Iris Murdoch’s Under the Net, her 1954 debut novel, is a work that defies easy categorisation—part philosophical farce, part existential quest, and wholly original in its blending of high-minded intellectual inquiry with the chaotic energy of a picaresque adventure. At its centre is Jake Donaghue, a feckless but endearing translator and would-be writer, whose aimless wanderings through London and Paris serve as the vehicle for Murdoch’s penetrating exploration of language, power, and the elusive nature of truth. The novel’s title, drawn from Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus—“The limits of my language mean the limits of my world”—hints at Murdoch’s central preoccupation: how human beings construct and are imprisoned by the narratives they tell themselves. Jake, a self-proclaimed “fantasist” who drifts through life on a tide of half-baked schemes and serendipitous encounters, embodies this tension between the desire for meaning and the impossibility of ever fully grasping it.
Murdoch’s prose is deceptively light, even playful, but beneath its surface lies a rigorous engagement with philosophical ideas, particularly those of Wittgenstein and Sartre. Jake’s journey—a stolen manuscript, a runaway film star, a socialist uprising, and a series of increasingly absurd misadventures—mirrors the existentialist notion of life as a series of contingent, often absurd events, resistant to any grand narrative. Yet Murdoch, unlike Sartre, infuses this existential uncertainty with a distinctly human warmth. Where the absurdity of existence paralyses Sartre’s Roquentin (Nausea), Jake remains stubbornly, comically engaged, even as he fails to impose order on his world. This balance of intellectual heft and comic vitality is reminiscent of Beckett’s Murphy, another novel about a feckless protagonist adrift in a world that refuses to conform to his expectations. But where Beckett’s humour is bleak and minimalist, Murdoch’s is generous and expansive, her London teeming with eccentric characters who seem to have wandered in from a Dickens novel—albeit one rewritten by a philosopher with a taste for farce.
The novel’s structure is itself a reflection of its themes. Jake’s episodic adventures—his flight from the domineering Hugo, his entanglement with the glamorous Anna, his brief foray into political activism—are linked not by plot but by their cumulative effect on his understanding of himself and others. Murdoch’s genius lies in her ability to make these philosophical revelations feel organic, even inevitable, emerging not from abstract discourse but from the messy, often hilarious collisions of her characters’ lives. Take, for instance, Jake’s relationship with Hugo, a reclusive philosopher whose ideas about language and perception haunt Jake long after their friendship dissolves. Hugo’s insistence that “all theorising is flight” becomes a kind of refrain for Jake, a reminder of the futility of trying to capture reality in the nets of language or ideology. This dynamic echoes Murdoch’s philosophical writings, particularly her critique of Sartrean existentialism in The Sovereignty of Good, where she argues for the ethical necessity of attending to the irreducible particularity of others. In his refusal to theorise or explain, Hugo becomes a paradoxical figure—both a rebuke to Jake’s narrative compulsions and a model of a different way of being in the world.
Yet for all its philosophical depth, Under the Net is never didactic. Murdoch’s wit and narrative brio ensure that the novel remains a delight to read. The set pieces—Jake’s drunken escape from a film set, his accidental involvement in a socialist riot, his farcical attempts to retrieve a stolen manuscript—are executed with a comic timing that rivals Wodehouse, albeit with a sharper edge. Murdoch’s London is a place of vibrant, often anarchic energy, where high and low culture collide with exhilarating unpredictability. This tonal versatility is one of the novel’s great strengths, allowing Murdoch to move seamlessly from slapstick to profound introspection without losing the reader’s engagement.
If there is a weakness in Under the Net, it lies perhaps in its protagonist. Jake’s passivity and self-absorption, while central to the novel’s themes, can occasionally make him a frustrating guide. Unlike Camus’s Meursault or Dostoevsky’s Underground Man, whose alienation is rendered so intensely that it becomes compelling in its own right, Jake’s detachment sometimes borders on indifference. This is not to say that he is poorly drawn—on the contrary, Murdoch’s portrayal of his evasions and self-deceptions is masterful—but rather that his lack of growth or decisive action may leave some readers craving a more dynamic central figure. Yet this critique may itself miss the point: Jake’s refusal to conform to the conventions of the bildungsroman is precisely what makes him such a fitting vehicle for Murdoch’s exploration of contingency and the limits of self-knowledge.
In the end, Under the Net is a singular achievement, a novel that marries intellectual rigour with narrative exuberance in a way few works have managed before or since. Its influence can be seen in the later works of writers as diverse as Saul Bellow (Herzog) and Zadie Smith (White Teeth), who share Murdoch’s ability to yoke philosophical inquiry to the rhythms of comic fiction. But Under the Net remains uniquely itself—a novel that refuses to be pinned down, much like the truths it seeks to uncover. It is a book that rewards rereading, not because its mysteries are ever fully solved, but because its questions remain persistently, provocatively alive. Murdoch’s debut is not just a brilliant novel; it is a testament to the enduring power of literature to unsettle, challenge, and delight.
Final Verdict: Under the Net is a dazzling, intellectually charged picaresque that refuses to sacrifice either depth or entertainment. While the protagonist’s passivity may frustrate some, the novel’s wit, philosophical acuity, and sheer narrative inventiveness make it a landmark of postwar literature. A flawed but extraordinary work by a writer who would go on to redefine the possibilities of the English novel.
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Further Recommendations: For readers captivated by Murdoch’s singular alchemy of philosophical depth and picaresque wit in Under the Net, her later novels—The Bell (1958), with its monastic setting and moral ambiguities, or The Sea, The Sea (1978), a Booker Prize-winning exploration of obsession and self-delusion—offer richer psychological landscapes while retaining her signature interplay of ideas and irony. Those drawn to her intellectual farce might relish Saul Bellow’s Henderson the Rain King (1959), another existential comedy about a misguided seeker, or the linguistic exuberance of Nabokov’s Pnin (1957), while admirers of her ethical rigour could turn to J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace (1999), which shares Murdoch’s unflinching gaze at human frailty. Yet Under the Net remains unmatched in its buoyant refusal to disentangle life’s chaos from its meaning—a paradox that defines Murdoch’s legacy as a novelist who smuggled Wittgenstein into Wodehouse, leaving readers both exhilarated and unnerved by the nets they didn’t know they were under.
Review by Ashish for Thoughtful Critic
Under the Net by Iris Murdoch
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Thoughtful Critic's Score
Summary
Philosophy meets chaos in this brilliant, unruly debut, where every laugh hides a deeper truth.
