Murdoch’s primary concern in many of her novels is the problem of living a moral life, which may be seen as a progressive discarding of the false “good” in favor of truth. Eros, or sexual love, is closely connected to this idea of moral change, and the power of transformed sexual energy is used as a major motif in A Severed Head. The novel has certain echoes of Restoration comedy in being overplotted, dazzling, witty, and in the way it illustrates that love is war and power play.

The theme of severed heads is brought out in Alexander’s sculpted busts, the decapitated appearance of Honor when she leans out of Martin’s car window, and Honor’s keynote speech, which alludes to her sibling incest: “. . . because of what you saw, I am a terrible object of fascination for you. I am a severed head such as primitive tribes and old alchemists used to use. . . . And who knows but that long acquaintance with a severed head might lead to strange knowledge.” This carefully worked out theme links knowledge with a kind of power, especially the secret knowledge that comes of indulging in forbidden acts such as incest. The plot is driven by Martin’s increasing knowledge, and most of the revelations involve incestuous or symbolically incestuous relationships. Martin’s need to keep a child-mistress whom he can dominate, Palmer and Honor’s affair, and Martin and Antonia’s marriage, with its overtones of mother-son dependence, are all variations on this theme. Even the affair of Antonia and Alexander has semi-incestuous overtones, for Antonia has sex with both her husband and her brother-in-law during the eleven years of her marriage.

One of the most frequently recurring patterns in the structure of Murdoch’s early novels is that of the self-deceived male protagonist who undergoes a series of painful learning experiences that force him to confront other people’s reality. Initially, Martin sees other people only as extensions of his own wishes, a tendency hilariously brought out as he travels to Cambridge to throw himself at the feet of his beloved, Honor. He knows very little about her but speculates that she is probably unattached and perhaps a virgin. When he finds that she is engaged in an incestuous affair with Palmer, Martin begins to understand the separate reality of others. More important, the balance of power between the men shifts, and shortly afterward Martin is able to knock Palmer to the floor, something he has wanted to do from the beginning. Once again, knowledge is power. Honor fits neatly into the pantheon of Murdoch’s “power figures, ” even though they are usually men. Sometimes Jewish, often refugees, these figures are demonic in their effect on others. Murdoch once referred to these figures as “alien gods.” Honor possesses an eerie power and authority that derive at least in part from her exotic appearance and her skill with the samurai sword. As one who has spent much time among primitive tribes, she is associated in Martin’s mind with the “dark gods.” Although Murdoch uses the motif of powerful gods, she is not suggesting faith in the supernatural as a path to consolation. She simply uses the associations of mystery and power to endow the very human Honor Klein with the gift of transcending reality as it is usually understood. Honor speaks to the deepest submerged desires of other characters’ minds.

In fact, one of Murdoch’s most distinctive traits as a novelist might be called “transcendent realism.” Her novels open with all the realistic conventions of character, setting, and plot, but shortly something fantastic or outrageous will happen that appears to be alien to the premise of the novel. The central character transcends the real in order to attain a transrational truth. For Murdoch, the intrusion of the unexpected is a testament to the richness of reality.