Sunday book pick: Myths and truths of man in Iris Murdoch’s ungovernable novel ‘The Sea, The Sea’

“There is nothing more derelict as an old actor. What have I got now but my memories?”

Iris Murdoch’s 600-page, 1978 novel The Sea, The Sea is quite simply among the most gorgeous books I have ever read. Murdoch’s 19th novel – and the winner of the 1978 Booker Prize – follows thespian Charles Arrowby who has bid goodbye to London theatre to spend his post-retirement years in Shruff End, a house by the sea. Away from the commotion and politics of London living, Charles dedicates his days to swimming, eating simple but well, and writing a memoir. What he calls a “recollection in tranquillity.” Only, he seems to be unable to decide on the structure and format. Journal entries might be the easiest, most comprehensive way to do it. Well-admired and reasonably prosperous in theatre, by his own admission, he is “a well-known self, made glittering and brittle by fame.”

Prehistory and history

In the Prehistory, the first section of the book, Charles recounts his life and the philosophies he has adopted over the years. Theatre, his profession, has “limited his human soul”. He has worried about unemployment, failure, envy, and more. The affairs with married actresses and struggling stars have enervated him. Still, there is much to learn from the stage and its exhausting demands. His failure as an actor and success as a director has not just enabled him to form particular opinions about the art form but also its effects on the temperament and character of its players. Perhaps because of the glamour and glum or despite it, Charles has chosen a bachelor’s life. And yet, his affairs have ranged between the chaste and the perverse – on one hand, there is Hartley whom he loved as a child but has not had physical relations with and on another, a torrid affair with a stage actress “old enough to be [his] mother.” The distaste for marriage has not prevented Charles from “scheming for happiness”. His monologues on theatre, food, and marriage give Murdoch ample scope to portray Charles in all his depth and vaingloriousness. What emerges is a portrait of a rather pompous man who has acquired fine sensibilities and a taste for fast life following a somewhat difficult childhood.

Charles thinks it important to introduce his parents, uncle and aunt, and his cousin James in his story. He fondly remembers his father – a man of simple pleasures – and his ambitious mother. His wealthy American aunt and well-off uncle become the cause of envy and resentment without their knowledge. Meanwhile, Cousin James always “shone”. A boy – and later a man – of various talents, James seems to have gained certain enlightenment that Charles has been unable to.

“Perhaps that is what this book will turn out to be, simply my life told in a series of portraits of the people I have known,” writes Charles and proceeds to do exactly that. His resolution to stay away from the London crowd fails miserably when in a rather comical succession, people from the city turn up one by one at his quiet seaside house.

The second part of the book, History, is an account of his life at Shruff End as it unfolds. It begins with Lizzie who has been sincerely in love with Charles and is married to James, a man of unconfirmed sexuality. Charles treats her like a child – sometimes even addressing her as his daughter. They are followed by Rosina and Peregrine, an actor-director couple who Charles is friends with. He had an affair with Rosina while she was still married to Peregrine and Peregrine has since been grateful to Charles for taking the “bitch off [his] hands”. If these disturbances weren’t detrimental enough to his writing ambitions, he discovers that his childhood sweetheart Hartley lives nearby with her brutish husband Ben and their adopted son Titus. The desire to return to simpler times convinces Charles that Hartley’s marriage is in a crisis and she’s deeply unhappy with Ben. His presumptions are solidified when Titus turns up at his home and Charles readily agrees to take him in as his son.

The madness within

This put-together family of spurned lovers and a newly acquired son messes with Charles’s equilibrium as he becomes desperate to rekindle his old love with Hartley. He goes as far as forcefully confining her to his house and writing a letter on her behalf asking to cut ties with her husband. Despite a sexually active life, Charles claims to have only loved her truly and pine for her in a way he hasn’t for anyone else. This maddening obsession takes a toll on everyone around them. Charles’s feral love – possessiveness – for Hartley exposes him as a self-centred, domineering man more clearly than his career as an “autocratic” theatre director and a reckless lover. The feverish closeness to his past turns into a mortal risk when Charles is thrown at death’s door.

Hereon, Charles becomes singularly determined to track down his “killer”. When a “confession” from the “killer” finally does come, it seems to be the most obvious consequence of Charles’s actions. However, his vigilance is not enough to prevent a tragic death which Charles holds himself responsible for. This quest – almost meditative in nature – contradicts many truths that Charles had come to believe. Not only does he face an existential crisis unlike ever before, but even those he had learned to see as his adversaries turn out to be either harmless or much to Charles’s annoyance, his well-wishers.

The journal-style entries mean the reader gets to see as much and as little of Charles as he allows. He is the hero of his story and quite logically the reader is allowed to know nothing about the inner lives of the supporting characters. All they see is their deference – or disgust – for Charles depending on the other person’s history with him.

The sea, of course, is not merely a backdrop of Charles’s house. As he rigorously cuts himself off from people and latibulates at home, he begins to mimic the sea’s surface. As his mood oscillates between restrainment and delirium, he imagines the sea doing the same. The sea indulges his visions and superstitions, it allays and aggravates his fear, and it consumes him whole just when he thinks he’s had enough of this life. For someone who does not believe in conventional institutions – marriage, religion – his life by the sea becomes a prolonged judgment day when people from his past turn up one by one and force him to confront what he has made of these encounters.

At one point, Charles thinks, “When can I look back over the summer and see my acts and thoughts as those of a madman?” The Sea, The Sea is at its most obvious about growing old and looking back at what one has made of life – its few triumphs and many defeats. Charles’s close shave with death, the failed promise of the return of lost love, and his misguided attempts at restarting his life need not necessarily be understood as retribution but perhaps, the natural course of life. The book ends when Charles begins to struggle with language, quietly acknowledging that one cannot go on writing about life forever. His retirement seems to have come to an end too as offers start to pour in for work and travel. “Upon the demon-ridden pilgrimage of human life, what next I wonder?,” says Charles. We wonder too – is Charles Arrowby ready for second chances or has he surrendered completely to the madness within?

The Sea, The Sea, Iris Murdoch, Vintage Classics.