Reviewed by: Durrell Re-read: Crossing the Liminal in Lawrence Durrell's Major Novels by James M. Clawson Anthony Hirst (bio) James M. Clawson, Durrell Re-read: Crossing the Liminal in Lawrence Durrell's Major Novels. Lanham, MD: Farleigh Dickinson University Press. 2016. Pp. 176. Cloth $78.00. James M. Clawson invites us to see Lawrence Durrell's twelve major novels as a unity, an oeuvre—or opus, as he prefers to call it—but also as a process, a development. The twelve novels are The Black Book (1938), The Alexandria Quartet (1956–1960), the novel pair Tunc and Nunquam (1968 and 1970, known collectively as The Revolt of Aphrodite) and The Avignon Quintet (1974–1985). [End Page 576] Clawson starts from Durrell's own plan of the opus, announced in 1945 in a letter to T. S. Eliot and based on modern critics' debatable view of the structure of Greek tragedy: agon, pathos, anagnorisis. At the time, only The Black Book (the agon) had been published; later the Quartet was identified as the pathos and the Quintet as the anagnorisis. To account for the Revolt, Richard Pine later proposed—and Durrell concurred in this—the missing fourth term sparagmos (Pine 2005, 53). The scheme, however, is not a reliable basis for understanding the opus, since, as Clawson does not quite acknowledge in his endnotes (18nn6–8), Durrell misunderstood the meaning of two of the terms (Chamberlin 2019, 70n4); but then Clawson makes little further use of the scheme. We should not ignore the Greek context of much of Durrell's writing. Leaving aside his semi-fictional accounts of periods of residence in Corfu, Rhodes, and Cyprus, and restricting ourselves to the opus, we can note that, although he is writing mainly of an earlier part of his life in London, the primary narrator of The Black Book is writing on a remote Greek headland in the Ionian Sea (and the narrator's and/or author's timeline on the last page refers to Koloura in Corfu); in the Quartet, again, the primary narrator, Darley, trying to recreate on paper his past life in Alexandria, is doing so on an unnamed Greek island in the Aegean, which he leaves in Clea (the fourth volume, 1960) to return to Alexandria, though the novel (and the Quartet) concludes with him back on the island, for few weeks only, contemplating an uncertain future; much of Tunc is set in Athens and other parts of mainland Greece, though the focus is shifting towards Istanbul (the principal location of the companion novel Nunquam)—a rather Greek Istanbul regularly referred to as "Polis." Only in The Avignon Quintet is Greece left behind, as the title suggests; but by then Durrell himself had long been settled in France, though he still hankered from time to time to return to Greece, where he had spent six formative years (1935–1941) that were followed by two years on Rhodes, not then a part of Greece (1945–1947), and three years in Cyprus (1953–1956). I read Clawson's book with an almost uninterrupted sense of intellectual unease. But, to be fair to Clawson, it was the same unease that I always experience in reading eight of the twelve novels involved—that is, all but the four novels of The Alexandria Quartet, where my unease is only occasional. Most of Durrell's major characters, and especially his narrators think too much, and tell us too much about what they think; and most of them think in the same way, obsessed with the relation of "reality" to fiction and with the nature of being an "artist." Much of their thinking could be described by the derogatory term opinionated. Darley, the narrator of three of the four novels of the Quartet, is not exempt from this, but his agonizing and posturing are tempered by the focus [End Page 577] on his own fallibility and the presence of a supposedly superior intellectual and artist in the novelist and diplomat Pursewarden, the principal thinker—and least convincing character—in the Quartet, which is (except for the third-person omniscient narration of the third volume, Mountolive) essentially a Bildungsroman or, to use the more precise...