The Sea, the Sea by Iris Murdoch is an excellent novel, despite its weaknesses.
Its main weakness is in the eye of the beholder, and cannot be laid at the doorstep of the author: the story is too psychological, for my taste. And within that drawback nested I find another deficit: the author is obsessed with "love", especially the interplay of bonded and domineering "love", "love" as bondage and "love" as dominance. To be sure, Murdoch's psychological portraits are entirely credible and superbly developed. However, she is dealing with the kind of conflict that I find uninteresting because it is silly and immature, and normally amenable to exclusion from the life of someone put off by such excessive dependencies. You turn away and the problem is gone. Unless your temperament condemns you to such an unfortunate fate.
The main character, Charles, claims to never have loved a woman except his playmate of childhood days and adolescence. He keeps searching for her unsuccessfully throughout his life, until he finds her coincidentally as he withdraws for retirement to a little village by the sea.
The unlikely reunion sends Charles on a madcap chase for the long-since married, rather withdrawn and unresponsive darling of his days of youth.
The unlikely reunion sends Charles on a madcap chase for the long-since married, rather withdrawn and unresponsive darling of his days of youth.
Personally, I find it unconvincing that a man like Charles, who commands an extensive experience with a large number of female lovers, could retain the naive and idealistic expectations of an adolescent concerning a relationship with a woman.
But the preferences of my imagination and experience do not diminish the book's quality and credibility.
But the preferences of my imagination and experience do not diminish the book's quality and credibility.
The second, and only objective weakness of the book concerns flaws that Murdoch is to be accused of in her capacity as a literary craftswoman.
At certain junctures of the story, and in fact quite frequently, she is too quick to make her characters appear in the limelight of the unfolding story. Suddenly three or four persons just happen to turn up at the remote sea resort, in incredibly dense succession and all conveniently smitten with Charles, whose house by the sea is thereby quite literally turned into a stage eagerly admitting any character useful in advancing the plot's dynamic.
At certain junctures of the story, and in fact quite frequently, she is too quick to make her characters appear in the limelight of the unfolding story. Suddenly three or four persons just happen to turn up at the remote sea resort, in incredibly dense succession and all conveniently smitten with Charles, whose house by the sea is thereby quite literally turned into a stage eagerly admitting any character useful in advancing the plot's dynamic.
These flaws (standing out mostly in the first half of the book) are annoying, because, their marginal significance notwithstanding, they destroy the exquisite authenticity of the novel, reminding one disappointingly that one is not taking part in the goings-on of real life but reading fiction. This is regrettable as Murdoch has a remarkable ability to create the illusion of authenticity, which is one of the greatest qualities a novel can have, and it is one of the hardest effects to achieve by an author.
II. Denouement and Assessment
At any rate, after a while one gets used to the rashness by which characters are being produced, and from a certain point on, the cast is complete and their entrance ceases to have a feel of incongruence. All characters are well developed and wonderfully enmeshed in a net of excellent dialogue and felicitous soliloquy.
The action is suspenseful (will Hartley return to her first love? Is her husband going to kill Charles? etc,). The scenes are very capably set up, with appropriate economy. The reading is mostly even and fluid.
All in all, I feel, Murdoch is doing the subject matter — encountering a long lost first love — full justice. Paradoxically, this is the problem with the book.
The ultimate finding, to which Murdoch faithfully guides us, is one of disillusionment, of course. Anticipating the emotional malinvestment underlying the main narrative driver, occasionally, I have felt somewhat impatient with the exaggerated expectations of Charles', and, indeed, toward the end of the novel, my impatience is vindicated. The story comprises an awfully long investment in suspense and a sudden anti-climax that does not seem to justify the long build-up. But such is the nature of the topic.
Murdoch has done a commendable job, but to little avail, other than having produced fine entertainment. While she portrays the psychology of Charles' exaggerated hope very well, no one in his position will be be diverted from their errant course by bookish wisdom, but only by manifest disappointment. There are no foolproof manuals for falling in love.
The fact that I have thoroughly enjoyed reading "The Sea, the Sea," is not compromised when I suggest Murdoch's purpose may have been achieved by a writer of her class perhaps even more effectively if she had limited the platform to 200 pages instead of 430.
See also Iris Murdoch — Freedom, Patterns, and Love.
PS
Interestingly, the website of Booker Prize misrepresents the novel, which was awarded the prize in 1978 [my comments in brackets]:
At any rate, after a while one gets used to the rashness by which characters are being produced, and from a certain point on, the cast is complete and their entrance ceases to have a feel of incongruence. All characters are well developed and wonderfully enmeshed in a net of excellent dialogue and felicitous soliloquy.
The action is suspenseful (will Hartley return to her first love? Is her husband going to kill Charles? etc,). The scenes are very capably set up, with appropriate economy. The reading is mostly even and fluid.
All in all, I feel, Murdoch is doing the subject matter — encountering a long lost first love — full justice. Paradoxically, this is the problem with the book.
The ultimate finding, to which Murdoch faithfully guides us, is one of disillusionment, of course. Anticipating the emotional malinvestment underlying the main narrative driver, occasionally, I have felt somewhat impatient with the exaggerated expectations of Charles', and, indeed, toward the end of the novel, my impatience is vindicated. The story comprises an awfully long investment in suspense and a sudden anti-climax that does not seem to justify the long build-up. But such is the nature of the topic.
Murdoch has done a commendable job, but to little avail, other than having produced fine entertainment. While she portrays the psychology of Charles' exaggerated hope very well, no one in his position will be be diverted from their errant course by bookish wisdom, but only by manifest disappointment. There are no foolproof manuals for falling in love.
The fact that I have thoroughly enjoyed reading "The Sea, the Sea," is not compromised when I suggest Murdoch's purpose may have been achieved by a writer of her class perhaps even more effectively if she had limited the platform to 200 pages instead of 430.
See also Iris Murdoch — Freedom, Patterns, and Love.
PS
Interestingly, the website of Booker Prize misrepresents the novel, which was awarded the prize in 1978 [my comments in brackets]:
Charles Arrowby, leading light of England’s theatrical set, retires from glittering London to an isolated home by the sea. He plans to write a memoir about his great love affair with Clement Makin [who has virtually no significance to the story!], his mentor both professionally and personally [the memoir is not intended to be confined to that relationship!], and to amuse himself with Lizzie [to the contrary, he tries to keep her away!], an actress he has strung along for many years. None of his plans work out, and his memoir evolves into a riveting chronicle of the strange events and unexpected visitors – some real, some spectral [spectral allusions are minimal!] – that disrupt his world and shake his oversized ego to its very core.
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