Justine

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Around this event, dazed and preoccupied, the lover moves examining his or her own experience; her gratitude alone, stretching away towards a mistaken donor, creates the illusion that she communicates with her fellow, but this is false. The loved object is simply one that has shared an experience at the same moment of time, narcissistically; and the desire to be near the beloved object is at first not due to the idea of possessing it, but simply to let the two experiences compare themselves, like reflections in different mirrors. The scene for the story Durrell's narrator tells is the dusty, modern Alexandria of the 1930s, "an exotic city of constant interactions between cultures and religions", [1] and with a cultural milieu that mixes exceptional sophistication with equally remarkable sordidness. [2] Justine is portrayed by Durrell in a manner which 'mirrors' Alexandria in all of its complexities, with its mixture of elegance and extreme poverty, and its ancient Arab ways co-mingled with modern European mores. [1] Durrell's Alexandria is a city where Europeans exist alongside Egyptians, and Jews and Christians exist alongside Muslims, and his characters, especially his lovely protagonist, she of the "sombre brow-dark gaze," mirror the city. For Durrell, his protagonist Justine is the essence of Alexandria, its "true child…neither Greek, Syrian, nor Egyptian, but a hybrid." [1] And this is mainly what I found marvelous about this novel. The atmospheric use of color and mood, the powerful sense of place, of the city that is the true protagonist of this story: The city that merged “five races, five languages, a dozen creeds: five fleets turning through their greasy reflections behind the harbor bar” . The 1930s city of Alexandria.

It's the role of the author or artist to detect and record these moments that will collectively live on in perpetuity in the form of a creative work: Morrison, Ray. A Smile in His Mind's Eye: A Study of the Early Works of Lawrence Durrell. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 2005. Hodgkin, Joanna (2013). Amateurs in Eden: the story of a bohemian marriage; Nancy and Lawrence Durrell. London: Virago. ISBN 9781844087945. Lawrence Durrell's home in Rhodes from 20 May 1945 until 10 April 1947 British Council work in Córdoba and Belgrade; teaching in Cyprus [ edit ] Justine is married to Nessim, but Justine and the narrator are deeply in love. Nessim seems to know, but chooses and or pretends, for as long as he can justify it, not to know. The narrator feels terrible about the situation, is worried of what Nessim will do, but too much in love to break it off. Justine at least appears to not care at all.

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Lovers are never equally matched - do you think? One always overshadows the other and stunts his or her growth so that the overshadowed one must always be tormented by a desire to escape, to be free to grow. Surely this is the only tragic thing about love?

Does Durrell's "prism-sightedness" promise "a multi-dimensional effect in character"? What better reason can there be to read on, but to find out! I came across Gerald Durrell when I was in my mid-teens. I can’t remember whether it was for a class, or while re-shelving books (I worked in the school library), or maybe just chance. In any case, I found Catch Me a Colobus (with which for years I confused Philip Roth’s Goodbye Colombus). I read it, was enthralled, and over the next few years bought and read most of Durrell’s other books. Just as the novel distinguishes the multiple facets, it is the prism through which Durrell invites us to observe moments in the lives of the city and a select few of its inhabitants. The last part induced me to raise the rating from one to two stars. In this part Lawrence Durrell switches from excessive philosophizing to a resolution to the "characters" egotistical behavior. Things actually happen; we see what these people have brought down on themselves. In fact there ARE some wonderful descriptions. That Nessim had her watched, I for a long time doubted. She was too protean. Yet this was all just an overture to our friendship disintegrating into a ravenous sexuality. We could not stop ourselves. We spoke in French, with each kiss a painful sunrise. She was as angry as a mad demon. "You thought I simply wanted to make love," she shouted. We quailed with melodramatic intensity.

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The scene is dusty, modern Alexandria, and the milieu one that mixes exceptional sophistication with exceptional sordidness. The time is not stated, but it may be the Nineteen Thirties. The narrator is a penniless young Irish school teacher who gives The King of Asine and Other Poems (1948), by George Seferis and translated by Durrell, Bernard Spencer, and Nanos Valaoritis