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PARTISAN REVIEW
an imperious Dame Iris Murdoch might grill me on the contents of her
novels.
Indeed, I was seated next to Iris, and did, in fact, speak with her for
over three hours of passionate conversation, but my fear of Murdoch as an
intimidating interrogator bore no resemblance
to
this deeply inquisitive,
radiant woman of seventy-five. Dressed modestly and looking like a kind–
ly headmjstress of a boarding school, Iris completely beguiled me with the
most improbable admixture of wondrous curiosity and barbed wisdom.
There was a seductive, yet wholly ineffable, manner to her being that could
effortlessly hypnotize and reassure a dinner companion. She wanted to
know everything about me, about my upbringing, my favorite writers, and
particularly my parents' stories as refugees from Nazi-occupied Europe. It
was these accounts culled from my family's past life on the edge-iIIDo–
cent individuals caught in the maelstrom of evil-that fascinated her the
most, and she mentioned her own work with Jewish refugees in the 1940s.
I would not see Iris again for another three years, until October of
1997, and by then I already knew from published accounts that her situa–
tion had markedly changed for the worse. Having just signed up John's
novel
The Red Hat,
I visited the couple at their eccentrically decorated
Oxford home, where Alp-like peaks of book piles threatened to collapse
at any moment, expecting to pay something of a sympathy call. I assumed
that Iris's condition would be politely ignored asJohn reminisced, perhaps
over tea, about the Spenders' memorable dinner party, and discussed the
publication plans of his novel. Instead, the scene before me was one that I
will never forget. There was Iris transfixed by the television set, intrigued
by the trajectory of the golf ball as it swerved its way into the hole. When
she addressed me, which was often, she smiled and laughed, occasionally
asking questions that were nonsensical as well as repetitious. Although her
condition could no longer be hidden, there was a profound joy and mer–
riment that pervaded the Murdoch-Bayley household, an unspoken
reaffirmation of the marriage vows through both sickness and health.
There was no gloom, no shame, and John was sprightly and ebullient, dis–
cussing how he had to make various accommodations over the previous
few years. Rather than regarding her as a victim, incapable of sentience or
emotional needs, John doted on Iris as if this were their honeymoon, and
she his newly won bride. Like Orpheus, he acted as if he could do the
impossible, and transport his beloved back from a dark underworld that had
robbed her of her sani ty. And responding to his melodious words and play–
ful behavior, Iris rarely demonstrated the irritability that frequently
complicates Alzheimer's, her abundant smiles always communicating emo–
tions when her words became unintelligible. Following John's example, I
engaged Iris on her own cognitive level, with the most basic questions, like
