[ilds] Durrell and Joyce

Denise Tart & David Green dtart at bigpond.net.au
Sat Feb 12 12:39:50 PST 2011


Durrell on the other hand always seems to be the source of his own writing, the wellspring. Perhaps this is an effect of the Island books, where he told us what seemed to be his own story. Or maybe it’s just that we know the man so well. We see him in his kitchen with wine glasses and a guitar. We can practically hear his voice in everything he wrote.

- Ken

Ken, for me this comes to the nub of why I have enjoyed and responded so intensely to Lawrence Durrell's writing even before I knew much about him; I was there on Corfu, Rhodes, Cyprus with him so much so that I almost felt that I was he and the Count D, Gideon and Frangos were my friends and neighbours. It does not matter to me that there was a deal of fiction in these personal books. it takes some skill to write like that, to truly transport a reader almost into the being of the author.

On another note; Charles thanks for the photos. I off to buy a guitar and a pair of those jeans. already have plenty of button down short sleeved shirts. The images you have shown will be excellent additions to my 'David does Durrell' seminar in April - which will be given to a local book club who are about to embark upon an in depth journey through Bitter Lemons.

As to the poem 'Bitter Lemons'. I call it 'The end of Islomania'. It is filled with such sadness, such soft and subtle regret which I believe dogged the writer to the end of his days..quelle maleur indeed....

David Whitewine




From: Ken Gammage 
Sent: Sunday, February 13, 2011 6:12 AM
To: ilds at lists.uvic.ca 
Subject: [ilds] Durrell and Joyce


After spending the last few nights revisiting Ulysses, I had some thoughts about these 20th century masters. Joyce truly is the uebermensch, as Mulligan described Joyce’s young alter ego – perched high above Dublin, omniscient, pulling all the strings. His vantage as the storyteller is detached and virtually Godlike, his concerns nothing less than “…immeasurably remote eons to infinitely remote futures…”

Durrell on the other hand always seems to be the source of his own writing, the wellspring. Perhaps this is an effect of the Island books, where he told us what seemed to be his own story. Or maybe it’s just that we know the man so well. We see him in his kitchen with wine glasses and a guitar. We can practically hear his voice in everything he wrote.

- Ken

P.S. If Joyce was a poet, it’s chiefly of the “first he tickled her/then he patted her/then he passed the female catheter” variety.

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