When Charles steps decisively over into reality, though, and kidnaps Hartley, the tone changes: he comes up against a level of living, of sheer, mysterious ordinariness he knows nothing about. Her marriage may be stuffy, changeless, tasteless, even unhappy, but it’s real, and Charles can only eavesdrop on it, obscenely, like a Peeping Tom. Iris Murdoch (1919-1999) studied at Oxford and Cambridge, and was a fellow of St. Anne's College, Oxford.

How fortunate we are to be food-consuming animals. Every meal should be a treat and one ought to bless every day which brings with it a good digestion and the precious gift of hunger.” Esta fue mi segunda inmersión en el universo Murdoch y, sin resultar tan gratificante como la primera (El libro y la hermandad), volvió a ser un gran placer: la misma calidad, la misma inteligencia. La diferencia entre ambas experiencias creo que reside en que la historia de esta me ha interesado menos o, quizás, que Murdoch la ha estirado en demasía. The book is his memoir-cum-diary-cum-novel of a few eventful months at Shruff End. He bumps into his childhood sweetheart, Mary Hartley, who had disappeared in their teens. Cue quests, plots, reminiscences, and theatrical friends and ex lovers, plus mysterious cousin James, dropping in at crucial moments. There’s also incarceration, attempted murder, near death experiences, actual death, missing - and found - persons, possible supernatural events, a sea monster, and some strange meals. He has bought a place by the sea -- Shruff End, "upon a small promontory" --, hoping to abandon his old world and life.Of course the water is very cold, but after a few seconds it seems to coat the body in a kind of warm silvery skin, as if one had acquired the scales of a merman. The challenged blood rejoices with a new strength. Yes, this is my natural element.” The most embarrassing of his apparitions is a Loch Ness-style sea monster fainting in coils; the most unlikely his first and lost love, now a shy, lumpy 60-year-old who turns out to be living in a twee bungalow round the corner with her equally substantial husband.

Those who want to be saved,” wrote Iris Murdoch in her book on Plato, “should look at the stars and talk philosophy, not write or go to the theatre.” Arrowby attempts to kidnap Mary, but his efforts fail farcically and Mary ends up rejecting him completely. Mary's son, Titus, inexplicably moves in with Arrowby and his life begins to regain composure until one drunken night. On the night in question, Arrowby is pushed into the sea. He is rescued, but only to find out that Titus has drowned. So how does this novel, written 36 years ago now, hold up? Surprisingly well, actually. It is not as dated as one might expect, perhaps since the "luvvie" actor types of personality which the author renders so accurately are, unfortunately, timeless. Of course the flow of writing, that particular style, is of its time. During the 1960s and 70s there was much interest in self-development and a search for meaning. The prevailing attitude, especially amongst the young, was that there was a purpose in finding a new approach to leading a good life. There seemed to be all the time in the world for such introspection. The Western world was not as concerned with acquisitiveness, and appearances, as it is now. Increasingly more people were searching for a deeper meaning, a significance, which would lead to a knowledge of one's purpose in life. What a queer gamble our existence is. We decide to do A instead of B and then the two roads diverge utterly and may lead in the end to heaven and to hell. Only later one sees how much and how awfully the fates differ. Yet what were the reasons for the choice? They may have been forgotten. Did one know what one was choosing? Certainly not.”

I struggled with this for a while, mainly because I was so irritated by Charles Arrowby, the main character and unreliable narrator. Arrowby is a retired actor, director and playwright who has moved to a remote cottage by the sea and is tentatively writing his memoirs. Whole successions of characters, many of them former lovers, arrive and depart and Charles encounters his first love Hartley who has also retired to the area with her husband. I suppose you must be Titus," I said. "I am very much in love with your mother and would like to adopt you." At this point, he starts to get the queasy feeling Iris Murdoch’s egotistical characters all dread: “I had lost control of my life and of the lives with which I was meddling … I had awakened some sleeping demon, set going some deadly machine.”