Impedimenta has recently published the fifth novel by prolific writer Iris Murdoch (Phibsborough, Dublin, 1919- Oxfordshire, UK, 1999); a philosopher who writes fiction, or perhaps an author who teaches philosophy as the author of 25 novels. Oxford through the years. He also wrote drama and published two books of poetry and several philosophical essays in which he explored the nature of morality and its necessity in a society he saw as disoriented; but his last philosophical work dates from 1992.
In a television interview broadcast on the BBC in 1977, Murdoch explained that philosophy has an enlightening character, while literature is by definition playful, that a work of philosophy focuses on a theme, and that he is aware that there are many and varied possibilities in a work. has been established in the literature.
With this premise, A Severed Head, first published in 1961, is imbued with one of his favorite themes: the nature of human love when the dimensions of love for another person intersect with the most abundant egocentric love. As the verb to fall in love indicates, the subject’s act of loving usually returns to himself; Most of the time we don’t love the person we love, but rather we love the idea of love reflected in the other person.
A severed head is a study in the possibilities of love, developed within a network of relationships involving just six members of the post-war London bourgeoisie who had too much money and too much free time on their hands. It allows them to get caught up in delusions that mask reality with claims of sincerity.
The beginning is idyllic: an interior warmly lit by the fire in the fireplace, a beautiful young couple embracing, and the exterior obscured by curtains, a “cold, raw and foggy London afternoon.” The picture is interrupted by the departure of the man who is waiting for his handsome wife in an exclusive neighborhood. The narrator, Martin Lynch-Gibbon, walks contentedly towards another embrace that is legitimate because “he needed both, and because he had both, he was master of the world.”
Once home, Martin’s life becomes complicated; The sudden abandonment of his wife confronts him with the possible demands of his mistress, and with the horror of losing his comfort, he concludes that he does not truly love any of them. But Murdoch does not let him off so easily, and soon Martin experiences a storm of emotions regarding his own self-esteem, so he finds himself trapped in the comings and goings of love motives in his life cycle, manifested in infidelities, adultery and incest. , drunkenness and suicide attempts.
Soon a faceless head sculpture found in Martin’s brother’s workshop becomes the symbol of the narrative: if the mind’s dream produces monsters, the mind lacks the features that humanize it. Disembodied, motionless and expressionless, the severed head loses connection with human nature, capable only of offering knowledge, prophecies and fleeting advice devoid of reality. This often leads to perverse emotional states that reveal a lack of empathy between the parties: Thoughts drift to one side, while words and gestures ingrained in people by education and tradition express a non-existent interest. At the intersection of love and heartbreak, the phrase “I thought I knew you, it came as a complete surprise” is repeated, while the facts make it clear that they don’t even know themselves.
lively rhythm
Despite the burden of argument, the novel maintains a lively rhythm with a few strategically spaced unexpected events that surprise us and change the course of the characters’ lives. Murdoch is a master at the art of editing and knows how to keep the reader interested without losing control of the story. He is also a master of words. In a stroke of vocabulary, he replaces the distant language he learned from the upper classes with a crude, colloquial expression that marks a shift towards more normalized experiences in a mid-20th-century society. Similarly, compare or contrast characters’ moods with the weather; Sometimes Martin suffocates in “the thick, dirty air, the cold, damp, dirty air that presses on my lungs,” and sometimes he can’t see through the fog. And always, given the prevailing egocentrism, each character moves “within the confines of a small circle, barely illuminated by a streetlamp, surrounded by a yellow, opaque night from which people and objects appear with disturbing suddenness.”
Just as London officials install “fog lights on main streets” to guide citizens, Murdoch reinforces the metaphor by placing a character in the work: Honor Klein, who acts as a guide to direct five others to budgets. in accordance with their historical moment that liberated them from social selfishness.
Klein helps them see that expressing fear or indulging in violence is sometimes appropriate and good for the soul and for coexistence, and that there is nothing worse than repressing emotions, supposedly in the name of happiness. His quiet but persistent work does not earn him a peaceful relationship with the group, as from his appearance in the novel Klein becomes a constant and inescapable physical presence, the sole bridge of unity between the educated nobles and the “conscious and conscious”. Outer world.”
Klein is neither immune to love nor averse to such feelings; on the contrary, he hates the love that Martin needs, “a great and strong love that saved me” (emphasis added). What he advocates is exactly the opposite; A love that recognizes that there are other people around us who are real, who have desires, who have rights and the ability to act.
A severed head allows analysis from other perspectives; There are repeated references to mythology and enough hints of psychoanalytic aspects in both the attitudes and views of the characters. And we should not forget that Murdoch was a student of Ludwig Wittgenstein at Cambridge University and wrote the first book in English on Jean-Paul Sartre: Sartre: The Romantic Rationalist, published in 1953, just a year before the book appeared. Işık The author’s first novel, Under the Internet. Both titles serve as an effective introduction to what will be the central theme of Murdoch’s work: how we become trapped under an intractable contradiction.
The author has spent the last six years under the effects of Alzheimer’s disease. Her husband since 1956, John Bayley, also an Oxford academic and writer, published a trilogy about the increasing disruption that evil wreaks on Murdoch’s intelligence and the daily lives of both: Iris, Iris and Friends, from 1998 and 1999 respectively. and Elegía a Iris from 1998, recalling their time together in the good times.