I have just finished reading the sea, the sea by Iris Murdoch and have found its portrayal of "the jumble of motivations that drive (the narrator) Arrowby - the human vanity, jealousy, and lack of compassion behind the disguises they present to the world" a disturbingly accurate caricature of what goes on in my own consciousness. I persisted through its sometimes banal and boring, but sometimes beautiful narrative because I wanted to see if Arrowby's experiences and conclusions would draw any light on my own. They didn't, of course, except to make me more curious.
The subject matter reminds me of Till we have faces which centres around the narrator Orual's possessive and jealous love for her sister. Only in this case Lewis is able to present to the reader at least a suggestion of the resolution to the problem echoed in the title of the book.
I cringe when I consider what face I present to God, who made me, or to my fellow man.
Your face is kind, and gentle. Your face his humble and generous to everyone. Your face is loving and I could only hope that one day I could be as nice a person as you. That's what i see in your face.
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