Justine follows the various intermingled lives and love affairs of a group of artistic people in Alexandria, where it sometimes seems the city is playing itself out in their daily struggles.
This is a bit of a difficult book to write a review of, because frankly not much happens. The narrator is in a relationship with one woman but becomes bound in a passionate affair with another, complicated by the fact that he is friends with her husband, and the fact that this woman Justine is apparently a neurotic mess. On the other hand, the narrator is so safely wrapped up in his own navel gazing that she can’t really sink all the way through him, which may be the attraction for her.
Then again, this book was written in 1957, and you can really sense that attitude when it comes to the female characters, so I’m not sure I trust the narrator’s word on any of them.
Naturally such people are very small when seen cast against the old peculiar city of Alexandria, as they are here. Durrell’s prose is really very purple, but it suits the city. And it’s the way that the city is painted that draws you in, until somehow you become interested in the drama, and by the time the story surges to its inevitable conclusion you are somehow moved by what has happened.
Still, I think all the characters would be better off if they had some proper work or hobbies to interest themselves in, rather than always being wrapped up in themselves! I’ll read the rest of the quartet, but piece by piece – to binge it would really wear on my patience.
