a love story (Iris: A Memoir of Iris Murdoch - John Bayley)

Member Name: pje

Product:	Iris: A Memoir of Iris Murdoch - John Bayley
Date:	15/02/02 (68 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Touching.

Disadvantages: Tinged with sadness.

I wanted to read something romantic on Valentine's Day, and following the clutch of Oscar nominations for the film Iris, I thought it was about time I read the book on which it was based. A book described by one reviewer in The Observer as the "greatest love story of our age."

Dame Iris Murdoch wrote twenty-seven novels plus several books about Philosophy, of which she was a scholar. She died in February 1999, having suffered from Alzheimer's Disease since the mid-1990's.

John Bayley and Iris Murdoch met beneath the dreaming spires of Oxford in the early 1950's. He was a tutor of English Lit. at St. Antony's College and she was teaching philosophy at St. Anne's College nearby.

John was first attracted to Iris when she cycled past his window one day. A few months later they were introduced at a party, but he never got the opportunity to talk to her. Then three weeks later they were both invited to a supper, and when she announced that she had to leave early, he did likewise, and they shyly cycled back to Oxford together. To his surprise, she confided in him the news that she had written a novel which was about to be published. Despite not being much of a dancer, he invited Iris to a 'hop'. They had an awful meal in a restaurant first, and then she trod on her dress and fell down some stairs on the way in to the dance. Luckily she wasn't hurt, and later they went up to his room and talked until two in the morning. In a notebook entry dated June 3rd 1954, she wrote:

'St. Antony's Dance. Fell down the steps, and seem to have fallen in love with J. We didn't dance much.'

At the time John was a sexually inexperienced twenty-eight year-old, whereas Iris was six years older, with no qualms or hang-ups about sex. Indeed, a surprising number of men had been recipients of her 'kindness', it wasn't an obstacle to their relationship though. They married in 1956
, and toured Italy in a van on their honeymoon. Besides cycling, they both loved swimming (or rather what the Americans would call 'skinny-dipping') in rivers at every opportunity. Which inevitably led to some embarrassing moments!

They settled down in a country house, which they shared with some rats, and Iris quickly became one of the country's most successful novelists, while John reviewed books for The Spectator magazine. At times Bayley digresses, talking about other novelists the couple were acquainted with, In fact the whole book is one long ramble down memory lane, but that's good - it flows beautifully.

He first noticed something was wrong with Iris when she struggled to find words during a discussion at the University of the Negev in Israel in 1994, and the last section of the book consists of diary extracts from 1997 as he tries to cope with Iris's increasingly uncomprehending behaviour. Someone is home, but the lights are going out. She compulsively waters plants, collects rubbish and throws a wobbly on a bus: "No! No home. Why travelling like this. He doesn't know."

Bayley is repelled by the attitude of the wife of one Alzheimer's sufferer who describes it as "like being chained to a corpse" who "complains all the time", and that she often plays a video of snooker to keep him occupied. Nevertheless, they get a television set for the first time, and end up sitting and watching the Teletubbies together every morning. It's as though the love of his life has become a three-year-old again.

I have to say that Iris Murdoch is still a bit of a mystery to me. She came across as an incredibly placid person, displaying no strong feelings at all. She seems to have been unflappably patient, and accepting of everyone, and everything, in a non-judgemental way.

There's no doubt that they were devoted to each other and were soul mates. But did anyone - even
John Bayley - ever really understand her?

¶ Paperback: £7.99 ¶ ISBN: 0349112150 ¶ pp 294 ¶
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