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A review by kiwikathleen
The Sea, the Sea by Iris Murdoch
I told a friend that I was waiting for this book to come in at the library, and she told me she had a copy and she'd loan it to me. Of course I said, "Great, thanks!" but inside I was thinking "Oh dear", because I actually wasn't expecting to enjoy it, and she has literary pretensions that I don't (e.g. despite being a New Zealander born and bred, she doesn't read NZ fiction because she thinks we're not up to standard. This snobbery, of course, is what my generation and our parents' generation were brought up with, and it's sad that it still exists (but not, happily, in such great numbers any more)). Now, I read a number of Iris Murdoch's novels when I was at secondary school (the year I was 15) and I honestly can't remember if I liked them or not. What I do remember was my mother being concerned that I was reading them - "Iris Murdoch is so gloomy," she said - and I certainly haven't read any in between then and now. But for some reason I had put this book on my to-read list.
Well, I read it. And today I returned it to my friend. She asked me (as I knew she would) what I thought of it. I had decided to be honest, and if she thought lesser of me then so be it. But her tone of voice, in the asking, reassured me, and when I said "Er", and did that hand wobble thing you do when you mean that something was so-so, she agreed. She even said she was so glad that I felt the same as her.
So, why do we - two 60-something (closer to 70, in truth), reasonably well-educated and well-read women - give this Booker Prize Winning novel (oh yes, that's why I put it on my to-read list - I thought I ought to tackle all of the winners) a less than resounding review? It's quite simple really - we didn't like the man. Not liking him meant we really were not interested in his life and his obsessions. We thought the descriptive prose was excellent. We found the setting really interesting. But we just didn't like the narrator, nor most of the people he talked about and communicated with. My friend said, "Maybe that's why I never really like Iris Murdoch - none of her characters are likable." For me, I'm pleased to have read it but I didn't like it. And that's that.
Well, I read it. And today I returned it to my friend. She asked me (as I knew she would) what I thought of it. I had decided to be honest, and if she thought lesser of me then so be it. But her tone of voice, in the asking, reassured me, and when I said "Er", and did that hand wobble thing you do when you mean that something was so-so, she agreed. She even said she was so glad that I felt the same as her.
So, why do we - two 60-something (closer to 70, in truth), reasonably well-educated and well-read women - give this Booker Prize Winning novel (oh yes, that's why I put it on my to-read list - I thought I ought to tackle all of the winners) a less than resounding review? It's quite simple really - we didn't like the man. Not liking him meant we really were not interested in his life and his obsessions. We thought the descriptive prose was excellent. We found the setting really interesting. But we just didn't like the narrator, nor most of the people he talked about and communicated with. My friend said, "Maybe that's why I never really like Iris Murdoch - none of her characters are likable." For me, I'm pleased to have read it but I didn't like it. And that's that.