I struggled to finish this, but I was determined to hear it all the way to the end. And I actually enjoyed the last 20 minutes of it!

In the early 1960's, not long after the 4th volume of the Alexandria Quartet was published, I bought the whole set. However, I culled all 4 books from my library long ago because I could never force my way through them.

The initial appeal was the repeated mention of taboo topics that, in my early 20's, I had rarely if ever read or heard about. I remember attempting "Justine" many times, finding a few shocking scenes, but overall, feeling confused and bored.

When I heard the audible edition of the book last week, listening felt like hard work. And yet, the Alexandria Quartet was among the top 100 novels of the 20th century!

There is a lot of beautiful, poetic language, like this: "Notes for landscape-tones….Long sequences of tempera. Light filtered through the essence of lemons. An air full of brick-dust – sweet-smelling brick-dust and the odour of hot pavements slaked with water. Light damp clouds, earth-bound, yet seldom bringing rain. Upon this squirt dust-red, dust-green, chalk-mauve and watered crimson-lake. In summer the sea-damp lightly varnished the air. Everything lay under a coat of gum."

From long, evocative passages like this one, bits of solid plot information seem to float up like answers on a Magic 8 Ball. I had to stay alert to catch them as they floated by. And staying alert through all the description was tiring.

Then, when I'd finished, I almost downloaded another volume of the series - but caught myself in time! I realized that while the language was beautiful, the story was a bit too convoluted for my taste. Maybe I'll give it another try in the future, but for now, I'm content with having finally made it through one volume.

For years, the 1961 Faber edition of Lawrence Durrell's Alexandria Quartet, which had been on my mind from time to time, appeared at a ridiculously low price for a complete and clean set last month. I couldn't resist buying it. It turned out to be a bad decision. I left the first volume, Justine, on page 195, that is, 50 pages before the end. But if I said the struggle started on the first page of the book, I wouldn't be exaggerating. I was angry with myself for being so stubborn for no reason.

Mr. Durrell seems to be a complete fan of melodrama. The plot does justice. Well, let's give up on that, it's not always a requirement for a good book, but the characters are also not very convincing. The main character is actually the city of Alexandria, but he described it in such a way that it immediately cools you off from the city. And there's also the word chaos. He took on a very flowery, flamboyant text as if he was going to show off his style. Showiness everywhere, chasing after ostentation. I don't get into the approaches in an Orientalist, imperialist tone at all.

Durrell and this quartet, which is considered one of the masterpieces of 20th-century English literature and, for me, falls into the famous category in the first book, I say may Allah forgive those who love it, and I look at the upcoming books.

The concept of the Alexandria Quartet truly intrigues me. It seems like a literary gem that I would be drawn to. My wife adores these books, and since we usually have similar tastes in literature, it further piques my interest. Moreover, it appears on numerous lists of books that I either love or find great value in. So, it feels as if Justine and I are meant to have a special connection.

Here's my history with this book. Shortly after getting married, I eagerly started reading and managed to reach page three or so. Years later, thinking I had matured as a reader, I attempted to read it again, but once again, I only made it to page three or so. Now, several years after that, I decided to give the audiobook a try. I rarely encounter an audiobook that I don't like, and surely I've grown as a reader by now.

However, the reputation of this book is such that when I give it my one malicious star, I feel like I'm condemning my own limited intellect. But here's my take on Justine. It seems like twaddle to me, with endless dithering over a rather mediocre soap opera plot. The highly praised style is indeed something, but in a negative way. It's both frustratingly ethereal and stubbornly pompous. It's filled with pretentious assertions that, upon a moment's thought, are simply nonsensical. Passages that are supposed to be examples of beautiful prose, when closely examined, turn out to be strings of words that mean almost nothing. The only stylistic merit I can discern is that, in a first-person narrative, Durrell successfully recreates the feeling of reading someone else's personal diary, which sounds exciting but is often dull in reality.

Nevertheless, I will continue with the Quartet. I look forward to reflecting on my shamefully philistine attack on this great literary masterpiece in the future, once I've further developed as a reader, with the embarrassment I surely deserve.

Lawrence Durrell, in this novel, tells love, lust, betrayals, and the complex web of human relationships in a different way. The events of the book take place in Alexandria, Egypt, before World War II. A city where Mr. Durrell lived for a while and, in the background of the story, he describes Alexandria with vivid descriptions, with depictions of the city's places from the Corniche (the coastal street in Alexandria), Lake Mariout, Fuad Street, and so on.

The language of the novel is not simple, and Mrs. Khatereh Karimi, out of loyalty to the author's words, has chosen a not very simple Persian translation. This tetralogy was translated by the late Ahmad Mir-Ali but unfortunately, it never got the permission to be published. Mrs. Khatereh Karimi dedicated this tetralogy to the late Mir-Ali.

This novel is the first volume of the Alexandria Quartet, and according to Mr. Durrell himself, the first three novels are siblings, and the last novel is the sequel to Rustin.

"We had fallen so deeply under the spell of a will so powerful and so purposeful that it was far from being human. The earthy receptacle that Alexandria was, gathering the debris of those who were its chosen specimens..."

The moment I completed this book, the very first thing that came to my mind was to return to the beginning. And so, I did just that. I then proceeded to re-read those parts that I had carefully marked earlier. I am absolutely certain that this book will remain one of my all-time favorites for the rest of my life. The prose within its pages is simply beautiful. In fact, on numerous occasions, I found myself pausing to read certain passages out loud, savoring every word. The characters are incredibly interesting, each with their own unique personalities and stories. Their development throughout the book is captivating and keeps you engaged from start to finish. Now, I am eagerly looking forward to delving into the rest of the Alexandria Quartet. I can only imagine the wonderful literary journey that awaits me.

Delicada y frágil, la memoria de un amor y de las relaciones entre los distintos protagonistas de esta novela se reflejan en un marco brumoso. En este entorno tenue, la ciudad, la misma de Kavafis, pasa a ser un personaje más. Se convierte en un testigo silencioso de los amores y desamores, de las esperanzas y decepciones. Cada calle, cada edificio, guarda un recuerdo, un momento que dejó una huella en los corazones de los personajes. La novela se desarrolla en un mundo en el que la realidad y la fantasía se confunden, en el que la memoria juega un papel fundamental. Es magistral la forma en que el autor logra recrear este universo tan especial, lleno de matices y de emociones.

Oh my. This was not for me.

The main protagonist, the city of Alexandria, Egypt, is described in rich detail. Likewise, the characters have great depth. I enjoyed all of that.

The story focuses on the intimate society of the wealthy at a time in Alexandria shortly before WWII. In particular, it zeroes in on the relationships between the individual men and women, their trysts, their extramarital affairs, and their feelings for one another. There is little else.

Justine is the first novel in a quartet. The second and third novels tell the same events but from a different character’s perspective, similar to what Marilyn Robinson did with her Gilead series. The fourth novel in the quartet then advances the story.

Unfortunately, I felt that nothing truly significant happened in the novel, and I didn't connect with or feel that I cared for any of the characters. The prose was very elegant, yet it felt stilted and pretentious. Ultimately, I was relieved when it was over and grateful that it was relatively short.

I had hoped for more from this novel, but it failed to engage me on a deeper level. Maybe it's just not my cup of tea.

Although I suffered in finishing this novel - because I decided to finish the quartet in four days

Hypnotic and flowing slowly, like the currents of a lake that leads nowhere, this is a text almost without a plot, for from the first page we know what will happen (yet there are still some surprises here and there). The amazing thing about this work is not only the "quotable quotes" but above all the countless and ingenious metaphors, figures crafted with the delicacy of a true poet who masters the language and whose words are both bright and dark, like a Mediterranean sunset, confusing yet seductive, like a city of five races, a dozen religions and several languages that are heard on the streets, coexist and sometimes lick each other in the union of two mouths that want to be, for a moment, one. Now I know where McEwan learned from.

Pretentious? Perhaps. Erotic novel? Nice (if someone says that it is perhaps because they haven't read it). Just a beautiful book and at times oppressive and complicated, like its theme: love.

This novel takes the reader on a journey through the complex and often tumultuous world of love. The author's use of language is masterful, painting vivid pictures and creating a sense of atmosphere that is both captivating and immersive. Despite the lack of a traditional plot, the story manages to hold the reader's attention through its exploration of the human heart and the many emotions that come with love. Whether it's the confusion and passion of new love or the pain and longing of lost love, the author captures it all with a sensitivity and insight that is truly remarkable.

Overall, this is a book that will stay with you long after you've turned the last page. It's a beautiful and thought-provoking exploration of one of the most fundamental human experiences, and it's sure to appeal to anyone who has ever loved or been loved.

As you most likely know,

this is the first book of Lawrence Durrell's acclaimed Alexandria Quartet. But what exactly is it about? It's a rather stupid question, really. Unless by "about" you mean, what kind of atmosphere does it evoke? Well, it feels like a warm, ancient, beautiful, decaying, diverse, passionate, and decadent city. This city seems to seep into the lives of its inhabitants, most of whom appear to be obsessed with sex. So, yes, it's a lot about sex and what it means, how it relates to love and manipulation, and whether any of this has a moral foundation.

There is at least an implied plot, but this is more of a spatial exploration of the main Alexandrian characters. These characters will no doubt resurface in the subsequent novels. Events are related thematically, with not much regard for chronology. However, the whole thing plays out to a satisfying non-conclusion. In fact, I couldn't stop thinking about the last line of the book. The writing style is luscious and very poetic. Much of the story is told through descriptions. Oh, and I'll save you some grief - you never learn the name of the narrator.

So, I will definitely read on. I'll let you know how Balthazar turns out.

**Intoxication**

Halfway through this book, I must admit, I was on the verge of setting it aside as being hopelessly esoteric and self-indulgent. However, the last 100 pages took on a different character. By the time I reached the great duck hunt, which is an almost Tolstoyan set piece containing the main action of the novel, I simply couldn't put it down. And I was so deeply moved by the brief final section that bids a temporary farewell to the more important characters that I immediately went to the bookstore to purchase the other three novels that make up Durrell's *Alexandria Quartet*. Now, fifty pages into *Balthazar*, the second of them, I feel as if a landscape that was previously endured under a haze of oppressive heat has been revealed in fresh light under a clear blue sky.

The *Alexandria Quartet* was published in paperback around the time I was entering university. My friends and I bought the first volume or two, perhaps hoping that reading such an erudite work would brand us as card-carrying intellectuals, especially since it was also about sex. I rather think we didn't get beyond a few dozen pages and were surely disappointed in the sex aspect. Although Durrell chose Alexandria for its polyglot decadence, as he described it: "Five races, five languages, a dozen creeds; five fleets turning through their greasy reflections behind the harbour bar. But there are more than five sexes and only demotic Greek seems to distinguish between them." He stirs a potent cocktail that includes most of those races and languages. Even though the later books seem less opaque, Justine assumes that the reader can handle expressions in Arabic, quotations in Latin, and sometimes whole exchanges in French. Its English vocabulary even sent me several times to the dictionary. Reading the books now, I am amazed at the degree of sophistication that even a highbrow author could assume of his readers in the 1950s. I suspect that Durrell always intended to give the impression of superior knowledge, and that remark about demotic Greek is surely just showing off.
Sex is indeed everywhere in Durrell's Alexandria, in many different forms, whether gay or straight, for payment or not. However, compared to his friend and former housemate Henry Miller, Durrell was much less interested in describing the physical aspects. His main theme in *Justine* is the apparent separation of sex from friendship on one hand and spiritual love on the other. His various flavors of half-fidelities and adulteries would have meant little to us at that age. But they do ring more true when one understands more of the blind alleys and detours we allow ourselves to take in the search for some elusive ideal. Justine is one of the least titillating erotic books I can imagine, but its pervasive sadness can shade into sympathy and even wisdom.
I returned to *Justine* immediately after reading another novel written by a poet, *Divisadero* by Michael Ondaatje (whose *The English Patient* also contains scenes of adulterous love in Egypt at almost the same period). But the two writers are very different. Ondaatje's language works by paragraphs or pages, while Durrell's operates at the level of the individual word or phrase. Ondaatje paints pictures that separate themselves from the words that evoked them. With Durrell, however, pictures, characters, and ideas are all subsumed in the same perfumed language. His is an intoxicating voice; you either walk out on it or surrender. And he is good. Listen to his description of a lake at dusk: "When the engines of the hydroplanes are turned off the silence is suddenly filled with groaning and gnatting of duck." And again at dawn: "And on all sides now comes the rich plural chuckle of duck and the shrill pitched note of the gulls to the seaboard." The opening of the next book, *Balthazar*, gives an even better idea of his extraordinary use of words, highly colored but verging on the over-ripe: "Landscape tones: brown to bronze, steep skyline, low cloud, pearl ground with shadowed oyster and violet reflections. The lion-dust of desert: prophets' tombs turned to zinc and copper at sunset on the ancient lake. Its huge sand-faults like watermarks from the air; green and citron giving to gunmetal, to a single plum-dark sail, moist, palpitant: sticky-winged nymph. Taposiris is dead among its tumbling columns and seamarks, vanished the Harpoon Men… Mareotis under a sky of hot lilac."
Durrell's language is both the brilliance of the book and its greatest liability. Elsewhere, he writes disparagingly of a journalist whose profession had "trained him to stay on the superficies of real life (acts and facts about acts)." With Durrell (as with Proust, surely his spiritual mentor), acts and facts are revealed sparingly and told out of sequence; the important action is all internal. But from whose perspective? When all language is equally charged, the only inner life that comes through clearly is that of the unnamed wordsmith. Or are we hearing the voice of the city, with the narrator as its mouthpiece? Perhaps. Alexandria is intoxicating, but also enervating. The part of the book that I find truly moving is at the very end, when many of the characters have left. Justine in Palestine, Clea in Syria, Nessim returning from Kenya, the narrator en route to self-imposed exile on a lonely Greek island—these few rain-washed glimpses suddenly make me care enough about them as people to read the next book, and the next, and the next.

‘Among various failures, a person chooses the one that least degrades his self-esteem: the one that causes him the least disappointment.’

‘Crime always runs towards its own complement, punishment, and only finds its happiness there.’

.

I could list many more sentences here. There are also many beautifications.. I finally met dear Alexandria. It was a difficult but unforgettable encounter.

I brought Justine to life in my mind, then Clea, Balthazar and Nessim. I met them on the streets of Durrell, in the wake of their bed sheets, in the coffee corners. My mind was confused, I went in and out of the streets again, and I was amazed at the love of our unnamed hero.

I asked myself if love could be so crowded and so noisy.

It was like a poem, like a river. A river that slowly releases all the weight of the water it carries into its bends.

The first work of the Alexandria Quartet, Justine, opened a door in my mind. It is certain that I will enter through that door in the subsequent books, and the party will really start then ~

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Translated by Ülker İnce, with cover design by Utku Lomlu~