I won’t lavish too much time on this generally very pleasing armchair excursion around all the major Greek islands with Lawrence Durrell. If you’re familiar with Durrell’s books that specifically cover Corfu, Rhodes, Cyprus and Sicily, you’ll find here what you’d expect: history; landscape; anecdote a-plenty; flora, fauna and agriculture; culture and atmosphere, all presented in Durrell’s beguilingly lyrical prose.
There are extended chapters on Corfu, Crete, Rhodes and on Delos, Mykonos and Tinos, as one might expect. But even when he covers islands which he considers of little interest, such as Syros, Kythnos, and Kea, Durrell will find something of interest: of Syros, for example, ‘the compass was invented here by the philosopher who taught Pythagoras mathematics’; of Kythnos, ‘If it were not surrounded by such glorious islands it might manage to insinuate some of its charm (it has real charm) into the minds of those travellers who would compare it with Naxos or Santorini…’; and Kea he recommends to ‘ardent campers and walkers [who] would find the abandoned convent of St Marina a tempting spot to spend a weekend’ (but presumably no longer). He cannot, however, bring himself either to omit a confession of realism about Kea or to allow himself wholly to betray his love of Greece by that very confession! – ‘Fly-blown villages, flea-tormented and silent; dogs and cats scratching themselves to death in the dust. And that terrible ennui that comes with such blazing isolation in the noonday sun. Yet the windmills turn and turn throughout these islands and their message is one of silent content.’
A word of advice, perhaps? If you know Durrell’s other travel writing as mentioned above, you’ll be used to a series of narratives that read like short stories or extended articles for travel journals. Don’t expect this book to have the same kind of focus. I found it disconcerting at first, and felt he was spending more time getting from A to B or discussing the vicissitudes of the sea and tides and currents than relating the pleasures or otherwise of A and B. For me it was not a book to read for more than 20 or 30 minutes at a time. Once I’d realised that, I enjoyed it, and was able to allow myself to enter into what I increasingly found was a kind of BBC4 prose documentary, Durrell’s writing being a combination of panoramic views and particularised images in combination with a learned script by a knowledgeable amateur of the islands he is moving through and amongst.
And, of course, we should expect a few rare or obscure words (which I love) from Durrell: I noted gonfalon, hypomania, mystagogue, garrigue, caprine, plangence, monoecious, strabismus, alveolate, alembicate, villegiature, telamon, and squinch. The dictionary definition of the last is mystifyingly unintelligible, but at least the word sounds great!