It’s funny what you remember and don’t remember about books you re-read, isn’t it? I’d remembered very clearly Stuart being described as a white grub, and scenes at Seegard, and I recall finding Middge an attractive character (something of which I’m less sure this time round) but I had no memory of most of the actual plot as such! Anyway, a bit of a late review and I hope my regulars are poised to share their thoughts, and anyone else happening along feels moved to share theirs, too.
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 – “The Good Apprentice”
(28 December 2018)
Edward and Stuart are brothers-but-not-brothers. Edward has just been instrumental in the death of a friend and wants to blot out all experience and stop living in hell “How does one live after total wickedness, total failure, total disgrace?” (p. 10). Stuart is inexperienced but wants to do good in the world. Their father/step-father is one of a group of super-Murdochian middle-class characters (the analyst, the doctor, the academic, the “women’s lib” writer) and their offspring who circle the boys, trying to help. Meanwhile, near the sea but seemingly distanced from the sea, Seegard sits with its colony of weird women, waiting for whoever ends up visiting.
This is one of the books where you definitely have to draw a diagram of the relationships, pretty well as soon as you discover that Stuart and Edward are brothers only in vague name, having different mothers AND fathers. Add in a few aunts and cousins and you can easily get very lost. And then everyone’s mothers seem to know everyone else’s mothers! I found my diagram from last time and added to it – dotted lines are links not by marriage or birth and I imagine it’s incomplete!
There are little feminist bits again which I’ve never (how?) noticed before. Sarah Plowmain’s mother is into “Women’s Lib Journalism. She’s a fire-eater” (p. 6) and later writes a piece decrying Mother May’s position as a little woman serving a great man and being spiteful about his conquests. We don’t have the horrible ageing women we’ve had in other books, Mother May’s network of fine lines being attractive and Midge, for all of her weight gain, being very attractive and well-dressed. Thomas has been doing a lot of thinking about the menopause in a rather startling passage, with a very modern conclusion: “In fact, he thought, there is no typical menopause, there are as many menopauses as women” (p. 387) so although he’s been complaining about women pinning their neuroses onto this time of life, he is humane about it. Harry is seen grabbing and shaking Midge until her head cracks against a chair (but he doesn’t get to keep his relationship with her).
In our usual themes Willy is trying to write a book on Proust but has been unable to finish it. Harry HAS finished a book but it’s a novel (“a terrible shameful secret”) and it’s being rejected by publishers. Red curly hair is a theme at Seegard (and Midge has a many-coloured mop that is also familiar) and not only Ilona but Bettina chops her hair off. There are stones throughout: the “lingam stone” of which Edward knows the meaning and Ilona claims not to, the stones around the country cottage and the paperweight stone Thomas has from Scotland. Spiders appear as Bettina teases one at Seegard, and Edward claims his head is full of poisonous ones. There are not many people seen out of windows or through them, but Harry enters Midge and Thomas’ house via a “tree-shaded back alley through a gate into the walled garden” (p. 181). Stuart chases Meredith in London but there’s no one flitting in a white dress. Water is there in the form of the sea by Seegard, not accessible by Edward until he trusts his own sense of direction, and mists.
There’s lots of doubling – Stuart and Edward / Mark and Brownie, with Edward and Mark the favoured children. Two locations, London and Seegard. Two families for almost everyone. Two hot air balloon appearances. Two fingers on lips expressions for Midge and Meredith. Two sightings of Jesse drowned, one real, one a vision. Two encounters with the Tree Men. Willy’s father is killed camel riding, Harry’s sailing. Jesse and then his old friend Max die, probably on the same day, and the two deaths are seen in the papers. Ilona can dance in the glade and then can’t dance in the strip club (is this Seegard as enchanter again? see below).
Of course the theme of religion hangs over the whole book – or precisely what to do when religion has faded from the world, Edward can’t take absolution from a priest and Stuart can’t become a monk, so what are they to do to make their way through the world? The introduction by David E. Cooper makes much of this, and is right to.
There is humour in this big and very sad book. The “Willy and the camel” thing is pretty weird, his father having been killed by one – Harry mentions someone “drinks like a camel” and Willy leaves suddenly and later when Midge wants to get rid of him, she comments “What a fine coat … it’s camel-hair, isn’t it?” (p 432). This is such an odd one it does feel like something – a dare? – that has worked its way in from real life. Some of the descriptions of discomfort – Edward in his wet clothes at Mrs Quaid’s (“His trousers were wet and seemed to have shrunk, he felt cold, a smell of damp wool arose from the collar of his jacket” (p. 64)
Who is the saint and who the enchanter? I’m not sure we have a saint. Stuart, though, is striving like mad to be one, suppressing all urges, absorbing people’s emotions and trying to find his place to do good in the world. However, Meredith says he’s not messy, so he can’t be a saint yet. Maybe a saint in waiting. Interestingly at very least Midge tries to turn him into an enchanter, making out he’s sat there in the back of the car with a monolithic disapproval of her and Harry’s affair and has made her fall in love with him, while he says, “I don’t think I did that” (p. 353). Edward is trying to find his own redemption, although he does manage to “take a pain away from her into himself” when Brownie tells him what people have been saying about Mark’s death (p. 334). Thomas has been moving behind the scenes, as we discover he was behind Edward’s invitation to Seegard and also sends Brownie to find him in his old room by letter, and has been busy reading letters between Harry and Midge. He knows Edward is going to run and that he will know where to (but that’s because he’s instigated it!). But he’s more like N from “The Philosopher’s Pupil”, moving things around to help, and he’s not set up as an enchanter by anyone. He also thinks he should give up “this ingenious skill, this power, bending and contorting people’s lives like a Japanese flower arranger” (p. 390). He does, however, avoid “inflicting my suffering on [Midge] in the form of rage” (p. 437). Jesse is a sex god and attracted many women, but doesn’t really seem to have used his powers much, and Mother May is more like the controlling nun in “The Bell” and a wardress.
However, there is a source of enchantment in Seegard, appearing and disappearing in the landscape, acting as a place out of time where no one ages, and described as starting to fall apart as Edward leaves it for the last time. Nature also has some kind of guiding or enchanting role, from the murmuration of starlings Edward sees on the way to Seegard to the robin that interrupts Harry and Thomas.
In links to other books, Stuart is described early as “a plump white grub with a big head emerging from an apple” (p. 28) and we remember that I noted in my review of “The Philosopher’s Pupil” the description of George post-stones as “weak and pale like a grub in an apple” (p. 547). The Post Office Tower pops up, for Edward when he’s walking out of Mrs Quaid’s and everything is glittering and lovely. When Edward is in counsel with Thomas, a demon looks through his eyes reminding Thomas of flayed Marsyas, who crops up a lot. Thomas himself is another psychoanalyst who believes he’s a fraud, like Blaise from “The Sacred and Profane Love Machine”. Midge describes Harry as living in a “net” and she is in one of lies (p. 99). Thomas says he likes to see Midge sewing and someone else in a book a few ago said that – anyone remember? The idea of ordeal, which came up in “Philosopher’s Pupil” and “Nuns and Soldiers” and will be more prominent in “The Green Knight”, is mentioned here – “[Edward] has gone upon a pilgrimage to face an ordeal, his very own. He will be alright” (p. 225).
And in a link to quite another book, we have a little Lord of the Rings mention, when Edward, very near the end of the book, considers wearing Jesse’s ring on Ilona’s chain “round his neck, like Frodo” (p. 554). This greatly cheered me!
Thoughts on re-reading – I don’t remember Stuart and Thomas being my favourite characters last time but they are this time. Poor old Thomas, trying to be logical and being accused of being cold, and poor lost Stuart, not his father’s favourite and patiently running around trying to help!
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.
Maria Peacock
Aug 28, 2019 @ 21:44:04
Thank you Liz, for your thoughtful analysis and thoughts on re-reading The Good Apprentice. For me this re-reading at this time made me think this is possibly one of Iris Murdoch’s most powerful novels and one which addresses issues of great interest in the present time – religion without an established Church or idea of God, family relationships and looking for a role in the world, and as Liz also observes images of gender.
I also always have to draw a family tree at the start of an Iris Murdoch novel and the relationships in this one were particularly complicated so I am very impressed by Liz’s attempts to keep control and her adoption of dotted lines for other relationships.
Personally, I did not find a lot of laugh out loud humour as I usually do in Iris Murdoch novel. There is however a fair portion of black comedy in the ‘Don’t mention the camel round Willy’: there is the almost satirical social observation of the English middle classes in the dinner party scenes, and there is the farce of the Harry and Midge’s romantic trip going wrong. The car getting stuck in the middle of nowhere and all turning up at Seegard in a reunion is reminiscent of a Shakespearean comedy.
Something which really struck me this time was ( and I know that this may be controversial) that Iris Murdoch is a feminist writer – not in the sense of writing about her own experience as a woman in the way Rachel Cusk and Sally Rooney are writing today, but she addresses the issues of gender roles and portrays the ways women could take their place in the world. As well as the appearance of the Women’s Lib writer Sarah Plowmain’s mother we are shown types of female roles. Midge is defined by her feminine beauty, not well-educated and fairly leisured. She is in contrast to Ursula Brightwater who is very much the 1980s woman, confident of her education and making her way in a male word as a busy doctor. We see the realism of urban life against the unreal world of Seegard which as Liz describes as a place outside of time. The three women Mother May and at first seemingly matching daughters Ilona and Bettina appear to inhabit a Pre-Raphaelite painting and we see them through Edward’s eyes as idealised womanhood. But it soon emerges that they are subject to the patriarchy of the dying power figure of Jesse and they become real and have their own agenda. Liz’s point about Ilona’s wonderful dancing at Seegard compare with her wooden performance in the strip club is intriguing – it does seem that they were in a state of enchantment at Seegard or is it because of the way of Ilona is having to sell herself as a dancer and sex object?
There is a sense of taboo and hints of incest – not just in Jesse’s unhealthy possessiveness of his women but also the attraction between the characters – this is where the family tree is very useful – Stuart would be able to marry the sisters but for Edward it would be incestuous. Meredith is violated when he becomes aware that his mother is having an affair with Harry so breaking the parental sex taboo and she forces him by her gesture to be complicit. Jesse kissing Midge passionately evokes necromancy with her dead sister Chloe. The reader is being taken into dark places and facing unthinkable things in a mix of fairy tale and mundane realism. In this way Edward comes to recognise his father Jesse as a magician, a mystery something to be known and not understood.
There are several meditations on death and survival. The séance scenes flag this up and the grandfather’s death while sailing is unresolved and always present. Stuart considers the girl’s plaits in the concentration camps, but the image of the mice living in the underground ( not trapped but living) is an ecstatic revelation of survival : Harry dreams of his grave being dug and thinks he is always near to death, but is determined to survive.
I do like the image of Edward on his pilgrimage and the journey to the unknown landscape of Seegard does remind me of Pilgrim’s Progress with the difficulties he has to endure. He is tested as he moves towards being able to live in the world with the reality of what he did and aware of others. At the end he comes to know like Jake in Under the Net that it is not all about him – he can let Brownie live her life, just as Jake has to let Anna go, and he can be Ilona’s elder brother.
I did find it was a work which treated its human beings with kindness – their faults and weaknesses were acknowledged and worked through and forgiveness was always possible. Also I can see Thomas as an enchanter even though he is not always attentive to others and Iris Murdoch is often very sceptical about psychotherapy. Harry has many faults and has cruel relationship with his son and an adulterous affair with his friend’s wife but he is a sympathetic character. He was widowed twice and brought up and continued to support his wife’s child Edward: he enjoys pleasurable things of life and he likes its messiness, and he is a secure base. As always in Iris Murdoch (as in life) people fall in love with the wrong people and this creates suffering. There is a lot about forgiveness especially in the relationship between Edward and Mrs Wilsden the mother of Mark whose death was caused by Edward’s lack of care and selfishness. I think if there is a saint in this novel it is Brownie who intercedes and is there for Edward. There can be no real reconciliation between Mrs Wilsden and Edward but in the final letter to him she expresses her recognition of him as another person ‘I imagine your state of mind and I pity you’. When we last leave the brothers, Edward and Stuart they have faced the darkness and pain but they also in their own way believe there are joy and good things in the world whatever they may be. What an amazing book!
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Liz Dexter
Sep 01, 2019 @ 17:21:47
Thank you for your excellent comments. I particularly love the comparison with Pilgrim’s Progress – very apt. I’m always moved by how he can suddenly see the sea when he’s grown and learned a bit. I think you’re right about the kindness, too, and I can see IM as a kindly creator, peering at the people as they go about their lives and changes.
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Joanne Smith
Aug 29, 2019 @ 20:19:01
Another successful read for me and I’ve really enjoyed reading the reviews so far from Liz and Maria, the themes that are pulled out and the insights that are gained. I particularly found Maria’s discussion of death and survival of interest.
I have to say that the scenes at Seegard were my favorite part, the house, the three women and the scenery around it and although there were so many troubling things about what was going on there it was still captivating. I did wonder at one point if we were supposed to assume that Ilona had tried to poison Edward by giving him the love potion that ended up killing the plant, a point Murdoch makes much of, but as she more or less declared her love for him, I have to put that one down to an overactive imagination!
Stuart was the character I felt most sorry for with no one allowing him to simply make decisions for himself and then Midge deciding she is in love with him leading to even greater condemnation. Once again we have a character who has lost their faith in God but still believes in Christ, an interesting distinction Murdoch makes apparent as she does her dislike of psychoanalysis as a profession once again,.
Although some of the Stuart/Thomas conversations lost me, I was engaged throughout the novel and am looking forward to our next ‘big baggy, book’.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2957018428?book_show_action=false
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Liz Dexter
Sep 01, 2019 @ 17:22:59
I loved your comments here and your review, and loving your enthusiasm for the books, too! I agree with you about the God/Christ thing – it’s been a theme all the way through, hasn’t it.
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Peter Rivenberg
Aug 30, 2019 @ 11:42:43
I’ve enjoyed reading the reviews by Liz, Maria and Jo. You’ve all done a tremendous job explicating this large and complex work.
When I found the notes I’d written about this wonderful novel, I discovered that they were mostly a series of lines connecting the characters. So, I think we agree this one has a particularly knotty relationship tree! But once the relationships were clearly established, I found I never had trouble keeping them straight.
The only particularly interesting note I found in my notebook was how similar the opening is to The Philosopher’s Pupil, which we had just read. Both start with an ambiguous “accident,” and both George and (to a greater extent) Edward spend time obsessing about their responsibility for it. Both want to escape the pain of their thoughts and both gravitate toward decaying power figures who they hope will offer a remedy. Neither gets the resolution they seek from the power figure, and both are ambiguously involved in the deaths of those power figures, if only in their minds.
It is, for me at least, much easier to empathize with Edward than with George. I would say the title of the book applies to Edward as well as to Stuart, though Stuart clearly thinks about the Good and deliberately tries to achieve it, while Edward sort of stumbles into it through circumstances and life experiences (I like Maria’s Pilgrim’s Progress analogy). But Stuart is also on a journey. He discovers that even while trying to negate himself he becomes a focus for enchantment (for Midge at least) and potential pain.
I find the comments about Thomas enlightening. Knowing Murdoch’s ambivalence about psychotherapy and her portrayal of therapists in earlier novels, I wasn’t sure whether I could trust his somewhat intrusive methods, though they seem in some ways to have helped Edward. But possibly by flaying him? I like Liz’s comparison of Thomas to N, a sort of kindly orchestrator, and I also agree with Maria that he partakes of the enchanter. But we are certainly a far cry from Palmer Anderson in A Severed Head. In these later novels and certainly in this one, the characters are multi-faceted and more gently characterized.
I have only read this novel once before, when it first came out, and I remembered mainly the first scene, the dancing at Seegard, and the father-artist figure. At the time I thought of it as a city novel that suddenly turned into The Unicorn. This time reading it I felt that it combined the openness characteristic of her later novels with some of the more formal tightness of the earlier novels. Quite an achievement!
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Maria Peacock
Aug 31, 2019 @ 17:32:13
The comparisons of the two commencing chapters of The Good Apprentice and The Philosopher’s Pupil are really interesting. In these two novels Iris Murdoch certainly pulls you in, but I had never noticed the similarities, and like Peter I find Edward a much more sympathetic character than George, and because Edward is young one feels there is hope for him.
I do wonder who the Good Apprentice is – I think both Edward and Stuart are in their own way -or is there another meaning about the apprentice to the Good? If so the title could apply to most of the characters.
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Maria Peacock
Aug 31, 2019 @ 17:34:12
Also, Peter, the idea of psychiatry by flaying is a powerful image!
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Liz Dexter
Sep 01, 2019 @ 17:24:28
Thank you for your comments on your re-reading, which of course I find hugely valuable. And the points about the rehabilitations of George and Edward are apt. I prefer Edward, too, perhaps because he’s younger and hasn’t been allowed to grow into such a monster.
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“The Good Apprentice” round-up and “The Book and the Brotherhood” preview #IMReadalong @IrisMurdoch | Adventures in reading, running and working from home
Aug 31, 2019 @ 10:01:18
Ruth
Sep 06, 2019 @ 14:04:11
I very much enjoyed your review. I read this book 24 years ago and could only remember the beginning with Mark’s death and that two people in it had an affair. I remember not liking it much when I first read it but I think that was because I hadn’t really made any attempt to try and understand it.
However I very much enjoyed it this time around and I liked Edward very much as a character, although I became quite fond of Stuart too. I enjoyed the them of redemption and it’s treatment too. My favourite part was definitely the confrontation at Seegaurd and I couldn’t put the book down! I look forward to reading more Iris Murdoch very soon.
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Liz Dexter
Sep 06, 2019 @ 14:33:06
Thank you for your comments and it’s interesting to see how your feelings have changed on the book between your two readings. I was more fond of Stuart than of Edward but yes, that pivotal scene at Seegard, you can’t stop reading it!
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Ruth
Sep 07, 2019 @ 14:41:24
Thank you Liz. I forgot to say that I read it the first time around for a university course. I was doing a combined degree majoring in theology and religious studies and this book was required reading for the religion and literature module. It was a great course and one of the themes of the module was redemption which is very much a theme in this book, which I suppose is why the lecturer chose it! I very much enjoyed the religious themes in this book, particularly the ideas about goodness and redemption. A great book.
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Liz Dexter
Sep 07, 2019 @ 17:20:56
That’s such an interesting reason for first reading her – well done to your tutor!
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John P. Houghton
Jan 02, 2020 @ 09:58:36
There are such amazing reviews. Like Joanne, I really enjoyed the scenes at Seegard. Perhaps it was the popularity of magic realism when she was developing as a writer, that Murdoch is so adept at creating environments that are both very recognisable, even homely, and unsettling, troubling at the same time. Creating an ‘uncanny valley’ type relationship between characters and the reader, or this reader at least.
The outlandish of the plot also works for the same reason. Keeping her characters constantly off-balance, she can explore their mindsets and behaviours in ways that a more realist plot wouldn’t allow. Did Edward really see a girl levitating in a forest? Was the seance – on a dingy side street near Fitzroy Square – really the site of a supernatural visitation?
A late-career Murdoch classic.
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Liz Dexter
Jan 02, 2020 @ 10:09:54
That’s a good point. There are varying degrees of magic in a lot of the novels, aren’t there – even up to UFOs. I think you’re right about the way she keeps the characters off-balance.
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graeme
May 14, 2022 @ 20:52:37
I’ve come back to your review a number of times over the past weeks. I think I could become obsessed with this novel. Thank you for your work. It was something of a relief to find out that the need to draw a family tree with all the connections wasn’t a personal flaw of mine!
I’ve enjoyed reading the comments too. I’ve two things to add. After reading The Good Apprentice I happened to listen to the audio book of Dominion, Tom Holland’s history of the Christian Church. In his Preface he says that despite his lack of faith he has learned to accept that his worldview is neither Greek nor Roman but Christian. That I think, is the problem that Stuart runs into; that as an individual he has no route back to The (Platonic) Good because the philosophical structure in which he acts and makes assumptions are distinctively Christian. Secondly, there is the problem of Stuart’s apprenticeship. He might be apprenticed to goodness but without a Master how does he learn his trade of being good? There’s Arthur and Merlin, Walter and Hans Sachs, the Angel and the shoemaker in the Tolstoy short story; and maybe I’m missing something but how can Stuart complete his apprenticeship, if he is even in an apprenticeship? I don’t know how, or if, Murdoch resolves that in other novels or her philosophy but I’ve bought The Nice and The Good, as well as Sovereignty of the Good to make a start. I will definitely come back to read your review of that novel once I’m finished reading the book. Thanks again.
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Liz Dexter
May 15, 2022 @ 06:36:44
Thank you for taking the time to join the discussion. Your point on the Platonic and Christian is interesting and of course now is the point where I recommend you read all the novels in order to see how Murdoch’s position on religion and spirituality changes (especially with regard to Buddhism). You might well enjoy “The Message to the Planet”, about an unlikely Messiah figure, or “The Time of the Angels” which is about the death of God / belief. But also “The Nice and the Good” is an excellent meditation on how to be good. I think regarding Stuart’s apprenticeship, he’s sort of apprenticed to the varied voices of the chorus of characters, seeing where he can take ways of being as models, if that makes sense. Only one interpretation, though. Enjoy your next reads!
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