I love English expatriates. It’s fun to watch their provincial (and post-Imperial) snobbery erode, as they accept the Wisdom of the Barbarians. Slowly, they learn to dance. Great examples (in writing) are “My Guru and His Disciple” by Christopher Isherwood and “A Passage to India” by E. M. Forster. This book is not in their league, but it’s not meant to be. It seems to be written largely for Lawrence Durell, as a repository for his observations of the last few years — this was 1970 — many of them about Turkey. The story involves a team of scientists building an artificial woman for a vast multinational corporation known as Merlins. (Durell’s idea of “selling out” is to write a science-fiction book with almost no plot and a Latin title.)
Having a Big Mind and a mighty pen (actually, this book feels typed, on a typewriter) Durell could prophesy the future — the questions of “Who is human and who is a machine?” that I face when I receive notes like:
“Hi can we be friends i have been looking at your page and you seem very nice.”
by a person named Chion Celino — complete with a little picture — in my Facebook inbox.
Durell also predicted how corporations would become a visionary artform (Google, Apple, Twitter). Julian, the sensitive, doomed CEO of Merlins, is like a reclusive rock star merged with a businessman: Kurt Cobain as Bill Gates.
I bought “Nunquam” for 53¢ at the Housing Works Bookstore in Manhattan. Durell has an obsession with one-word titles: “Clea,” “Balthazar,” “Mountolive,” “Justine.” This title means “never.” The book is epic, picaresque, cosmopolitan, and a love story. I chose it over the Alexandria Quartet because it was merely one book, which seemed easier. Two-thirds of the way through, I realized it’s actually the sequel to ANOTHER book, “Tunc” (which means “then”). Together they are known as “The Revolt of Aphrodite.”
Durell drops hints about alchemy throughout “Nunquam.” Was he a secret esotericist?
