“People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.”
- Iris Murdoch
A recent trip to the big city found me, at the end of an eventful day, casting about for something to read. What landed on my lap was Iris Murdoch’s novel, The Sea, the Sea.
I love the way she repeats, she repeats.
Seriously, it’s this kind of detail that lends a particular longing to a title, a delicious hint as to what awaits the reader. Alas, I was more tired than I thought; I opened the book, read a few pages, and then my eyelids slammed shut. The next few days were busy, and at the end of each of them, I was too tired to read.
Until I boarded the plane home, when I opened the book and re-read the first few pages of what promises to be a most gratifying reading experience. This is my first Iris Murdoch novel, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. Murdoch’s prose and her word-paintings of the sea, of which I have a particular fondness, are arresting.
“Played out against a vividly rendered landscape and filled with allusions to myth and magic, Charles’s confrontation with the tidal rips of forgiveness is one of Murdoch’s most moving and powerful tales.”
I see, I see.