Book Review: "The Black Prince" by Iris Murdoch

One thing that I have noticed about the novels of Iris Murdoch is that they are always containing someone who feels as if they are unfulfilled, as if they felt their life was supposed to be different. There are numerous characters of this quality in the novel "The Book and the Brotherhood". Whereas, in "The Black Prince" there seems to be only one - Bradley Pearson.

Bradley Pearson is a man with your average job as an ex-tax collector. But, the interest obviously arises when you think of the prefix 'ex-' and what it means. Bradley has a number of things about him that surprise the reader as they go through. Apart from living this life in which there always seems like a piece is missing, Bradley is also an author - writing books that never really made it popular at all. The image of this tortured artist trapped between his want to throw everything up and hone his craft and the requirement to earn a living as the 'man who stands on his own two feet' - this book displays the culture of toxic masculinity way before its time and how it does serious damage to men's mental health and wellbeing. The man in a white collar job who seems trapped by his position because of his desire to 'be somebody' and be passionate will ultimately meet the hardest decision of his life due to the fact he could never learn to just 'settle' and 'be a part of the system'.

Let me show you parts of the writing that I really enjoyed about this book because, in classic Iris Murdoch style - it is a romanticised darkness of what could happen if you approach your own doom; face to face. It leads us down emotional rabbit-holes and we become very much invested in a character becoming themselves - whether that is for good or not.

This is probably my favourite (and very well-known) quotation from the book about the drawl and yet, the comfort of everyday life:

“The division of one day from the next must be one of the most profound peculiarities of life on this planet. We are not condemned to sustained flights of being, but are constantly refreshed by little holidays from ourselves. We are intermittent creatures, always falling to little ends and rising to new beginnings. Our soon-tired consciousness is meted out in chapters, and that the world will look quite different tomorrow is, both for our comfort and our discomfort, usually true. How marvelously too night matches sleep, sweet image of it, so nearly apportioned to our need. Angels must wonder at these beings who fall so regularly out of awareness into a fantasm-infested dark. How our frail identities survive these chasms no philosopher has ever been able to explain.”

But I think that there is only one quotation in the whole book that I feel like I related to heart and soul, the way in which the character expresses himself so simply:

“I've been so unhappy for years, so unhappy . . . I don't understand how a human being can be so unhappy all the time and still be alive.”

In conclusion, even though Iris Murdoch’s style of character and their situation may be a trademark of hers, the writing style of this novel is definitely different to her others. She has shown an aspect to the darkness of the human mind like in no other book she has authored. This is now going to go on my list of favourite Iris Murdoch books ever. It is such a talent to have and yes, the book is severely underrated.