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A review by aegagrus
The Book and the Brotherhood by Iris Murdoch
2.75
The Book and the Brotherhood is a novel about longing for impossible relationships. In the penultimate scene, Gerard's inner monologue makes it explicit. We crave security; we imagine those who love us can bestow it. We want to possess others, but we do not want to be possessed ourselves. The relationships here never are never quite friendly, or loving, or hostile. They are, however, desperate. This is not an endorsement of loneliness, but a story about dependency. Our need for other people is volatile and dangerous and dysfunctional. It is also, suggests Murdoch, all there really is.
In executing this central theme, Murdoch is reasonably effective. Her philosophical background is on full display here; she reveals an uncommon grasp of how humans think. The distance between ourselves and the physical world. The private languages we use, with ourselves and with others. Some of the relationships, however, are more compelling than others. Gerard and Jenkin's relationship feels quite rich and believable. Jean and Crimond's relationship does not. This is partly because Murdoch uses Crimond as an archetype of the inscrutable "other", the only central character for whom close third person is never deployed. Just as Jenkin fantasizes about South America, others fantasize about Crimond. Still, it is not Crimond who ends up as the inscrutable element, but those he enthralls. Though these relationships feel urgent and genuine, they lack the others' psychological nuance and essential legibility, which becomes a problem. The gestures towards political and religious themes are similarly disappointing. I was not expecting a particularly robust deconstruction, because ideologies here are mostly a stand-in; their magnetism and power is akin to that of those we long for, or long to revile. This parallel is interesting, but integrated into the main body of the novel in a somewhat awkward half-hearted way; the novel seems to be clumsily purporting to be offering more of an exploration of these ideas in-themselves than it is (or than is even necessary).
Finally, the novel feels bloated. Murdoch demonstrates quite a knack for dramatic pacing in the most plot-driven section, which falls roughly midway through the book. The more introspective beginning and end, while by no means incompetent, contain much that feels superfluous. One is left with the impression that a trimmer (and more consistent) version of this material would leave more of an impact.
In executing this central theme, Murdoch is reasonably effective. Her philosophical background is on full display here; she reveals an uncommon grasp of how humans think. The distance between ourselves and the physical world. The private languages we use, with ourselves and with others. Some of the relationships, however, are more compelling than others. Gerard and Jenkin's relationship feels quite rich and believable. Jean and Crimond's relationship does not. This is partly because Murdoch uses Crimond as an archetype of the inscrutable "other", the only central character for whom close third person is never deployed. Just as Jenkin fantasizes about South America, others fantasize about Crimond. Still, it is not Crimond who ends up as the inscrutable element, but those he enthralls. Though these relationships feel urgent and genuine, they lack the others' psychological nuance and essential legibility, which becomes a problem. The gestures towards political and religious themes are similarly disappointing. I was not expecting a particularly robust deconstruction, because ideologies here are mostly a stand-in; their magnetism and power is akin to that of those we long for, or long to revile. This parallel is interesting, but integrated into the main body of the novel in a somewhat awkward half-hearted way; the novel seems to be clumsily purporting to be offering more of an exploration of these ideas in-themselves than it is (or than is even necessary).
Finally, the novel feels bloated. Murdoch demonstrates quite a knack for dramatic pacing in the most plot-driven section, which falls roughly midway through the book. The more introspective beginning and end, while by no means incompetent, contain much that feels superfluous. One is left with the impression that a trimmer (and more consistent) version of this material would leave more of an impact.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Death of parent, Grief, Suicidal thoughts, and Suicide attempt
Moderate: Abortion, Adult/minor relationship, Car accident, Emotional abuse, Gun violence, and Pregnancy
Minor: Alcoholism and Domestic abuse