I received The Alexandria Quartet as a Christmas gift from a dear person, and I was in the mood for reading series.

Although I haven't had much time for reading, these books had a hypnotic quality to them that sucked me deep into Durrell's world, the city of Alexandria.

There are so many great quotes from these books that I'm not going to quote anything, because I can't decide on just one or a few.

The writing was magical, poetic, mystical, and deep, talking about the core and essence of humans, often saying things that are ignored and not talked about.

It was painfully honest and written in an original style that got me lost in the abyss of human sexuality, subconscious places, and the seen and unseen realms of relationships.

You can perceive the city of Alexandria as hell and as the whole earth, and the characters are not defined and fixed. Their faces constantly change throughout the course of the narrative, and through them, you can see the struggles, flaws, and dark places of each and every one of us.

The books take you on a different stream of consciousness than your own, and if you are willing to dig deep enough, they will take you on a journey of discovery of things that you never had the courage to unravel about yourself.

This is almost like a manifesto of the philosophy of introspection.

What fascinated me the most is the constant change in perspective that really highlighted the subjective outlook of one person, the overall relativity of the truth, and the complexity of human character.

The protagonists seem renewed over and over again, and were deeply layered, often going in unexpected directions, not afraid to live as they want and take risks, even at the cost of being misunderstood or hated by other people.

Durrell had the courage to explore most of the taboo themes of society and moral wrongs, while not being subjective or judgmental, and not injecting his own moral standings.

He brings the reader to a state where he doesn't feel like he can, will, or even want to judge any of the characters' behavior, even when they're engaging in adultery, incest, suicide, and other'sins' condemned by society and religion.

He perfectly showed the depth of the decadence of the human spirit and civilization, while at the same time not giving it too much importance in the great scheme of one's life story and the history of humanity, enlightening that the deep reasons for one's actions are far more significant than the action itself, and behind one's moral flaws lies a story worth telling and understanding, unraveling its layers time and time again, from changing perspectives.

There is so little that we know about ourselves and others, and Durrell perfectly pointed out the lavishness of his characters despite their brokenness.

A wonderful read from a long time ago, which would require a reread to elaborate a moderately worthy review.

This book has been sitting on my shelf for ages, waiting for me to pick it up again. I remember being completely engrossed in its pages when I first read it. The story was captivating, the characters were well-developed, and the writing style was engaging. However, that was a long time ago, and my memory of the details has faded. To do justice to this book and write a proper review, I know I need to read it again. I'm looking forward to rediscovering the magic within its pages and sharing my thoughts and insights with others.

<< Humiliation! The Stern Trap that Awaits the Ego When Searching for Absolute Truth >>

I want to write something, but I don't feel ready inside. It just seems unnatural for a writer with such a small presence before and after to have written like this, with all the mastery in techniques and language used. The multi-layered way of writing through so many characters and via so many stories makes Guylaine Collins and Tolstoy seem like amateurs. Many names come to my mind, perhaps they were also influenced by his way, De, Pamuk, Pynchon, Franzen, perhaps others. Books like "The Night of Lisbon," "The Crucifixion Without a Cross," are difficult to penetrate. Other things also come to my mind, but I think I haven't yet stabilized it inside me. I could still compare it to the improvisations of jazz, the dispersion of the original melody, the variations. But what makes it incomprehensible is that it is a pulp book. It was a very special reading experience.

<< You Have Acquired the Audacity to Want to Impose Yourself on Us as a Problem >>

Chapters without a thematic structure. They start, stop, pick up again elsewhere. Some macro moments of unity, but without any pause, they look like a nuclear reactor - an eruption that is not yet visible and from there many rivers come and go many times. A book that seems outside the intentions of its author and the stylistic choices of the language that remind of something from the obsessive precision of Fichte and the finish of Nabokov, perhaps also the dreamy lava flow of Nin. In a flowing and noisy atmosphere. The book lives its own life, it affirms its author but also surpasses him. It is idiosyncratic and leaves no room to leave it aside for a while. It has its defenses that are terribly difficult to overcome and when you do, it loves you passionately and sometimes holds your hand in the way of love, without burdening you. You forget that it holds you occupied, but here and there it makes small spasms and then you realize that it is always there. And I am writing now about a book as if it were a person. The mapping of nature, of love and in depth with consistency projects a mixture of Egypt that I have visited as a foreigner, of Mahfouz's Egypt, but also of the unique Alexandria of Cavafy.

The book consists of many mouths, many sides, characters come alive to talk about the stories they lived themselves. It starts with a love that explodes, leaves question marks, tempts you to want pain. A love that seems to thrive on opposition and then Justine gives her place to Baltasar and everything changes, intentions are revealed, points light up and everything that was hanging gets an answer and you want to shout that it is enough, but it is not. Another perspective, a... truth, instead of an interpretation. A frustrated writer, Persuavent gradually comes to the surface, becomes the symbol of the book, looks like someone you know and like someone outside of everything you know, but whom you would have liked to have known and who has flaws that the book has not yet judged whether it is the right time to explain to you. Then comes Mountolive, new moments with a story that is picked up even further back. Human, very deep, in a way that deprives you of your justifications. And yet so different from what it started with. Reversals, strands of detective, police, social. Claire, a part that humiliates you, from the beginning you must earn the right to read the book. To allow it to intoxicate you again.

<< English Has Two Forgotten Words, Specifically helpmeet (partner), Which Is Much More Important Than the Word lover (lover) and loving - kindness (tender love), Which Is Much Greater Than love (love), Even Than passion (passion) >>

Even if you are completely indifferent to the oppression, the subjugation and the targeting of minorities, it makes you aware, your eyes open wide, your brains unlock to understand and empathize and finally inside you you clarify that the one who wants to claim his right as if he is not given any room is not necessarily a terrorist, he is protesting, he is misled, he may follow violent ways, but the injustice has been done to him, not to others, no matter what support they have from great power. Well, or badly, the unjust needs support and that's why he bribes. The wronged has nothing to give. And on the other hand, the difference between Reaction and Fanaticism is fundamental. The greater the naivety and the dedication to religiousophobia, the closer we are to the side of fanaticism.

I would say that Darel has written many books and with many pseudonyms. He is truly a virtuoso of the word. This does not mean that he lacks depth. There are mixed in the book areas that are spent on top-level, intellectually and lexically excellent text with no meaning and some huge parts with the most meticulous raptures of expression, emotional and logical chains that touched every strand inside me.

<< In the Beginning We Wander to Fill the Void of Atomization with Love and for a Short Moment We Enjoy the Self-Deception of Fullness. But It Is Only a Self-Deception. Because This Strange Plasma That We Dared to Think Would Accompany Us in the Body of the World Finally Succeeds in Cutting Us Off Completely from It. Love Unites and Then Divides. How Else Would We Succeed in Maturing? >>

The book encloses all kinds of stories, excellently structured characters and constantly follows love in ways that explode. For the exaggerations, the utopian thoughts, the blindness of jealousy, for the withdrawals of those who give the spaces of themselves for the security of the happiness of the beloved, of not bothering him, of worshiping him. And if you continuously cede corners that you keep for the peace of yourself, for windows with the precious elements of your identity, until when will you reach to understand that you will not be able to reach them again, that they were locked, or lost, that they were established? What do you do? Who are you? Who were you?

It is the diagram of the egoism of love, as exactly as it is poured like a perfume with a certain smell for each one. If no one could choose and the same colony fell on everyone, for some it would suit, for others not, some would adopt it, some would be madly eager to get rid of it, they would stink, they would cover themselves. The murderer is always a murderer. When we learn about him, we consider him a murderer. We know that he could be a father, a spouse, a beloved colleague, employee of the month, lover and yet nothing of these we can think of for him. Even when others make this regression for us, we cannot see beyond this stamp. What is a father? What is a murderer? Can the murderer be a father? How would the identity of the father be through the identity of the murderer? How would the identity of the father, the brother, the friend, the colleague, be through the identity of the beloved?

<< It Seems Almost Necessary for Me to Find a Person to Whom I Can Be Faithful, Not with the Body, But with the True, Guilty, Spirit >>

One revelation after another, one illusion within another. The bitter truths, our own truths, the reasons, the causes, the person, the city, the City of Cavafy, love - object, love - identity, pain - god, pain - object, the ends, the exploitation, the withdrawal, the hunt. These are this book. It constantly reveals, but in the end is it revealed?

It definitely belongs to the most important books of the past century.

<< There Is Something Related to Love - I Don't Want to Say Deficient, Because the Deficiency Is in Us, But Something Escapes Us from Its Nature. Love Is Terribly Stereotypical and Each of Us Has at Our Disposal a Very Specific Dose, a Note if You Will. It Is Capable of Appearing in Infinite Forms and Attaching Itself to Infinite People. Yet It Is Quantitatively Limited, It Can Overflow, Rot and Begin to Fade Before It Even Reaches Its True Object. Because Its Destination Is Somewhere in the Deepest Regions of the Soul, Where It Sometimes Reaches the Point of Being Recognized as Love of the Self, the Soil on Which We Build a Type of Mental Health. I Don't Mean Either Egoism or Narcissism >>

I made the decision to read this tetralogy at present. The reason behind this is that I have been engrossed in a TV series which is based on his younger brother Gerald's memoirs of their time spent in Corfu. During that period, Lawrence was just commencing his career as a writer. I had perused the first volume, Justine, several decades ago and was truly enamored with it. I'm not entirely sure why I didn't carry on reading the subsequent volumes. Maybe it was because I couldn't manage to locate used copies of the other books (way back then).

Anyway, I now find myself too old for this tetralogy. There are indeed some remarkable passages of writing, and even a certain amount of wisdom to be gleaned. However, for the most part, the initial 150 pages or so come across as pretentious, overly elaborate, and, increasingly, rather dull. I could potentially skip through the text in search of the more engaging parts, but it is precisely this dullness that has caused me to set the book aside.

I'm left wondering if my perception has changed due to the passage of time and my own personal growth. Or perhaps the tetralogy simply doesn't hold the same allure for me now as it did when I was younger.

The oranges were more plentiful than usual that year. They glowed in their arbors of burnished green leaf like lanterns flickering up there among the sunny woods.

These are the captivating first two sentences in the last volume (Clea) of The Alexandria Quartet. It truly ranks among the top ten or even top five greatest books I have ever had the pleasure of reading. I knew from the moment I set my eyes on it that one day I would have to embark on this literary journey, but I had no inkling of just how amazing and enchanting a read it would turn out to be.

At first, one might almost be tempted to think that Durrell is simply flaunting his literary prowess: great sentences continuously evolving and transforming into other equally great sentences. However, by the time you reach the end of the first volume, Justine, you realize that this incredible feat of magical writing must have come as second nature to Durrell. His words, the poetry within them, are on par with that of Shakespeare - deeply poignant, incredibly beautiful, and highly rewarding.

At times, it is simply breathtaking. For instance, when he compares dying bats, ripped apart by a bullwhip, to pieces of a black umbrella in the wind. This work is something beyond a mere masterpiece; it almost seems to have a life and breath of its own, pulsating with the essence of life, love, death, and the utterly romantic imagery of Alexandria, Egypt. A place I had never heard of before, but which has now captured my imagination and made me long to visit, to walk the same streets that Durrell did long ago, just before the start of World War II.

The Alexandria Quartet belongs in every serious reader's library. It can be purchased as one complete book or in four separate volumes. I chose to read one book at a time over a two-month period, with short breaks in between to read other books. This system worked extremely well for me as it allowed time for each story to resonate within me and to balance it with lighter reading, which made getting through Durrell's epic a little easier. Although it can be dense at times, the rewards of persevering through it are immeasurable.

The Alexandria Quartet truly is the world encapsulated in 1100 beautifully written pages. There is a reason why great books endure, and as the days and years pass by, there will be new generations of lucky readers who will discover Mr. Durrell's exotic vision of Alexandria, Egypt. They will want to carry the torch, in honor of this great writer, to convince others - any serious reader - to join the club and discover this incredibly poetic piece of literature filled with amazing and unforgettable characters, like some beautiful terrain hidden beneath a sumptuous rainbow.

I usually read very slowly those books that I don't like but for some reason I think I should finish them.

However, in this book, or rather in these four books, it was just the opposite. I loved what I was reading so much that I enjoyed the unique way of writing. I tried to read them only under the most ideal conditions.

In the indolent summer noons, accompanied by the appropriate music of the east, at a pace that maximizes this enjoyment. I couldn't avoid it. Lawrence Durrell's writing really captivated me from the first words of the first book, and that fascination lasted until the end.

It's so beautiful, so poetic, so well-structured, so rich. It has such an ability to create images and convey thoughts and feelings that I really can't describe the wonderful feeling it created for me.

With it as a guide, we stroll through the wonderful city of Alexandria, live the sensuality of the orient at the pace dictated by the hot sun of Egypt. We see this mix of cultures represented by its old and new inhabitants coming from Europe. And in the end, we are watching the important world developments that could not but affect a city that has always enjoyed the mysterious.

As for the story the author tells us, it may not matter so much. We do not follow it in any logical order but in a confused and indefinable way, going from beginning to end and at various stages of the story almost by accident, following the author's thoughts.

So we watch the various characters in different episodes of their lives, in their big and small moments, in their thoughts and emotions, in everything that reveals how they experience with the body and soul what the city of Alexandria offers them.

All of these characters have something unique and special, and this combination of their stories creates a result that sums up the charm of that time, as the author perceived it.

Four wonderful books that offer a particularly beautiful literary journey that my poor abilities are probably not enough to describe in a way that suits it.

Perhaps in some of my next visits to this unique work, I can add something more. Until then, all I can say is that it is a collection of books that must be read by all who enjoy the true essence of literature.

DNF on page 66.

As I suffer from migraines frequently, my reviews have been few and far between. I truly apologize, but there's not much I can do about it.

I picked up this book because I'm a fan of the works of the author's brother, Gerald Durrell. For example, "My Family and other Animals" which features Lawrence Durrell. I was curious to explore the differences and similarities in the writing styles of the two brothers. The setting of Alexandria also intrigued me greatly, as it always does.

Right from the start, I had some difficulties. The prose is indeed beautiful, but it's so slow-paced that it almost borders on stream-of-consciousness, which can be a challenge for many disabled readers like myself. It makes my mind wander and then I find myself dissociating. I had to read in small installments, something I usually try to avoid, and I was constantly debating whether I should really persevere and read the full 800 pages of this bind-up.

The author attempts to avoid word doublings, which I appreciate. However, in his pursuit of exotic-sounding adjectives, he uses the word "autistic" and describes a character as a nymphomaniac. I understand that this is a reflection of the era in which the book was written and how language has evolved over the years. But every single instance of such usage took me out of the reading experience when I was already struggling.

Perhaps I'm just not the right reader for this particular book, despite its seeming interestingness. And so, I decided to let it go. After all, I have other reading options available to me.

This is a remarkable set of four novels namely Justine, Balthazar, Mountolive, and Clea. They are designed to be read as a unified work, transporting the readers to Alexandria, Egypt during the tumultuous World War II years. The plot is a complex tapestry that involves a diverse cast of characters, including European expats and native Alexandrians. Their lives intertwine in a gradually unfolding web of mystery, tragedy, and passion.

However, what truly sets this novel apart is its innovative structure. Instead of following a traditional time-based narrative, Durrell chose to construct a framework based on the relative relationships of the characters. This approach offers a rich variety of perspectives on the same story, adding depth and complexity to the overall reading experience.

Perhaps the most outstanding feature of this novel is Durrell's exquisite writing. His prose is nothing short of poetic, with his descriptions of the Alexandrian landscape being truly majestic. The bombing of the harbor scene in the opening pages of Clea is a literary masterpiece, one of the most beautifully written episodes in all of fiction.

Nevertheless, I do have one major reservation about this work. Durrell's apparent racism and misogyny are deeply troubling. Jazz is described as "nigger music," and women are frequently portrayed as intellectually inferior to men, less stable, and sometimes even downright stupid. While some may argue that these views are those of the characters and not Durrell's own, there seems to be no clear purpose for the characters to hold such beliefs. This leads one to believe that, in fact, these were Durrell's personal views. For this reason alone, I cannot in good conscience give this collection a full five stars.

Lorens Darel doesn't just write but rather paints with words. This makes it almost impossible to convey the atmosphere of the Alexandrian Quartet in just a few lines - or even many.

Justine, Baltazar, Mountolive, and Clea are the characters who give their names to each of the books that make up this tetralogy and so many others that are vividly shadowed.

There are as many truths as you will bother to discover with your imagination, writes Persgournten.

After all, don't all things depend on the interpretation of the silence that spreads around us?

We live with the choices of the fictional, Baltazar would say.

And we alone willingly become agents of our misfortune, unable to understand that what is truly real is not only what is articulated with full consciousness. It is what "escaped notice" - the typographical error that spoils the whole scene.

The remnants of emotion, says Coleridge, can survive for an indefinite time, in a deluded state, in the same order in which they were originally expressed.

And we,

lonely fragments that wander, seeking to unite with each other, according to Empedocles.

Yet what significance do all these have since we are all so foolish and powerless in thought when it comes to our lives and true giants when it comes to making decisions about the Universe?

The Alexandrian Quartet is a book that speaks of everything and yet of nothing that it contains, and I feel very lucky that it fell into my hands, even if it is so heavy!

"We have been told so many times that History is indifferent to our fate, yet we always take its deprivations or gifts as predeterminations; we never rebel..."

The Alexandria Quartet is truly one of the finest books I have ever had the pleasure of reading.

The writing is of the highest caliber, with descriptions that are not only incredibly vivid but also hauntingly capture the essence of pre-war Alexandria, a bygone era that now seems almost mythical.

Like a fascinating kaleidoscope, with each turn, the colors move and shift, and so do the characters, impressions, and the assumed narrative.

Justine, the first book in the quartet, is perhaps the most challenging to read. The narrator, Darley, is deeply self-obsessed and introspective, meticulously analyzing every细微之处 of his relationship with Justine.

In Balthazar, the style undergoes a significant change, becoming more logical, frank, and pragmatic as it revisits Justine, constructed as a correction memorandum of Darley's notes.

Mountolive further alters the style and perspective, adding yet another layer to the complex tapestry of the story.

Clea serves as the 'epilogue' after the war, drawing the characters back to Alexandria once more.

The story beautifully reflects the truism that we all tend to perceive ourselves as the center of our own universe, yet the reality is often very different. Each narrative changes the viewpoint, and from each new stance, the emphasis of the story and the rationale of the key players shift dramatically.

It reminds us that things are never quite as we perceive them.

The Alexandria Quartet is a book that richly justifies more than one reading, as each time one discovers new depths and nuances within its pages.

Well, this work was far from what the so-called Modern Library (whoever they might be) claimed as "among the greatest works of English literature in the twentieth century." It was indeed unique, challenging, and bizarre, and at times, inconsistent (dare I say flawed?).

Yet, in those flaws, there was a level of honesty not often found in books that neatly depict "reality" with details meant to entice the reader into believing. That trickery of perception.

Here's how it was for me: beautiful, poetic writing was followed by casual racism, then brilliant artistic insights, then ugly amoral behavior, then cultural revelations, then awkward construction, then imaginative atmospheric metaphors capturing a sense of place and time, then postmodern literary devices, and so on. This book is such a strange one that it does achieve something quite distinct in English literature, and I do concur with that. I can almost compare it, in a way, to Infinite Jest, not in content or style but in the inherent inconsistency that defies categorization. The awkwardness at times made it seem as if the author was "showing his work" (and a writer is the main character). So, is it "post modern" or not? It's ambiguous, sprawling, beastly, and occasionally dull. It's not just one thing. It's four books that meander through a continuous storyline in diverse ways.

One of the oddities is the perspective changes. Book One, Justine, is told from the first-person perspective of the writer Darley. Book Two, Balthazar, is also told by Darley, but it completely alters our understanding of the characters from Book One. It straddles the strange border between metafiction and fiction as it features a partial retelling of the events from Book One. I would subtitle it, "The Misperceptions of Darley." The premise is that Darley gave the manuscript of Book One (it's implied but never quite stated that Durrell's actual Book One is Darley's manuscript) to this other character Balthazar, who then "corrects" all of Darley's misperceptions. Much like an editor might use Comments in Microsoft Word to make revisionary suggestions to an author's draft. Book Two reveals that there was so much behind the scenes that Darley didn't understand, completely repositioning (a new perspective) the characters from Book One. One of the repeated themes of the book is that we really never understand each other (what makes up a "self" is highly questionable as well), and over and over in the series, new facets of individuals, motives, and previously unrevealed actions cause us to reevaluate the characters many times over. Couple that with the changes that happen to them over time, and it highly destabilizes the concept of "identity."

Book Three, Mountolive, throws another wrench into the consistency of the story as it is told from a third-person perspective, a close god's-eye view from inside some of the characters featured in Books One and Two. This was a strange shift that was not particularly justified by Durrell and presents details that Darley never could have known (authorial invention?). One might hypothesize that it represents a book "written by Darley," as if the character wrote Book 3, but again, this premise is never directly stated, so I found the shift awkward.

The fourth book, Clea, returns us to Darley's first-person perspective much like in Books One and Two. Again, new aspects of the characters are revealed or have evolved. We never really knew them, and they are constantly in a state of flux, just like quantum particles and the universe.

Throughout The Alexandria Quartet, the nearly baroque poetic language is most impressive. Durrell is quite masterful and insightful when he allows his characters to be. There are, in fact, TWO writers as characters in the book, and Durrell manages to make them both talented, artistic, and eloquent while still being utterly distinct. Very skillful, subtle writing.

The racism is absolutely disturbing, without a doubt. Given that the characters are meant to be true to British expats living in Egypt before and just after World War II, it's likely that they will be infused with racialist views. But the casual use of racist epithets to describe black music and black musicians is disturbing, not to mention the exotic portrayal of Egyptians. Exoticism, in its own way, betrays a level of racism that has been written about by various cultural critics; it portrays races as "other" and incomprehensible. If Durrell were weaving this into his story for a thematic reason, giving him the benefit of intentionality, it might be to point out that we are all exotic and incomprehensible to each other. Durrell certainly never sugarcoats the brutality or prejudice of his characters and makes no obvious judgment upon them. He presents the occurrences rather neutrally or amorally. This is indeed dicey. Does it matter what he, the author, thought? Or is it more important how we now reflect on this series published in the late 1950s? It's jarring to read such casually used language, as if it's just an everyday thing. Yet I think it was rather valuable, in an odd way, because it put me in the mindset of how Trump spoke about immigrants "infesting" this country or, like Roseann Barr tossing off her racist tweets. This is casual conversation for many Americans. It might have been a very small aspect of this book to Durrell, but it had a big effect on me as a reader today. Racist beliefs are just an assumed, automatic, and off-hand aspect of the worldview of so many individuals that changing it will require a lot of significant social change. Of course, right now, we are going in the opposite direction with the mainstreaming of racism.

Without a doubt, this is an unusual and powerful work, but not one I can particularly recommend. I would think those with patience for the unfolding of a story who appreciate off-kilter experimental works that exist in an undefinable quantum state of wtf... then yes, perhaps this is for you. Strangely enough, I've heard this described by some as a "romance." It seemed more of an anti-romance to me.

Multiple, and often very poetical, iterations on the relationships of a tight-knit group of people are presented. The way they use, abuse, and exploit each other is explored in depth. This is done from multiple points of view, with multiple cameras in action. Additionally, the inter-community and inter-cultural relationships in Alexandria at that time are dissected. The truth, if there is one, is revealed gradually, onion-style, in a very post-modernist dismissal of the absolute.

I took a break after reading "Justine." This time around, "Balthazar" seems easier, and the new take on some "truths" is exciting. It feels like delving deeper into other layers. No, it's like a potent suggestion and drug for me, clearly a masterpiece in its genre. However, this potency and the iterations can lead to a feeling of surfeit, as it did for me. It's the sense that the atmosphere of the novel is sufficient, but one must survive the immersion.

The evocation of the history of the city is also very strong, as is the mixture of languages. In terms of pure sentence construction, it is easier than, say, Proust. But for some readers, it may be difficult due to its non-linear and poetical nature. How poetical? Well, consider this: "And when night falls and the white city lights up the thousand candelabra of its parks and buildings, tunes in to the soft unearthly drum-music of Morocco or the Caucasus, it looks like some great crystal liner asleep there, anchored to the horn of Africa — her diamond and fire-opal reflections twisting downwards like polished bars into the oily harbour among the battleships." At such times, Durrell is not for the lover of short paragraphs. Also, please listen to this BBC broadcast on Durrell: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01phktg.