[In A Married Man] John Strickland finds the naked body of his wife, Clare, in the living-room of their country cottage and the corpse of her hitherto unsuspected lover in the bedroom upstairs [and] it gives him a nasty turn, especially as both have been demolished by shotgun blast. But he has set his heart on becoming a labour M.P. and is soon back at the hustings although warning his agent: 'I may be a little off form.'
His form declines still further when he discovers that the super-rich mistress, who is about to become his second wife, was responsible for Clare's messy end. He glumly breaks off the engagement but shows little other sign of being deeply affected. This uncanny poise is surely incompatible with humanity but not with the narrative since Strickland has long since ceased to be human and has contracted to the dimensions of a symbolic figure in a theological tract. I personally have little taste for theology but it is a valid part of human culture and a scientific-materialist such as myself has no justification for attacking it per se. What a novel reviewer, however, whatever his religious convictions, has a sworn duty to smite with all the rhetoric at his command is theology that masquerades as fiction.
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