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wintermute314's review against another edition
A masterpiece at last available in Kindle format!
sarahreadsaverylot's review against another edition
5.0
The language, the characters, and its problematic aspects of metaphor and perspective combine to make for a solid 4.5. Nevertheless, I'm choosing to round up based on the shear pleasure that it gave me as I worked through it.
The prose draws you in, and any book that causes one to miss a stop on the train is surely worth five!
While it was extremely provocative and frustrating, I found that it only increased my interest and desire to discuss it with anyone who would listen!
A work of art.
The prose draws you in, and any book that causes one to miss a stop on the train is surely worth five!
While it was extremely provocative and frustrating, I found that it only increased my interest and desire to discuss it with anyone who would listen!
A work of art.
marietta72_l's review
5.0
Παρότι με κούρασε κάποιες στιγμές, τελικα άξιζε ο χρόνος και η υπομονή μου. Ειδικά το τελευταίο μέρος η Κλεά ηταν σπαρακτικό. Βλέπουμε όλους τους ήρωες απογυμνωμενους απο τα ψέμματα και τις φαντασιώσεις τους και η Αλεξάνδρεια απο μυθική πόλη γίνεται η πόλη της ανάμνησης. Το αγάπησα το Κουαρτετο, αν και κάποιες στιγμές ηθελα να το παρατήσω. Χαίρομαι που δεν το έκανα. Με τα λόγια του Καβαφη, που τόσο αγαπάει ο Durrell, μου χάρισε το ωραίο ταξίδι.
siiriainen's review
challenging
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
2.0
left_coast_justin's review against another edition
3.0
Trying to review these books is like trying to review your life. While reading these, I really ceased to exist in 21st-century America and instead felt like I was in a different, slower world that my grandparents would have recognized. Full credit to the author for producing this effect.
An aside: My mother, now chewed up by Alzheimer's, was delighted when I was home on break from college a few decades back and lifted Justine off her reading shelf, where the Quartet had resided in plain view throughout my entire childhood. She advised me to re-read the entire thing once per decade for the rest of my life, something I've tried to do.
So why only three stars?
The "quality of the writing," often praised, seems to be directed at the long, overwritten (IMO) descriptions of landscapes and sunsets. I was impressed, within the first couple of pages of the first book, at the description of "dust-tormented streets"; less so at the dozen or so descriptions of "fly-tormented," "heat-tormented," "mosquito-tormented" etc. that followed. The effect of this overwriting, though, is that it forces you (or me, anyway) to concentrate, lest something important be slipped in there. This is part of the reason it is so engrossing.
I suppose this was the first literature I ever read that dealt seriously with the problems of love and sex. Because I so strongly associated the book with my parents' and grandparents' times, it was a little icky, and I still feel slightly unclean after reading it. But more to the point: I really have difficulty relating to any of these people or their thought processes. The profundities about love leave me scratching my head. I say this seriously: I am too simple-minded for this sort of internal reflection, and I'm not sure that's a bad thing.
But! --despite all that I think that this quartet is a splendid snapshot in time, and if you read it, you'll never forget it.
An aside: My mother, now chewed up by Alzheimer's, was delighted when I was home on break from college a few decades back and lifted Justine off her reading shelf, where the Quartet had resided in plain view throughout my entire childhood. She advised me to re-read the entire thing once per decade for the rest of my life, something I've tried to do.
So why only three stars?
The "quality of the writing," often praised, seems to be directed at the long, overwritten (IMO) descriptions of landscapes and sunsets. I was impressed, within the first couple of pages of the first book, at the description of "dust-tormented streets"; less so at the dozen or so descriptions of "fly-tormented," "heat-tormented," "mosquito-tormented" etc. that followed. The effect of this overwriting, though, is that it forces you (or me, anyway) to concentrate, lest something important be slipped in there. This is part of the reason it is so engrossing.
I suppose this was the first literature I ever read that dealt seriously with the problems of love and sex. Because I so strongly associated the book with my parents' and grandparents' times, it was a little icky, and I still feel slightly unclean after reading it. But more to the point: I really have difficulty relating to any of these people or their thought processes. The profundities about love leave me scratching my head. I say this seriously: I am too simple-minded for this sort of internal reflection, and I'm not sure that's a bad thing.
But! --despite all that I think that this quartet is a splendid snapshot in time, and if you read it, you'll never forget it.
june_englit_phd's review
challenging
dark
emotional
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
3.0
daviddavidkatzman's review
3.0
Well. This was far from being "among the greatest works of English literature in the twentieth century" as claimed by the so-called Modern Library (whoever they are). It was unique, challenging and bizarre as well as, at times, inconsistent (dare I say flawed?). And yet somehow in the flaws is a level of honesty not found in so many books that smoothly portray "reality" with details intended to seduce the reader into believing. That trickery of perception.
Here's how it went for me: beautiful, poetic writing...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....etc etc. This book is such an odd duck that it certainly does achieve something quite unique in English literature, I do agree with that. I can almost compare it, in a way, to Infinite Jest, not in content or style but in the innate inconsistency that defies categorization. The awkwardness at times felt as though the author was "showing his work," (and a writer is the main character). So is it "post modern" or is it not? It's ambiguous, sprawling, beastly, occasionally boring. It's not 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, however it completely alters the understanding we have about the characters from Book One. It straddles this odd border between metafiction and fiction because 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 authors draft. Book Two reveals that there was so much behind the scenes that Darley didn't understand, it completely repositions (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 and motives and previously unrevealed actions causes us to reevaluate the characters many times over. Couple that with changes that happen to them over time, it highly destabilizes the concept of "identity."
Book Three, Mountolive, throws another wrench into the consistency of the story in that 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...however, this premise is again never directly stated, so I found the shift awkward.
The fourth book, Clea, returns us to Darley's first person perspective much as in Books One and Two. Again, new aspects to the characters are revealed or have evolved. We never really knew them, and they are constantly in a state of flux, just as quantum particles and the universe are.
Most impressive throughout The Alexandria Quartet is the nearly baroque poetic language. 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 and yet utterly distinct. Very skillful, subtle writing.
The racism is absolutely disturbing, without question. It would seem likely that, being true to British expats living in Egypt before and just after World War II, the characters are going to 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 is something that 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 would likely 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 judgement upon them. He presents the occurrences rather neutrally or amorally. This is dicey indeed. 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 live 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 an anti-romance to me.
Here's how it went for me: beautiful, poetic writing...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....etc etc. This book is such an odd duck that it certainly does achieve something quite unique in English literature, I do agree with that. I can almost compare it, in a way, to Infinite Jest, not in content or style but in the innate inconsistency that defies categorization. The awkwardness at times felt as though the author was "showing his work," (and a writer is the main character). So is it "post modern" or is it not? It's ambiguous, sprawling, beastly, occasionally boring. It's not 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, however it completely alters the understanding we have about the characters from Book One. It straddles this odd border between metafiction and fiction because 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 authors draft. Book Two reveals that there was so much behind the scenes that Darley didn't understand, it completely repositions (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 and motives and previously unrevealed actions causes us to reevaluate the characters many times over. Couple that with changes that happen to them over time, it highly destabilizes the concept of "identity."
Book Three, Mountolive, throws another wrench into the consistency of the story in that 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...however, this premise is again never directly stated, so I found the shift awkward.
The fourth book, Clea, returns us to Darley's first person perspective much as in Books One and Two. Again, new aspects to the characters are revealed or have evolved. We never really knew them, and they are constantly in a state of flux, just as quantum particles and the universe are.
Most impressive throughout The Alexandria Quartet is the nearly baroque poetic language. 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 and yet utterly distinct. Very skillful, subtle writing.
The racism is absolutely disturbing, without question. It would seem likely that, being true to British expats living in Egypt before and just after World War II, the characters are going to 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 is something that 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 would likely 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 judgement upon them. He presents the occurrences rather neutrally or amorally. This is dicey indeed. 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 live 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 an anti-romance to me.
rhonaea's review against another edition
4.0
A lengthy and fulsome read, each page packed full. The work of literary genius, but perhaps, I would, of it’s time. I can’t imagine I would have got much from this as a younger reader, it took the life experience to get my head round it.
philosophie's review against another edition
5.0
Even though it took me ages to finish this massive read, the eloquence and the elegancy of the prose blew me away. I absolutely adored the fact that the plot was non linear,at least during the first 3 books, whilst the landscape descriptions were mesmerizing and haunting.
This is definitely an unparallel piece of art, full of philosophical reflections and beautifully written passages about love.
Yes, one day I found myself writing down with trembling fingers the four words (four letters! four faces!) with which every story-teller since the world began has staked his slender claim to the attention of his fellow-men. Words which presage simply the old story of an artist coming of age. I wrote: "Once upon a time…." And I felt as if the whole universe had given me a nudge!
This is definitely an unparallel piece of art, full of philosophical reflections and beautifully written passages about love.
Yes, one day I found myself writing down with trembling fingers the four words (four letters! four faces!) with which every story-teller since the world began has staked his slender claim to the attention of his fellow-men. Words which presage simply the old story of an artist coming of age. I wrote: "Once upon a time…." And I felt as if the whole universe had given me a nudge!