Provence Paperback – February 18, 2014

This was an odd book to me. I bought it expecting a pretty straightforward travelogue interspersed with history (and maybe some natural history) of the region of southern France known as Provence. Quickly I found it wasn’t a typical travelogue. First of all, the author made that area his home rather than specifically writing about traveling there, though it was still a travelogue in the sense that it chronicled (not in chronological order though) the author’s experiences in Provence through the years.Another odd thing was that the author didn’t simply describe the cities or the food of this part of France (though there was some of that), but rather told stories about the area that showed some special characteristic of the land or the author’s own experiences (again, as they related to Provence). These stories were as likely to feature say the Roman general Marius and his military campaign there as they were the author’s contemporary companion Aldo and their considerably less martial experiences. The stories often read as fiction, at least from the third person perspective, not always with a lot of dialogue, but were an interesting way to show Provence. The stories really reminded me of the famous line by Faulkner, "The past is never dead. It's not even past;” the past lives on in Provence, as I am sure it does in most lands, whether in the minds of the people of Provence, those who aren’t from Provence but journey there as tourists, or in the author’s own mind.I think the most striking stories had to do with the ancient Greco-Roman world, how even today one can see and feel the presence of them in Provence on a daily basis. Not only of course are there the famous monuments and aqueducts, but the Roman world lives on in more subtle ways, just beneath the surface, such as the name of the village of Pourrieres, which possibly traces its name to the nearby Campi Putridi or Fields of Putrefaction, a place where in about 110 BC perhaps 100,000 Teuton and Ambron opponents, slain in battle, were left where they fell. That chapter was particularly interesting, as the author helped the reader see the land as Marius and his troops (and enemies) saw the land, writing of the “limestone precipices” at Orgon that “rise as walls sheer above the plain, now crowned by a church and a couple of ruined castles,” where Marius and his men watched the invading barbarians file past, or the problems faced by both men in movement through this “land of lagoons,” as much of the region of Provence Marius fought over was a domain where “a network of interlocking lagoons and lakes scribbled the whole verdant surface.”These stories he tells, of magic and mythology and Roman conquest, to the author they seemed to be Provence itself, for “[t]o begin with, Provence seemed to be less of a geographical entity than an idea.” It was for centuries a land of “shifting contours, expanding and contracting in response to wars and migrations…” a land better defined by how the people acted, believed, and the nature of the landscape itself, a place of “cypresses and roasted tile roofs, with its ivy and honeysuckle, sycamore and serene plane trees,” with skies of “wounded blue” that are “unique to Provence,” where one might encounter peasant faces in the Saturday market with “all the poise and gravity of Roman medallions.”As you might gather, Durrell is a poet and twenty poems are included in the book. The vast majority of the book is prose but even in writing prose the author usually saw Provence (and wrote about it) with a poet’s eye. Even it its most vexingly confusing (such as the final chapter of the book) it was always a delight to read. Again and again the images were vivid, Durrell writing of “dusty, sunburnt Arles at the end of its cobweb of motorways,” of the beautiful women of Arles with “their raven hair and flashing looks,” of the site of an ancient Roman battle that is a “quiet plain [that] drowses in the burning summer heat…[where] [e]agles turn in the dazed blue of the sky,” visiting at night “the owl-haunted garden of tombs” of Alyscamps, “once the most coveted burial ground for Christians in all Europe” and Les Baux, a plateau “encrusted with white crags and scrub…its present emptiness invests it with a tremendous and indeed sinister atmosphere,” a plateau where the “whole town seems to have been carved and shaped in lump sugar; the friable whitish stone easily answers to the mason’s chisel.”He had an especially interesting and descriptive chapter describing the differences between French and Spanish bullfighting, a chapter I did not think I would like but did, taken as I was by his description of the French bulls, “spry little Camargue animals so famous for their gallantry and cunning…beautiful creatures [that] drift about like Stone Age messages – as if they had just materialized from the cave drawings of Aurignacian man.”The author, when not telling stories, seemed to ramble a lot, writing about the nature of writing a travelogue, or writing in general, the importance of enjoying a good meal and fine wine, the nature of companionship or love or whether or not modernity was destroying Provence. At first these rambling asides felt distracting, but not only were they easy to read I found I was both captured by the often beautiful imagery of many of these passages and discovered that these rambling asides were in a way telling the reader something about the lifestyle and philosophy of those who call Provence home. Very sly!I don’t think I scratched my itch so to speak to get great information about Provence. I will have to look elsewhere for that. I did come away with an appreciation of one gifted writer’s feel of the spirit of the place, perhaps something that would not be well captured in a more prosaic look at Provence’s history and architecture.

This is a rich bouillabaisse of a book -- a tangy, personal portrait of the people and landscape of Provence. Englishman Durrell's memoir of 'Provence' bursts with local characters and ancient history. His exploration of the classical roots of Provencal culture -- especially his delineation of the differences between Greek and Roman cultural legacies -- is fascinating. Looking for a comprehensive travelogue? Not here. But if you're in the mood for a highly subjective rumination on southern France's history and meaning, you'll find this a great reading experience.

Somewhat uneven, but much of it has the Durrell magic of poetic writing andastute observation.

Haven't read it but the condition received was quite fine.

Lawrence Durrell did "go gently into that good night," and this book serves as a document to that peaceful passage. Like his novels, this book is a mixture of the poetic, the prosaic and especially the erotic motifs that preoccupied him throughout his literary career.Like Mayles after him, Durrell had a deep afffection for the region and for the Provenceaux. Both Mayles and Durrell are great guides to take along on either a literal or imaginary excursion through the region. Mayles is the more humorous of the two and will keep you constantly entertained. Durrell will give you a clearer understanding of the Provencal history, telling you who built monuments such as the Pont du Gard and something about their effect on a visitor: "Yet there are surprises for us even here, for even a functional artefact like the Pont du Gard is so huge in conception that its magniloquence is the equal of Westminster Abbey. But we must remember that it was dedicated to water and water was a God. The best description of the Pont is by Rousseau. It took a great deal to shut a man like him up, but the emeregence of this mastadon from the featureless garrigues which house the spring that feeds it deprived him of coherent speech, so uncanny did it seem." This is an example of what distinguishes Durrell's book. He will take you to an oft-visited site and in a few strokes, with the occasional literary allusion thrown in for good measure, produce a vivid enough image that even before you travel to the site you will have a pretty good notion of what to expect.The only part of the book I found distracting was the uneven quality of the poems that Durrell inserts throughout the narrative. Sometimes they work seamlessly, at other times they obtrude and sound more like literary exercises than spontaneous outbursts. In other words, imagine your tour guide sometimes breaking into melifluous song and other times whistling out of tune.If you really want to know something about the history of the region, from an informed visitor (it was his home base for his last thirty years), by all means put this book on your list. If you want a more congenial look at the region and its highly colorful inhabitants, stick to Mayle.

Beware, this is just Caesar's vast ghost with a new title! This should be covered in the product listing page.