“Henry and Cato” is the later book I remember least, even though I have to have read it at least four times now. I always remember there’s the dodgy character of Beautiful Joe and a rather sulky inheritor, but the details had once again escaped me. Once I’d re-read it, I wasn’t entirely sure what to think. Is it actually a thriller? Does it work as a thriller? Does it work better than “The Nice and the Good” which is the other one with thriller elements? I’ll try to unpick my thoughts and many, many post-it notes, and look forward to hearing everyone else’s reactions.
If you’re doing the readalong or even selected books along with me, or of course some time afterwards, do share how you’re getting on and which have been your favourites so far.
Iris Murdoch – “Henry and Cato”
(08 January 2018)
We open so memorably (OK, I will admit to always recalling this scene when crossing Hungerford Bridge myself, but never quite remembering which book it’s out of) with someone called Cato dropping a gun into the Thames, in a bit of a state. And of course in a lovely echo and doubling, he’s popping back over the bridge with something else bulky in his coat in the closing moments of the book. In between he goes through an ordeal which he survives but doesn’t feel he acquitted himself well in – his father certainly doesn’t think so, but did he?
We are then introduced to Henry, a bit spoilt, a rubbish academic, coming back to the UK to claim his inheritance after his loathed brother has died. He considers his mother, then we cut to her and faithful retainer Lucius, and Cato’s father John, disappointed in his unacademic daughter, all concurrently – which I think is a masterful stroke that shows IM’s confidence and technical ability as a novelist (something I’m not entirely certain the book shows off all the way through). IM gets into her element describing Laxlinden Hall – has she had a lovely big house to dwell on quite so happily since “The Bell”? Henry will decide what to do and bend everyone to his will before curiously giving up. Cato will stick to his principles until he suddenly doesn’t. Everything will be changed but still somehow the same, and two people will die, only one violently. Oh, and there’s a faithless priest in an abandoned house in an East London wasteland, which we’ve definitely had before, haven’t we.
We have the usual Murdochian themes and echoes of other books. Themes-wise, we find out very early on that Henry is writing a book on an artist, John Forbes intends to write one on Quakerism, and Lucius is also writing a book, which is getting shorter and more personal as he approaches the end of his life. The theme of ageing women comes in again, with Gerda coming in for a hard time, Lucius wondering if she dyes her hair, and noticing, “Of course she was faded and her features were less fine” (p. 10) (that “of course” is harsh, isn’t it?). Women’s lots are discussed – John Forbes has always “fought for women’s liberation” but sees women as having an “invincible stupidity” which somewhat undermines that (p. 20). Stephanie is described right from the start in fairly disgusting/disgusted terms, with her moustache and her greasy nose, her fat and her unflattering clothes, and her ageing is pinned down cruelly, too:
How strangely and mysteriously evident was the ageing of the body. A weariness in the breasts, in the buttocks, a certain coarsening and staleness of the flesh, proclaim the years as much as lines and wrinkles can. (p. 166)
Siblings abound, of course, and they either complement or are wildly contrasted – “really Sandy was just a big calm relaxed man, unlike dark manic Henry” (p. 16). We climb over a wall with Henry, notably at the start of the book but then also over the gate between Laxlinden and the Forbes estate. And of course we also find ourselves looking at people standing outside windows (Henry, seen by Gerda), looking through windows (on Henry’s first arrival, peering at his mother), trailing across gardens (Henry seems to be forever running off down the terraces) and indeed following people, with Henry following Colette through the bamboo (as one does; and she comes back, which is unusual: does this signify that she’s more his equal?). Colette is the one with the hair, apart from Henry’s dark curls and Joe’s weird blond bob: she even has straight and flat bits of hair that frame her face, although they’re not metallic like some people’s. She looks like her hair has been cut when Henry visits her after her injury (although it hasn’t been: she has remained whole (see below)). Gerda also stands with her “pale, broad face thrust forward” (p. 109) which is a common Murdochian way to arrange oneself.
There are flashes of humour in this odd book with its large themes. When Henry thinks of his brother being dead, he is said to have “flexed his toes with joy” (p. 3) The descriptions of Lucius’ creeping age, “a kind of itching ache was crawling about his body, making it impossible for him to find comfort in any position” (p. 10) shouldn’t be funny but is in light of his fussiness, and he’s a creature of arrogance who we laugh at – and also produces that dreadful poetry that so upsets Gerda in a very funny scene where she’s found it in his room: “Clump, clump. The old girl” (p. 201). The sentence, “He had lived on talk and curiosity and drink and the misfortunes of his friends” seems perfect. There’s also the lovely detail of the different kinds of holy men, with Cato finding Father Thomas dull and Father Thomas thinking he’s a “frivolous amateur”:
Of course, Cato and Father Thomas, being decent sincere men of God, recognized their prejudices as prejudices. But this did not stop them from quietly feuding. (p. 34)
I really giggled at the description of Henry, having met Stephanie for the first time: “As he began to calm down he bought himself four very expensive shirts” (p. 104) and he also has a very odd scene playing with hats.
We have one of our mysterious figures who moves the plot along in certain ways (near the end in her case) in Rhoda, whose speech is unintelligible to everyone except for Gerda (was she given to her like Biscuit was to Lady Kitty). She doesn’t run her errands for her, but a mystery hinges on her. What an odd character. Along with the mystery, fate leans and breathes heavily over the action as often seems to happen (c.f. all the portents in “Sacred and Profane”: “[Henry] felt panic, terror, a kind of nebulous horror as if he were a man destined by dark forces to commit a murder for which he had no will and of which he had no understanding” (p. 59) – although of course he doesn’t, and this is probably something about accepting contingency which I’m trying to grasp to understand myself.
Seeing and attention, which IM is obviously famous for talking about and which slip into the novels more and more as time passes, are prominent here. Beautiful Joe says early on, “You’re the only one who can really see me at all” (p. 38). Gerda mentions that Henry cannot see his future wife (Stephanie) when she’s met her and observed them. Gerda herself is described as having “attended carefully to Stephanie” (p. 315) and reaches an understanding with her (in the literal and figurative senses, it turns out).
There’s a very odd quirk in the language – did anyone else notice this? We have “adjective Henry” all over the place, as well as bird-headed Rhoda and philistine Sandy: changeling Henry, much-travelled Henry, etc., etc.
The portrait of Gerda’s grief is very moving, as she tries to hold herself together and not make a fuss. I didn’t much notice her as a character originally but I feel she’s very brave, actually. An almost feminist point gets made about a certain kind of woman at a certain point in time and society:
I suppose that women … learn pretty early on that they’ve got to be alone and bear things alone, even when they’re in the bosom of their family. (p. 196)
Who is the saint and who the enchanter? Henry seems to enchant Stephanie but then she’s looking for an owner to create (“You needed me and you invented me” (p. 264)) and he wants to keep her submissive rather than being created as an enchanter figure. They enchant each other, “So it turned out that in an upside-down way, he was her captive, not she his” (p. 165) but then Henry also admits that, having been bullied, maybe he was looking for someone to bully (certainly thus not doing the absorbing of pain that IM espouses).
Cato tries to be a hero and maybe even though he commits a crime in truth, it’s more like when Tallis drives the assailant away in the Chinese restaurant in “A Fairly Honourable Defeat”, as he’s doing it to protect someone weaker. He also has a revelation when imprisoned, but his this the kind that is had in “The Unicorn” or a lasting one? He also finds he has to “hold onto myself” – is this the opposite of unselfing? Father Brendan has too fancy and well-arranged an apartment to be a saint (Cato lives in a smelly state). Or is it Colette, who restores order and knows her own mind, but is fearless in protecting her brother? She has her own trial and comes through wounded but stronger, and gets what she always wanted. Is that the reward of a saint, though or something else? She certainly doesn’t pass pain on, as she knows about the lack of accomplices but doesn’t tell Cato. She tries to even love her enemies, saying of Joe, “you must try to love people even when it’s hard or awfully odd” (p. 286)She’s also used by Henry to give himself courage, “the thought of her wholeness and her courage entered into him like a spear, like a hard line of pure non-Henry in the midst of the humiliating jelly of his personal terror” (p. 260). And I’m glad that her father sees her as “the heroic one” in the end, although he’s too hard on Cato, perhaps. Could Gerda be seen to be a saint, absorbing her own suffering (although she does impose it on Lucius, doesn’t she?). She does have some netsuke, always a good indication of Good, although she happily parts with them (in a Buddhist way?). In the end, maybe it’s Colette and Cato’s dead mother who was the saint, described as such by her children:
She was the sort of saint that no one notices or sees, she was almost invisible. (p. 335)
In a nod to “A Severed Head”, Henry, Bella and Russ have discussed Henry’s affair with Bella with their analyst. John Forbes buying Oak Meadow echoes Monty wanting to buy his end of the garden in “Sacred and Profane”. The mention of John’s engagement with Quakerism reminds me of N and his community in “The Philosopher’s Pupil”. Surely it’s a hat-tip to “The Black Prince” when Henry randomly sends Russ a postcard of the Post Office Tower? Cato mentions the underground warrens underneath government offices that play such a part in “The Nice and the Good”.
I’ve not even mentioned the religious aspects: I found them interesting and the network of religious sponsors and mentors fascinating. I loved how Father Brendan described priesthood as being like a marriage, long-term and needing to be worked on after the first excitement of love. But I’ve written a lot and if you’ve got this far, I salute you!
Please either place your review in the comments, discuss mine or others’, or post a link to your review if you’ve posted it on your own blog, Goodreads, etc. I’d love to know how you’ve got on with this book and if you read it having read others of Murdoch’s novels or this was a reread, I’d love to hear your specific thoughts on those aspects, as well as if it’s your first one!
If you’re catching up or looking at the project as a whole, do take a look at the project page, where I list all the blog posts so far.
Chris Boddington
Apr 18, 2019 @ 04:44:37
I love your little portraits, Henry as a rubbish academic.
Where on earth did the middle cover version of the book come from? Who designed the cover? Who is the cat with the rose tucked behind his ear?
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Liz Dexter
Apr 18, 2019 @ 05:33:00
The middle cover is on the Triad Granada, 1977 edition reprinted 1986, about when I bought it I would think. It apparently shows a detail from “The Man of the Woods and the Cat of the Mountains” 1973, by R. B Kitaj, which was in the Tate: when they say “detail” it is most of the painting, with a bit missed off the left hand side https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/kitaj-the-man-of-the-woods-and-the-cat-of-the-mountains-t01772 If you skim through my round-up posts there have been more odd than normal IM covers, I reckon!
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kaggsysbookishramblings
Apr 18, 2019 @ 11:18:40
Although I’ve not managed to read a Murdoch for your readalong yet, I *have* been following your posts with great interest and remain mightily impressed with your Murdoch knowledge! Love how you pull out all her recurring themes and writing tropes in this one – excellent stuff! And so interesting how our views of books changes when we come back to them for re-reads.
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Liz Dexter
Apr 19, 2019 @ 05:22:24
Thank you – that’s lovely to read. I suppose I know her tropes and themes quite well and lots of us read her work as an oeuvre, not just here and there. I do think you’d like her, though! And yes, the re-reading aspect is fascinating to me- as you’ve probably seen, some of the other people doing this are re-reading, too, and it’s so interesting.
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buriedinprint
Apr 18, 2019 @ 13:07:17
Even though I slipped this one into the stack at the beginning of the month, the rest of the month was occupied by carrying it around without reading it, but last night I finally started and am well into it now, so I’ll be back to report. Funny, it doesn’t matter how many of her books I read, I still have that lingering idea that it’s going to be such hard work. And, then, it’s simply a good story!
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Liz Dexter
Apr 19, 2019 @ 05:23:13
When I did my research project (on “The Bell”) almost everyone thought it was going to be hard and then it wasn’t! Enjoy, and I’ll look forward to hearing your thoughts when you’re done!
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buriedinprint
May 17, 2019 @ 19:52:52
I can see where the bridge scene would linger but I find it funny that you can’t pin it to a certain book (given that it’s actually one of our title characters)! But I can see where that could happen with this story, too, because Cato does seem to retreat into the background somehow despite his prominence (then again, it is Henry AND Cato rather than Cato AND Henry, or perhaps I should say “adjective” Henry and Cato”. Quite right! At some point I will write more about this one, and send you the link. Meantime, I greatly enjoyed reading your post!
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Liz Dexter
May 20, 2019 @ 10:08:28
I usually read the books in close proximity with gaps in between bouts of reading them, and remember scenes but forget where they’re from. I will remember this one now, though! Glad you enjoyed reading the post.
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heavenali
Apr 18, 2019 @ 16:17:20
I know I really enjoyed this one, it’s aI saw it as a very clever novel, with all the duality etc.
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Liz Dexter
Apr 18, 2019 @ 16:18:43
Yes, I remember you enjoying it. The “new” introduction is really good at picking apart the double narrative, Shakespearean themes and all the religion stuff I didn’t go into.
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Annabel (AnnaBookBel)
Apr 19, 2019 @ 11:57:33
Astonishingly, I’d never heard of this one, but it sounds more intriguing than many of the others to me!
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Liz Dexter
Apr 22, 2019 @ 07:19:44
It’s certainly not one of the better-known ones. You should get hold of a copy: I’d love to hear what you think of it!
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Brona
Apr 19, 2019 @ 23:27:59
I have suddenly found a lot of reading matters on my plate this week (& hope to knock a few of them over during this Easter weekend period!) so that I can be ready to start The Sea, The Sea with you in May.
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Liz Dexter
Apr 22, 2019 @ 07:19:08
Oh, brilliant, I’ll look forward to having you along for that one! Good to start it early as it’s quite substantial. I can’t wait to re-read it again.
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Maria Peacock
Apr 23, 2019 @ 18:48:27
Thank you Liz another great review and I too chuckled at your summing up of Henry as ‘ bit spoilt, rubbish academic’.
I read it a long time ago -probably when it first came out in paperback and enjoyed it, but this time I was quite entranced by it, and it has a lot to say in the present day world about love and belief and self. It is a rich novel and can be read in all sorts of ways.
I was interested in Liz’s thoughts on how far the book can be regarded as a thriller. It certainly starts as one and the opening scene takes us right into the action like the John le Carré’s spy stories and the best thrillers do. But then we are into the world of the campus of a minor American university, and Henry’s less than brilliant academic career, which he has to leave and we are taken into the world of a nineteenth century novel and the English landed gentry as Henry the less favoured younger sonis unexpectedly heir to Laxlinden a country estate. And what wonderful descriptions she writes of the house and the garden. We have similar movement between the timeless world of the countryside and the threat and deprivation of the city that there is in The Nice and the Good.
And it also has an ongoing conversation about what it is to love and there are many types of love in this novel from the open easy friendship of Russell and Bella ‘Sorry kid . We love you but I guess we love ourselves more’, Stephanie’s sexual love and ambition to be married, Cato’s desire for Joe, Colette’s steadfast devotion to Henry and Brendan’s mediation and lifelong struggle to go beyond the egoism of human love.
Amongst all this, it certainly has the elements of a thriller and I am reminded very much of Graham Greene’s Brighton Rock. Cato’s mission house is on the edge of East End gangland. Beautiful Joe very much reminds me of Pinkie Brown. They have a similar deadly charisma they both create a sense of menace; both are burdened by a religious upbringing. But Beautiful Joe is vulnerable and needy – he is looking for some kind of love and also for spirituality. It certainly has the suspense of a thriller and the scene where Joe has captured Colette and the descriptions of the knife are very chilling.
Yes, on a more basic note I found the adjectival labels especially ‘bird-headed Rhoda’ rather irritating. Murdoch generally does use too many adjectives. Rhoda herself is very strange. She is another faithful servant who very usefully takes care of all the domestic stuff and makes the cakes and seems to belong to a different century.
But despite this it is intriguing and I found this one a great read and I think although lesser known it is probably one of Murdoch’s best.
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Liz Dexter
Apr 30, 2019 @ 06:24:15
I’m glad you enjoyed it so much and yes, the country-city thing is very like it is in “The Nice and the Good”. I haven’t read “Brighton Rock” so I’m glad people who have have come along to make that comparison! Also glad it wasn’t just me who was annoyed by the adjectives. You make a good point about the variety of genres it covers, too.
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Peter Rivenberg
Apr 27, 2019 @ 15:39:19
Despite the Graham Greene opening, I’ve always takes a while before this novel pulls me in. This time I wondered if it was partly due to those irritating adjectives that both Liz and Maria have mentioned, initially applied to Henry (alienated Henry, lost Henry, refugee Henry, harlequin Henry) but eventually to others in Henry’s Laxlinden world (romantic Lucius, bird-headed Rhoda). They remind me a bit of Homeric epithets and in the context seem so artificial that they pull me out of the story, if only briefly. To me they come off as winking authorial commentary. Unless I missed something, I believe Murdoch reserves these epithets for characters in the Laxlinden set, not for Beautiful Joe and the characters in Cato’s grungier world, so the characterizing adjectives might also set up a distinction between these two worlds. I do think Murdoch is being playful (at times the adjectives almost seem mock heroic) and that the distancing effect may not be a bad thing. She employs it with Henry mainly (though not entirely) at the beginning of the book when Henry himself is most distant from the estate but less so as the novel progresses and Henry becomes more immersed in his past. Rhoda, on the other hand, never really loses her bird head, which has become by the end a sort of running joke.
That said, once I got through my initial reaction, I found this novel very satisfying and one of the most focused of her 70s novels. It is nicely structured. Although it has two protagonists who are operating in very different worlds, as the novel progresses the worlds become intertwined; as a result, the protagonists both evolve in their conceptions of who they are. Both men try to redeem the people they have fallen in love with (Joe/Stephanie); both love objects are from a lower social and potentially criminal background. And the novel explores how well each man comes to terms with the reality of the loved one.
The last time I read this book was so many years ago that all I could recall was Beautiful Joe. (I like Maria’s comparison of him to Pinkie!) The Henry plot had completely disappeared for me. Reading it this time I realize that my younger self, much closer to Henry and Cato’s age than I am now, found the older characters in the Laxlinden environs (let’s just call them the parents) a bit tiresome. And they do take up a fair number of pages! This time, of course, I realized how interesting that older generation is. Who wouldn’t want to chat with them about the failures of Marxism? Like Liz, I found myself appreciating the portrait of Gerda’s grief and loneliness, and her quiet despair when she realizes Henry is serious about selling the estate: “Gerda stooped and put another log onto the fire. The bare un-tapestried wall behind her was like a chill-opening in the void. She shivered.” Without a lot of drama, she accommodates herself to radical change but, at the same time, she goes beyond herself enough to “see” Stephanie in a way that her son cannot.
I was also interested in the Americanization of Henry. Although he is nothing like Julius King in A Fairly Honourable Defeat, I can’t help seeing a parallel in these two characters who have spent a lot of time in the United States and whose re-entry into their former world wreaks havoc. Both seem intent on destroying the complacent assumptions of their social set or family, though Julius’s intent is malevolent (or mischievous at the very least) whereas Henry’s can masquerade as social conscience, regardless of the psychological motives. Morgan has also spent time in the US, so it seems significant that the wager in AFHD, which is designed to expose the cracks in relationships, is between Morgan and Julius, the two Americanized Europeans. Is there a connection between their experience in the States and their willingness to tamper with the structures in their social world? I could ask the same question about Henry, who has become ensconced in a mediocre teaching job and a comfortable menage with parent figures Bella and Russ in the American Midwest. Clearly there is more to this destructive urge than a trip to the US. Julius and Henry both have psychological scars and scores to settle. Morgan has endured some trauma and is a confused mess. But I wonder if there is something about a trip to America that liberates that destructive element, that desire whether conscious or subconscious to break from and further isolate themselves from their British past.
All in all, though I still don’t rank this novel at the very top of my list, it has moved up several rungs on the ladder. I think the next time I feel like re-reading this novel, it will be because I’m remembering Gerda, not Beautiful Joe.
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Liz Dexter
Apr 30, 2019 @ 06:28:07
I like your comments about the duality and how clever to notice the adjective thing only applies to the Laxlinden set (I think you’re right there). I had to smile at your realisation that you now identify more with those “tedious” parent-generation folk – I’ve been doing the same all the way through, losing my patience with the young people I used to find so interesting! Gerda I had hardly noticed before, now she’s a terribly pathetic and brave character! Your points on Americans are interesting; thinking about the chap in Accidental Man who has come here to escape the draft, doesn’t he find being in England strengthens the structures around which he builds his reasoning, so you might well have something there.
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Jo Smith
Apr 28, 2019 @ 01:13:27
First of all, I read this during a two week vacation to Disney World Florida so my reading was a little distracted and I’m not sure I got the most out of the book. It wasn’t a favorite for me and I’m kind of surprised that part of this had to do with Henry and how much I disliked him, so strange considering all the dis-likable characters in Murdoch’s novels and the fact that the sympathy I felt for Hilary in a Word Child, for example, didn’t extend to him. The religious turmoil also stretched on a little too long even though I found Cato a mainly sympathetic character -although I was surprised he sent that letter to Colette and think he should have felt some guilt for that.
Cato reminded me of Tallis and there were several other reminders of other characters in this one, Beautiful Joe reminded me of Leo in A Time for the Angel and Stephanie reminded me of Crystal in A Word Child. I actually really liked the character of Stephanie who seems so weak initially but in the end asserts herself and that image of her sitting in her red silk dressing gown filling in the personals with money in the bank seemed a hopeful one.
As always I enjoyed reading all the rereader’s thoughts and things they pick up on that I’ve missed. Marie’s discussion of love in the novel and Peter’s of the role the United States plays in Murdoch’s novels were especially of interest and as usual Liz’s eagle eye effortlessly spots the recurring themes and images.
So I’m afraid I seem to differ from everyone else on my enjoyment of this one but perhaps a reread, not surrounded by the sounds of Disney music and crying children, may lead to a better opinion!
I’m going to admit to some trepidation about reading The Sea, the Sea, partly because it’s the most well known, partly because I’ve heard conflicting opinions and partly because it’s on the larger side but have my copy winging its way to me as we speak!
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2801280188?book_show_action=false
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Liz Dexter
Apr 30, 2019 @ 06:32:49
I think the place we read these does have a huge impact, and the amount of time we can devote. Word Child I read in big quiet chunks and that definitely helped me!
“Liz’s eagle eye effortlessly spots the recurring themes and images.” – not so effortlessly, there are a LOT of post-it tabs stuck in the book as I go. Plus I have read these all three times before and purposely discussed these themes last time as a way in for some rather trepidatious readers.
Don’t worry about not liking the book as much as some. I can’t say it’s massively gone up in my estimation (but not down, at least: I just found different things to admire this time). We had some right old disagreements last time round, too, and that makes it interesting.
I really enjoyed your Goodreads review and love the quote you pulled out from John Forbes. I think you’re right about the women, and that’s unusual for Murdoch.
Don’t fear “The Sea, The Sea” – it’s got so much in it (look out for the terrible meals) and lots of different people I know have got a lot out of it. Happy reading!
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“Henry and Cato” round-up and “The Sea, The Sea” preview #IMReadalong @IrisMurdoch | Adventures in reading, running and working from home
Apr 30, 2019 @ 21:51:32
John P. Houghton (@MetLines)
Sep 29, 2019 @ 18:12:33
Like Peter, it takes a while for this book to “pull me in”. Yet by the end, I felt much more nourished than I feared I would be. Ultimately it is a deeply satisfying read.
I use the word ultimately, because Henry and Cato strikes me as two novels in one. The first chapter is longer by a hundred pages and spends a good amount of time adding layer upon layer of characterisation. This pays off by the end, as I felt close to each of the characters and invested in their fates, even secondary figures like Lucius.
My only concern, or impatience more precisely, was that nothing much seemed to be happening. So many layers of paint were being added to the canvas I was losing sight of the picture.
But if nothing much happens in the first part of the book, *everything* happens in the second half. We go from a familiar Murdochian world of philosophical contemplation in academic / country house settings, to a crime thriller in the slums. The pace increases significantly and it seems there is more rapid-fire dialogue amid the kidnapping, real and threatened violence, including sexual threats, ransom notes and much else.
Murdoch often changes pace, and features suspenseful scenes toward the end of her works, but not – so far – this dramatically.
So I closed the book hugely satisfied, reflecting on a complex array of characters.
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Liz Dexter
Sep 30, 2019 @ 17:04:10
That’s a great assessment of the book, thank you. I think it’s her most dramatic one, although “The Nice and the Good” gets a bit exciting in places, doesn’t it!
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“The Book and the Brotherhood” round-up and “The Message to the Planet” preview #IMReadalong @IrisMurdoch | Adventures in reading, running and working from home
Sep 30, 2019 @ 17:26:19