I loved Iris Murdoch when I first read her, twenty years ago when I was about twenty years old. I loved all the clever characters and their academic musings on life, and everything (not so much the universe if my recall is correct). Now, not so much. This is pretty much a bedroom farce, it starts off silly and gets completely ludicrous towards the end. I ought to draw a diagram to work out which characters didn’t end up in bed together, if any. It has lots of angst and clever veneer on top of the bed hopping of course but I found it more of a chore to read than a delight. Having read it as an ebook I’m surprised to see it’s actually only around 200 pages, my perception is that it was much longer which might be why I’m so down on it.

I think I ought to reread one of the Murdoch’s I loved when I first read it to see whether they still have the same magic, but on the other hand I don’t want to find out if the answer is no.