| Title | : | The Black Prince |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 0142180114 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9780142180112 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 408 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1973 |
| Awards | : | Booker Prize (1973), James Tait Black Memorial Prize Fiction (1973) |
The Black Prince Reviews
-
For fans of the author’s The Sea, The Sea, here’s a great book that has a similar tone and structure. The similarities with The Sea: we have a just-retired divorced man who has rented an ocean-front cottage. He has always ‘used’ women and treated them callously; old flames return making theatrical appearances at his door at inopportune times. These include his ex- and he assumes she wants to get back with him, which may or may not be true. And just like The Sea, we have a murder, an attempted murder and a suicide.
I’d say there are three main themes: love – the experience of falling in love and being in love; the pros and cons of marriage, and art.
On love: Iris Murdoch made this famous quote: “Every artist is an unhappy lover. And unhappy lovers want to tell their story.” It’s about falling in love with the emphasis on “falling.” It happens to this 58-year-old man instantaneously over dinner one night with a woman barely 20 years old; a daughter of long-time friends of his. He is smitten as if he had heart attack. The author tells us in an aside that few authors write about the experience of being in love and that is mainly what the story is about. “The absolute yearning of one human body for another particular one and its indifference to substitutes is one of life’s major mysteries.”
On marriage: “But there is a natural hostility between the married and the unmarried. I cannot stand the shows so often quite instinctively put on by married people to insinuate that they are more moral than you are. Moreover to help their case the unmarried person often naively assumes that all marriages are happy unless shown to be otherwise.” And “People who boast of happy marriages are, I submit, usually self-deceivers, if not actually liars…There is nothing like the bootless solitude of those who are caged together.”
On art: our main character worked in a tax office but his real love was literary things – he wrote book reviews and one critically-acclaimed book. He’s in a rivalry with another male author. He wrote one great book (his opinion) but his friend bangs one out every year. He believes he ‘discovered’ the other writer so we have this complicated mentor/protégée relationship. It revolves around the theme: is art supposed to be ‘difficult” or ‘fun’?
Other passages I liked:
“One can see many men who live happily, possessed and run (indeed manned, the way a ship is manned) by women of tremendous will.”
“Of course men play roles, but women play roles too, blanker ones. They have in the play of life, fewer good lines.” (written in 1973)
Do we keep secrets from friends to make ourselves feel superior? Is it because “To see someone as not ‘in the know’ is to see them as diminished.”
“Those who occasion loss of dignity are hard to forgive.”
“One must constantly meditate upon the absurdities of chance, a subject even more edifying that the subject of death.”
“Her eyes were red and swollen with crying, and her mouth was rectangular with complaint, like the mouth of a letter box.”
“…you don’t know what it’s like waking every morning and finding the whole horror of being yourself still there.”
And our lover? It ends badly for him, of course. So badly that at the end someone collects his memoirs and has each of the major characters react to them. So we are treated to new twists and turns about what really happened.
Like The Sea, The Sea, a great read that I added to my favorites.
top image from thewordtravels.com
lower of London apartments from orchardsoflondon.com -
This is, somehow, my fourth Iris Murdoch novel in as many months, and some of her tendencies have become apparent. Here too we have a foppish, marginally asexual middle aged man who experiences a not-so-good awakening; we have a third act tragedy involving a supporting character; we have a bit character who scarcely ever appears but is mentioned frequently to give the illusion of time passing; we have philosophic departures into the nature of love; we have a queer supporting man who willingly becomes a butler-figure for sadomasochistic reasons; we have a love pentagram.
Fortunately, I love all these things, and so I love Iris Murdoch. THE BLACK PRINCE deviates from the form in a few ways - the narrative is a bit more nasty and sad (cruel depictions of middle-aged women abound, the philosophic sections are more separated), and there is immediate doubt given as to the reliability of the protagonist. Bradley Pearson, a failed author with a rival/best friend named Arnold. Bradley "writes the book" from an indeterminate location in space and time, and a sequence of letters at the end call into doubt swaths of the narrative.
The action starts with delay. Bradley keeps trying to get out of London to write his long delayed novel and keeps getting held back. Murdoch novels work like stages - the primary locations are always heavily permeable, with frequent, comedic entrances that add complications. There are numerous candidates for Bradley's love: his ex-wife is back in town and single; Arnold's wife likes him; Arnold likes Bradley's ex-wife; Bradley's ex-wife's brother likes him; Arnold's daughter likes him; his sister likes no one but is mucking everything up; everyone thinks Bradley and Arnold secretly like each other. Complexity stacks. Oh, she writes this kind of thing so well! And with Murdoch, there is always a hook. This one happens very late, almost exactly halfway through the novel, and from there on it catches fire, a thrilling novella that I won't spoil. Look at the writing when Bradley does fall in love, the prose is so pyrotechnic but simultaneously makes fun of him:
"But nothing really had prepared me for this blow. And it was a BLOW, I was felled by it physically. I felt as if my stomach had been shot away, leaving a gaping hole. My knees dissolved, I could not stand up, I shuddered and trembled all over, my teeth chattered. My face felt as if it had become waxen and some huge strange weirdly smiling mask had been imprinted upon it, I had become some sort of god. I lay there with my nose stuck into the black wool of the rug and the toes of my shoes making little ellipses on the carpet as I shook with possession. Of course I was sexually excited, but what I felt transcended mere lust to such a degree that although I could vividly sense my afflicted body I also felt totally alienated and changed and practically disincarnate."
Wow! There is a sequence of vomiting in the opera shortly after this that is one of the funnier things I can remember reading. I like BLACK PRINCE better than THE BELL and not as much as SEVERED HEAD or THE SEA, THE SEA. One needs to trust that Murdoch is both hilarious and wicked to stick with this one (which is why I think SEVERED HEAD makes the best gateway drug). I read it slowly and quickly at once; high praise. -
“Todo cuanto tiene valor es secreto.”
Como secretas y misteriosas son para mí las razones por las que Murdoch me gusta tantísimo, igual de insondables que las que me empujan una y otra vez a leer autores como Thomas Bernhard, Robert Walser o, por tocar también lo patrio, Vila-Matas, del cual tomo la idea y pienso que quizás me atraigan porque siempre parece faltarme algo que no alcanzo a ver, que se me escapa, el secreto, un valor que constato pero no concreto.“Sólo el arte explica, y en sí no puede ser explicado. Nosotros y el arte estamos hechos el uno para el otro, y cuando falla ese vínculo, falla la vida. Sólo esta analogía es válida, sólo este espejo refleja una imagen cabal. Claro está que nosotros tenemos una «mente inconsciente», y de eso trata en parte mi libro. Pero no existe un mapa general de ese continente perdido.”
Bien es verdad que todos escriben sobre una vida que saben sin sentido, mofándose y compadeciéndose del ser humano, y de paso de sí mismos, por no tener más remedio que vivirla trágicamente pues más allá no hay, se lo aseguro a ustedes, nada. Es por ello por lo que todos revisten su escritura de la ironía y el humor que les permite tratar con el absurdo.“Prácticamente toda la descripción de nuestros actos resulta cómica. Somos infinitamente cómicos para los demás… Dios, si existiera, se reiría de su creación. Sin embargo, también sucede que la vida es horrible, sin sentido metafísico, destrozada por el azar, el dolor y la cercana perspectiva de la muerte. De ello nace la ironía, nuestro necesario y peligroso instrumento.”
Bueno, dejémonos de generalidades y digámoslo ya: esta novela es una de las grandes de Murdoch. Reúne todas sus excelencias, todas sus características maneras e ideas, una ligereza irónica que alterna sabiamente el vodevil con filosóficas lucubraciones sobre lo bueno, lo bello y lo verdadero, que, como el dios cristiano, es uno y trino.“La belleza está presente cuando la verdad ha descubierto una forma idónea.”
Su narrador y personaje central, Bradley Pearson, es del tipo poco fiable, además de soberbio, pedante y egocéntrico, por lo que será el lector el que tenga que discernir cuánto hay de parodia y cuánto de verdad en todo lo que en la novela reflexiona y cuenta semejante individuo (a lo que también contribuyen los testimonios de otros personajes que como epílogos Murdoch añade a la propia novela cuyo autor es Bradley Pearson). Bradley es mucho menos erudito y profundo de lo que él se cree y con él se ensaña la autora interrumpiendo constantemente su vida (siempre está a punto de partir pero algo se lo impide) y metiéndole en unos líos tremendos y ridículos que cambiarán la idea que de sí mismo tenía y su vida por completo.“Soy consciente de que la gente suele tener unas ideas generales totalmente distorsionadas de sí misma.”
También hay en la novela otros muchos temas propios de la autora, el arte, la metaficción, la moral, Shakespeare, la amistad, el matrimonio, la lealtad a uno mismo y a los demás, lo difícil que es proteger nuestros frágiles egos y lo que ello nos condiciona, la complejidad del comportamiento humano, su ridiculez, su imprevisibilidad, lo mucho que puede cambiar la vida en un instante (de los sorprendentes giros argumentales, tan típicos de la autora, aquí estarán más que sobrados)…“Sé que la vida humana es horrible. Sé que en nada se parece al arte. No tengo religión, excepto mi propia tarea de existir. Las religiones convencionales son cosa de sueños. A escasos milímetros hay siempre un mundo de temor y de espanto. Todo hombre, hasta el más grande, puede ser destruido en un momento y no tener dónde refugiarse.”
Pero por encima de todo, “El príncipe negro” es “Una celebración del amor”, así reza su subtítulo, aunque realmente debería ser algo así como “Auge y caída de esa terrible enfermedad llamada amor”.“Nunca me había entregado, Francis, nunca me había puesto en juego de un modo absoluto. Me he pasado la vida siendo un hombre tímido y apocado. Ahora sé lo que significa estar más allá del alcance del temor. Ahora me encuentro donde mora la grandeza. Me he entregado. Y, con todo, es como estar bajo una disciplina. No tengo elección. Amo, venero y seré recompensado.”
Murdoch resalta en la novela como el amor nos cambia la vida, nuestra percepción de nosotros mismos, del mundo, de nosotros en el mundo; lo demencial que es que una única persona atraiga toda nuestra atención en detrimento de todo y de todos, teniendo en cuenta que “Lo que ese ser amado «es» o «es realmente» importa un comino”. El amor nos hace únicos, nos sentimos privilegiados y llenos de gratitud, tan a gusto con nosotros mismos que casi ni necesitamos la presencia de la persona amada… hasta que empezamos a necesitarla, y el deseo nos desborda, el eros, ese príncipe negro (aunque a tal título nobiliario también son candidatos Hamlet y Julian vestida provocativamente de dicho personaje).“El primer día Julian había estado en todas partes. El segundo había estado, sí, en alguna parte, vagamente localizada, todavía no terriblemente requerida, pero necesitada. Ella había estado, ese segundo día, ausente. Eso fue lo que inspiró el pequeño anhelo de una estrategia, un pequeño y ambicioso deseo de trazar planes. El futuro, previamente borrado por un exceso de luz, reapareció.”
De pronto aparece el miedo, descubrimos el temor de perderlo todo, de que ese amor nuestro, que era el auténtico fin del universo, desaparezca… el horror. Y ya, si tenemos la suerte de que el amor no nos ha conducido a la persona equivocada, lo que supondría una serie de molestos problemas, ¿cuánto dura?, ¿en qué se convierte pasado un tiempo?, ¿eso en lo que se convierte es suficiente o necesitamos volver a sentir el amor para darnos sentido?, ¿compensa que pongamos nuestra vida patas arriba?, ¿tenemos elección?“El arte dice la única verdad que en definitiva importa. Es la luz por la cual las cosas humanas pueden ser enmendadas. Y más allá del arte no hay, se lo aseguro a ustedes, nada.”
-
«Ο Μαύρος Πρίγκιπας» είναι μια γιορτή, μια αρχαία τελετή, μια θεϊκή επιρροή αναφορικά με τα σκοτεινά, διφορούμενα και υπέροχα συναισθήματα της ανθρώπινης ψυχής.
Η συναισθηματική ανταπόκριση είναι αδια��φισβήτητα η αρχή και το μεγαλείο της λογοτεχνικής κριτικής.
Η συγγραφέας σε αυτό το βιβλίο κάνει τις φαντασιώσεις της τέχνη, δημιουργεί χαρακτήρες πλήρως δομημένους και άθλιους, τόσο άθλιους και τόσο ανθρώπινους που φθάνουν στην έκσταση και θριαμβεύουν ως απόλυτα αποτυχημένοι.
Η Μέρντοχ γνωρίζει πολύ καλά την κόλαση.
Σχεδόν όλοι οι χαρακτήρες του βιβλίου ζουν εκεί. Απεικονίζει αριστουργηματικά την απελπιστική ανθρώπινη κατάσταση σε κάθε έκφανση της, μα κυρίως εισβάλει στην ψυχή του αναγνώστη έχοντας ως δούρειο ίππο τον Μαύρο Πρίγκιπα.
Μαύρος, όπως τα σκοτεινά αβυσσαλέα ψυχικά βάθη, Πρίγκιπας, όπως το τιμητικό και θριαμβευτικό αξίωμα, όπως ένας μεγαλειώδης τίτλος τιμής και εξουσίας που καθορίζει την ολοκλήρωση μέσα απο την αισθητική την αλήθεια και τον Μαύρο έρωτα.
Είναι ένα μυθιστόρημα προκλητικό, υπέροχο, ζοφερό και ιδιοφυές.
Σε περνάει σε ένα επίπεδο ταύτισης και αυτοσυνειδητότητας ακριβώς όπως πρέπει η τέχνη να σε περνάει σε άλλες σφαίρες παρηγοριάς, λύτρωσης και «διαλογισμού».
Οι αιώνιες αλήθειες διαχέονται μέσα στη γραφή της και φέρνουν πολυάριθμες επιρροές στους ήρωες του βιβλίου και στον αναγνώστη.
Η αγάπη, ως δύναμη ενοποίησης, η ομορφιά σε επίπεδο θεότητας, η αλήθεια που οδηγεί στον παράδεισο μόνο αν θελήσουμε να την ακολουθήσουμε, η επιθυμία, ο πόνος, η ευδαιμονία, ο εξευτελισμός, η δικαιοσύνη, έρχονται στον αναγνώστη τόσο οικεία και αδίστακτα όπως η ανελέητη βία.
Ο έρωτας, οι διφορούμενες αλήθειες, η τέχνη, το δράμα, το πνεύμα, η πολυπλοκότητα, το μίσος, η αποτυχία και η έκσταση της φαντασίας δαγκώνουν τον αναγνώστη θριαμβευτικά και υπέρλαμπρα.
Μέσα σε ένα μπερδεμένο πλέγμα ανθρώπινων αναξιόπιστων χαρακτήρων τοποθετείται ο ήρωας μας.
Ο αξιαγάπητος (προσωπική άποψη) και ασυμβίβαστος Μπράντλι είναι ο κεντρικός ήρωας της ιστορίας.
Ένας ώριμος άνδρας που αρρωσταίνει απο έρωτα και εμμονή για ένα νεαρό κορίτσι.
Απο κει και μετά ξεκινάει ένα επίτευγμα κλασικής λογοτεχνίας.
Ένας καταιγισμός τέχνης, ζωής και θανάτου που αρχικά μας παραπέμπει στο Πλατωνικό Συμπόσιο και κατόπιν στο μαρτύριο του Άμλετ πιστοποιώντας έμπρακτα μέσω της εξέλιξης όλα τα αιώνια συμπλέγματα της ερωτικής και σεξουαλικής ανθρώπινης υπόστασης.
Ταυτίστηκα με τον Μαύρο Πρίγκιπα...όπως ταυτίζεται ο το μαρτύριο του έρωτα με το θάνατο και την λύτρωση.
Αφαιρετικός, απαγορευμένος, καταστροφικός και εξεχόντως απολαυστικός σαν την ουσία της ζωής.
Ουσιαστικά κάτι πέρα και πάνω απο την αγάπη είναι η ουσία αυτού του βιβλίου.
Στο τέλος της ιστορίας μας βλέπουμε τα γεγονότα που μας αφηγείται ο Μπράντλι απο την άποψη των άλλων κύριων χαρακτήρων της ιστορίας.
Αυτό απλά μπορεί να χαρακτηριστεί ως μια συστροφή παραλυτικής έκπληξης για τον αναγνώστη και σίγουρα χαρακτηρίζεται ως εγκεφαλικό επεισόδιο ιδιοφυΐας.
Προφανώς,το λάτρεψα αυτό το βιβλίο.
Διαβάστε το
και θα καταλάβετε, ή μάλλον όπως είπε ο Μπράντλι σε κάποια στιγμή της αφήγησης του :
•Όποιος έχει αγαπήσει θα με καταλάβει ...•
🖤💔🖤💔🖤💔🖤💔🖤💔🖤💔🖤💔
Καλή ανάγνωση.
Πολλούς ασπασμούς. -
First thing to say, if you don't like unlikeable characters stay clear of this. The narrator of this novel is as unlikeable as they come. He's a misogynist, delusional, self-righteous, self-absorbed, easily unmanned, neurotic, infantile, priggish and yet at the same time he can be piercingly wise. He's also wildly unreliable as the narrator of his own story. William Bradley is a bachelor with exalted aspirations to be a great writer. He'd rather write nothing than anything substandard. So he writes nothing. His friend Arnold is a prolific and successful novelist. He is scornful of his friend's literary achievements. At the beginning of the novel he receives a panicked phone call from Arnold who tells him he has killed his wife. He rushes to the house and finds Rachel, the wife, badly bruised and distraught. Not long afterwards he will share an amorous moment with Rachel. But soon he will fall in love with Arnold and Rachel's daughter. He's so in love with her that he vomits over her dress on their first date at the opera - one of the funniest literary moments of my year. This family provide him with the whole gamut of his imaginative life. Is it real life or is it fantasy?
To begin with one takes the narrator at his word. But, in degrees, his version of events becomes ever more difficult to believe. And as this shift occurs one begins to feel more sympathy for him. I guess at the end it doesn't matter much whether his story is true because he's offered us so much in the way of truth about human existence. It was spoilt a little for me by the postscripts of the other characters telling their conflicting versions of the truth, all of which were irritatingly opaque and overly misleading.
The most prominent idea I took from this book is that we can't help telling the truth about ourselves even when we lie. -
Funnier, lighter, and more in-depth, from a stunning caricature accuracy.
This work is similar to Virginia Woolf, Lispector, or only Sylvia Plath, to quote a few female authors. -
Dissatisfied with my review, I need to say a few words more. It is difficult to properly explain how real the characters become. What each one does is what that person has to do. There are characters that will frustrate you. You ask yourself, “How could he do that!?” On reflection, you realize this is exactly what such a person would do. Each character IS who they are. Bradley is not capable of confronting problems He tries but inevitably fails. His pestering, annoying brother-in-law ends up being amusing. A character can make you both laugh and cry. People are not simple, and so it is perfectly possible to have conflicting emotions toward a person. Murdoch captures this wonderfully.
***********************
Bradley Pearson, a London tax inspector of fifty eight years of age, retires to invest all his time to writing. He had years ago published two novels and a collection of essays. With a little peace and some time to himself, he is sure he will be able to write again. He rents a cottage in the countryside. Before his planned escape, his friend calls, asking him to come over immediately. It’s an emergency. He goes. The ball starts rolling—one emergency after another occurs. His sister has a mental breakdown. His divorced wife turns up from America. Her psychoanalyst brother places demands on him too. Bradley cannot say no to any of them! What happens when a person is pulled in ten directions? Does anything end up right?
Bradley’s book does get written, but not as planned. It is his book we have in our hands. It tells of that which unfolded after that initial phone call.
This book is a character study. You come to know all those mentioned above in depth, with an addition of two. Bradley’s friend is an author, just as Bradley is, but he is an author able to spit out a book every year! This so-called “friend”, their friendship is fraught with tension, has a wife and daughter. With the wife and daughter included, what is delivered is a character study of six. Each of these six are amazingly well drawn.
The author, Iris Murdoch, understands people and knows how to capture in words how people behave. She adds humor and suspense to the story.
And surprise. The book begins with two forewords and ends with six postscripts. These are written by characters in the story. These are as much a part of the story as the central portion which they bookend. The forewords make the reader curious—you don’t quite understand what is going on. The postscripts add the element of surprise. All that you have been told must be reanalyzed. Whose version is right?! This putting together of the different parts is cleverly done!
Murdoch’s writing, her description of people, landscapes and thought processes, is topnotch. The choice of details mentioned, how ideas are expressed and the means by which information is delivered are all well done—for example in the delightful description of a pair of purple boots, how happy such beautiful boots make a woman feel and how the book’s author inserts himself into the telling and speaks directly to readers. He informs us that irrelevant people and events have been eliminated from the telling. One cannot help but wonder what has been altered or removed!
Some people analyze this story in terms of Hamlet. Others focus on the Oedipus complex. For me it was enough to see this simply as a character study. Themes are jealousy and friendship, love and hate, art and mysticism, and the process of writing a story.
Anthony Howell narrates the audiobook very well. His narration I have given four stars. His intonations fit the personality of the person speaking marvelously. It is amusing to compare American and English accents. You hear every word clearly, and the tempo is perfect.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book. I will continue to read all the books I can get by the author.
********************
*
The Black Prince 4 stars
*
A Fairly Honourable Defeat 4 stars
*
The Sandcastle TBR
*
The Sea, The Sea TBR
*
The Good Apprentice TBR
*
The Bell TBR
*
The Unicorn TBR
*
The Time of the Angels TBR
*
The Flight from the Enchanter TBR -
I read this years ago and thought it was hilarious, especially when the old prissy geezer was taking the young lovely student he was hopelessly in lurve with to the Opera and was so excited and overwhelmed by the whole inebriating ineffable scrotum-bedevilling lurve thing that he vomited all over the row in front. Which quite curtailed the passion for that evening.
I actually re-read this not that long ago and it wasn't quite so side-splitting but the vomit scene still brought forth a few chortles.
All the characters in Iris Murdoch's novels are little upper middle class clockwork figurines, she winds them up and they rush here and shag, and rush there and existentialise, and rush there and divorce. It's funny and exhausting and you often need a chart.
But one Iris Murdoch novel is a must.
So it should be this one. -
ΕΔΙΤ 1
Ο Σύνδεσμος στην Λεσχη του Βιβλίου:
http://www.λέσχη.gr/forum/showthread....
Ο Μπράντλι Πίαρσον είναι ένας συνταξιούχος εφοριακός, ο οποίος ονειρεύεται να γράψει ένα δυνατό λογοτεχνικό μυθιστόρημα σχετικό με την αλήθεια. Ένα πραγματικό λογοτεχνικό αριστούργημα. Γύρω του διάφοροι χαρακτήρες… Φθαρμένοι κυρίως από τον συζυγικό βίο…
Η ψυχολογικά διαταραγμένη αδελφή του, η πρώην γοητευτική συζυγός του, ο κολλητός του φίλος ο συγγραφέας, ο κάπως ιδιόμορφος κουνιάδος του, ο κύριος Λοξίας… Και μέσα σε όλες αυτές τις καρικατούρες, και το σκοτεινό αντικείμενο του πόθου, η άφθαρτη εικόνα της μικρής Τζούλιαν. Θα καταφέρει όμως να απαλλαγεί από την π��ρουσία των τοξικών ανθρώπων, να γράψει το μυθιστόρημα του και να ανακαλύψει την μοναδική αλήθεια που φανερώνει ο έρωτας;
Η Άιρις Μέρντοχ πιάνεται κυρίως με 3 θέματα.. Τι είναι τέχνη και πως πρέπει να εκφράζεται, τι είναι ο γάμος και πως μπορεί να φθείρει τους ανθρώπους μέσα από την δική του φθορά και τέλος τι σημαίνει αλήθεια και πόσο μπορεί κανείς να την αντιληφτεί… Η Μέρντοχ αφηγείται την ιστορία του Μπράντλι Πίαρσον με έναν αρκετά πρωτότυπο τρόπο (το καταλαβαίνουμε αμέσως από τον πιο ευφάνταστο πρόλογο επιμελητή!! ). Την ιστορία ουσιαστικά την μετ��φέρει στον αναγνώστη ο επιμελητής του βιβλίου κος Λοξίας.
Η αγάπη της συγγραφέως για τον Σαίξπηρ και την Αρχαία Ελληνική τέχνη είναι κάτι παραπάνω από εμφανής. Ο Μπράντλι μιλάει σε ένα φίλο του όπως ο Άμλετ μιλάει στο φάντασμα αναζητώντας την δικαίωση των πράξεών του ακόμα και μέσα από έναν φανταστικό (;;;) φίλο. Ο εκδότης και φίλος του Μπράντλι είναι ο κος Λοξίας, ένα όνομα διόλου τυχαίο μιας και ήταν ένα από τα παρωνύμια του Θεού της Τέχνης Απόλλωνα. Έτσι μοιραία οι χαρακτήρες του βιβλίου φέρουν το αρχαίο δράμα αλλά και την Σαιξπηρική λιτότητα κάνοντας την ανάγνωσή του απολαυστική.
Σε αρκετά σημεία του βιβλίου υπάρχουν αναφορές για κρυμμένες ομοφυλοφιλικές τάσεις και Συμπλέγματα της Ηλέκτρας. Ο κάθε χαρακτήρας του βιβλίου είναι και μια διαφορετική ερμηνεία της Μέρντοχ για τις διαφορετικές πτυχές του ανθρώπινου χαρακτήρα.
Ο Μαύρος πρίγκιπας είναι ο διάβολος ή ο έρωτας; Η αλήθεια έρχεται μέσα του έρωτα όπως έλεγε ο Πλάτωνας ή τελικά όλα είναι μάταια;
5/5… -
3.5/5
The term "unreliable narrator" is a popular one in literature. As are "creativity", "art", and "great", words whose definitions are thrown around so quickly that the mind can hardly fix on one before another, more "truthful" one is sailing past. As if truth had anything to do with it.
Let's start with the "unreliable" part of the first term. Unreliable how? What standard of reliability do we actually have at our disposal? The simplest answer is the book itself, an answer that quickly devolves into an inescapable paradox from the purely objective point of view. As a result, one must step back from the lenses of objectivity, and trust in the states of transience that meaning undergoes for each and every occasion.
This book has an unreliable narrator. In fact, it has many, and one would go mad in the attempt to discover the "real" story based on the accounts of all of these different and differing voices. Pardon my usage of concrete ideals that belie their inherent complexity, but the story is not of real importance here. There is a story, that is true, but this story is something that was viewed through the perspectives of many human beings, each with prejudices and motives and other mental biases that warp and twist whatever observations they manage to capture from reality. It is these disconnections between whatever constituted these observations and their final rendition on paper that are of interest. Or, more accurately, just how much havoc these disconnections wreak when one comes in contact with another through that vague film of "reality".
The real chaos provoked by the clashing of abstract interpretations is even more pronounced here, in a book wholly consumed with the idea of "art". What is art? How does one define its many aspects, and more importantly, how does one come to create their own? Should one be prolific in their attempts at this most beautiful of substances, or should one wait until one has enough experience/the right state of mind/the most fruitful life opportunity close at hand?
I do not have an answer for that. But many of the characters in this book do, each as varied and conflicting as their inherent characteristics. One thing they all hold in common, though, is their ability to "clean up" the story in their recounting, shape it to a single theme that guides their individual story to their own satisfactory ends. Seemingly well-constructed interpretations are prolific here, all the more striking when contrasted with the glimpses of the most banal of realities that each writer lets slip in their own fashion.
In my mind the former interpretations, while admittedly much more impressive in terms of thematic power and linguistic expression, would not be nearly so impressive without the latter banalities. Why? Because it is this pervasive contrast between high-flown words of interpretation and the mundane "facts" of what "really happened" that is so fascinating. Especially when each narrator wishes to tell the truth, and many of them wish to do it in a way that they consider "art". Words and reality (physical, mental, sociocultural, political, rational, so many multitudes of -al's swirling about and shifting the story at hand) have equal amounts of power over each other. It only requires a small change in either of them to drastically change the results of their constant war.
One event. Two people see it. Each pens down their own version of what they believe happened. One person reads the writings of the other, and responds with a more "correct" version of the others. One reader reads all of these linguistic exercises and theoretical meanderings. One reader wonders at the discrepancies, the accusations, the drama. One reader wonders. -
I enjoyed this very much. It’s definitely peculiar, and can be tedious at times. I personally liked all the inside-a-writer’s-head parts, but they won’t be for everyone, so I definitely wouldn’t recommend it as a first Murdoch. This is my third of hers, and I will now call myself a fan. For years, Fay Weldon was my go-to for reliably strange and captivating stories, and I think I’ll put Murdoch in this category. I don’t pretend to completely understand her philosophies, but I do love reading about them through her entertaining characters.
Murdoch balances the ridiculous with the profound. The multiple narrators in this tale are all wholly unreliable, and the story is farcical--both comic and tragic. If we’re honest, we’ll see parts of ourselves in one or another of this motley crew of characters, and possibly question our own reliability.
There are some wonderful musings
on art:
“Art is a vain and hollow show, a toy of gross illusion, unless it points beyond itself and moves ever whither it points.”
on human nature:
“We desire to be richer, handsomer, cleverer, stronger, more adored and more apparently good than anyone else.”
and on love, when it goes tragically wrong:
“It was like going through a glass and finding oneself inside a picture by Goya.”
Goya’s “Saturn Devouring His Children,” perhaps?
“That this world is a place of horror must affect every serious artist and thinker, darkening his reflection, ruining his system, sometimes actually driving him mad.” -
once again iris murdoch makes my head explode. each time i think i'm in the wrong place when i start: everything seems so conventional and normal, even boring: so british, and calling, and tea cups and all, and then, oh then, it just sort of explodes into sparks of clarity dancing around sordidness combined with philosophy -- its meditations primarily on art, and love. i found several lengthy sections to type out, after the quote below, but cannot now bring myself to do so as the book has exhausted me. it has rung me out but i will not forget it. i do not say i like it, and yet, i cannot say i don't love it. with this, and the unicorn, murdoch has taught me much about suffering, and madness.
a quote from the narrator, which perhaps gives credence to those that align bradley pearson with humbert humbert in their minds.
"I felt that I was, at every instant, creating Julian and supporting her being with my own. At the same time I saw her too in every way as I had seen her before. I saw her simplicity, her ignorance, her childish unkindness, her unpretty anxious little face. She was not beautiful or brilliantly clever. How false it is to say love is blind. I could even judge her, I could even condemn her, I could even, in some possible galactic loop of thought, make her suffer. But this was still the stuff of paradise because I was a god and I was involved with her in some eternal activity of making to be which was of sole and absolute value. and with her the world was made, nothing was lost, not a grain of sand nor a speck of dust since she was the world and I touched her everywhere." -
This is an astonishingly written, complex, sad, hilarious, and deeply felt exploration of how difficult it is for human beings to know themselves and understand their actions (and inactions). It’s my first encounter with the prolific Iris Murdoch’s work, and it won’t be my last.
This being a 50-year-old novel about middle class English folks, I had expected it to be stilted, formal, and tame, and it is anything but those things. Somehow, Murdoch burrows deeply into the psyche of her narrator, a 58-year-old aspiring (failed?) writer named Bradley Pearson, and brings him into such vivid life — his obsessions, his neuroses, his passions, his relationship to love and sex — that if I’d read this not knowing it was written by a woman, I would never have imagined that would be possible.
I imagine this novel wouldn’t be for everyone; it’s dense, florid, and at times almost farcical, and Pearson’s narrative voice — while always ringing true to itself — can be almost willfully pretentious. But this novel feels essential to me. It asks incredibly worthy, timeless questions about how we see ourselves, how others see us, whether the motives behind anything we ever do or say can really be known by ourselves or anyone, and whether and how art plays a role in answering those questions. Truly one for the ages. -
What a beautifully flawed, genuine, keenly observed, and wonderfully human collection of neuroses. Cunningly framed, and revealed in a captivatingly uninterrupted stream of thoughts and undictated conversations. Heartfelt soul-searching, and unexpectedly incidental hilarity.
Stunningly real, and realistically absurd character portrayal.
This was my first from Murdoch, and it will absolutely not be the last; thrilled to have encountered such a confident wordsmith.
_____
The reading updates. -
Murdoch’u Sera’dan görüp listeme eklemiş, sanıyorum büyük bir idefix indirimiyle almıştım. O zamanlar hala blog yazıyordum, antik çağlardan bahsediyoruz yani :) Editör önsözünden sonra okumayı bırakmışım, o birkaç sayfada da birkaç yere işaret koymuşum, büyük ihtimalle daha geniş bir zamanda okumayı planlamışımdır. Neyse, Murdoch’ın dolmakalemli fotoğrafı sonra Jale Özata Dirlikyapan’ın twiti ile yeniden elime aldım birkaç gün önce. Okurken zorlanmadığımı söyleyemeyeceğim. Sanırım Geçtan’dı, yüzleşmeye hazır olduklarımız önümüze geldiğinde kitaplar sadece zihnimizi çalıştırmakla kalmaz, bunun yanında bir değişiklik yaratabilir, diyen (birebir değil, aklımda kalan). Yüzleşmeye hazır olduklarımla nispeten boş yaz günlerim birleşince (itiraf ediyorum, bayram temizliği vaktinden çaldım) nihayet Murdoch’u okuyabildim. Durarak, düşünerek, yavaşça. Şimdi iyi ki o zamanlar okumamışım diyorum. Aşkla, sanatla ve hayatla hesaplaşmasındaki çoğu noktayı büyük ihtimalle anlamazdım. Sıra Yourcenar’da.
-
Assuming that
The Black Prince is a fair representation of
Iris Murdoch's work, I think its unlikely I'll read any more of her books.
That's not to say she's a poor author, nor is it to suggest I didn't like
The Black Prince. She is a fine author, and I liked
The Black Prince well enough. But my experience with this book and what that means to my future engagement with
Murdoch's novels is a bit like my experience with swimming laps in the local pool without a loftier purpose: neither is worth the effort.
I love swimming. I really do. And I like how I feel after I've gotten back into the routine of swimming. But I have to make time, get ready, get to the pool, put in the effort to swim those laps, stress out my lungs, feel the ache in my muscles the next day, and work on staying motivated despite my enjoyment. Yet I get just as much enjoyment out of sitting on my sofa watching a rerun of Match Game, which takes no effort at all, and much more enjoyment out of swimming, biking and running with a sprint triathlon as the end goal -- more effort, but it's effort well spent.
If Match Game is the literary equivalent of a fun
Terry Pratchett novel and triathlon training is the equivalent of
Ulysses, I'll always avoid the middle ground that
The Black Prince fills. It's good, but the effort really isn't worth the payoff.
If I am wrong, however, and
Murdoch's other books are worth the effort, I would love to hear a convincing argument and some recommendations because, if nothing else, this book shows that she is a good author. -
https://kansasbooks.blogspot.com/2022...
"El arte dice la única verdad que en definitiva importa. Es la luz por la cual las cosas humanas pueden ser enmendadas. Y más allá del arte no hay, se lo aseguro a ustedes, nada."
Este es el cuarto libro que leo de Iris Murdoch y exceptuando "El Unicornio", que es una rareza, los demás que han caído en mis manos, incluyendo El Príncipe Negro, tienen en común que son mucho más complejos de lo que parecen a simple vista en el sentido de que Iris Murdoch establece una especie de juego o divertimento, no sé si con ella misma o dirigido al lector, profundizando continuamente en el registro de sus personajes. Por ejemplo, en esta novela que nos ocupa, narrada en primera persona, a la larga vamos descubriendo que su protagonista, Bradley, es un narrador que no resulta para nada de fiar, su percepción de lo que nos va contando por muy seguro que se muestre, llegado un punto nos hace desconfiar de que sea veraz. Teniendo en cuenta que la mayor parte de la novela está narrada en primera persona, solo tendremos la perspectiva de Bradley y aunque nos vaya creando alguna duda o desconfianza, es tanta la información que nos va relatando, tan intensas sus reflexiones y cómo ve al resto de los personajes, que apenas seremos conscientes de que esa perspectiva tan cerrada pudiera ser producto de sus fantasías. La narración en primera persona por Bradley formará parte de la estructura fundamental de la novela, luego tendremos una serie de epílogos narrados por otros personajes, que ampliará nuestra perspectiva de la historia tanto que llegaremos a dudar de ese relato en primera persona de parte de Bradley, pero llegado un punto también desconfiaremos de estos nuevos puntos de vista…, hay tantos giros, tanta fragmentación, tantos intereses ocultos por parte de estos personajes, que el lector se preguntará donde está la verdad de lo que ha leído.
"Pero existe una hostilidad natural, tribal, entre las personas casadas y las solteras. No soporto las exhibiciones, a menudo instintivas, que hacen las personas casadas a fin de insinuar no solo que son más afortunadas, sino en cierto aspecto más morales que tú."
El Príncipe negro está dividida en dos partes con un ritmo bastante diferenciado entre la primera y la seguna parte.
En la primera parte y como es ya normal en las novelas de Doña Iris, se nos presentan varios personajes que van entrando y saliendo de escena, en un único escenario o dos. Bradley Pearson que ha sido Inspector de Impuestos y está retirado, se considera un escritor mayúsculo obsesionado por retirarse al campo y escribir su obra maestra. Sin embargo desde el momento en que comenzamos la novela, todas las excusas serán válidas para retrasar esa salida al campo y entretenerse en cuestiones domésticas... Por una parte, Arnold Baffin escritor de éxito, su protegido, reclama su atención continuamente. Rachel, la esposa de Arnold, también reclama continuamente la atención de Bradley y le hace ver que se siente atraída por él. Entra también en escena Christian, la ex mujer de Brad de la que huye continuamente, también Frances, su cuñado y finalmente Julian, la hija veinteañera de Arnold y Rachel. Cinco o seis personajes entre los que parece que no ocurre nada, con una trama ausente y sin embargo, personajes, giros, conversaciones y cartas. Bradley se pasa esta primera parte huyendo de algunos personajes y encontrándose con otros; es egocéntrico, algo pedante y en ningún momento parece que se interese por nadie más que por sí mismo.
”Pero no hay lenguaje con el que expresar la verdad sobre nosotros, Julian."
- En la segunda parte hay ya un cambio de ritmo y casi de escenario. Bradley se enamora y eso le hace suavizarse y crear una empatía hacia los demás que hasta ahora había brillado por su ausencia. Una historia de amor que pasará por todas las etapas por los que puede pasar el amor a la velocidad de la luz. Se podría decir que llegado a este punto, Iris Murdoch ha encontrado la gran temática en torno a la cual girará la novela: el amor en todo el sentido de la palabra.
"-El amor es una suerte de certeza, acaso la única
- Es un estado de ánimo."
El Príncipe Negro es una novela extraña porque el lector va pisando continuamente terreno inseguro. Cuando en un principio parecía ser una novela satírica en torno a los conceptos de arte donde la Murdoch establece la diferencia entre el arte más comercial reflejado en Arnold frente a literatura más pura dura que viene de parte Bradley (aunque en ningún momento veamos a Brad escribiendo ni siquiera sabremos qué libros ha escrito) poco a poco se va convirtiendo en otra cosa y de repente se convierte en una novela romántica en torno al concepto del amor y de sus registros que van desde el amor ideal pasando por los celos y la desconfianza y el abandono.
"Quizá el mundo pueda ser fundamentalmente descrito como un lugar de sufrimiento. El hombre es un animal que sufre, sujeto a persistente angustia, dolor y temor, sujeto a la regla de lo que los budistas llaman dukha, la infinita e insatisfecha ansiedad de un ser que desea apasionadamente bienes ilusorios. Todos sufrimos, pero sufrimos de manera distinta."
Los personajes de Iris Murdoch no dejan de ser caricaturas y no deja títere con cabeza en ese aspecto, creo que no se salva ninguno en el retrato que hace de ellos. Iris Murdoch por otra parte construye una novela cuyo eje central será Hamlet en el sentido de que las pistas y la simbología que pueden dar algo de luz a estos giros continuos, provendrán precisamene de ahí en su reflexión de la homosexualidad, el arte y el amor. Y a pesar del sentido del humor, del ritmo, de los giros continuos, de los enredos que pudiera parecer que estamos dentro de un vaudeville, nada más lejos: la prosa de Iris Murdoch es el punto clave que marcará el ritmo fluido a través de una simbología siempre presente ya sean las marcadas por unas botas púrpuras o por una estatua de bronce.
"Soy, lo confieso, un escritor de cartas obsesivo y supersticioso. Cuando me siento preocupado prefiero escribir una larga misiva que hacer una llamada telefónica. Tal vez ello se deba a que atribuyo un poder mágico a las cartas. Expresar algo por carta, pienso a menudo de modo irracional, equivale a hacerlo realidad."
[...]
"Una carta es una barrera, una remisión, un sortilegio contra el mundo, un método casi infalible de actuar a distancia. Es una manera de pedir al tiempo que se detenga."
[...]
"Qué peligrosos instrumentos son las cartas. Una carta puede ser infinitamente releida y reinterpretada, estimula la imaginación y la fantasía, persiste, es un testimonio candente."
Y quizás uno de los puntos clave de esta novela se revele en la simbología de las cartas. En muchos momentos, sus personajes se comunican a través de cartas y puede que sea el único momento durante la novela, en que se expresen con sinceridad, sin subterfugios, usando estas epístolas como el único momento en que se desnuden para revelar ciertos secretos, ciertos secretos que se ven incapaces de desvelar a la luz del día. En definitiva, una novela magnífica de una autora que puede absorber mucho, Doña Iris es intensa como ella sola. Sus personajes pueden resultar caricaturescos e hipermegaexagerados en su comportamiento pero no dejan de ser una herramienta necesaria a través de los cuales la autora reflexione sobre sus cuestiones filsóficas de siempre, sobre el arte sobre todo y en este caso concreto, sobre el amor. Al concluir una novela de Iris Murdoch siempre me pregunto si esta mujer, que tantas páginas le dedica al amor en todas sus fases, realmente creía en él o era una gran cínica que abjuraba de él. Sigo sin encontrar la respuesta tras la cuarta de sus novelas leída, pero seguiré leyéndola por si en algún momento Iris Murdoch me lo desvela.
"Es un hecho extraño que las barreras que preservan los grados de intimidad son inmensamente resistentes y, sin embargo, pueden ser vencidas por el más leve roce. El mundo puede cambiar para siempre con solo tomarle a alguien la mano de una determinada manera, con solo mirarle a los ojos de una determinada manera. "
-
As usual, I just can't remember a thing that happened, at least to the extent of assigning it to this rather than some other Iris Murdoch novel. Probably an insane billionaire has a scheme to destroy the world and 007 needs to infiltrate his shadowy organisation, having sex with several hot women en route and finally defusing the atomic weapon when there are only seconds left on the clock.
Wait. That was the other series, wasn't it? In that case, pretty much the same, but take out the atomic weapon and the billionaire and add some Wittgenstein.
-
Granted, I did not pick this book, but I did blindly and eagerly consent based on the fact that I had heard of Murdoch's work and as a result of my experience with other British/Irish women novelists being so rich and rewarding, assumed I would love it. Oh, folly! Iris Murdoch is a philosopher (and a lover of Sartre, worst offender of all, if you ask me), and I generally make it a rule never to read the novels of philosophers because they know shit about character development and even less about plot. Now, mind, as a lover of Joyce and Woolf, I can worship and venerate a plotless novel like it's my job (which it kind of is) as long as there is some lyricism and some wordplay. Not so The Black Prince . Now, all the faux editorial prefaces and postscripts would suggest that I am supposed to hate Bradley and feel that the narrative has no centre. But I hated everyone from the vacillating, talentless Baffins to whining homosexual stereotype Francis Marloe. It's 1973: take a Valium, see a therapist. As such, I resented the hell out of this novel: its endless pontificating on art and existentialism, its mangling of Shakespeare and Dante, its endless reliance on Freudian paradigms only to ridicule them ex-post-facto. I don't see how creating a cast of miserable, despondent, self-obsessed people merits a Booker Prize. I learned nothing from this book and will never read her again. It could've done with a lot more preface/postscipts and a lot less novel. Bottom line: lame.
-
Da li se i vama desilo da krenete jedno jutro na put a usput vas zaskoče bivša žena koju prezirete, njen brat propali psihijatar, najbolji prijatelj koga mrzite jer je uspešniji od vas, njegova raščupana i debela supruga koja bi da vas seksualno iskoristi, njegova zavodljiva mlada kći koja bi ISTO da vas seksualno iskoristi, vaša sestra koja doživljava nervni slom zbog muža za koga je ubeđena da hoće da je otruje, a pritom ste aseksualni, ljigavo romantični i duboko iskompleksirani, evo meni već dva puta do sada.
Izuzetno zabavno štivo, iako bi trebalo da bude tragično, ali kako onako stereotipno impotentne Engleze strpati u ljubavno-seksualne poliedre, lukava je ova Ajris! -
3,5 stars.
I just really enjoyed this book at the beginning. It's indeed an unusual one. I both, like and dislike the main character, Bradley, and overall, all characters in this book. And I am that type of a reader, who is perfectly aware of character's age, but still always picture it as a young(er), and often, I create his physical appearance, although author clearly describe it (as opposite). I don't know why I do this. And, also, I wonder, do I picture characters in books like young ones, because I am young now and will that change when I am old..?
Okay, back to the book itself. I most definitely will re-read this book! I found that it has interesting psychological background, although I am not much impressed by 'developments' in story. This, shall I call it peeve of mine especially manifest in Part 2 of the book. And, the end itself pretty much gave me a feeling of irritation. It's sort of unfinished, but not in the 'good' way. But, once again, I so must read this book again, I sense that I will appreciate it much more. I kinda don't fully 'get it'.
However, I see that not many of my friends read it, which is sad. I would recommend you to read it's description, and hopefully you will find the story interesting, and again hopefully you give it a try. -
On the very last pages, my entire view of the novel changed and I immediately wanted to reread it.
-
Protagonist and narrator Bradley Pearson, a fifty-eight-year-old retired tax accountant, intends to retreat from society to write his masterpiece. He is about to leave town when he receives a series of phone calls. We meet Bradley’s ex-wife, Christian, brother-in-law, Francis, and sister, Priscilla. We meet fellow author, Arnold, his wife, Rachel, and their twenty-year-old daughter, Julian. Bradley is called to intervene in a domestic violence episode between Arnold and Rachel. After a brief dalliance with Rachel, he believes he has found the ultimate in true love with Julian. Bradley writes about a critical period in his life. He presents his version of events, then four of the main characters offer postscripts to provide their viewpoints.
The reader will need to pay close attention to the details of the story in order to figure out what to believe. Bradley admits that he lies to the other main players. He makes excuses. He does not accept responsibility for his actions. He often behaves atrociously. He seems deluded in many ways. He says he has learned something through his ordeal, and we want to believe him. But he also seems reprehensible and hypocritical in his actions.
We spend lots of time in Bradley’s thoughts, and these thoughts meander into ponderous inner dialogues about life, love, art, marriage, morality, self-deception, jealousy, and suffering. The characters are well developed. It contains elements of both comedy and tragedy.
The story is written in such a way that spurs the reader’s curiosity. I came up with a satisfactory interpretation and I think part of the fun of reading this novel is analyzing it at the end. Published in 1973, this is the second novel I have read by Iris Murdoch. I very much enjoy her writing style and plan to read more of her works.
Memorable passages:
“People who model their experiences on works that they admire are all too likely to be egocentric lovers, seeking to cast the beloved into a scenario dreamed up inside their own fantasy.”
“We are always representing people to ourselves in self-serving ways…that gratify our egos and serve our own ends. To see truly is not the entirety of virtue, but it is a very crucial part.”
“If one is prepared to publish a work one must let it speak for itself.”
“She [Julian] had filled me with a previously unimaginable power which I knew that I would and could use in my art. The deep causes of the universe, the stars, the distant galaxies, the ultimate particles of matter, had fashioned these two things, my love and my art, as aspects of what was ultimately one and the same. They were, I knew, from the same source. It was under the same orders and recognizing the same authority that I now stood, a man renewed.”
“Art is not cosy and it is not mocked. Art tells the only truth that ultimately matters. It is the light by which human things can be mended. And after art there is, let me assure you all, nothing.” -
Roman koji nepravedno nazivaju britanskom Lolitom - nemojmo vređati Nabokovljev stil i umeće da saosećamo sa Hambertom, a nemojmo vređati ni mučenu, nesazrelu Lolitu.
Bredli Pirson ima 58 godina i zaljubljuje se u Džulijan (rane dvadesete) ćerku svojih prijatelja, i to je još najbezazleniji zaplet ove španske serije koja se odigrava u Londonu.
Likovi na momente podsećaju na sve one neurotičare Tenesija Vilijamsa, a na momente su Selindžerovi depresivci koji previše filozofiraju.
Sve u svemu, solidan roman, s obzirom na to da nisam očekivala ništa, a i manje od toga, kad sam ga uzela u ruke. -
Hilarious, stylish, and profound--what more do you want out of a novel? A master class in unreliable narration.
-
The Black Prince by Iris Murdoch reads like an absurdist farce or a goofball skit – at least at first: the protagonist and narrator, Bradley Pearson, a would-be writer (three published volumes in some thirty-five years) is bombarded by social interruptions, even though he repeatedly states he has retired and wants only to leave the city to focus on creating what he believes can only be a great novel.
But instead his ex-wife's down-and-out brother shows up, then he’s entangled in his friend's marriage troubles, and he bumps into the couple's daughter, who wants him to tutor her, while his ex-wife herself returns to London from the States. He does not want to see her, but she turns up at his flat anyway. Next his sister abandons her husband and deposits herself on Bradley's doorstep, after which he is talked into driving back to pick up some of her things – she ran out quickly, leaving them behind – and in so doing meets her husband and his new girlfriend (not really that fast: it had been a long-standing affair). What else could intrude? Who else could? Have you caught your breath yet? This is the initial hundred pages.
This is a tale only a single individual could write. That is not true of every work, but with its convolutions of character and relationship, it is true of this. In some ways, it comes off as a grade one soap opera and as a comedy, the actors are so easy to laugh at, particularly the "hero" as I am sure he would portray himself – and in some ways does as events unfold.
But the wonder is that given its garrulous prose and sudsy settings it holds the reader's interest so tightly – it doesn't want to be put down. It is immensely entertaining.
But after a couple hundred pages of set up – normal-seeming men and women doing crazy things – the author gets down to her main thesis: the mad eloquence of love, which taken comically, turns into "ain't love grand,” with incumbent irony. Read seriously it is a meditation on the power and unpredictability of love and the seemingly random emotions it can trigger, both severe and damaging as well as beautiful and unifying. Read superficially it is a wrecking ball to a cluster of well-trodden life paths, with hurts and joys sprayed about randomly. Which seems to circle back to “ain't love grand.”
In sum (and the protagonist would hate and violently disagree with this definition) this is a midlife crisis of the most engulfing order, not only for the hero's besottedness but also for the “what have I done with my life” outpourings of his friends.
There is also an aspect of actions have consequences. Is this valid for Bradley alone? Is this the crux of his life? Do others have their cruxes? We don't know: all orbit him, and it is his inner workings, his inner self, that we get to see, to hear, to receive as if in warning and to interpret and comprehend, if we can.
And as it comes to a close the tale turns to people revealing the illusions they live within to survive. The star is love, of course, perhaps here conceived as a fantasy at least for the state of mind it induces, but the rest of the cast is powerful as well – no spoilers here – but each lives in his or her own bubble, and some of those bubbles are burst: every person sets out to expose the fallacies of every other, the fallacies of their actions and beliefs, of their illusions.
The entire mélange is reinforced through postscripts, and here Murdoch shines in creating distinct voices and world views. Clearly in this narrative (and in this life) no one ever considers any perspective but his or her own. Or put another way: everyone lies – though in this book, in this world, everyone is absolutely honest. Distilled: truth is a matter of vantage point.
Two aspects make the Black Prince great: the pacing – it moves along (except when the narrator lapses into extended philosophy) – and the postscripts of the primary characters. These bring out the high-level intent of the novel, and elevate it from good to excellent, from four stars to five, one might say.
WARNING: do not read the introduction until after you have closed the cover on the story itself – it's a spoiler, not necessarily of content, but of enjoyment. -
i loved this the same way i love every iris murdoch book. and it doesn't surprise me that this is probably her most famous book-- it's long and complex and full of great characters and all perfectly set out and cut like a diamond and overflowing with wonderful sentences and thoughts about art and life and love and all the rest. for me though it was just a little too normal. it's a book about people and the way they interact. it doesn't quite have the shimmering fantastical intensity of, say,
The Italian Girl, or
The Flight from the Enchanter, or
The Sandcastle. the strangeness and beauty of the world itself, of existence pure and simple, is not as forefront. (except, i guess, in that moment with the balloon, where he chases and loses it in the street. (it is not by mistake that they chose that image for the cover of this version. it's the moment that stands out by being different.))
but still, i'd rather read anything by iris murdoch than pretty much anything by anyone else. and i can't just give ALL her books five stars. though really i probably should.
Of course, as you have so often pointed out, we may attempt to attain truth through irony. (An angel might make of this a concise definition of the limits of human understanding.) Almost any tale of our doings is comic. We are bottomlessly comic to each other. Even the most adored and beloved person is comic to his lover. The novel is a comic form. Language is a comic form, and makes jokes in its sleep. God, if He existed, would laugh at His creation. Yet it is also the case that life is horrible, without metaphysical sense, wrecked by chance, pain and the close prospect of death. Out of this is born irony, our dangerous and necessary tool. -
Sevgili Irmak Zileli' nin neden zor günler için sakladığım kitaplardan dediğini bitirince anladım.
Gerçekten çok etkiliyici bir okuma oldu.
Net bi şekikde ben Bradley ' e inanıyorum anlattıklarına baya kefilim. O nası bi yaşam o nası insan ilişkileri ve çözümlemelerdir.
Okuduğunuzda yer yer kültürel yetişme tarzımız gereği onaylamayabilirsiniz. Rahatsızlık olabilirsiniz ama yapılan kurgu oyunları bi yerde sizi öyle bi etkisi altına alacaktır ki olumsuz düşünme fırsatınız kalmayacaktır.
Sanat ve hayat çözümlemelerle dolu, sürükleyici bir okuma yapmak isterseniz, buyurunuz.
Tavsiye ediyorum Keyifli okumalar diliyorum! -
«Ο μαύρος πρίγκιπας »
Ένας ύμνος για τον έρωτα, τον «μαύρο έρωτα », τον ανεκπλήρωτο έρωτα , τον απαγορευμένο έρωτα. Τον έρωτα γεμάτο πάθος χωρίς λογική, τον έρωτα αποτέλεσμα της ανασφάλειας και της μοναξιάς.
Ήρωες που ακροβατούν μεταξύ παραδείσου κ κόλασης, μεταξύ συναισθήματος και λογικής, μεταξύ αγάπης και μίσους. Ζουν στο δικό τους κόσμο περιτριγυρισμένοι από πάθη κ ηδονές.
Επιδιώκουν τη λύτρωση. Οι πράξεις κ τα λόγια τους εμπεριέχουν μυστικά κ ψέματα. Θάβουν επιθυμίες και συναισθήματα κ δρουν πολλές φορές εκδικητικά κ αλόγιστα.
Η γραφή της Μέρντοχ πετυχαίνει το στόχο της, να συγκινήσει τον αναγνώστη κ φυσικά κάθε αναγνώστης να ταυτιστεί με τον κεντρικό ήρωα. Γνωρίζοντας πως όλοι έχουν βιώσει παρόμοιες καταστάσεις με την ιστορία της πετυχαίνει το στόχο της , σκίζει συναισθηματικά τις ψυχές των αναγνωστών. Τους δίνει ενεργό ρόλο οποτε δρουν έστω νοητικά μαζί με τον ήρωα, πονούν μαζί του κ συμπάσχουν.
Από τα καλύτερα αναγνώσματα του ‘21 !!! -
Murdock's Black Prince
"The Black Prince" is a thoughtful, difficult novel that explores the ambiguities of human character and the complex relationship between art and passion. Dame Iris Murdoch (1919 --1999) was both a philosopher and a prolific novelist. She wrote "The Black Prince" in 1973. A subsequent novel, "The Sea, The Sea" received the Booker Prize.
The book revolves around several complex characters. The hero is an author, and retired tax inspector, Bradley Pearson, age 58 at the time most of the action of the book takes place. He has published only sparingly but prides himself as a serious author. Most of the story is told by Bradley.
Bradley has long been divorced, but his ex-wife Christian is a major character in the book, as she reenters Bradley's life after the death of her second husband. Christian's brother, Francis Marloe, is a failed physician who offers advice and assistance, of a mixed quality, to Bradley during the story. Bradley is a long-term friend of the Baffin family, which includes Arnold, a highly successful writer of fiction, his wife Rachael, and their 20-year old daughter Julian. The story revolves around the 58-year old Bradley's love and passion for the 20-year old Julian. As the story unfolds Bradley's sister, Pricilla, is leaving her husband and comes to Bradley for emotional support and assistance. Bradley is put to the test about how he will respond to his sister.
The other major character in Murdoch's novel is an editor, "P.A. Loxias', who becomes Bradley's friend and the editor of Bradley's manuscript that Bradley wrote recounting his love affair with young Julian. The manuscript forms the body of the book. Bradley wrote the book after the fact, while in prison for a crime he did not commit. Loxias both introduces and closes the book, while Christian, Rachael, and Julian get brief opportunities to write for themselves and to comment upon Bradley's manuscript. This "Penguin Classics" reprint of the book also includes an introduction by the noted philosopher Martha Nussbaum which is unusually detailed and, perhaps, could be read as yet another editorial comment on Bradley's story that might well have been part of Murdoch's text.
The story is full of ambiguity, vacillation in its characters, and violence and thus is almost a retelling of Hamlet -- Shakespeare's play that figures prominently in this book. Another main influence on the book is Plato, particularly his great dialogue "Phaedrus" which explores the relationship between art, erotic love, and rhetoric, as this novel does as well. It is always good to be reminded of and to think about Plato. A third, less obvious influence, I think is Buddhism. The influence of Buddhist thought on Murdoch is explicit in her novel "The Sea, The Sea" but it is here as well. The book can almost be read as an illustration of the three basic traits of existence as developed in Buddhist thought: suffering (dukka), change, and egolessness. Bradley and the other characters struggle to see the world and other people clearly but are prevented from doing so by their own passions and self-concepts.
Bradley achieves a Buddhist-like detachment near the end as he reflects upon his experiences.
In reading the book, I found it helpful to distinguish clearly between the body of the story that Bradley recounts and the time that he wrote it, some years afterwards, while left alone with himself to reflect. Bradley was swept with passion for a relationship that could not have lasted, that he did not fully understand, and that lead to tragedy for many people. Yet this passion helped him, in the final analysis, attain a degree of peace and understanding. He was able to tell the truth in writing his story and to present himself, terrible warts and all. Love lead to great human sorrow for Bradly, but it also lead to his ability to present his experience in the form of art and to reflect upon it dispassionately.
Portions of this book are rather wordy and inner directed. It needs to be read carefully. But I found it an inspiring treatment of the nature of human erotic passion and its force for life. The book will appeal to readers willing to reflect and to explore themselves.
Robin Friedman
