Novelist Iris Murdoch died in 1999 after a three-year battle with Alzheimer's disease. Her husband, writer John Bayley, who wrote movingly of the impact of her illness in
Elegy for Iris, tells in this book of the final year of his wife's life, when she was visited more by her own imaginary "friends" than by the exigencies of real life. In
Iris and Her Friends, Bayley recalls his own increasingly precarious hold on reality and subsequent breakdown, Murdoch's final happy weeks in a home for the terminally ill, and finally her quiet death. Although closely linked to
Elegy,
Iris and Her Friends focuses more on Bayley's experience of Murdoch's illness: the memories he discovered just as his wife lost her own--of his childhood, his army years and first loves, and of their long marriage. One of Bayley's "friends" is a subject he holds dear: "The old Eng. Lit. again. I taught it for nearly fifty years and feel detached from it now." Nonetheless, literature emerges here as the one remaining constant in his life. Scarcely two pages go by without a reference, almost involuntary, to Hardy, Coleridge, Austen, Shakespeare, Dostoyevsky, Thurber, James, Lawrence, Woolf--or Murdoch. Sometimes Murdoch appears to respond to the shared literary in-jokes, but more often the pair are like "two animals pushing together, nudging and grooming each other, grunting together as they bask in a mutual doze." This is an incredibly intimate glimpse into a personal life, but as Bayley tellingly observes: "There is a surreal sense in which Alzheimer's has turned Iris herself into art. She is my Iris no longer, but a person in the public domain."
--Alan Stewart, Amazon.co.uk (retirado da Amazon Fri, 24 Apr 2009 07:57:53 -0400)
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The third has some photos not in the Conradi, whose work really trails off during the last few months of her life. These “memories” by John Bayley of the last year of Murdoch’s life have the feel of a journal. Sometimes the chapters will overlap with the first 2/3s of a story ending a chapter, and the second 2/3s beginning the next. The detail is extremely frank about Iris’ last days at home with John. I almost wished I had not read this and left only with the images of Iris at the end of Conradi.
But there is still a lot of good stuff here. Only John Bayley could provide insights into his wife’s process. For example, I learned that she never used a typewriter. She conceived her books entirely in her head, and when finished, she announced it was “ready to write.” This makes the loss of her memory even more tragic, if that is possible.
One fun thing is the number of literary quotes and allusions Bayley uses. I get about half of them, but looking up the other half is a hoot. Praise Minerva for Gooogle!
The description of their house sounds frighteningly like our home. It might seem messing and ill-kempt to some, but there is a pleasing, comfortable order to it all. For fans of Murdoch, 5 stars; for fans of literary biographies, 4 stars; for all others, 3 stars.
--Jim, 5/26/08 (