Marian, a young teacher, arrives at remote Gaze (heh) Castle believing she is to act as governess to a wealthy family’s children - only to find that there are no children and that she is meant to be the companion to the lady of the house, Hannah Crean-Smith. But why is she so isolated and… trapped? And where is her husband?
I’ve never read Iris Murdoch before, although I’ve been aware of her as an Important Author for years, with all the connotations that label brings with it (ie. difficult writing style and not fun stories). So when I picked up her 1963 novel The Unicorn, I was delighted to find it quite marvellous - to begin with at least. Because unfortunately, after the first part, the novel begins to unravel in quality and keeps getting worse as it goes on, until I couldn’t wait for it to end.
Part 1 is superb. Marian arriving in a creepy remote village where the townsfolk are strange and glib, then going to the wonderfully gothic manor house where the servants are just as unsettling and everyone’s sleeping and drinking far too much for no apparent reason. The tension subtly builds and Marian becomes more and more disturbed until she begins contemplating desperate measures. It’s fantastic stuff - I was beginning to think that Murdoch was the British answer to America’s Shirley Jackson; Jackson’s protagonists are similarly young women who go mad and/or suffer terrible fates in horror stories.
Then it all goes Pete Tong. The perspective moves from Marian to Effingham, a very dull man, and the story shifts focus from the mystery of the place and Marian’s fragile mental state, to a far less enticing story about blah characters fancying other blaaaah characters. Oh, that woman’s secretly loved that man for years, but he’s loved that other woman secretly for years, except she’s secretly, etc. etc. I couldn’t have cared less!
The mystery behind Hannah’s isolation is unremarkable once it’s revealed long before the end. And then Murdoch gives up on story entirely to turn the book into (shudder) a Literary Novel. That is, the book becomes all about fabricating vague, rambling passages on religion, symbols, GAWWWWD - all while making her characters behave in ways to reinforce these contrived musings - ostensibly to enable dry, witless academics to discuss her work as quite serious and deep. And in order to become a Literary Novel, it must never be clear in what it’s purportedly saying or be interesting at any point - and so the novel obliges by taking itself too seriously and being meandering and boring for much of its page count.
The Unicorn would’ve been so much better if it had kept to just Marian’s perspective and continued with the neo-Gothic modern day Sleeping Beauty retelling that it set out to be, instead of the tedious, unimpressive mush it ended up becoming in trying to do whatever it was trying to do.
Perhaps Iris Murdoch did write a great novel, and I’m not saying I won’t give her another chance, but the strength of the first 60 pages (out of 270 - and it feels way longer), isn’t enough to recommend The Unicorn or this writer. A very poor read that started so well and seemed to promise so much, and delivered upon none of its potential - unfortunately making this not exactly a unicorn amongst novels, but rather another dud in the majority of published books.
No comments:
Post a Comment