Jacksons Dilemma [Paperback]

The rough gist of the book is that there is a circle of upper-class Brits who have become friends over the years, plus an enigmatic butler/manservant Jackson. One of the circle is to wed another, when complications arise, sending the whole group into a tizzy. Secret longings are revealed, secret pain and guilt expounded on, endless pontificating and empty philosophizing ensure. I suppose it's vaguely reminiscent of Austen, with various upper-class, and poor hanger-on's all repressing themselves until, in an orgy of Shakespearean homage, everyone gets duly paired off with the behind the scenes assistance of Jackson (can you say "Puck"?).

It sounds vaguely enjoyable, but it isn't. First of all, it's not funny in the slightest. Ever. Secondly, as a satire of the upper class it's halfhearted. Yes, they're all self-absorbed idiots in one way or another, requiring the practical blue-collar help of Jackson to put anything right. But it's a very gentle and loving satire, with no teeth whatsoever, and therefore fails to leave an impression. Thirdly, it's not suspenseful in the slightest. For there to be suspense, there must first exist characters that one cares about, and there are none here. There are some things to be curious about (what's Jackson's story), but nothing that is engaging on anything but the most superficial level. Finally, as writing, it's pretty bad. Given the tremendously stilted dialogue, and bizarre repetitions in some passages, one has to assume that Murdoch was beginning to lose the plot already and that no editor dared point out some of the obvious weaknesses.

Best to skip this and concentrate on her earlier work.

Iris Mirdoch is quite apt at organizing sentimental suspense, bends and U-turns in the plotline, and at evoking the perverse atmosphere of a place where everything is wrong, the chaotic drama and then the cleansing of the mess and the thoroughly happy atmosphere of the crowning weddings.

Jackson comes from nowhere, has to go no one knows, not even him, where, and is there to sort out odd ends and unmatched couples. He brings the right ones to the right others, and he brings happiness.

But his alter ego is Benet, the wall-named, since his name means « dumb » or even « retarded » meaning late in historical time. He is the one who creates havoc by insisting on some totally wrong unions. This creates a new level of reading. The rich, the upper class, high society, are nothing but the psychiatric ward of the social hospital. They are all spaced out and corrugated, and their treatment comes from a guardian angel who makes them comb out straight their disorderly interlaced hairs.

The end is just mysterious but serene and it shifts from Jackson to the little boy who is understood as the naive Ariel of so many Shakespearian comedies. And we are at the beginning of a new stage, just like the sunshine breaks through after The Tempest.

Dr Jacques COULARDEAU