(FROM MY BLOG) Israel is again accused of killing and otherwise abusing innocent civilians in its attempt to control the Gaza strip. Israeli commanders, according to today's New York Times, admit that people have been shot and houses destroyed unjustifiably, but claim that overall they have been judicious in their use of force.Israel's posture in its conflict with the Palestinians calls to mind a book I just finished re-reading: Bitter Lemons, by Lawrence Durell. Durell is best known as the author of the Alexandria Quartet, a series of sensuous, dream-like books about life just before World War II in that coastal Egyptian city. But he also wrote a number of books that can be found in the "Travel" section of your favorite bookstore, as well as a body of poetry.Bitter Lemons is an account of Durrell's life on Cyprus in the early 1950's, while the Mediterranean island was still a British crown colony. The first part of the book is a hymn to the beauty of the island, where he bought and remodeled a house in the remote village of Bellapaix, as well as a celebration -- both humorous and moving -- of the idiosyncratic villagers, both Greek and Turkish ethnically, whom he met and dealt with daily. The book thus starts off as a mid-twentieth century version of Frances Mayes's Under a Tuscan Sun, another British writer's account of adapting to life in a different and more laid-back culture.But unlike Mayes, by the 1950's, Durell was a well-known writer, and a man with wartime experience working for the British government. And in 1953, when Durrell moves to Cyprus, the local demands for Enosis, or union with Greece, are becoming increasingly strident. Durrell is politically conservative, and a supporter of the British Empire -- an empire still largely intact in 1953, despite the recent loss of India. He ultimately becomes the colonial government's Press Adviser, as the demands for Enosis become more violent and the rest of the world watches with increased concern.He views the increasingly violent campaign for Enosis from a different perspective, perhaps, than would most Americans today. His love for the Cypriot people is clear, but he firmly views them as a rural, somewhat childlike people who are far happier under British rule than they would be under union with an increasingly dynamic and urban Greek nation. Cypriot self-government apart from Greece does not even occur to him as an option. He perceives the Cypriot desire for Enosis as a vague goal the residents love to ponder and discuss, but one stirred into violent ferver only by agitation and arms from political zealots in Greece. He notes, in addition, the strong opposition to Enosis by the island's significant Turkish minority population -- a fault line between the ethnic Greeks and Turks that continues to this day.And so, the second half of the book becomes increasingly political, as he observes the rise in influence of EOKA, a local terrorist organization whose tactics and goals were similar to those of the IRA in Northern Ireland. Step by step, the people become radicalized in their opposition to the colonial government of Cyprus -- first the students and urban residents, and then the general population, including, ultimately, the friends Durrell had formed in Bellapaix.Meanwhile, the colonial government dreams on, the dreamy inertia of bureaucracy, throwing away its opportunities to defuse the crisis politically by promising to hold an eventual plebiscite on the question ... at some vague future date. The government instead persists in treating the movement as merely the obsession of a few isolated hotheads -- first to be ignored and then, to be put down with force.When I read today about the Israeli army's resort to killing and destruction in order to control the Palestinians, or our own efforts in Iraq and Afghanistan, I recall Durrell's acute observation that the goal of terrorism is to incur these very reprisals: "The slender chain of trust upon which all human relations are based is broken -- and this the terrorist knows and sharpens his claws precisely here; for his primary objective is not battle. It is to bring down upon the community in general a reprisal for his wrongs, in the hope that the fury and resentment roused by punishment meted out to the innocent will gradually swell the ranks of those from whom he will draw further recruits."Durrell found a great, almost incomprehensible love for the British among Greek Cypriots, who, as did mainland Greeks, viewed the English as the people who had supported the Greek struggle for independence against the Ottomans. Greek Cypriots repeatedly assured him of this love, assured him that their struggle for Enosis in no way represented a hatred of the British. But by the end of Durrell's stay in Cyprus, in 1956, these old bonds between the two peoples were being broken -- tragically and unnecessarily broken in Durrell's opinion.In that year, the British began a "war on terrorism" -- and lost the traditional affection of the people they governed -- by hanging a quiet, seemingly well behaved young man who had worked in the colonial government's tax department. It was time for Durrell to leave this warm and beautiful land; his neighbors and close friends could no longer look him in the eye. "The eyes which avoided mine, flickering shyly away from my glance "like vernal butterflies" -- I cannot say that they were full of hate. No. It was simply that the sight of me pained them. The sight of an Englishman had become an obscenity on that clear honey-gold spring air."Lawrence Durrell left his house and village behind -- and his book ends -- in 1956. In 1960, Britain surrendered sovereignty over Cyprus. Fighting between Greeks and Turks broke out in 1974, when a military junta tried to force union with Greece, and the island was effectively partitioned between the two groups. The government to this day has no control over the Turkish area. Enosis never occurred. Instead, Cyprus eventually joined Greece as another EC member, and adopted the Euro as its currency.So were the events described in Bitter Lemons actually tragic? In the long run, things have more or less worked out. Cyprus, although still ethnically divided, is prosperous. I suspect that Bellapaix is still a friendly, sleepy village, and that Lawrence Durrell's hillside home with the wonderful views still exists. The medieval ruins still dot the landscape, the flowers still flower, and the dazzling sun still shines over the cerulean sea. But for Durrell, of course, the idyll had ended. He left Cyprus and died in 1990 without returning to Bellapaix. In the "long run," we are all dead.
I love reading memoirs and books on travelling, not because of “I learn new stuff about new places” nonsense, but because they help me to understand the stand of the writer; since those kind of books reveal how their writers perceive people and the world around them more readily and personally than say, a novel they design. So, when I got The Bitter Lemons of Cyprus out of a Kindle deal (I was planning to read the infamous Alexandria Quartet for a while and thought it would be nice to get the feel of Durrell’s writing beforehand), I was curious, to say the least. But then the grinding started.A little tip for you: If I grind my teeth while reading, it's usually a bad sign - believe it or not. This was the case with The Bitter Lemons of Cyprus. At some point, I started to grind my teeth and hell broke after that.I must admit though, I had been quite prejudiced against Lawrence Durrell. How could one not be, after reading his brother's delightful report on his family and other animals? As it was aimed in his brother's book, my opinion of Lawrence Durrell was quite firmly set and low, and I was sure that I would find him an unbearable, pompous person who genuinely lacks genuine genuineness, full of pose and airs. Of course I was aware of sibling rivalry and how my feelings were being manipulated craftily (and charmingly if I may add) in My Family and Other Animals by the playful little brother against the insufferable know-it-all elder. Therefore, I was quite determined to be as open-minded and just as possible before I started this book. I was so determined that I ignored the "oh-the-joyous-simple-men-living-wonderfully-simple-lives-in-an-eden/like-setting-while-I-the-sophisticated-Renaissance-man-with-a-tormented-mind-full-of-Ovid-am-blessing-their-existence-with-my-being" attitude of the writer line after line, page after page. Ah, all those silly, hilarious things that simple, ignorant, overtly gesticulating, lovely, loud and poor folk did. Please, kindly notice how cunning I am acting among the beasts though sometimes I am beyond perplexed with their barbarously goofy acts. And, that was the better part of the book. I managed to thump through it, mostly for the sake of Cyprus which didn't fail to charm Durrell, much to his credit I must say. Well, his prose might be drier that the Sahara and his presumably tongue-in-the-cheek style (which in fact is just plain snobbery and not the masterful irony he assumes he achieves) just as tiresome but for all it's worth he is not a writer for nothing.If you survive through the house renovations and teenage girls fawning over a scrubby git namely their English teacher (who by the way gives a spookily detailed account of their adoration), you are rewarded with the worse part the book or what I choose to name as `How We Rule Imperially`. At this point, I was doggedly making further allowances for Durrell, reminding myself that the book was written on the second half of the 20th century, that men were then permitted, hell, even expected to think and act like they knew everything about everything even or especially when they were clueless, that that was the way cookie crumbled then, that Durrell was trying his best to be fair and understanding in his own snobbish way; but I am not going to play it down, Bitter Lemons is one of the most frustrating, ignorant and equivalently arrogant piece of work written by a member of an occupying power about the place they had occupied I have ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes upon. And this is quite telling, because I am from Turkey and when it comes to fascism in text, being objected to horrible instances of it since I was quite young, I lamentably know my stuff.I still haven’t finished the book, I don’t believe I can muster enough patience at any time soon to do so, but here are some examples for your immediate pleasure:“What does amaze one however is that the Turks, perhaps through lack of a definite cultural pattern of their own, or of one worth imposing on the Greeks, left them freedom of religion, language and even local government- and indeed vested in them a large part of the Imperial administration: a recognition perhaps of the enviable qualities of restlessness and imagination which they themselves lacked.” (location 1812) (Gasp! Oh! Greeks were let to keep their own religion and freedom and language and even local government! How can that be? It must be only because Turks did not have a superior culture to enforce upon others. Seriously, Mr. Durrell? This is how you read the political situation at the Mediterranean or at any place? Turks didn't impose their culture, language and religion upon others forcibly –unlike British- just because they'd assumed what they had was not worthy of imposing? Your friends must find your firm faith in human modesty quite refreshing, I am sure. The nerve of the clueless imperialist who readily accepts the first explanation that comes to his mind, off the top of his head.)Here’s another. That one made me quite sad:(A students asks) “Will England force us to fight for our freedom here? I registered astonishment. “I have been reading an essay,” he said, “in which it says that freedom has never been given, but always taken, always earned at the cost of blood. A people that is not willing to accept the price is not ready for freedom. Perhaps England understands this and is waiting for us to prove ourselves ready to die for freedom?”
Do You like book Bitter Lemons Of Cyprus (2000)?
I bought this because I enjoyed his little brother's account of life in Greece very much. I was also hoping to learn more about Greek influence and Cyprus as a tourist destination.Although the first paragraphs of the book are quite purple, it seemed to promise to deliver the goods on stereotyping Cypriot Greeks, if only, it turns out, because Lawrence Durrell is so British.I have a tiny, short tourist guidebook for Cyprus which happens to dismiss this book in one sentence. I thought that would be enough, but given the praise and high average ratings here, more needs to be said.His early chapter about buying a house in Cyprus is easily one of the funniest things I've ever read. It was only in the hours after reading it that I had to reflect that, hang on, this guy sounds like a real jerk.He arrives having already lived in Greece and speaking Greek. He says he didn't move to Athens instead because of the costs. He makes appeals directly to Greeks to honour their tradition of hospitality, then he hires a Turkish man (whom he describes as a reptile) to dissemble and shout at Greeks until they sell him a home with some magical balcony for practically nothing.Then, in keeping with brief references in his little brother's book, he picks a high point in his house to slowly eat grapes and crack the whip on Greek workmen who may be lingering to tell the stories he loves so much.But that is only a tiny hint of what's to come.Although he claims to hate politics, he takes a job as an Information Minister with the British government of Cyprus. True, it appears to have been an inopportune time, with, according to Durrell, Athens radio whipping up the stupid peasants with ideas of independence.The real position of Lawrence Durrell? "As a conservative, I fully understand, namely; 'If you have an Empire, you just can't give away bits of it as soon as asked.'He does relay the opinion of one British official that not a single university, swimming pool, or many other amenities had been built in Cyprus under British rule. Then, as a member of the British government himself, Durrell slowly provides a bare sketch of the timeline, as anti-British sentiment builds. It seems a new constitution, with mostly stick and no carrot, was outlined in broadsheets. Durrell can take a breather to add random notes about sunsets in the book, but he can't be bothered to provide details on this constitution, even in an official capacity. Then, British troops shoot three youths "under severe provocation" in Limassol, a "trivial" incident. No greater detail provided. His greatest recommendation? More police.And so the rest of the book apparently goes, giving Durrell's unabashedly nationalistic sketch of the war of independence in Cyprus.Skipping extremely rapidly though the rest, I came on this choice bit:"Coming out of the Colonial Office, I knew at once that the Empire was all right by the animation of three African dignitaries...They gave off over-powering waves of Chanel Number 5 - as if they hosed themselves down with it...like genial elephants".Some of his knowledge of Greece doesn't seem without merit, such as the fact that Europeans somehow forget that modern Greece's greatest historical influence is probably the Byzantine era. Or his confirmation that a few "lunatics" in Crete or Rhodes could start a struggle for Greek independence almost anywhere.Would it be fair to say that Durrell is just a product of his time? I also have another book written by his little brother, this time in Argentina. Not only is it very funny, but it is remarkably unselfish, with heart. Gerald makes a short appearance in this book, and although not much is described, he wins more Greek favour in a few days than Lawrence deserved with his dissimilations, lies, and empire building.
—Travelin
I am very conflicted about this book, which, as many reviews have noted, is really two distinct stories. At some point about half-way through, it splits from a bucolic homage to Cyprus (anemone gathering,warm friendships, copious wine and coffee and lovely coasts for bathing!) in the 50's to a very disturbing political take on the Cypriot struggle for Independence. The early parts are charming and similar(but less enchanting) to brother Gerry's "My Family and Other Animals" which I adore. However, the tone turns as Durrell professes his distasteful beliefs about the British colonization. Although his political conservatism around the issue is unnerving, the true problems lie with the blatantly racist caricatures of both Greek and Turkish Cypriots that escalate in offensiveness as the book goes on. It's worth reading as a moment in time, but be prepared to have your stomach sour as the narrative shifts.
—Kate
I went into this book not knowing much about Lawrence Durrell (OK, I knew nothing about the man), but the premise was attractive enough. On some level I could empathise with him -- Durrell loves Cyprus but is at the end of the day a political conservative hailing from the very country that is the colonial master. His conflicted position rises to the surface time and time again, and for me one of the most symbolic instances was when he ordered his helper to get rid of the pieces of Cyprus he and his daughter had collected from around the island. On the other hand, as a person whose ancestors were subjects of the British Empire, I was rooting for the Cypriots and their demands for freedom. It's fascinating that the British government was focused on whether or not Cyprus should unite with Greece, and not consider the option of giving the island independence altogether. Or perhaps London was toying with the idea. I'm not sure at this point, having read close to nothing on the history of Cyprus. Regardless, I quite enjoyed this book, and it's made me curious enough about the country to want to visit it at some point.
—Keval
