I have recently made a welcome return to the literary land of Justine by Lawrence Durrell, the first novel in his acclaimed Alexandria Quartet.

Every so often a book like this calls out to me. Lawrence Durrell’s Justine is a fascinating deep dive into the sultry, chaotic world of pre-World War II Alexandria, Egypt. Published in 1957, the novel introduces readers to an incredibly rich and complex tale of memory, passion and intrigue.

The story is narrated by an unnamed Irish schoolteacher who recounts a passionate affair with Justine, a beautiful Jewish woman married to the wealthy businessman, Nessim. Alexandria as the setting is a heady mix of decadent, cosmopolitan energy with its bustling streets, shadowy corners and destructive whisperings. Durrell’s prose is incredibly evocative, he paints the city as a place where East meets West, where connections can make or break both hearts and bank accounts.

Justine herself is of course at the heart of the novel—a femme fatale whose charms are beyond the reach of mere mortals. The narrator’s fixation on her drives the plot and at times it can feel overwhelming but it is a story of its time and to allow yourself to fully immerse in the descriptive narrative helps to forgive the author’s wanderings and embrace its charm.

What sets Justine apart is Durrell’s deeply descriptive narrative style, in many ways a book of its time whilst in others, the oldest story of them all. What the novel does is open the reader up to the rest of the quartet and the web of passion and intrigue Durrell weaves throughout. For all of its beauty it is not the perfect novel but, if like me, you hear its calling then it is a hard book to resist.

See also The Mediterranean Shore by Paul Hogarth