I am absolutely fanatical about Iris Murdoch, I love everything about her novels; the atmosphere, the style, the characters, the dialogue, their seeming (and very deceptive) transparency, their philosophical depths, the sheer amount they give you to think about, they feel bottomless to me. However, I usually tend to prefer to earlier novels, but this one, though fairly late (1970) is one of my favourite. I swear that every single thing about it is perfect. With the infinitely disillusioned Julius King, Murdoch really reaches an apex of her sinister manipulative characters and their broken worlds. I cannot get over how she manages to tread the line between farcical and heartbreaking. Every situation she creates is utterly improbable and absolutely believable. Her dialogue is so unrealistic and rings so true. The gay couple, Simon and Axel, are my favourites in this, one of the best portrayals of any relationship ever. I literally have no words for how highly I think of this novel.
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