| Title | : | The Unicorn |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 014002476X |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9780140024760 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 270 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1963 |
The Unicorn Reviews
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Una institutriz llega al castillo en el que vive prisionera una hermosa princesa rodeada de una curiosa corte y enmarcado en un entorno amenazador de elevados acantilados y ciénagas traicioneras. Un planteamiento de otra época enmarcado en los años 50-60 del siglo pasado.“[la institutriz] Recordó lo que le habían contado acerca de que tenía sangre de hada, y no supo discernir si el mundo donde ella había vivido era un mundo de bondad o de maldad; un mundo donde el sufrimiento poseía significado o un mundo que no era más que una travesura del diablo, una pesadilla violenta”.
Al igual que Mariam Taylor, la institutriz que llega al castillo arrastrada por el deseo de dar un giro a su vida, terminé perplejo la lectura de esta inaudita y extravagante historia. Como me dijo una querida amiga, cada escena tomada de forma individual nos revela algo que podemos discernir, algo interesante, bello o sugerente. El problema viene cuando queremos abarcar el conjunto, cuando queremos desentrañar las relaciones y actuaciones cruzadas de estos personajes que muchas veces nos llegan a parecer inverosímiles, quizás porque se comportan más como ideas o símbolos que como personas de carne y hueso. Y a lo mejor este es el punto fuerte del libro, provocarnos este desconcierto, dejarnos con nuestros propios fantasmas, sin guías ni indicaciones, obligarnos a darle sentido, nuestro sentido.
Hannah es la representación del sentimiento de culpa que, como se dice en cierto momento de la novela, la mantiene prisionera de sí misma, y de la cual intenta redimirse a través del sufrimiento. Un sacrificio que parece tener embrujados a todos los habitantes del castillo que ven en ella el bien, la pureza y la rareza del unicornio.“Ella es nuestra representación de la importancia del sufrimiento”
Todo gira en torno a ella. Sin embargo, son los dos elementos foráneos, los dos individuos que se introducen en la enrarecida atmósfera del castillo, Mariam y el enamorado de Hannan, Effingham Cooper, los encargados de abrir y cerrar la historia, detonar la tragedia y salir de ella transformados. Ambos son incapaces de aceptar la realidad a la que se ha resignado Hannah, se rebelan ante todos aquellos que la mantienen en tal realidad y se resisten a creer que ella la haya aceptado libremente.“¿La libertad? ¡Estúpida libertad! La libertad puede ser un valor en la política, pero no en la moral. La verdad sí. Pero no la libertad. Es una idea absurda, como la felicidad. En términos de moral, todos somos prisioneros, pero nuestra cura no es la libertad.”
Y también de esto trata la novela, de la dificultad de tomar a las personas tal como son, de aceptar sus elecciones y de la necesidad que nos empuja a intervenir en sus vidas con el peligro que todo ello conlleva. Como dice otro de los personajes, Max, en cierta manera también exterior a la atmósfera del castillo y quizás el único que entendió a Hannah y lo que ella representaba:“La gente tiene que sobrevivir y siempre inventa un modo de hacerlo, de ver tolerable su situación. Cuando Hannah podría haber sobrevivido odiándolos a todos, o estallando y haciendo todo pedazos, escogió volverse religiosa.”
Siempre me ha intrigado esa para mí corrupta relación entre religión y sufrimiento. El culto a los mártires, el uso de cilicios y otros instrumentos de autotortura, los sacrificios con los que traficamos las ayudas que precisamos de nuestro dios. Pero no seré yo el que demonice el placer que no dudo que la gente encuentra en esta perversión, cada uno con sus cosas.
Pero no es solo el sufrimiento, también el amor, sea cual sea su objeto, es otro de los grandes temas de la novela, y con él muchos de los conceptos con los que puede venir asociado: sumisión, celos, poder, deseo, libertad, odio, felicidad, egoísmo, sexo, destino, miedo…“Hannah era como nosotros. Amaba lo que no estaba allí, lo lejano. Eso puede ser peligroso. No se atrevía a amar lo que sí estaba presente. Quizá hubiera sido mejor que lo hubiera hecho. No podía amar de veras a la gente a la que veía, no se lo podía permitir, eso habría hecho demasiado dolorosas las limitaciones de su vida. Por ellas, no podía transformar en manejable la idea del amor, que persistió como algo destructivo y temible y por lo tanto ella se limitó a evitarla.”
Una novela que no defraudará a los que como yo aman a esta autora y a sus sugerentes, enigmáticos y siempre encantadoramente presentados dilemas morales y filosóficos.
“Eso, entonces, era el amor: mirar y mirar hasta que uno deja de existir. Eso era el amor, que era lo mismo que la muerte. Miró y supo con una claridad que fue una con la creciente luz, que con la muerte del yo el mundo se convertía de inmediato en objeto de un amor perfecto.”“Hay cosas que son aterradoras para los jóvenes porque creen que la vida tiene que estar llena de felicidad y libertad. Pero en realidad en la vida no hay felicidad y libertad, no de un modo hermoso. La felicidad es una cosa frágil y miserable, y puede que libertad no signifique nada. Existen grandes normas que se nos aplican a todos, y destinos que nos corresponden y que amamos incluso cuando nos destruyen.”
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Like a mix of PG Wodehouse and English country house mystery on West End stage, with religious symbolism (unicorn=purity) thrown in. Unsettlingly creepy, but subtle and thought-provoking.
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En clara imitación u homenaje a la estética literaria gótica, Iris Murdoch elabora una apasionante trama de misterio e intriga mezclando en ella, aún no tengo claro si con acierto o desatino, distintos elementos sobrenaturales o fabulescos que giran en torno a una escalofriante mansión victoriana y sus indescriptibles inquilinos. A dicha propiedad, enclavada en un desolador paisaje repleto de rocas escarpadas, acantilados, ciénagas cubiertas de mortífera vegetación y monumentos megalíticos de aspecto sombrío, llega Marian Taylor, una mujer a punto de cumplir la treintena y recién salida de un descalabro sentimental que, atendiendo a un anuncio en el periódico, espera servir allí como institutriz. Sin embargo, al llegar descubre que sus expectativas no se ajustan del todo a la realidad y, en lugar de niños, a quien se encargará de instruir en diversas disciplinas es a la dueña del castillo, Hannah, mujer de aspecto atormentado y un tanto esotérico sobre la cual pesa un inquietante clima de fatalidad.
A medida que Marian se familiariza con el entorno opresivo y amenazante del castillo iremos conociendo también a los distintos miembros del servicio, seres tan fascinantes como caricaturescos que irán desvelando de manera progresiva la terrible historia del lugar (infidelidades y tentativas de asesinato incluidas), así como sus consecuencias devastadoras. Dominada por la palpitante fascinación que ejerce sobre ella la dueña de la casa, Marian pronto se verá empujada a trazar un plan descabellado para liberar a Hannah de su confinamiento y descargarla de los pesares que la atenazan por sus errores cometidos en el pasado. A partir de ese momento, la novela desemboca en una espiral de acontecimientos marcados por violentas pasiones y arrebatos de una fiereza inusitada.
Sin perder nunca el control de los hilos que entretejen la trama, Iris Murdoch transforma a sus personajes en elementos de una epopeya moral y filosófica donde conceptos como el amor, el bien y el mal, el deseo, la culpa, el arrepentimiento y la expiación son sometidos al juicioso examen de diversas interpretaciones, fundamentalmente la cristiana y la platónica. Lejos de inducir al tedio (su manejo de la tensión narrativa es poco menos que envidiable), Murdoch incita tanto a la reflexión como a la perplejidad, conduciendo a sus personajes por un camino descendente hacia la rendición absoluta del raciocinio en el que Hannah, ese unicornio luminoso y aterrador que carga con los pecados de toda la humanidad, ejerce el papel de figura central.
La prosa atmosférica, envolvente y por momentos mística de Murdoch contribuye de manera esencial al éxito de una historia que en manos de un escritor menos experimentado se derrumbaría sin ninguna duda por sus excesos, inverosimilitudes y paroxismos narrativos. Afortunadamente, no es el caso de El unicornio, novela que sobresale por su arrebatadora aunque peculiar personalidad. No es ni mucho menos una novela cómoda, ordinaria o sujeta a una lectura unívoca, sino todo lo contrario: una obra excepcional que debe ser entendida como lo que su propio nombre indica. La rara, hipnótica y radiante criatura legendaria de Iris Murdoch. -
Llevo pensando en esta novela desde que la terminé, buscándole el sentido, un mensaje, intentando encontrar una explicación a toda la historia. Pero no me ha sido posible, y ahora creo que precisamente es esto lo realmente valioso e interesante de la lectura: que principalmente me ha planteado preguntas. Me parece una muy buena novela, por esto y por la prosa de Murdoch, por su fascinante capacidad para intrigar y desconcertar con el misterio y los temas que propone de manera algo “rocambolesca” (algunos muy relacionados con mis propias obsesiones), pero que a mí me ha resultado, si no realista, sí verosímil, al menos en un plano teórico. Es además un libro que guardaré siempre como un objeto muy especial en mi estantería.
Ella nunca había sabido realmente cómo vivir, nunca había sido capaz de desplegar su personalidad; y la sociedad en que había vivido hasta entonces no la había ayudado.
...después de Geoffrey, ella había encontrado su vida tan vacía y su trabajo tan amargo que el antiguo, y solo comprendido a medias, deseo de algo más había crecido hasta convertirse en el frenesí que la espoleó a partir y que ella tanto había agradecido y hasta admirado.
Marian Taylor llega al castillo de Gaze, buscando no sabe bien qué, para ser institutriz la de Hannah, una mujer que vive enclaustrada. Pero, ¿qué es ese algo que creo que todos, en mayor o menor medida, buscamos casi siempre sin resultado?, ¿algo externo o interno?, ¿dónde y cómo buscarlo?, ¿cómo seremos capaces de identificar nuestros propios deseos mientras no sabemos quiénes somos realmente? Eso que buscamos, ¿existe realmente?
Al llegar a Gaze, la atmósfera es extraña, típica de historia gótica, pero hay más: algo falla, sus habitantes nos son extraños, quizás porque no son personas. Son conceptos. No quiero desvelar nada del misterio que se presenta, por lo que me voy a limitar a dejar aquí cuestiones que me ha ido planteando la historia, y que quizás no tengan mucho sentido para el que no la conozca. Hannah, el unicornio, es el centro, el personaje alrededor del que giran todos los demás, un enigma, ¿por qué vive así? (¿actuamos como los demás necesitan que actuemos, somos esclavos de las expectativas de los demás?).
La culpa, el castigo: Una especie de rendición subyacía en ellos. Qué tipo de rendición, qué tipo de resignación, era algo que él no llegaba a precisar: si ella se había rendido ante Peter o ante el deber o ante Dios o ante una loca fantasía personal; si en ella residía una gran virtud o un notable vicio. Porque sin duda se trataba de algo extremo, algo que, empezaba Effingham a pensar cada vez con mayor insistencia, él no debía perturbar con endebles ideas de felicidad.
En ausencia de culpa, ¿podemos aceptar el castigo como un simple deber? Ante la culpa, ¿elegiríamos el castigo como solución, como elemento liberador?, ¿no es ya la culpa el castigo, la mayoría de las veces?, ¿puede el sufrimiento ser un consuelo?, ¿no deja entonces de ser el castigo un castigo?, ¿es el sufrimiento autoimpuesto una forma retorcida de felicidad y libertad?, ¿existen, en la práctica, la felicidad y la libertad?, ¿es aceptable tratar de imponer nuestro ideal de libertad y felicidad a otros?, ¿es válido rescatar al que no quiere ser rescatado, perturbar su paz?, ¿lo hacemos por el bien del que creemos encarcelado, es un acto de egoísmo, todo a la vez?
El amor, lo real y la ficción: En cierta forma no puedes amar algo que no existe. Yo creo que si amas de verdad, entonces ese algo existe.
¿Proyectamos en el objeto de nuestro amor nuestros deseos? (¿es esto, para los creyentes, aplicable a Dios?), ¿amamos al otro o amamos lo que imaginamos que el otro es?, ¿queremos conocer su realidad o preferimos seguir amando a la idea? Si amamos la idea, ¿amamos en realidad a alguien?, ¿podemos realmente amar a alguien a quien preferimos no conocer del todo?, ¿es posible amar a alguien con quien nos ponemos una máscara?, ¿es posible amar a alguien que sabemos que lleva esa máscara puesta? Y al revés, ¿realmente nos aman aquellas personas ante las que no nos mostramos como realmente somos?
El poder que ejercemos siempre sobre los demás, el sufrimiento: Las víctimas del poder, y todo poder tiene sus víctimas, se ven afectadas de sufrimiento. Tienen entonces que traspasarlo, ejercer poder sobre otros.
...carecer de poder, ser una completa víctima, puede ser otra fuente de poder. ¿Existe el bien absoluto, la falta absoluta de poder? El bien como fin del traspaso de sufrimiento: un ser puro que solo sufre y no intenta traspasar el sufrimiento.
¿Se elige sufrir? Si es así, ¿no hay algo egoísta en elegir, simplemente, sufrir?, ¿no es siempre sufrir hacer sufrir a los que nos rodean?, ¿no es por tanto ya el mero hecho de sufrir traspasar sufrimiento?
Pero, ¿realmente puede haber mal en el sufrimiento? El sufrimiento no es algo de lo que avergonzarse. Es natural. Lo conlleva formar parte de la naturaleza.
Esta lectura ha sido por lo tanto una reflexión constante, sobre cuestiones que no tienen solución, o a las que cada uno daremos una respuesta diferente.
Puede que le parezcamos un poco raros al comienzo, pero pronto encontrará un sitio entre nosotros. -
I love this book so much, but don't know what to make of it at all. It really is very like a unicorn itself: you try to explain it and you just sound crazy. How seriously should you take it? And yet is it not the very most serious thing that ever was?
This is my first Murdoch. I'm reading her because I read an interesting article recently that suggested that she and I have some overlapping ideas about morality. Reading this book, I suspect it's more than that. We have some overlapping and intersecting ways of being in the world and with other people, congruent preoccupations.
I want to contrast her with Mieville, who I found so hard -- not difficult but hard-edged. I ricocheted off the surface of him; he kept me at a great distance. This is the opposite: there is no surface, just interpretations, and we are already inside from the get-go. Way inside, like Effingham sinking in the swamp.
(That's the one thing I didn't quite believe: why didn't that sinking change him more?)
And that makes no sense, but you see, that's the crux of the matter: we are both neo-touchy-feely-ists. The most important sense is intuitive sense.
(I like this very much, but am gently suggesting that I can't tell if it's a good book by any objective measure. But then, I don't suppose it has to be.) -
I am a neurotically honest person. I have to talk straight. I wanted to enjoy this one by Iris Murdoch very, very much. Why? Because several of my friends have told me it was very good. I couldn’t get it, I couldn’t get it and then finally I could! My expectations were very high! As I read, I spent my time trying to convince myself that I did like it…….then I got to the end, and I have to face up to the fact that I find it only mediocre. So I asked myself, “Why, and what’s going on?!
First of all, I am getting bored by the repetitiveness of Murdoch’s books. Always she has many characters. Always the relationships are on the bizarre side. Always a character or two is homosexual. Always the denouement is explosive. Her books have common themes, situations and locales that come up over and over again.
Secondly, the characters in this story fall in love way too easily and with so many people. I personally have a hard time relating to this. Love doesn’t mean a thing to these people! It comes and it goes in the blink of an eye.
Thirdly. I don’t understand the meaning of the title or what the unicorn symbolizes. Some hints are dropped but not enough to be sure.
The story circles around the employment of a woman hired as a teacher of French and Italian but actually simply as a woman’s companion. The setting is an isolated house on the west coast of Ireland. One soon perceives that the entire staff are in fact acting as the woman’s “jailkeepers”! The question that arises is of course what‘s going on?!
OK, Murdoch does know how to get a person spooked. At first, I heard the words and knew I was supposed to be scared but wasn’t. As bizarre things occur, the whole atmosphere becomes creepy, eerie, menacing. I began to feel this in my body and my bones, but then the explosive ending I had expected happened, and it was just too much. I think you can overdo the frightening. It is best to keep it within bounds. Or maybe I think this simply because I am such a darn realist! A section that I did like is where a man is walking around and around in circles, lost, on a bog. He begins to sink deeper and deeper. This is something I can relate to. It happened to me once! I wonder if it is my own memories that make this creepy, or is it Murdoch’s writing? I am not sure.
Maud Backéus reads the audiobook I listened to. It was in Swedish. It was good, but not exceptional. What she says is pretty clear, at least most of the time. Three stars for the narration.
What did this book give me? Not much really. I wanted to like it more than I actually did. There’s the honest truth. One need not like every book written by a good author. OK, my dear friends, give me a punch for my not liking this as much as you.
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*
The Black Prince 4 stars
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A Fairly Honourable Defeat 4 stars
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The Sandcastle 4 stars
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The Good Apprentice 3 stars
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The Unicorn 2 stars
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The Sea, The Sea 2 stars
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Jackson's Dilemma 2 stars
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The Time of the Angels wishlist
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The Bell wishlist
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The Flight from the Enchanter wishlist
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Nuns and Soldiers TBR
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The Italian Girl TBR
*
A Severed Head TBR
*
An Unofficial Rose TBR
*
A Word Child TBR
*
Under the Net maybe
*
The Message to the Planet maybe -
My theory is that anyone who reads this novel without first seeing the name of the author, would recognise just how bad it is.
Did anyone get anything out of this book about power, guilt or captivity? This book failed not only in capturing truth about any of these subjects, but also in producing convincing character studies. Marian is a husk, and while Effingham is more complicated, the author doesn't place him in a setting where his character can be examined.
The second half of the book dissolves into a ludicrous mess where characters pair-off left and right, declare love willy-nilly, and act one way and then another because they are supposedly under the "spell" of Hannah and Gaze.
Motivations are left unexplored. Characters stay the caricatures they were from the very beginning. If you read reviews for this novel, you will see the word philosophical applied liberally. A couple of conversation on Hannah as object or person, as one worshipped or loved, does not a philosophical novel make.
We want to call this novel philosophical not because it sheds light on the nature of life, love, exsistence, guilt or any of the subjects that we are concerned with, but because it's seems to be going on about something that sounds important. Since it's written by an famous author, and the critics have given it favorable reviews, then it must be wonderful, philosophical.
Here is the truth---it's just ill-conceived and badly cobbled together. Any highschooler could tell you that.
If this wasn't written by a popular and well established writer, it would've never seen the light of day.
I feel more and more reading books is like any other form of consummerism in this country. The bigger the name, the more satisfying it's suppose to be; so when it turns out to be a big disappointment, everyone is afraid to say anything for fear of being thought the fool.
Sorry for the ranting.
Go here for a less biased and very accurate review of the novel.
http://www.btinternet.com/~edandmill/... -
★★★★☆
«El unicornio» se publicó en 1963, tras varios años de carrera como escritora se considera una de las obras más singulares y originales de Iris Murdoch. Un día me topé con este libro y supe que sería el primero que leería de su autora pero ahora sé que no será el último.
La historia comienza cuando Marian, una joven institutriz deseosa de cambiar de vida, acepta un empleo en el castillo de Gaze. Un lugar que resulta hermoso y tenebroso a partes iguales, donde los desfiladeros y acantilados toman protagonismo y donde conocerá a Hannah. Esta última vive encerrada y custodiada por una serie de personajes de lo más curiosos, Marian se negará a aceptar esta situación y poco a poco irá desentrañando el oscuro misterio.
El personaje de Hannah es el centro de todo, un enigma a resolver, un ser sublime que carga con el sentimiento de culpa, que admite su condena y que la hace ser prisionera de su propio sacrificio y sufrimiento. A su vez, causa admiración y amor en todo aquel que la rodea llegando a provocar celos y envidias entre ellos. Nadie puede adivinar si realmente es tan pura como aparenta y eso crea una exacerbada confusión.
Una de los puntos más encantadores de la novela es la exquisita ambientación. Experimentamos un traslado a otra época durante la narración (aunque realmente el libro transcurra en el s. XX) que resulta desconcertante a la par que curioso, pues parece que el tiempo se haya parado en el escenario del castillo de Gaze. Las descripciones son acertadas y especialmente turbadoras logrando que el drama se suceda ante nuestros ojos con majestuosidad.
En conclusión, encontraremos entre las páginas de esta obra muchos dilemas morales, religiosos y filosóficos que se entremezclan con tintes de novela gótica y atisbos mágicos y fantásticos. Estamos ante un escrito que desconcierta y que nos brinda la posibilidad de buscar varios sentidos a la lectura y a sus diversos personajes que bien podrían ser conceptos. Dotada de una narración envidiable, curtida y magnífica. -
“ Y no supo discernir si el mundo donde ella había vivido era un mundo de bondad o de maldad; un mundo donde el sufrimiento poseía significado o un mundo que no era más que una travesura del diablo, una pesadilla violenta”.
En su momento hice una reseña bastante completa de esta novela. Pero como soy muy lista y espabilada, he terminado por borrarla de mi perfil de goodreads. Así que esto que estás leyendo es una recreación hecha como buenamente he podido de esta primera reseña. Suerte que de muchas cosas me acordaba de bastantes cosas y que aún tenia bastante fresca la opinión que me dejo, porque esta novela ha sido una de mis mejores lecturas en los que llevamos de 2021.
Esta lectura es mi primera incursión en la prosa de Iris Murdock, una autora que hasta este entonces no tenía el gusto de conocer. Por lo que he leído en otras reseñas “El Unicornio” es, quizás, su trabajo más inclasificable y diferente al resto. Espero pronto poder descubrir la verdad en esto. Lo que si tengo claro es que ha sido una lectura que me ha sorprendido gratamente, con muchos elementos muy bien llevados. Quizás lo más desconcertante de la misma haya sido que hay muchas cosas que se quedan en el aire, el lector tiene el deber de ir entrelazando los diversos elementos que la autora les ofrece para hacerse su propia composición del terreno a leer. Esto al principio me mosquea un poco, hasta que una amiga me explicó que las novelas de Murdoch son así. Cada lector tiene la libertad de leer lo que tiene delante como mejor sepa o crea conveniente, convirtiéndose así en participante de la lectura, no en un mero y simple espectador de los hechos descritos. Esa es la magia de esta escritora y uno de los puntos que han hecho tan fascinante esta lectura.
A medio camino entre la novela gótica y el cuento de hadas en su versión más oscura, “El Unicornio” empieza con la llegada de una profesora de escuela, Marian, a una mansión perdida en la agreste y hermosa costa irlandesa. En este entorno, Marian se incorporara al hogar de una misteriosa y rica mujer, Hannah, como una suerte de profesora, lectora y dama de compañía. A Hannah la envuelve la neblinosa aura. Vive totalmente alejada del mundo, sin salir de su casa y de sus tierras, rodeada por una pequeña corte de familiares y sirvientes que han convertido sus propias existencias en satélites que órbitan alrededor de la de su señora, en la cual han depositado todas sus culpas, sueños y pecados. Un aura opresiva y de princesa de cuento de hadas, amplificada por un misterioso suceso que tuvo lugar hace años, motivo por el que la mujer ya no sale de sus posesiones, y que tuvo lugar entre ella y Peter, su ausente esposo, cuya siniestra sombra sobrevuela amenazadora durante toda la narración. A todo esto hay que sumar la leyenda local que dicta que a los siete años del suceso, una gran tragedia va a acontecer en el lugar. Un plazo que, como habrá adivinado el lector avispado, va a cumplirse en el momento en que tiene lugar los hechos narrados en la novela.
En general, todo lo que he leído en estas páginas me ha gustado. Murdoch es, realmente, una narradora soberbia. No hay nada en ella que no tenga desperdicio, todos los elementos a su disposición están muy bien medidos, y ella los usa con soberbia y habilidad. La prosa de la autora es intimista, pulcra y rica en detalles. El ritmo narrativo está muy bien llevado, intercalándose momentos de aparente y engañosa calma absoluta con otros turbulentos y en los que pasan todo tipo de cosas. Los diálogos son ágiles e interesantes, importantes para hacer avanzar la trama, conocer la psique de los personajes y dar sentido a elementos esenciales para la trama. El estilo narrativo es bello y poderoso, logra transportar al lector a una atmósfera oscura y gótica, llena de impasses, misterios y espejismos en la que nada es lo que parece. A medida que la narración iba desarrollándose me sentía cada vez más como si estuviera andando sobre arenas movedizas, tal era la intensidad y la tensión que Murdoch sabe imprimir al escribir.
Cuando se coge por primera vez una obra de Iris Murdoch (y esto es algo que yo no descubrí hasta que abrí el presente libro) es que la autora fue profesora de filosofía, y esta materia es parte de las raíces de su bibliografía. A partir de los trabajos de diversos filósofos, como Platón, la obra trata temas muy variados sobre la humanidad, como el bien y el mal, el amor, la salvación y el pecado, el perdón, o la individualidad. En “El Unicornio” todo esto es patente incluso en el titulo. Este animal mitológico representa a jesucristo, aquel que murió para redimir los pecados de los humanos. En este caso, Hannah, la princesa maldita de esta historia, es el objeto de deseo y obsesión de todos los personajes que la rodean. Es el centro de una red de relaciones que no seria descabellado definir como masoquistas e insanas, basadas en el hecho de que todos consideran que esta mujer debe sufrir en su lugar, convertirse en el vinculo para poder salvarse ellos mismos y expiar sus pecados. El Castillo Gaze no es tanto su cárcel como lo es su propio pasado. Todo ello da a la historia una patina de irrealidad que afianza el aire de misterio e irrealidad de este oscuro cuento de hadas que es la novela, creándose una sensación de estar leyéndose una irrealidad, una historia que es a la vez crudamente real y extrañamente onírica.
Si hay algo que me ha gustado especialmente ha sido la ambientación. Murdoch recrea la costa irlandesa con toda su belleza y toda su crudeza, logrando transportar al lector al lugar sin excederse en las descripciones en demasía ni cansar al lector. Por medio de sus palabras, logra recrear un ambiente opresivo y cruel que es un personaje más de la propia historia, convirtiendo lo que es aparentemente bello en una trampa. El Castillo Gaze es una cárcel viviente que oprime y engaña cruelmente a sus habitantes, y con ellos al lector mientras lee. Una muestra más de como los contrarios se conjugan en esta obra, de como lo malvado es bello, y de como la hermosura se paga con intereses.
En definitiva “El Unicornio” ha sido una lectura laberíntica y compleja, que me hizo sufrir y me tuvo en vilo de principio a fin. No es para nada la típica novela gótica, toda ella es una gran metáfora sobre la humanidad, el pasado y la dependencia emocional, donde los tópicos se usan a conveniencia, y donde todo tiene su razón de ser y lo poético es dulce a la par que hace daño. Esta obra me ha encantado, como he dicho antes ha sido una de las mejores lecturas de lo que llevo de año. Quizás una un libro para todos los públicos, pero merece la pena darle una oportunidad a él y a su autora, tomárselo con calma y dejar que lo que se le vaya calando poco a poco mientras se va saboreando un poquito -
Summer is nearing its end and I thought it was a perfect time for reading a gothic tale satire set in an eerie landscape of Ireland with its ancient cliffs, sea, bog, fuchsias and carnivorous plants.
This novel turns out to be a psychological drama, where we are confronted with themes such as the nature of love and good, concepts of beauty, guilt and morals. There are many mythological and literary conventions: a unicorn, a captive princess, a tormentor, a madwoman in the attic, Maid Marian and others I probably missed. They are quite abundant, running the risk of becoming slightly superficial. At the same time I find it really appealing that Iris Murdoch doesn’t want to duplicate those conventions, the author toys with them and attempts to subvert romance tropes and other literary formulas.
While I appreciate complex relationships between the characters, some of their portrayals were quite eccentric and almost cartoonish. Sometimes it was hard to understand their actions and motives. The characters spend their time declaring love for each other, sobbing and drinking whisky. Yes, there is a touch of unbearable melodrama, but there were some comic scenes which saved this novel. In the end, it is hard to say where one’s loyalties lie, it seems like everyone is imprisoned in a fantasy of love.
Usually I dislike lengthy descriptions of landscape, but here their amount feels just right and they are masterfully interwoven with the psychological landscape itself. There is this continuous eerie feeling throughout the novel and absorbing quality to it which I really enjoyed.
It’s difficult to rate this book, I wish we had a different rating system here. Despite some mixed feelings, I find the author’s voice quite fascinating and will definitely check her other novels.
3.5/5 -
4.5 *
I don't know what to make of this yet, but it is excellently written. The philosophical touches and the eerie atmosphere are a delight and as always with Murdoch, I finish reading the last page of the book and I cannot stop thinking about the themes, the symbols and the big questions she raises. -
This is the eighth novel I have read by Iris Murdoch. As usual I am reading them in order of publication. I find it hard to believe she did not win the Booker Prize until 1978, for her novel The Sea, The Sea. I have been impressed and entertained by each one I have read so far.
The Unicorn is Gothic in feel and setting. It includes her preoccupation with infidelity as well as her philosophic approach to human relationships. A young woman takes a post as governess at Gaze Castle, remote and ancient and crumbling on a desolate coast that feels Irish or Cornish. When Marian arrives she finds no children. Instead she is meant to be a companion and sort of tutor to Alice, a childless woman who has been deserted by her husband. But is that really the true story?
Alice is a recluse in her rooms, given to visions and strange religious compulsions. Marian soon finds herself under the woman's spell but entirely out of her depth among the strange collection of inhabitants in the castle.
There are mysteries. What really happened between Alice and her husband? There are rumors of infidelity and violence. A close friend of the only neighboring family harbors a long term unrequited love for Alice and visits her every summer. Murdoch creates a murky dangerous atmosphere that drew me in page by page with meditations on identity, love, guilt, and reality.
At times the story is so melodramatic, though interspersed with humorous winks at the tragedy being played out, that I would wonder why she wasted her time writing this tale. Marian, young and idealistic, resolves to free Alice from her self-imposed isolation, having determined that it is the others in the household who are keeping her a sort of prisoner. Because Marian doesn't know the half of it, her plans go terribly awry. Thinking she has found an ally in the rejected lover, she becomes confused as to whom she can trust.
In the end, I was won over completely by the creepiness, the wild emotions, the forbidding weather, the rocky cliffs, and raging seas. Feeling a bit played, I finally realized that the author intended to show how life plays us all. -
About 3/4rd through this book, I would've written a raving review bursting with exclamation marks and superlatives. However, the tragic occurrences and incidents just kept piling up and started to flood the pages, spilling across the paper, nearly drowning the reader in their (melo)drama. Although I appreciate the death of one of your characters as a dramatic tool, it can also be quite exhausting (and even tedious!) for the reader to have nearly each chapter introduce a new death. Nevertheless, some of my previous -positive- thoughts still hold true even after about, what, half of the cast was either mentally broken, gone insane or plain dead.
First of all I really admired Murdoch's talent for sheer story-telling. Her prose functions as a camera lens and describes to you not only the plot development but also the scenery and setting, which contribute greatly to the strength and persuasiveness of the story. At times I would feel the eerie desolateness of the landscape crawling into my bones, I would shiver beneath the rough winds that tortured Gaze Castle and pull my blanket closer around me. It had been a long time since I responded in such a physical way to a book. It seized me, there's no other word for it.
Furthermore, the book appeals to every aspect of your being: Murdoch's references to religion and existentialism offer food for thought, while the plot itself arouses emotions of empathy, fear and pity. I think it's a challenge for a writer to combine the intellectual and emotional so effortlessly -- and Murdoch succeeded brilliantly. There's just one thing I thought to be lacking throughout the book: humour. My body would sometimes ache for a laugh to release some of the ever-building tension the book provided. But, well, what do I know – maybe humour would've weakened the horror of the plot. Overall: Despite the few side-comments, The Unicorn is a very, very good book which I thoroughly enjoyed. -
I read this book due to its inclusion in the 2019 Mookes Madness tournament – my first book by Iris Murdoch.
The plot of the book is summarised in this link in Wikipedia (
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Uni...)
But overall this is a novel which reminded me a little of a going on a lengthy car journey in a vintage car which exhibits clunky changes of gear, and with a driver who likes to share their observations of each stage of the journey.
The book starts almost as a satire of a Gothic novel – Murdoch rolls out her descriptive powers at their finest to convey the oppressive and terrifying nature of the (unnamed) Irish countryside and the forbidding sight of “The Gaze”“Not a thing of beauty I’m afraid … Nineteeth Century of course”
Marian’s initial stay (or incareration) in the house, before she is drawn into Hannah’s story, then resembles a rather tedious version of a Victorian family drama“Marian was beginning to find the late evenings at Gaze rather hard to live through”
Before the revelation of Hannah’s story threatens to turn boring family drama into literally incredible melodrama“This is an insane story ….. I don’t mean I don’t believe you. But it’s all mad …. Why does she put up with it, who doesn’t she just pack up and go away”
In what seems a pivotal chapter (chapter 12) a discussion between Max and Effingham seems to get at the heart of what really drove Murdoch to write this novel – to explore using fiction philosophy and Plato over Freud, as well as the medieval, chivalrous, religious and philosophical concepts of beauty, guilt, of sacrifice, of pure love“Plato tells us that of all the things which belong to the spiritual world beauty is the one which is most easily seen here below.”
“Max’s oblivion of everything to do with Freud was one of the things which made Effingham love him”
And some rather overt religious symoblism“I know one mustn’t think of her as a legendary creature, a beautiful unicorn –
“The unicorn is also the image of Christ. But we have to do too with an ordinary guilty person ….. Guilt keeps people imprisoned in themselves”
After some drama, including various crossed-wires between the characters about their relations and feelings, the book seems to be resolving itself into a series of resolutions and happy outcomes“It was like a comedy by Shakespeare. All the ends of the story were being bound in a good way”
But with the immediate threat to the reader that – unfortunately the story is not over – and will take a different turn“You both feel you are sitting out the end of some tedious film, don’t you, where you already know what is going to happen …. But perhaps you don’t know what is going to happen, perhaps there are surprises, turns of the story …
The book feels less like a novel, and more like someone interested in setting out their philosophical interests and religious musings into novel form“Perhaps Hannah is my experiment! I’ve always had a great theoretical knowledge of morals, but practically speaking I’ve never done a hand’s turn”
A novel whose real literary merit is immobilized by the excessive use of allusion:“Gerald had no theory about Hannah. Gerald not been paralysed by an allegory”
And Gerald as a result has to go and the book seems to return to satire as most of the protagonists are disposed of in a series of incidents, followed by some more, rather obvious allegorical interpretation of the implausible plot:“Hannah had been to him the chaste mother-godess, the Virgin mother. The sin which Hannah was, through her own sinless suffering redeeming him for had been the sin of his own mother’s betrayal of him with her own father …… Because of his unconscious resentment of his own Mother’s sin of sex, he had been, he explained, unable to establish any satisfactory relations with women other than those of Courtly Love”
And in case it is not clear to us, a series of quotes signal the ending of the story, its imaginative nature and the return of both our two point-of-view characters (Marian and Effingham) and the reader to normal life“The play is over, the Vampire Play let us call it”
“The spell is broken and the magic is all blown away”
“We were all the attendants up on that ceremony and we are now all dismissed. So we return to our real life and our real tasks”
“It has been a fantasy of the spiritual life, a story, a tragedy ….. He would hurry back to his familiar, ordinary world”
Something the reader greets with the same relief as the characters (especially as the book finished with yet another death):“His death rounded the thing off, gave it a tragic completeness which made it all the easier to cut free of it”
“He was now in a frenzy to be off, to have escaped”
Overall I felt this was a very disappointing book for two key aspects – the first as I have tried to bring out above:“While you are playing ring-a-roses, others are working the machine”
For the reader at play, the other is Murdoch, but unfortunately (perhaps deliberately) the workings of the machine are rather too obviously on display.
The second reason is that I at almost no point could identify any of the characters in the book, or their behaviour with anything I have observed in real life – only perhaps at one point as Marian’s ambiguous relationship with Denis develops do we glance something that may give the book some grounding in reality“Her encounter with Denis, for all its surpisingness and oddness, had so much of the feeling of coming into real life ….. this would be the real business which one human being has with another”
But this is quickly taken away and I think it’s an indictment of the writing that there was only one passage in the whole book that I highlighted for a positive reason as one which I thought captured something I had seen in real life:Out on the terrace, the golden retriever came rushing up to Effingham, planting its paws upon his waistcoat and then rolling upon its back in a fluffy whirl of smiling mouth and waving paws”
I could only conclude that Murdoch at least based on this novel can write of pets, Plato and Philosophy, but not of People.
Perhaps behind this all – Murdoch was striving for her more famous and Booker prize winning novel:“There was a roaring sound behind the rain which was perhaps the sea”
-
The Unicorn by Iris Murdoch (1963)
“Everyone here is involved in guilt.”
The Unicorn is the first novel by Iris Murdoch that I have read. The narrative weaves in elements of the Gothic, the allegorical, and the mythical, and it does so within the framework of suspense. There’s a lot going on in this novel, and by the end, Murdoch leaves it up to the reader to determine what it all means. Some readers will be frustrated by Murdoch’s ambiguity and that the meaning of the story is open to a wide variety of interpretations.
The story begins when Marian Taylor, a thirty-year-old former schoolteacher, arrives at Gaze Castle to perform the duties of governess. When she arrives, she learns that she is not to be a governess, but instead a lady’s companion to Hannah Crean-Smith, owner of the big house in what is presumably the Irish countryside. Gaze and the surrounding lands are repeatedly characterized as being ancient, alien, and isolating, and its inhabitants and their ways are more akin to people living in medieval times, not a mid-20th century Western society. Perhaps the epitome of this is that upon Marian’s arrival at the train station, she searches for a way to get to Gaze and someone recommends that she travel there by horse. Arriving at Gaze is like going back in time, and it frightens Marian. What worries her most though is the revelation that for the last seven years, Hannah has been effectively imprisoned at Gaze by her husband, Peter Crean-Smith. The other inhabitants of the house—Gerald Scottow, Violet Evercreech, Jamesie Evercreech, and Denis Nolan—are her jailers. Marian wants to help Hannah escape from Gaze, and the question of how to release Hannah from her prison drives much of the plot.
The narrative structure of the novel offers the events of the story through two points of view—Marian’s and Effingham Cooper’s. Effingham (or Effie) is a frequent visitor at Riders, the only other house within miles of Gaze. Riders is the home of Effie’s mentor, Max Lejour, and his adult children, Alice and Pip. Alice has been in love with Effie for years, but he’s paid no attention to her though his egoism is such that he hasn’t spurned her entirely. Effie, like Marian, is an outsider, and he fancies himself to be in love with Hannah. Although he is an outsider, he also shares in the guilt of keeping Hannah prisoner in the form of inaction and because he likes the idea of Hannah being sequestered and shut-up, deluding himself into thinking that she is being shut-up just for him. At last, Marian convinces Effie to help her break Hannah out of the prison-house. The consequences of this attempt, the reasons for Hannah’s imprisonment, the meaning of Hannah’s suffering, and the ways in which the characters respond to that suffering and see it as being significant, drive the plot to its somewhat ambiguous climax and conclusion.
The title of the novel is an image that finds its figurative representation in the character of Hannah. Through a conversation between Max and Effie, we are told that the unicorn is a Christ-like image in that it is an innocent creature that is captured and turned into a scapegoat, sacrificed to purge away the sins and crimes of others. This is the allegorical aspect of the novel, but this is a modern allegory in that the meaning of Hannah’s suffering is not interpreted for us. As readers we have to decide what her suffering means, if it means anything at all. Iris Murdoch doesn’t tell readers what to think in this novel, and I like that. On the other hand, I did find the novel a bit frustrating. In order to leave the interpretation of the story up to the reader, there has to be a certain level of ambiguity. It’s that very ambiguity, however, that I find frustrating. There were several moments when I wasn’t all sure what had just happened or what was going on. Admittedly, while this irked me, it kept me turning the page, and after finishing the novel, I still find myself thinking about it and puzzling it through and modifying my interpretation of the story. I’ve always thought that that was one mark of a great book, so on that level the story succeeds in capturing my interest and making me think.
On the other hand, while The Unicorn made me think, I’m not sure how much I liked it. Because we get the story through two different points of view, there’s an element of psychological realism in the novel. We get to see how everything that is happening is impacting the psyches of both characters. We spend a lot of time in each person’s head, and so there are a lot of interior monologues throughout the novel, and less dialogue. I found this to be a bit tedious, though why exactly I can’t say because normally this doesn’t bother me in a novel. Perhaps I just didn’t find Marian and Effie’s thoughts to be sufficiently interesting, or maybe it’s that I wasn’t as invested in them as characters. I understand the purpose of multiple points of view, but I wonder if I would have felt more engaged if there had only been one. When rating this novel elsewhere I gave it two of five stars, and now that it’s time for me to decide whether or not I would recommend it to other readers, I’m still conflicted and undecided. While I enjoyed teaching this novel in a college literature course and I got good response to it from a handful of students, I don’t think I would recommend it to friends. In fact, I would recommend a lot of other books before even thinking about The Unicorn. In the end, I’m glad I can finally say that I’ve read a novel by Iris Murdoch, but I’m not exactly rushing to the bookstore to purchase another. -
Excuse me, Ms. Murdoch, but your philosophy slip is showing :-) I found this slim novel pretty delightful, although I’m pretty sure I didn’t really understand a lot of the existential philosophy getting bandied about. However, that didn’t detract at all from the storyline for me—I knew it was making my poor brain work a little harder to find clarity.
Murdoch has created quite the allegorical and mythological gothic story, full of allusions to unicorns, vampires, mermaids, Maid Marian, Christ, a captive princess—and all in the name of discussing the true nature of good and evil, guilt and redemption, duty and honor, self-imprisonment vs. being held captive, external and internal forces controlling one’s life, what it means to live, what it means to die, etc. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a heavy book. The story is lively, the characters are strange and intriguing and the plot is kind of weird.
And Murdoch’s writing, well, l love it. Here’s an example: “Tears gathered in his eyes and he blinked to release them. They were large still tears such as men weep in solitude over beautiful things. To weep like that over a human being was a most desolate homage.”
Quiet and gentle yet menacing all the same. Well done Murdoch. -
if you like this review, i now have website:
www.michaelkamakana.com
i have not read much gothic(45), so i do not know how it uses gothic structures beyond the obvious:
castle, sublime isolation, dangerous heath, bogs, rivers, sea, violent loves, emotional, irrational, religious motivations, mythic plot, dark legends, captive woman, semi-feudal, everyone has secrets, guilt…
sounds like i could follow it? yes and no. is she writing a deconstruction, a postmodern take? i do not know. she moves in and out of a few characters well. some remain mysterious. all, towards the end in particular, are almost ridiculously self-aware. how this captive unicorn came to be imprisoned by no force but herself. how her cruel, wounded, brutal husband returns at the end of her seven years- i wanted them to clash. i wanted fireworks. instead, things happen, the spell is broken... -
Marian Taylor applies for a job as a private tutor at a remote country house, knowing nothing more about the job than that. When she gets there, she finds she isn’t to be teaching a child, but more or less acting as a companion to Mrs Hannah Crean-Smith, who doesn’t leave the grounds of her large house, Gaze, which sits between a treacherous bog and some black sandstone cliffs overlooking an even more dangerous sea. Why doesn’t Hannah leave the grounds? Slowly, Marian learns the ever-deepening story behind the stifling, overheated atmosphere of changelessness at Gaze. She also learns that it’s a state that has existed for almost seven years, and that everyone’s expecting some sort of change to occur soon.
I hadn’t read any of Iris Murdoch’s novels before this, and I suspect The Unicorn might have meant more if I had, as I’d have been better prepared for the sort of book it is. The situation at Gaze, with everyone’s lives revolving around the aftereffects of a single event, and Hannah Crean-Smith’s reaction to it in particular, feels like one of Kafka’s equally Gothic set-ups, in the way it entraps and obsesses every character. Marian, like everyone at Gaze and its environs, soon falls into thinking about everything in terms of Hannah, who’s likened at various times to a vampire, a ‘false God’, and the unicorn of the title. And this leads to a lot of often (often abstract) speculation about the nature of guilt and love.
It’s a novel that’s full of muted emotional desperation, and people trapped by self-imposed inhibitions. Whenever anyone takes any sort of action, it’s usually immediately foiled (until things get suddenly dramatic near the end, that is), so that a miasma of futility seems to sit over the book.
I ended it not being sure what Murdoch was saying. Either it was a very, very dry black comedy about how human life amounts to nothing more than a ridiculous and contrived waste of passion — or it was saying that any situation, however strange and artificial, is a valid focus for intense emotions, as the best that can be hoped for in one’s life is to find something you can feel about, even if feeling ultimately changes nothing. In this way, it felt, to me, very much of its time, a book from the pessimistic age of Existentialism, though — aside from one moment with a character lost and thinking they’re dying in the bog — without the sort of peaks of intensity of experience that you sometimes get from Existentialists to add a bit of necessary vitality. -
i can't say i loved it but i will say i read it months ago, and it has stayed with me. while i read it, it haunted me. yes, the characters are for the most part preposterous, and yet... i love the old professor.
--
it's now been years, and it's still haunting me. i think i will re-read this again in 2013, and re-assess -- i suspect it will receive a higher rating now that i have a better understanding of murdoch's writing. -
You gotta love the seventies. The blurb on the back of my used Avon paperback:
"ONLY IRIS MURDOCH" (in super-ugly font) "could combine the popular Gothic tale with modern psychological insights to make a story which terrifies as it reveals the secret agonies of desire. In this remarkable novel, a young woman takes a governess' position because she is intrigued by the name of Castle Gaze. As she probes the" (what are secrets?*) "dark secrets of the castle's" (what are the residents?) "tortured residents, events spiral** to a" (climaxes are always....) "stunning climax."
*with apologies to Flann O'Brien
**don't spirals typically go down? -
"There are no voices that are not soon mute, there is no name, with whatever emphasis of passionate love repeated, of which the echoes are not faint at last."
-
You can also see my review at
The Literary Sisters.
The Virago Vintage Classics edition that I read started with an introduction by Stephen Medcalf, who was Iris Murdoch’s very own student. As he mentions in his introductory essay, The Unicorn is “set between two famous landmarks on the west coast of Ireland, the cliffs of Moher and the limestone country of the Burren”. I have never been to Ireland myself (yet), but merely looking at pictures of these places just to have the image in my head when I read the story, made me think that Ireland was the perfect place for such a gothic story to unravel.
The book begins with one of the main characters, Marian Taylor, who has been given the job of a governess in a remotely placed castle in the west coast of Ireland. There, Marian comes to meet and hear about many different people, including the ones also living in the castle but also some strange-acting neighbours.
Marian’s life at the castle is pretty uneventful at the beginning, until suddenly she starts noticing that the people surrounding her may not actually be as innocent as they look. The castle itself, as well as her employer Hannah’s life turns into a complete mystery in which everyone seems to secretly participate and Marian decides to look for answers to all the questions posed before her. Hannah never leaves the castle and she appears to be a prisoner inside her own property, while her husband is enigmatically away for a long period of time. As Marian gets more and more deeply involved into this mystery, she (and the reader alongside her) begins doubting the verisimilitude of the events that occur to her surroundings and to herself as well.
I have to admit that The Unicorn is a wonderfully written novel. I had not yet had the opportunity to read any of Murdoch’s other works prior to this one, and it made me really intrigued about her other stories as well. However, it did take me quite some time until I fully got into the story. I loved the ominous atmosphere and the landscape descriptions at the beginning, but the novel felt pretty repetitive and redundant to me from that point on. I had been re-reading Jane Eyre before starting this novel, so it felt very much like yet another copy of this gothic romance type.
However, after a few chapters, the events took such a sudden turn, that it made me really curious to see how the author would end up wrapping things up and finishing this strangely enchanting tale. Luckily, it did not end up being similar to the other gothic novels I initially had in mind. I liked how the novel was separated into seven parts, and in each part the narrator’s voice would be interchangeable between Marian and Effingham Cooper, a visitor of the people that live nearby, who is in love with Hannah. Each narrator presents the events under their own circumstances, and therefore the lines between who is lying and who is not are becoming rather blurred.
After reading the entire novel, and especially upon reading the introduction, I am certain this novel contained much deeper philosophical meanings and symbolisms than I could understand. I did not particularly like how the characters fell in love with each other in a flash and forgot about it when the tiniest distraction came along. It might have been done in purpose, to serve the establishing of the magical and mystical atmposhere, since it looked like everyone acted while being under some sort of spell, but I found it rather unnecessary. Perhaps I should come back to this book some time in the future, when I will be able to notice more in it than in my first reading. -
Based on the books I've read so far and from the things I know about Iris, I'd say this is a semi-Murdochian novel in the classical way of interpretation. We have the vast net of characters and emotions; we also have the brutal psychological force, which brings the events forwards; but here the subtle is less, and the ostensive is more. What I mean is that the dark forces are not so entangled and buried within the heads of the protagonists; instead, there is a certain quite obvious Christian 'fairy-tailness', if I may say so (you won't understand this unless you've read the novel). The latter is extremely interesting, because as usual, Iris combines the physical and metaphysical brilliantly. Moreover, there is an extremely successful convergence between fairy-tale and myth and reality. Only Iris can achieve such a splendid synthesis of these two antithetical spheres of the human universe. However, there is not so much scandal in terms of morality and values, which is typical for Iris and which I so strongly love. And some of the main characters are not so determined, but are quite lost and uncertain.
At this point (I finished the book yesterday) it is difficult for me to understand the exact logic behind the relations of some of the characters, which left me a little bit confused. The omnipotence and multifacetedness of women and men is present; but usually with Iris I can tell and know exactly how things are right away in the process of reading. In 'The Unicorn' there is a fierce exchange of falling in and out love, which is difficult to be assimilated only intuitively.
Also, there is much action, especially in the last one-third of the novel. Usually Iris' drama is not so intense (meaning there are not many deaths of the flesh, at least in the books I know). However, I liked it, it has its logic and it was also quite saddening and actually really impressive, having in mind the context of the main philosophical idea.
Yet subtlety there is, and it is in the landscape and it's overwhelming catastrophic magnificence. I dare say this is one of the best synergies between the overall teleology of the novel and the topography of happening.
In general, I liked the novel very much, but not as mush as "The philosophers pupil" or "A Fairly Honourable Defeat".
A deeper and very accurate analysis of the novel:
https://www.thefreelibrary.com/The+Cr... -
This review isn’t going to be long, as I finished this book a few weeks ago and never got around to writing the review. Perhaps because I thought I couldn’t do it justice, because I wasn’t sure I would be able to properly explain why I am rating it 5 stars.
I guess, simplest answer, is that it had almost everything I like in a novel; desolate setting, weird characters, tragedy/tragic romance, and it makes you think about it when you’re done. This novel, just from the title evokes symbolism and the idea that it should not be taken at face value. I love novels that do this. And I found it moved at a slow burn pace, which I also enjoy. It had culminating action in the last quarter of the novel and I thought the ending was as it should be. As the story was about “the unicorn” the question is raised about who the unicorn is. I would argue that the story is actually about Marian rather than Hannah – while Hannah is the one who drives the action, it’s Marian who learns from it, who changes throughout the novel. Hannah is already doomed – Marian is the one who has to survive.
But that’s the kind of thing this novel does for you – it allows you to take a concept or an idea from the novel and play with it for awhile in your mind. The novel is not just a story about a crazy lady in an old house – it’s about much more than that, but Murdoch leaves it up to us to decide what that is. We can take what we want from it.
I also found the mystery intriguing, I liked the characters because it was hard to figure out where their loyalties lay, and I enjoyed the tone. There was something consistently menacing about the novel – even when Marian was doing something simple like walking – it was like a ghost was consistently haunting the place with sorrow.
Overall, I simply adored this novel. It was like an old Gothic tale but because it was more modern people talked about and had sex (). The novel was also interesting because it in itself was first published 50 years ago. Could the same story happen in a 2013 setting? I don’t believe so. But maybe. -
There’s a degree of philosophy and allegory in most of Iris Murdoch’s fiction, but in some novels it’s much more pronounced than others. The Unicorn is one of those in which the big themes are very much front and centre and, to my taste, laid on a bit thick. Her characters also tend to tread a fine line between being hilariously and compellingly larger than life versus irritatingly one dimensional and wet. Again, I felt the Unicorn fell the wrong side of the line on this one. Having said that, this is still Iris Murdoch and therefore contains some brilliantly written passages and more than enough to have kept me reading to the end despite not finding it a patch on her best work.
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3,5.
Me ha costado puntuarlo, porque es un libro bastante peculiar y durante buena parte de la lectura no he sabido si me gustaba o no. Al principio despista y hasta diría que aburre un poco, pero luego me he encontrado atrapado yo mismo por el ambiente psicotrópico del castillo y me acabado encariñando con sus personajes a pesar de tener la ceja permanentemente enarcada ante las cosas que hacían y decían.
Más que novela gótica, a mí me ha recordado al realismo mágico. Sin nada mágico ni sobrenatural, pero al mismo tiempo sí (?). Es extraño. Una lectura curiosa, definitivamente. -
It took me a while to read this one because life kept getting in the way (not to mention the latest
J.D. Robb), but once I got about halfway through I couldn't put it down. This is my first Iris Murdoch and definitely won't be my last. It is beautifully written, and evokes a memorable and atmospheric landscape. The Unicorn is a relatively short book, but it is one to be savoured. Highly enjoyable reading. -
Subtle, unsettling and mesmerizing, this book treads a fine line between despondent, materialistic nihilism and religiously-hued resignation of heart and mind. Or to put it better the characters -exquisitely crafted- walk among these delicate lines as even the narrative itself echoes the message of the story (nothing can change, we will be like this, cursed forever) by its relentlessly repetitive and gloomy nature. This book is a force of its own.
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Gothic, wandering, full of landscapes of cold moors and bog and sea - so I loved that part. If it wanders too much in the draggy territory of simple philosophy and occasionally slips waist deep into melodrama, well, that's part of the fun of it too.
