3 out of 5

The Black Prince is an awful book.

I’ve only read a handful of Iris Murdoch’s books – and I guess the short version of this review simply makes it clear that I’m looking forward to reading more – and that they all share a similar theme makes me want to guess that that theme extends through most of her books, if not all; namely: obsession, and perspective.  Namely: the inability of language to capture anything, and its equal ability to distort everything.  Often her leads are male; often they are writers.  They very directly share their opinions on up and down and left and right, and then a random factor comes into play Which Changes Everything and our confident, opinion-slinging lead is suddenly directing all of their energies toward this obsession.  And by tale’s end, the nature of the obsession is disassembled, to them, to the reader, to both.  The success of Murdoch’s reuse of these themes and structures hinges on how well she sets up her narrator.

Starting things off in ‘Under the Net,’ the writing is incredibly accessible because the point of the book is the point of the book – meaning the focus on language is not hidden – and the main character can relate it to us with a bit of whimsy.  With later novels, though, Murdoch would add layer upon layer, ostensibly putting forth a real story between the covers while still exploring her topic.  Maybe it’s not as easy to get into as ‘Net,’ but the development drives the concepts home all the more devastatingly.  But it opens up the possibility that we might be sitting with a narrator with whom we don’t really get along, trusting in the author to carry us through to a successful conclusion.

And ‘The Black Prince’ falls on that side of the line.  …For part of the book.  Which is why it’s awful.  Bradley Pearson, author – but a rarely published author, intent on withholding his words until they are the absolute truth – has a story to tell us, about wanting to leave London for a while to isolate himself and let that great book finally gestate.  And in Murdochian style, in the meanwhile he tells us his thoughts on literature, on his frequently published friend Arnold, on Arnold’s marriage to Rachel, on the nature of marriage, of relationships.  To some, Pearson’s disgust with relationships may seem radically cynical, but I must admit to feeling similarly on some topics, and it kept making me wonder if Murdoch did too.  Or was Pearson her way of making fun of such nay-saying?  For at the start, as Pearson finds himself beleaguered by all sorts of people from his life, preventing him from catching that train out of town, ‘The Black Prince’ plays like a comedy.  But the back of the book promises “a violent climax.”  So where is all this going?

It’s going to Part Two, which is when Bradley falls in love.

This part of the book is awful.  …In how accurate it is.  On the one hand, it’s 100 pages of drivel, Bradley becoming ridiculously enamored with someone, and spending as much time telling us of his love as trying to justify to us how this fits in with everything he was poo poohing on before.  You’ve heard these types of people before.  Hell – you’ve probably been in the same position.  But Murdoch doesn’t flinch.  With the other obsessive character types of hers I’ve read, there’s generally a clearer line between before-obsession and after-, but here, it’s a drastic and sudden switch.  And then you’re just stewing in it.  This section is worthwhile for the balance it creates in the text, but it’s also the kind of nigh-indulgence that only seasoned authors can get away with.  Murdoch attempts to keep us entwined by having quite a bit of action and drama go on in this portion, but I still felt like it didn’t excite, and that I was reading love poems until I would fall asleep.

And here’s why, past that section, the book is even more awful: because the ending is evil, dark genius.  Fulfilling the back cover’s claim that it “casts a bewildering and shifting perspective on all that has gone before.”  You want to travel through the fog again, re-experiencing the book now that you know what you now.  Never before has Murdoch stung me so harshly with her themes; never before has one of her books made me think this much.  Yes, this should raise the rating, but I keep having to force myself to remember how aimless I felt during that middle section.  And yet how important that section is for underlining what’s being explored…  Simply awful, you see?  Not a book that allows you to say “good” or “bad.”

So going back to my earlier statement, the success of Murdoch’s books lies in how well she sets up her narrator.  And Bradley is set up a bit backwards.  We think we’re getting to know him, but his turnaround in part two feels like a lie at the time, which automatically makes the novel – which up to this point hasn’t “settled” into anything, as all we’ve been doing is trying to catch Pearson a train – a bit off-putting.  And there’s simply no indication that things will change (no promise of a resolve for Part Three)… except that you trust your author.

A mini epic, but one that requires some dedication to get through, and a babbled reviewer to convince you to do so.  (YESSSSSS)