A Severed Head

Written in the 1960s, A Severed Head is a portrait of a marriage and relationships in an world where appearances are one of the most important thing.

Martin, child-like and selfish, strangely self-aware but lacking the conscience to wish to change, believes he has a perfect marriage, so perfect that he can get away with having a younger mistress. His world on turned upside down when his wife announces she is to leave him for his friend, and his therapist. Over the next few months, the lives of everyone involved are changed completely, and not necessarily in ways one might expect.

It is interesting that in this book, there is not a single likeable character. Martin is selfish, Antonia self-centred beyond belief, Palmer arrogant, Georgie show more too weak and forgiving.

Yet despite being unlikeable, in Murdoch's skilled hand, they are all engaging; as a reader you want to know what happens to them.

Murdoch's characterisations are skilful, while her descriptions of places and events conjure up atmospheres vividly: an airport announcement is described thus: 'in the warm lounge half-audible voices have singing instructions to people who seemed to understand them', while a piece of furniture 'retained a derelict temporary air as if it thought it was already at Sotheby's.'

I would not have thought I could enjoy a book with such a collection of dislike able characters, but the brilliant writing makes this a highly readable book, and one I would strongly recommend. I look forward to reading more Murdoch. show less

To quote Martin Lynch-Gibbon, the main character, "Oh, Christ." A Severed Head by Iris Murdoch is considered satire, but be forewarned, it's not humorous satire... the satire is in the exaggeration of situations. And boy, are you in for it. I rarely read books that have me exclaiming out loud, "Are you serious???," but A Severed Head had me doing just that. Along with gasping, face-palming, and shaking my head. What a crazy ride. Unpredictable and outrageous, with touches of gothic suspense and atmosphere. And I would be remiss not to point out Murdoch's exquisite prose, which is so full of vivid details that I could see the scenes played out as a movie in my mind's eye. Yes, there will be more Iris Murdoch in my future.

Well this was a weird one! Now see if you can keep up (massive spoilers)....Martin is a wine merchant, happily married to Antonia, and has a young mistress, Georgie, on the side. All is bliss until Antonia announces she is leaving him for her shrink, Palmer, on whom Martin shares a bit of a man crush. Being British, they are terribly civilised and drink lots of wine together, while Martin plays the Wronged Man. Martin seeks comfort from Georgie and takes her home for the first time, where they are discovered together by Honor (Palmer's sister). Honor finds out the whole story from Georgie, including the abortion that Martin forced her to have. Honor tells Palmer and Antonia everything. No more Wronged Man, but being British they are show more terribly civilised and all sit around and drink wine together. Georgie is introduced to them all and they all sit around and drink wine together. One night Martin comes to deliver some wine to Antonia and Palmer and when storing the wine in the cellar, is surprised by Honor, who he attacks in a lustful frenzy. Martin realises he is not in love with Antonia or with Georgie but with Honor. He follows her back to Cambridge and surprises her in bed with another man, Palmer! (Keeping up?). Martin agrees not to tell Antonia. Antonia returns to Martin saying she doesn't understand Palmer, but he is suddenly cold towards her, she has been a fool, they return to each other and drink lots of wine. Alexander, Martin's sculptor brother, announces that he and Georgie have fallen in love and are engaged to be married (I know!!). Being British, they are terribly civilised and drink lots of wine together. Georgie cuts off her glorious hair and sends it to Martin, who suddenly fearful for her safety, races to her bedsit and finds she has overdosed but is still alive. Honor turns up and they call the ambulance. So, Antonia, Martin, Palmer, Honor and Alexander are all by her bedside being terribly civilised and solicitous. Palmer writes to Martin and tells him that he and Honor are going to America together forever. Antonia returns home and tells Martin she is leaving him for Alexander with whom she has been having a long affair beginning while engaged to Martin. Being British, they are terribly civilised and drink lots of wine together. Martin, who has professed his undying love to Honor but was rejected, has to have one last look and waits at the airport to see her leave with Palmer. But there are three of them leaving - you guessed? - Georgie is going with them. Martin returns home alone to his empty house. Honor turns up at the door. They fall into each other's arms. The end.

Well, it was quite hilarious to me, but a bit dated in style - it was written in the very early sixties - and, I think, in its depiction of the upper middle class in Britain. I guess it was show less

This was brilliant. Described by my local bookseller as 'one of her more operatic books', he was not wrong. The narrator is a bit of a proto version of the protagonist from The Sea, The Sea, he's a complete idiot with no emotional intelligence at all. The book gets increasingly farcical and ludicrous as relationships crumble and reform, at some points making me laugh with delight and disbelief.

Martin Lynch-Gibbon is perfectly satisfied with his wife, Antonia, and his young mistress, Georgie...until his wife suddenly announces that she is leaving him for Palmer Anderson, her psychoanalyst. Reeling from the wtf moment, the pain of betrayal, and infuriation by Antonia and Palmer's insistence at his inclusion in their relationship, and constant treatment of him as an overgrown child, he finds himself repelled but drawn to the most unlikely source of desire - Anderson's sallow-cheeked, greasy-haired laconic sister Honor Klein, whose existence seems to mock and expose his painfully male mistakes. As Martin stumbles through the fog of anxiety, anger and tears, he soon realizes the true depths of his self-deception, and who he really show more loves.

Thought the Main Character Trying To Lead His Own Life Without Interference trope was all she had? Wrong!! Iris makes another long running Murdochian trope the centre of attention: The Complicated Love Triangle (where friends suddenly become lovers, lovers turn into strangers and acquaintances suddenly become lovers). Iris's depiction of love is intense and consuming, but diffused and confused. Everything is shrouded in possibility, waiting for the chance of a mere encounter. Seemingly logical decisions and rational behaviour, once stripped away, are often exposed for elements of emotional involvement - and each character has different instruments to cheat themselves. Martin tries to rationally justify his decision for a mistress. Antonia beseeches Martin to be reasonable and kind, after she elopes with Palmer. The only character that seems to withstand the self-bullshit is Honor, who lurks in the novel as some cloaked sceptre of truth - apparently nobody can lie to her because they're compelled into honesty by forces beyond.
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The dryer Iris is, the more dramatic she turns, and this was so much fun to read!! I'm just glad that she left behind such a prolific amount of work. show less

I’m a big fan of Murdoch but this one just didn’t come up to her usual standards. To be fair to her, what I should say is that it doesn’t reach the standards that her later novels show (The Black Prince and The Sea, The Sea in particular).

This isn’t unusual for great novelists though; just look at the difference between Woolf’s The Voyage Out and The Waves. In the same way, Murdoch starts out with Under the Net, moves on to The Bell and then A Severed Head. It’s definitely a step in the right direction. The characters are more sinister, more complex and more in need of a good hard slap in the face.

For a start, any protagonist with a double-barrelled surname in a Murdoch novel probably lacks a bit of perspective on anyone show more except himself. And so it proves. Martin Lynch-Gibbon is jilted in love and spends the rest of the novel attempting to come to terms with this, blind to the fact that his hypocrisy is laid bare by the fact that he was already having an affair at the time his wife confessed her own to him.

Events overtake him though (another theme that dominates later Murdoch novels) and he finds his wife, her lover and his own lover in alliance against him. At the same time, her lover’s enigmatic sister Honor Klein appears more and more frequently to lend a gothic air to everything.

It’s not hard to see what will happen in the end, but there are some twists along the way, notably in Cambridge (which, ironically, I have some personal experience of). The book moves at a fair pace, but it’s not the frenetic dash of The Sea, The Sea. Thus, we have an important Murdoch that shows traces of her later greatness. show less

A Severed Head is a book about relationships. Dysfunctional relationships, and the dysfunctional people who have them. And the dysfunctional psychologist who encourages everyone's dysfunctions (including his own) by overlaying it all with a veneer of rationalizations. Reading books like this makes me realize that the impact of psychoanalysis was pretty deep - it was parodied and poked and prodded from every angle in literature for quite a while. This particular version involves our narrator, a man named Martin, who is cheating on his wife with a young woman named Georgie. The wife, Antonia, in short order is revealed to be having an affair with her psychoanalyst, Palmer (this is widely hinted at from the first pages, so I don't consider show more it a spoiler). From that point, things just get stranger.

For a book so focused on romantic entanglements, the characters rarely seem to be in love. They are codependent, vengeful, distant, enigmatic, hurtful, obsessive about/to/with each other, but they don't seem to be in any form of love that would be recommended. It's an odd little story, and one where the writing kept me going more than the plot.

Recommended for: romantic cynics, bitter divorcees, people who suspect everyone is a little bit crazy.

Quote: "To lose somebody is to lose not only their person but all those modes and manifestations into which their person has flowed outwards; so that in losing a beloved one may find so many things, pictures, poems, melodies, places lost too: Dante, Avignon, a song of Shakespeare's, the Cornish sea." show less