I’m reading Iris Murdoch. Amazing. I have no idea why it’s taken me this long to get to her. I once heard the quote: ‘We read to know that we’re not alone,’ and I’m reminded of it when I read about Charles Arrowby of The Sea, The Sea. Nearing old age, he’s a famous theatre luvvie and consistently pompous git who’s trying to leave all the London theatre nonsense behind to live a quiet life by the sea. He’s so human, with his rambling, fallible stumblings along the path of morality (a path which is partially obscured by his rampant egoism). He doesn’t understand his own motivations, and relies on tools like manipulation and self-promotion without realizing it, so it’s a novel with a fair share philosophical barbs, such as: ‘We are all such shocking poseurs, so good at inflating the importance of what we think we value.’ Yet it’s also about someone trying to develop moral goodness. I’m desperate for a hopeful ending, rather than a bleak one, but I’m not sure I’ll get it. Will report back.
