisces about his childhood, bringing to life the members of his family: his melancholy father, his unaffectionate mother, and his mature, pragmatic older brothers. From the comfort of his home and in the company of Iris, he remembers his summers at a small beachside town called Littlestone-on-the-Sea. He recreates his childhood adventures but scrutinizes them through the lens of adulthood. During these retellings, he re-examines some of the complex events of his pastoral summers: a friendship between a German man and a Jewish family and a husband's desertion of his high society wife.

As Iris' illness advances, so does our progression through Bayley's life. He enlists in the British forces during World War II and revels in the open, affectionate way his fellow soldiers express their feelings. During this time and his subsequent college years, Bayley developed two significant love interests prior to Iris. It seems a bit strange that Bayley would devote such a large amount of page space to his former girlfriends in a memoir about his wife. But instead of detracting from Bayley's devotion to Iris, his accounts of these lukewarm relationships serve to reinforce the intensity and depth of his love for her.

Although Bayley and Murdoch are never physically separated during the course of the narrative, there is a wide gulf created by Iris' illness; immersed in his fantasies, Bayley seems very much alone. It is not until the close of the memoir that the reader gets a more complete sense of what Bayley and Iris are like as a couple, through Bayley's recollections of some of the later days of their marriage. He describes dinners with esteemed authors like Aldous Huxley and a vacation that included a ghostly visitation from Henry James.

Although Bayley finds solace and escape in his countless memories, he cannot imagine life without Iris, and he attributes his windfall of memories to Iris' very existence. His frustrations and impatience are only a tiny part of the huge field of emotions that are born from his love, a love that has been tested by and has endured tragedy.

Overall, Iris and Her Friends is a touching and exceptionally well-written memoir that is grounded and fanciful, optimistic and realistic. Bayley, a famous literary critic in his own right, adds depth and meaning to many of his stories by using multiple references to great works of literature. Unfortunately, this can be slightly confusing for readers unfamiliar with the books he mentions.

While Elegy is a lament for what has been, Iris and Her Friends is a celebration of the importance of life. By the end of the memoir, having been exposed to Bayley's stream of consciousness for nearly three hundred pages, the reader is so attuned to Bayley's heartache, so moved by his devotion, that it is impossible to remain detached and unaffected by Iris' death. We mourn her as if she had been one of our friends.

The happiest moments of a liberal arts education usually take place late in the evening in a dormitory lounge or in a local bistro over several cups of coffee. They're conversations, often between two similarly minded people, that explore a favorite subject. Browsing through Imagining Characters is like lingering in a seat at the next table.

The works selected are an English major's hit list of mainly nineteenth century women's novels. Byatt and Sodre bring their experience as a fiction writer and a clinical psychologist, respectively, to their understandings and develop complementary insights rather than rigorous debates.

This isn't everyone's cup of java. The reader who enjoys this volume probably relishes at least half of the novels discussed, smiles at being called a feminist, and prefers discussion to formal criticism.

This is one of three Iris Murdoch books I have read, as a good friend of mine is a big fan. I have yet to see why. I found Nuns and Soldiers silly and overwrought, an extended but inexplicable love story filled with improbable and self conscious conversations. Do people experiencing a coup de foudre really sit around and dissect their feelings? I don't find the philosophical or moral underpinnings of the story to be compelling, either. Social requirements versus individual desire, I guess.

An interesting take on the old theme of nuns/soldiers and vicars/tarts, this one. Most of you will know the story, but I shan't spoil it for those who have not yet read it. I am surprised that that girl from Titanic could write something as clever as this.

Whenever I read an Iris Murdoch novel, I am reminded how much I enjoy and appreciate Murdoch's work. Her books are always a pleasure to read, and a pleasure that I would be sincerely sorry to miss.

At the moment of the death of her husband, Gertrude is reunited with her best friend from University-- Anne. Anne and Gertrude had been separated when Anne had joined the nunnery, and it is this occasion of great loss for both of them (Anne has lost the solace of the nunnery) that brings them together. _Nuns and Soldiers_ questions both the notion of great love and the morality of the expression of love.

My book club was not overly fond of _Nins and Soldiers_ because they found the character of Gertrude so utterly unsympathetic. And she is truly atypical for Murdoch-- her feminine passivity and self-centeredness are not normal characteristics for Murdoch heroines, but it fit so well with the story that I wasn't bothered by it.

There are very few Murdoch books that I'd hesitate to recommend.

I enjoy and admire Iris Murdoch, but this was a tough one to finish. The characters are appealing, but are constantly undergoing bizarre emotional transformations. One minute she loves Harry, the next minute she loves Stuart, now she loves Thomas with a newfound maturity. Now he's consumed by incurable black despair - whoops, now he's shaken it off and is facing the future with cautious optimism. It wouldn't be so tedious except that each transient mental state is described with the same passionate conviction and detail.

Secondly, the relationships here are even more incestuous and coincidental than usual. Everybody knows everybody else and it seems like there are only a dozen people in the world. Edward loves Brownie who loves Giles who is the son of Edward's tutor and until recently loved Edward's brother Stuart. Harry loves Midge who is the sister of his deceased wife and Edward's mother Chloe. Sarah seduces Edward which figures in the death of Brownie's brother Mark; Sarah, Brownie and their mothers are all friends whom Edward accidentally discovers living near his father's country home. Edward's stepmother May writes her memoirs, which are critically reviewed by Sarah's mother Elspeth; you get the idea.

Of course there were some fine moments, and I won't give up on reading Murdoch, but I doubt this was one of her best efforts.

What happens when loving intentions result in disastrous outcomes? Iris Murdoch's, The Good Apprentice, features gothic ancestral dwellings, a trio of eccentric women, peculiar, seedy London séances, modern psychiatry, upper-class contemporary love affairs and infidelity, intense family relationships and questing for worthy missions in order to justify individual lives. I didn't easily breeze through this book neither could I put it down. Murdoch's heavy philosophical background is excruciatingly evident. However, I knew I was in the hands of a great artist when I laughed out loud with delight in passages. I look forward to reading more of her writing.

This is one of the three superb long novels Murdoch published in the second half of the 80s. The characters are brilliantly drawn, especially the psychiatrist Thomas, his friend the ambitious, talented but frustrated Harry Cuno, and Harry's son Stuart, the good apprentice of the title. Underneath the typical Murdochian plot twists, the novel tackles profound themes, including depression and mental illness, guilt and forgiveness, and the impact of technology on human relations. The parts of the novel set in London are stronger than those set in the country. Her genius is fully on display here.

Never read Murdoch before, and unfortunately this awful book doesn't seem like the place to have started either. After finishing it, I discovered she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's right after completing the manuscript-which goes a long way toward explaining how such an acclaimed author could produce such a monumentally uninteresting book. Another somewhat telling thing I discovered is that the reviewers of this book seem fairly evenly split between describing it as a comedy and describing it as a mystery, of which it is neither.

The rough gist of the book is that there is a circle of upper-class Brits who have become friends over the years, plus an enigmatic butler/manservant Jackson. One of the circle is to wed another, when complications arise, sending the whole group into a tizzy. Secret longings are revealed, secret pain and guilt expounded on, endless pontificating and empty philosophizing ensure. I suppose it's vaguely reminiscent of Austen, with various upper-class, and poor hanger-on's all repressing themselves until, in an orgy of Shakespearean homage, everyone gets duly paired off with the behind the scenes assistance of Jackson (can you say "Puck"?).

It sounds vaguely enjoyable, but it isn't. First of all, it's not funny in the slightest. Ever. Secondly, as a satire of the upper class it's halfhearted. Yes, they're all self-absorbed idiots in one way or another, requiring the practical blue-collar help of Jackson to put anything right. But it's a very gentle and loving satire, with no teeth whatsoever, and therefore fails to leave an impression. Thirdly, it's not suspenseful in the slightest. For there to be suspense, there must first exist characters that one cares about, and there are none here. There are some things to be curious about (what's Jackson's story), but nothing that is engaging on anything but the most superficial level. Finally, as writing, it's pretty bad. Given the tremendously stilted dialogue, and bizarre repetitions in some passages, one has to assume that Murdoch was beginning to lose the plot already and that no editor dared point out some of the obvious weaknesses.

Best to skip this and concentrate on her earlier work.

A perfectly Shakespearian comedy. Three, practically four, weddings like in As You Like It (four) or A Midsummer Night's Dream (three). The threads are so entangled that everyone is about to marry the wrong matches. Luckily some Puck-like Jackson appears in the picture and sets things right, with the help of a twelve-year-old boy.

Iris Mirdoch is quite apt at organizing sentimental suspense, bends and U-turns in the plotline, and at evoking the perverse atmosphere of a place where everything is wrong, the chaotic drama and then the cleansing of the mess and the thoroughly happy atmosphere of the crowning weddings.

Jackson comes from nowhere, has to go no one knows, not even him, where, and is there to sort out odd ends and unmatched couples. He brings the right ones to the right others, and he brings happiness.

But his alter ego is Benet, the wall-named, since his name means « dumb » or even « retarded » meaning late in historical time. He is the one who creates havoc by insisting on some totally wrong unions. This creates a new level of reading. The rich, the upper class, high society, are nothing but the psychiatric ward of the social hospital. They are all spaced out and corrugated, and their treatment comes from a guardian angel who makes them comb out straight their disorderly interlaced hairs.

The end is just mysterious but serene and it shifts from Jackson to the little boy who is understood as the naive Ariel of so many Shakespearian comedies. And we are at the beginning of a new stage, just like the sunshine breaks through after The Tempest.

Dr Jacques COULARDEAU

Iris Murdoch's death is a great loss but she leaves such a wonderful, rich legacy. Jackson's Dilemma is much lighter on philosophy than previous books and is by no means among her stongest (for me, The Unicorn, A Severed Head, The Flight from th Enchanter, but it is hard to select when the picking's are all so ripe). Despite that it is still a good read, particulary for those readers not familiar with Dame Murdoch, and this could, hopefully, lead these readers further into the treasure trove left behind by the very sad passing of the author. All the basic themes and situations that Dame Murdoch likes to play with are in Jackson's Dilemma, from the the antic comings and goings of friends and lovers to the observer who knows something no one else does know. A good read.

My first Iris Murdoch, due to her reputation I expected quality literature,but dear me, it was like reading a mills & boon, such empty boring characters sooo predictable I hope her other books are better & that her reputation is deserved, but I shan't be finding out, there's plenty other fish in the sea. The only reason I gave it 2 stars is for the portrayal of Upper Middle Class English Culture of the 50's YAWN...

I've always liked this novel, though it isn't what I would call Murdoch's best. I found it to be much gentler than her other novels: there isn't any of the astounding weirdness of The Good Apprentice or The Severed Head: no incest, no murder, no wife-swapping.

As a result, it is an interesting novel to read for the change of pace it offers in the body of her work. It offers perhaps a subtler take on repeated Murdochian themes of betrayl and alienation--artistic, intellectual, marital, sexual, and so forth.

I have always wondered why A.S. Byatt chose to highlight The Sandcastle in her book about women's writing _Imagining Characters_; perhaps Byatt sees some of the same qualities in the story that I do.