Phenomenal writing that brings the history of Cyprus and the people who lived there during the 50s to life. ( )

This book tells of the three years (1953-1956) which Durrell spent on Cyprus, part of the time as an employee of the British Colonial Office. The only reason I read it was because it won the second Duff Cooper Prize in 1957. It was not bad reading, and the account of the rise of violence against Britain in the latter part of Durrell's stay there is of interest. But I cannot say I was enamored of the book--after all Cyprus is not and has not been for many years of moment to most of the world. ( )

I read this book whilst holidaying a few miles from Durrell's Cypriot home in the mountain village of Bellapias. It was written fifty years ago, and is a description of the troubles in Cyprus at the end of eighty years of British rule. The author's belief in the rightful continuance of Britain's place in the post-war world, as a superpower, looks absurd from the 21st century, but I suppose was fairly common in 1954.

The book is overblown in style, and full of name dropping. It is unsuccessful, I think, in its attempt to tell the history of a people through pen portraits of its most eccentric and least sober peasantry. Worth reading if you are on holiday in Northern Cyprus, like determindly amusing character sketches, or are interested in post-war politics and the end of Empire. ( )

A lovely, bittersweet book. Durrell could write very well, and in this book, as in so many others, he demonstrated his ability to perfection. The title poem, by the way, is excellent. ( )

http://nhw.livejournal.com/643767.htm...

I bought this book for the Cyprus connection, but in fact its application is much more general and less specific. Durrell moved to Cyprus in 1953, and left after the outbreak of the EOKA campaign in 1956, and the book is a heartfelt chronicle of how the innocence of a beautiful country was destroyed by violence.

Up to now, I knew of Lawrence Durrell mainly from the odd mention in his brother Gerald's lovely books about collecting animals, which I was addicted to in my early teens. I did try reading the Alexandria Quartet once, but bounced off it. Maybe I should try again. (Gerald does turn up, complete with animals, for a couple of cameo appearances in Bitter Lemons, somewhat to Lawrence's embarrassment: he has curried favour with the neighbours by telling them that his brother died fighting for the Greek army in the second world war.)

I was struck after reading Bitter Lemons by the thought that one can imagine other such books being written about Northern Ireland in, say 1965-1972, or Bosnia in 1989-1993, but I don't think any other conflict has benefited from a first-hand witness of such literary talents who happened to be on the spot, actually working as the press spokesman for the occupying colonial power, before and during that very brief period of time when the shit really hit the fan.

Having said that, I couldn't recommend this book as essential reading about the Cyprus conflict today. It was published in 1957, while Archbishop Makarios was still in exile, and the Zurich and London Agreements were still two years in the future. It is very interesting on Cyprus itself, and on communal relations as they were at one point in time. He does mention that his assistant, Achilles Papadopoulos, has a smart and successful younger brother... no, presumably it is not the guy's real name.

The village of Bellapais and nearby town of Kyrenia, both beautifully and lyrically portrayed in the first half of the book, are both still beautiful but were ethnically cleansed in 1974; they are standard stops on the one-day-tour of Turkish-occupied northern Cyprus that many people do starting from the Green Line in Nicosia. To be honest Durrell's sweeping generalisations about the Cypriots and the Greeks are rather annoying, if typical of the attitudes of the time. If he had concentrated on the individual characters, or distanced himself a bit from the prejudices expressed, it would have been a more pleasant read.

The book hit its stride for me in the chapter "A Telling of Omens", when a visiting Greek friend warns Durrell (to the latter's deep scepticism) that there is trouble ahead. Durrell's initial doubts are turned around by, well, pretty much every Cypriot he talks to, and he finds himself in the position of trying to persuade his colleagues in the colonial administration to adopt a sensible policy - indeed to adopt any policy at all.

Of course, by the time Durrell does get his face-to-face meeting with the Colonial Secretary, it is too late and the cycle of violence is well and truly established. Also it is sadly clear that he was advocating only the replacement of the prejudices of the colonial administration by the prejudices of the traditional pro-Greek views of the British establishment (though, in fairness, a) this would have been an improvement and b) the resulting policy debate could even have led to further progress before it was too late). In addition his repeated assertion of the unquestionable right of Britain to rule Cyprus indefinitely seems very peculiar now, given that the island became independent only three years after the book was published. He condemns the British most, though does not spare the Cypriots or the Greek government of the day. I've heard Greeks blame their own government first and foremost. I don't know.

However, as a portrayal of how stupid and evil policies can destroy the peace of a society, despite the warnings of those who know and care about it, there can't be many better accounts than this. ( )