'The Black Prince' by Iris Murdoch
'The Black Prince' by Iris Murdoch
Books on GIF turns 8; to celebrate, here's a novel by one of my favorite authors.—Review #232
Books on GIF’s 8th anniversary was this week. Eight years is a long time to do anything. Presidents are forced out after that span. It can contain all of high school and college. It’s a prison term for a felony conviction. I was feeling morose about how much time has passed since we launched BoG, and all I could hear in my head was the theme song from the 1970s show ‘Eight is Enough.’ It’s a terrible song, but I wondered if its message was true for me. Was eight enough? It’s tough to know whether you should stick with something, whether it matters, or whether it’s time to stop. But when I posted about the anniversary on social media, I was inspired by how many of you liked the posts or wrote in with congratulations and encouragement. Your support, my friends, means everything! It keeps us going! Thank you!
One of our Instagram subscribers asked if we were doing a best-of list for the last eight years, similar to what we published last year. I hadn’t planned on doing that, but two books instantly came to mind, so here’s a quick update. The best fiction and nonfiction books I read in year eight are:
‘Down the Drain’ by Julia Fox is the most fascinating and intense celebrity memoir I’ve ever read. Just when you think it can’t get any more wild, it does. I couldn’t put it down! ‘Boulder’ by Eva Baltasar is a sharp and punchy novella that explores the power dynamics between two women and how that changes when a child is factored in. It’s so good, I wrote a love note in the margins of my copy, and I bought a print of the cover art. I’m looking forward to reading more of Baltasar’s work soon, but we’re starting year nine with one of my favorite authors, Iris Murdoch. When Donna saw I was reading ‘The Black Prince,’ she said, ‘Oh, you’re reading Iris Murdoch again?’ As you know, we aim to feature a wide range of authors and genres in the newsletter, and we had included ‘The Bell’ a year ago and ‘The Sea, the Sea’ before that. I always appreciate Donna keeping me honest about my book choices, but I wanted to read it for three reasons: 1) the book had been on my TBR pile for a while, and I wanted to clear it off; 2) it is the only Penguin Classics black edition not in its proper place on my bookshelf (the part devoted to publishers with distinctive spines); and 3)
Turns out, reading this book was a tremendous gift to myself!
Here’s the book’s cover:
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could travel back in time and live in London of the early 1970s, when apparently one could afford to retire at 58 and have enough money to finance traveling somewhere to write a book? How unattainable that seems today, but this is where we meet Bradley Pearson, who’s just left his job at the tax office. Bradley is the author of several unsuccessful books, but he is determined to use his free time to pursue his next one, sure to be a masterpiece. His bags are packed for a writing retreat to the country, or abroad, or both—the world is his oyster—when calamities strike. His best friend/rival and more-successful author, Arnold, calls with urgent news—he may have murdered his wife. Could Bradley swing by their house? Turns out, Arnold’s wife, Rachel, hasn’t been killed, just slightly injured in an instance of domestic violence. Rachel, while being consoled by Bradley, offers a proposition—could they start an affair? Meanwhile, Bradley’s hated ex-wife, Christian, who years ago moved to the United States and remarried, has suddenly returned to London and sent her mooching brother, Francis, over with a message—she wants to reconnect, could they make peace? On top of that, Bradley’s sister, Priscilla, bursts through his door in tears—she has left her husband and their failed marriage, could she crash until her suicidal urges abate? Bradley’s like:
He tries to parry these people and their problems to stay on course, but he is continually confounded. One day, Bradley sees Arnold’s 20-year-old daughter, Julian, who has long looked up to him, ripping love letters and scattering the pieces into the street. She eventually asks Bradley to be her literary tutor, but he denies her thinking she’ll be just another stressful inconvenience delaying his departure. But Julian persists, and suddenly, while they’re discussing ‘Hamlet,’ Bradley sees her in a new light, like:
Is Julian actually the love of his life, instead of an annoying college student? Has their love always existed, transcending reality and the fabric of the universe to defy the nearly four-decade age gap between them? Or is he suddenly having a mid-life crisis and becoming just another delusional and horny old man? His mind clears: He and Julian are, of course, meant to be. But what to do? How to pursue her? I won’t give away the details, but the story is full of chilling and riveting twists and turns that had me like:
I loved ‘The Black Prince’ and flew through it. Murdoch’s writing is crisp as always and brings the characters to life—they sound and act like real people. I enjoyed how she structured the book as Bradley’s memoir, which has a huge payoff at the end. It also shows how we often think of ourselves as the hero in the story of our lives, but that all of us are unreliable narrators. I also enjoyed subtle nuggets that Murdoch sprinkles throughout, like the backstory to Christian’s name, or how Bradley’s love for Julian is awakened as he imagines her dressed as a male character in ‘Hamlet.’ But most of all, I loved how the novel explores getting older, and how anxiety about age combined with repressed regrets and resentment can lead to crisis and self-centered madness. It demonstrates how that madness can hurt those we care about, and how we can become trapped and blinded by our own poor decisions. ‘The Black Prince’ is a sobering book to read as I reflect on the last eight years of Books on GIF and look forward to the future. I highly recommend it.
An excerpt:
It might be most dramatically effective to begin the tale at the moment when Arnold Baffin rang me up and said, ‘Bradley, could you come round here please, I think that I have just killed my wife.’ A deeper pattern however suggests Francis Marloe as the first speaker, the page or house-maid (these images would appeal to him) who, some half an hour before Arnold’s momentous telephone call, initiates the action. For the news which Francis brought me forms the frame, or counterpoint, or outward packaging of what happened then and later in the drama of Arnold Baffin. There are indeed many places where I could start. I might start with Rachel’s tears or Priscilla’s. There is much shedding of tears in this story. In a complex explanation any order may seem arbitrary. Where after all does anything begin? That three of the four starting points I have mentioned were causally independent of each other suggests speculations, doubtless of the most irrational kind, upon the mystery of human fate.
As I have explained, I was about to leave London. It was a raw damp cold afternoon in May. The wind carried no flowery smells, but rather laid a moist healthless humour upon the flesh which it had then attempted to flay. I had my suitcases ready and was about to telephone for a taxi, had in fact already lifted the phone, when I experienced that nervous urge to delay departure, to sit down and reflect, which I am told the Russians have elevated into a ritual. I replaced the instrument and went back into my crowded little Victorian sitting-room and sat down. The result of this manoeuvre was that I as immediately aching with anxiety about a number of arrangements which I had already checked ten times over. Had I got enough sleeping pills? Had I packed the belladonna mixture? Had I packed my notebooks? I can only write in a certain kind of notebook with the lines a certain distance apart. I ran back into the hall. I found the notebooks and the pills and the belladonna of course, but by now the suitcases were half unpacked again and my heart was beating violently.
Quote I’d get tattooed on my arm:
‘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.’
My rating:
‘The Black Prince’ by Iris Murdoch was originally published in the U.K. by Chatto & Windus and in the U.S. by Viking Press in 1973. This edition, with an introduction by Martha C. Nussbaum, was published in 2003. 408 pages. $14.88 at Bookshop.org.
New to the TBR:
Books on GIF does not solicit review copies. We feature books we purchase at independent bookstores around New York City and on our travels, or were borrowed electronically from the Brooklyn Public Library.
What’s next:
Before you go:
ICYMI: Review #231
Read this: One of my favorite places in the world was Pyramid, a legendary and now-defunct club in Manhattan’s East Village. I miss that place, where every night seemed to be ’80s night and everyone loved to dance. But I was excited to learn this week that a new oral history about it is coming out: ‘“We Started a Nightclub”: The Birth of Pyramid Cocktail Lounge as Told by Those Who Lived It.’ I’m also excited to read this Pyramid reunion feature in Curbed once my monthly story allowance refreshes.
Do this: Pete’s Reading Series this week features readings by Gina Chung, Griffin Hansbury, Crystal Hana Kim and Jiaming Andy Tang. Donna and I recently saw Chung read at Ditmas Lit, and thought her work was great. (Donna also bought her new short-story collection.) Hansbury is also known by pen name Jeremiah Moss, the blogger and author behind ‘Vanishing New York.’ The event is Thursday, May 16, at Pete’s Candy Store, 709 Lorimer St., Brooklyn, and it’s free.
If you enjoyed this review:
Thanks for reading, and thanks especially to Donna for editing this newsletter!
Until next time,
And…
MPV
What a wonderful newsletter this week!! I am very intrigued in ‘The Black Prince’!! I might read that as part of my classic goal this year. Equally jazzed to see ‘Pedro Páramo’ up next as I have been meaning to read that for a while - so I can’t wait to hear what you think!
8 years is a wildly impressive amount of time to have been running BOG Mike - while I appreciate you wondering if it was time to stop, we’re all so pleased you haven’t. BOG 4eva ❤️
Happy anniversary and (I think?) happy birthday! I always think of you when I see an Iris Murdoch book, I think of you.