Fragments of “The Alexandria Quartet”
Posted on Jan 13, 2008 in ambulatory | Permalink
Side A
the table and picked it up with a sigh, and I heard him say, children horribly shrunk up in it nightshirt in an attitude half-formulated reproach on my lips—but from here on her er since I did not myself know. I took her face in my hands them and never gave the matter a thought. Melissa unearthed Egyptian families. The inconvenience of crowds brought us so I accepted the box-room at the end of the corridor at a quent gestures at everyone.) By now the fun had started, for the take up a collection for the orchestra in the night-club. She sed us. I like, also, to remember that first kiss by the sea, Even the harbour does not exist for us here. In the winter, of the Cecil, in a mirror. “In the vestibule of this moribund bravery very different to ours. They have explored the flesh to sounds pompous, but never mind. But now, remembering the mirror-life forever, without a thought. Later the hazards of one artificially by placing it in the lap of a priest. We Alexandrians “evolution” or “revolt”. Never use the word to me.’)” author of Moeurs; it seems a meagre and disappointing reward She could not appropriate to herself the love she felt she needed, been hunting for’. But before the words were out of her mouth her as she deserved. Some of these doubts must also have like the stifled roar of a minotaur, came a single dark whiff of more, to grow”. we say we really know about man? That he is, when all is said key cut for it?” He answered impatiently, “Yes. Of course.
Side B
of things which he knew to be true of Justine, but which he he cried, taking me by the arm. Please help me. reads widely Balthazar’s conversation is not heavily loaded with me has always been the largest part of sensuality. “We must be shoulder. We turned to each other, closing like two leaves could not bring myself to visit the studio. Once as I passed I much time wasted in this way; instead of enjoying her and even to imagine that perhaps Justine did not wish to be cured Justine’s instability of heart. They may be, as Clea thinks, For all drama creates bondage, and the actor is only significant faithful to me, and at times when I had felt myself to be closest somewhere I see myself drifting, floating, reaching out arms. I so often heard that even now in memory the thought of them arresting. The more I knew her the less predictable she seemed They have the illusion of foundering on the ocean of blackne tongue reprovingly and shake his head. “I would love to”, h drunk and snoring, drawing in with every breath the compost into the scullery muttering and shaking his head and invoking bed. While I was out at work she was confided to the care of ears and pulling her hair; while one of the naval cadets was lay together bemused by the silence, watching the yellow cur sound, as if to take the soft imprint of a brush. At the time of illusion that she communicates with her fellow, but this is “You thought I simply wanted to make love? God! haven’t we tions of the autumn, like the wings of a butterfly fluttering to him sharply, and almost before the man could reply passed
Rereading the Quartet deconstructed like this is somewhat liberating and an interesting exercise for me since I carry with me the memory of the novels as a whole. I suppose the texture of that memory underlies the stiltedness of the composite fragments and coheres them in my mind. The fragments do read well together regardless, which is probably not surprising since Durrell’s style permeates each turn of phrase. The effect is one of broken narrative, a kind of formalist avant garde pastiche. I wonder how someone who hasn’t read the books would perceive these broken fragments. Which begs the question: what do I do with these things?