Justine

I rate this piece three stars.

There is indeed some lovely writing within it. The words are crafted in a way that should, in theory, have the power to transport the reader to a specific place or time.

However, despite this, I found myself not being fully engaged or "transported" as I had expected. Instead, it felt like a literary soap opera to me.

The writing seemed to lean towards the overwrought and preening side. It was as if the author was trying too hard to make an impression, rather than simply telling a story that would naturally draw the reader in.

As a result, it didn't leave me with a burning desire to read more. I was left with a sense of disappointment, as I had hoped for a more immersive and captivating experience.

Perhaps with a bit more restraint and a focus on the essence of the story, this could have been a more enjoyable read.

This is the first book of the quartet by Lawrence Darrell.

The author is distinguished by his poetry and the vivid description of the city and its surroundings, with all the answers of customs, ways, works, and its schedules and forms of life in it.

There is a wonderful portrayal of the characters. There is a dissection of the characters and a strong philosophy.

The work seems to be full of research in modern literature.

A drawback is the lack of events at the beginning of the work.

The language is heavy and I need to read it again to be more familiar with it before starting the other parts.

Starting from the third chapter, the events became very fast and wonderful, and the novel ended with two wonderful poems that showcase his talent.

It is one of the most important novels I have read and I will never forget it because of the spirit of the author in it :D

Unfortunately, I am unable to write a review about it.

Vay anasını, vay anasını.

Let me start by saying this: Justine, you have made a magnificent entrance into the ranks of my most beloved books. Welcome. I really don't know what to say - I'm kind of stunned. This is not just a book, it's actually a song. The most musical thing I've read in a long time. It's delicately crafted, with a melancholic poetry flowing from its lines, a work that is very difficult to describe. I want to engrave every word, every sentence in my mind.

A city (in Durrell's words; "Alexandria - The Capital of Memory") could only be described so atmospherically. Where the real ends and literature begins is so hard to distinguish, and yet so beautiful. Justine is not an easy book to read, because the author jumps around in time, goes back and forth. I think this book can be best described by the following sentences that the author says to a character in the book for another book: "The forward momentum of the narrative is braked by temporal flashbacks, so that instead of moving from point A to point B, an impression is created of a book that is outside of time, looking down on time and slowly rotating around its own axis in order to understand the whole. Not everything leads us to the things ahead; some also lead us back, to the things of the past."

Actually, there are so many things I want to say, but with your permission, I want to leave myself in the arms of Balthazar, the second book of the tetralogy. Let me end with this: "A person falls in love with the person that the person he loves chooses to love."

This is a very enjoyable book.

I have had the wonderful experience of visiting Alexandria, and as I read this book, it truly resounded in my mind.

The descriptions in the book seemed to bring back all the memories and impressions I had of that remarkable city.

It was as if I was once again walking through its ancient streets, seeing the historical landmarks, and feeling the unique atmosphere.

The author's vivid writing made it easy for me to picture every scene and imagine what life was like in Alexandria during different times.

This book not only provided entertainment but also a deeper connection to a place that holds a special place in my heart.

It is a must-read for anyone who has an interest in history, travel, or simply a good story.

I highly recommend it to others.

There’s a chap I know, and he’s quite a nice fellow overall. However, he has this tendency to just talk and talk and talk about himself incessantly. He goes on at great length about the places he’s been to and the various situations he’s been in. He takes great care to describe every little detail, often using flowery language to paint a vivid picture. Then, he’ll suddenly go off on seemingly disconnected tangents, and by the end, he’s a million miles away from where he started. He looks as confused as his audience, wondering where all of this was supposed to lead. I’m sure all of this means a lot to him, but to everyone else, it’s just a whole bunch of words. This book reminded me of him.

I simply found this book incredibly difficult to read. I suspect my problem lies in the fact that if reading a book is about enjoying a story, being entertained, or educated in the process, then this wasn’t much of a pleasurable experience for me.

The story seems to just stay in one place and not really move forward. The narrative is just a never-ending description of descriptions. At best, if there is any time shift, it’s just constant reminiscing. Sometimes, we even have the story of the story we are describing, and that too is overly descriptive. A little bit of rich language is fine in a novel, but when you have overly rich, verbose sentences juxtaposed within even richer and bigger sentences, it becomes way too much.

For example, at one point, the author states “Let me tell you briefly what I thought…”, and after a full page and a half of rambling, the speech brackets close again, and we realize he’s told us absolutely nothing.

The chronology is all over the place. People die, and then 20 pages later, they’re back, larger than life. The narrative point of view keeps changing, often with little or no clear direction. I think I understand the effect the author is trying to achieve, but what he ends up doing is just confusing the already bemused reader even further.

What we have here is like an artist’s palette, filled to the brim with rich colors. The smell of the various essences used to make the oil paint is almost palpable in our nostrils, and the possibilities of what this wonderful, sensual cornucopia could become drive us forward, against our better judgment, to turn the page and laboriously plow through the next collection of overripe images and whimsical lyricism until we can sigh with relief that we’ve managed to navigate another sentence closer to the end of the paragraph. Not that “paragraphs” or “sentences” are concepts that feature prominently in the author’s plan either.

What makes it even more frustrating is the occasional island of clarity, purpose, and direction that appears in the story. The great duck shoot near the end of the novel is a prime example of this. It’s a tense, beautifully described scenario with a clear beginning, a somewhat sumpy middle, and for once, an end. It’s a superb passage of writing, but it just makes you all the more annoyed that the other 98% of the book is such a jumbled mess.

Some of the descriptions of Alexandria, mainly at the beginning of the book, are initially a joy to read. You can really smell the little houses and see the white paint peeling in the sun. But again, much of this excellent work is quickly obscured by further flights of tangential fancy.

The problem is probably mine for not being able to appreciate this book better. I’m the heathen here, the one with too small a brain to fully appreciate the beautiful work of art that’s partly revealed before me. But I can only see things as I find them, and I found this to be one of the most bloated, turgid collections of words that I’ve ever tried to digest. From my perspective, it was truly dreadful.

Who is coming with me to Alexandria to smoke little cigars and get dirty with salt?

I also want to write about the goldenness of the shards of light.

Alexandria, a city full of history and mystery, awaits us. The warm breeze from the Mediterranean Sea gently caresses our faces as we walk along the ancient streets.

The smell of cigar smoke mingles with the salty air, creating a unique atmosphere.

We can sit by the shore, watch the waves crash, and let our thoughts wander.

The golden shards of light dance on the water, as if they are playing a game with us.

It is a moment of tranquility and inspiration, a moment when we can truly connect with the beauty of the world around us.

And as we write, our words will capture the essence of this magical place, preserving it forever in our memories.

2019: This is a reread. I first read this 6.5 years ago. At that time, I had returned to literature not long before (after 25 years) and had just begun reading modernist fiction. After initially reading this, I was completely baffled. I had no idea what was even going on in the book. But this time, it was clarity.

Not everyone will like Durrell. Some of his prose is truly awful and pompous. However, much of it, even most of it, is absolutely gorgeous. One simply has to take the good with the bad.

There is also the surrealism, which I failed to grasp the first time. It is quite different from the superannuated Dadaism of Miller’s Tropic of Capricorn, which I couldn't get through at all on a reread. There are elements here, like the long passage on Nessim’s waking dreams in Part III, that are straight out of De Chirico.

2013: I will need to reread this again, perhaps, if I am smart, after I finish the fourth volume.

Overall, my experience with Durrell's work has been a journey of discovery. The first reading was filled with confusion, but the second one brought a newfound understanding and appreciation. His use of language, both beautiful and flawed, adds to the complexity of the story. The surreal elements, although initially challenging, now seem to enhance the overall atmosphere. I look forward to rereading this again in the future and seeing how my perception continues to evolve.

I have read a book that has touched my heart on multiple occasions. Darel is an excellent writer, and this is an outstanding novel. The narrative is positively undefined, thrown together in such a way that the more distant and closer past mingles with the present in a completely manic, yet very engaging, organic manner. The psychology of the characters (and what kind of characters they are) without the "psychotherapy" to which the author of the novel is very inclined in the novel as a contrast. Impressive images and the entire decadent atmosphere characteristic of, for example, the group of artists in Pinčonov's V (I wouldn't be surprised if he picked up something from there) or Hemingway's Sun. A beautiful style, at times overly flowery (and my criteria for "overly" are really high since I otherwise love flowery prose), but often also deeply impressive. I'm only curious how the novel will sit with me after some time, that is, whether due to the so naturally chaotic narrative of the "memories" of the novel, I will forget what happened before I move on to the next part (which will be soon, I plan to read the quartet back and forth so as not to get bored), but for now, it's more than excellent.

The way the story unfolds is truly captivating. It's like a puzzle that gradually reveals its pieces, yet you never quite know how they will fit together. The characters are complex and multi-dimensional, making them feel real and relatable. The author's use of language is both beautiful and evocative, painting a vivid picture in the reader's mind.

Overall, this is a novel that I would highly recommend to anyone who enjoys a good read. It's a book that will stay with you long after you've turned the last page.