Sustained Criticism

Murdoch is magical when she is at her best: a hundred pages can pass, and I sit with bated breath. Looking up only when the spell is broken and it is no longer as wonderful. Mischa's party for instance – still in The Flight from the Enchanter – kept me so wrapped up I didn't hear mum telling me, four times, dinner was ready. She has what Nabokov called shamanstvo, "the enchanter quality". The Sea, the Sea had the same thing. These occasional, brilliant, breath-taking scenes. It's just that there is so much in-between I have to force myself to take interest in.

I have a somewhat ambivalent relationship with the writings of one Iris Murdoch, after reading her The Sea, The Sea, which, I thought, dealing with a withdrawn, middle-aged actor, I was bound to love. It ended with a rant to some friend; so heartfelt I got the sympathy of our principal (we happened to walk by her, the ending was the most anticlimatic I have ecountered). She is incredibly famous, and supposedly writes fantastically. And she had her moments in The Sea, The Sea, despite the ending. So I decided I had to give her another chance.

The Flight from the Enchanter is the story of four people, all entangled in some way with Mischa Fox. Annette spent her final moments at school swinging from a chandelier; Rainborough works at the most ridiculous company, called SELIB – terribly satirical –, and is in love with his artificial Personal Assistant; Rosa gives herself unconditionally to two Polish brothers; Peter is an insane, but very enjoyable academic; Hunter tries to make a living, editing a long-dead feminist magazine. It is, apparently, her second novel, which might, or might not, account for a few things. Though I don't know her style well enough to say anything about it in relation to her other works. It is episodic, some episodes almost separate. Until I remember some earlier scene, where they met in Peter's rooms. The descriptions are vivid, put run on at times. But they are largely interesting, with the exception of Annette. Too naïve, too safe, and too overdone. Sadly, she seems very well-wrought, so I can't really fault Murdoch for her.

Murdoch and I had a heartfelt high-brow-wannabe moment earlier. She exemplified something or other with plebeians, marxism and Rousseau. Perhaps she turns out all right, this time?

And why is it unheard of to publish in summer? Am I the only one that suddenly has all the time in the world to catch up on forgotten books?