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A review by bennyandthejets420
The Alexandria Quartet by Lawrence Durrell
4.0
Read in a state of obsession over the month of June. They have been sitting on my shelf ever since my eye caught the slim set of four in vibrant colors at a local Half Price books. I bought all four of them for like 7 dollars or something. Justine, in blue. Balthazar, in brown. Mountolive, in a deep green against a field of white. Clear, in gold and yellow. I had never heard of Laurence Durrell before and the whole set looked so attractive (inside a cardboard sleeve with a minaret on the cover) that I had to bite. I picked them up this summer because I realized this might be my last free summer to read whatever I want in the next 4 years (I'm getting my PhD in Rhetoric, already a year in) and I desperately wanted to read some fiction.
In the beginning of Clea, Durrell refers to his novels as a "word-continuum" and I agree 100%. While they are tightly plotted so as to bring revelations in the characters and the reader, I had to surrender myself over to pure atmosphere: the sights, smells, sounds of 1930s Alexandria. You don't so much read these books as smoke or drink them, preferably at an elegant street cafe or next to the ocean. Since the first three books go over the same stretch of time from different perspectives, the reader fully inhabits a world more so than any recent novel I have read. I get excited whenever Pursewarden or Clea turns up because I've been wanting to hear what they have to say about whatever's going on: arguments about art, Justine's relationships, etc. (Sidenote Clea and Pursewarden are clearly the best characters. While Balthazar seems the most level headed, he's just not as entertaining. Darley, frankly, is a bore. I didn't understand Justine. Nessim is cool, I guess).
The first book, Justine, is make or break if you ask me. It's such an impressionistic, almost hallucinatory book that I stopped 10 pages in several times before saying "Fuck it" and surrendering myself to whatever was going to happen. In the beginning, it felt like reading an elegant puzzle box. I read merely to see the wheels turn. To see different characters overlap and effect each other. I just didn't like Darley's POV that much. Once Balthazar introduced the idea of the great interlinear, the hypertext of both Balthazar's and Darley's POV on the same events, I suddenly found myself caring. It's hard to explain why, but the act of reading felt more like inhabiting a world, much more than Darley moaning about whether he likes Melissa or Justine the most. Mountolive (which elsewhere Durrell referred to as the clou) is what sealed the deal for me. It's a much more straightforward, naturalistic novel which layers over the bedroom intrigue with cultural, religious, and political discourse. Just as the third dimension adds depth to length and width, so does Mountolive add 'realism' to the quartet. Clea adds "time" to the trio, but I think it might be better to say that it adds motion. Sure, we see how time effects the Old Gang, but, more importantly, Durrell sets them off on little arcs: Darley and Clea become artists, Justine and Nessim are going to Switzerland to do some intrigue or something, Pombal is learning to love again, etc. My favorite part of Clear, though, was the Pursewarden notebook interlude (conversations with brother ass; i.e., Darley) a lovely chapter and one which doesn't contribute to the plot but gives the reader more of a sense of a word-continuum.
Overall, a lovely, sensuous read which takes some getting used to but which is ultimately worth the investment. A harlequin romance with intellectual aspirations. A study of the effects of space on personality. A starter course on how to write purple prose. A word-continuum.
In the beginning of Clea, Durrell refers to his novels as a "word-continuum" and I agree 100%. While they are tightly plotted so as to bring revelations in the characters and the reader, I had to surrender myself over to pure atmosphere: the sights, smells, sounds of 1930s Alexandria. You don't so much read these books as smoke or drink them, preferably at an elegant street cafe or next to the ocean. Since the first three books go over the same stretch of time from different perspectives, the reader fully inhabits a world more so than any recent novel I have read. I get excited whenever Pursewarden or Clea turns up because I've been wanting to hear what they have to say about whatever's going on: arguments about art, Justine's relationships, etc. (Sidenote Clea and Pursewarden are clearly the best characters. While Balthazar seems the most level headed, he's just not as entertaining. Darley, frankly, is a bore. I didn't understand Justine. Nessim is cool, I guess).
The first book, Justine, is make or break if you ask me. It's such an impressionistic, almost hallucinatory book that I stopped 10 pages in several times before saying "Fuck it" and surrendering myself to whatever was going to happen. In the beginning, it felt like reading an elegant puzzle box. I read merely to see the wheels turn. To see different characters overlap and effect each other. I just didn't like Darley's POV that much. Once Balthazar introduced the idea of the great interlinear, the hypertext of both Balthazar's and Darley's POV on the same events, I suddenly found myself caring. It's hard to explain why, but the act of reading felt more like inhabiting a world, much more than Darley moaning about whether he likes Melissa or Justine the most. Mountolive (which elsewhere Durrell referred to as the clou) is what sealed the deal for me. It's a much more straightforward, naturalistic novel which layers over the bedroom intrigue with cultural, religious, and political discourse. Just as the third dimension adds depth to length and width, so does Mountolive add 'realism' to the quartet. Clea adds "time" to the trio, but I think it might be better to say that it adds motion. Sure, we see how time effects the Old Gang, but, more importantly, Durrell sets them off on little arcs: Darley and Clea become artists, Justine and Nessim are going to Switzerland to do some intrigue or something, Pombal is learning to love again, etc. My favorite part of Clear, though, was the Pursewarden notebook interlude (conversations with brother ass; i.e., Darley) a lovely chapter and one which doesn't contribute to the plot but gives the reader more of a sense of a word-continuum.
Overall, a lovely, sensuous read which takes some getting used to but which is ultimately worth the investment. A harlequin romance with intellectual aspirations. A study of the effects of space on personality. A starter course on how to write purple prose. A word-continuum.