The Dark Labyrinth: a novel by Lawrence Durrell
London: Faber and Faber, 1964 (First published under the title of Cefalu in 1947)
I feel like I'm circling the work of Lawrence Durrell, slowly spiralling into the core - The Alexandria Quartet which I have been meaning to read ever since I received a copy as a gift many years ago. For some reason I have never been able to get started on it - the time never seemed right. When the TV series The Durrells came out I went on a little second-hand bookshop binge of Durrellania, and read the first two books in Gerald's Corfu Trilogy, and the two books (Tunc and Nunquam) which form Lawrence's Revolt of Aphrodite, written after The Alexandria Quartet.
And now to the novel under review, written before the Quartet, Durrell's fourth published novel and the first to be written after the War. It is a philosophical novel that is full of allusion. I' m not sure I understand everything that Durrell intended me to, but I enjoyed reading it very much (certainly more than Tunc or Nunquam).
In short, the book centres around a group of characters that find themselves together in an underground labyrinth in Crete, where they have gone to look at ancient statues and inscriptions. They have arrived there on the ship Europa, which they all boarded for differing reasons. The novel gives us the background story of nearly all the characters, who are all dealing with unresolved issues in their lives.
Baird cannot shake the guilt he feels over killing a German soldier in cold blood while he was serving on Crete, Graecen is dealing with a terminal diagnosis and looking back on what he has achieved in his life, Fearmax is dealing with the loss of his gift, while Campion is trying to escape life altogether, or at least the life that is thrust upon us by convention and habit.
When these and the other characters (the Trumans, Miss Dale and Miss Dombey) arrive in Crete, their individual fates are set in motion. Baird leaves the party to deal with his personal demons by re-burying the body of the German he shot: he has no need to go into the Labyrinth as he had been there before during the War, when he led a band of Partisans who were based there. The others are all led in by a local guide.
When a rockfall occurs, it both cuts off those in the Labyrinth from the outside world (except Graecen, who finds himself on the other side of the blocked tunnel and quickly escapes to the surface) and from the each other. We then follow their individual journeys to death or rescue. Each journey is particular to the person, and in some way reflects their character and life.
Miss Dombey, the religious bigot, denies her faith and quickly commits suicide. Campion and Miss Dale are faced with an unenviable choice on a rock ledge - a hundred-foot jump into the ocean is the only way they can save themselves - later in the book we hear that Miss Dale survives, but we find out incidentally that Campion can't swim. Fearmax is drawn further and further into the Labyrinth, drawn by the thought of the spirit with which he once communed, only to be in some way devoured by the Labyrinth (by the Minotaur?).
The Trumans exit the Labyrinth to the "roof of the world", a small enclosed valley between mountain-peaks with no way out once the Labyrinth was closed. There they met Ruth Adams, who has created a life up there, initially with others who had since left or died, but now alone. The valley is a kind of paradise, where the Trumans begin to slow down and reconnect with their inner selves guided by Adams, who has reached some sort of enlightenment through "repose" ("I had never been still enough before. Here I got as still as a needle").
There is a lot going on in this book. At base it's a fairly gripping adventure story (the story of the Labyrinth, the backstories of Baird's war in Crete and Fearmax's dabblings in the occult are all gripping in their own way). It is also a commentary on post-war life, and on (middle-class) mores and values. Durrell uses the characters to map out differing views: Graecen who accepts how things are and looks with bemusement at those that don't; he has a flirtation with Miss Dale, but realises that it would be absurd for an aristocrat to marry a Cockney. Campion the artist, rails against conformity and society in general, and hats that he has to participate in it. Miss Dombey, who has closed herself off from the World via her religious mania, and Fearmax, who's early life closed him off from the World and led him to live in the world of spirits.
Durrell, as did many young novelists of his time, packs a lot of social commentary into the thoughts, words, and actions of his characters, generally scathing of received wisdom and current fashions of thought. The figure of the psychiatrist Hogarth, university friend of Graecen and clinician to both Baird and Fearmax, looms early in the novel as some sort of eminence grise over the lives of the characters (it is on his suggestion that those three characters board the Europa) and has very little time for the 'normal' in relationships - when Graecen tells him he is dying, instead of the sympathy he wants (and needs) from Hogarth, he gets short shrift. Likewise Baird gets told in no uncertain terms to deal with his problem in a practical way, rather than merely talk about it.
Through Baird and Campion's conversations we get a thorough critique of the War and mankind's obsession to dominate each other and the World. This is juxtaposed with Abbot John - a Partisan leader during the War but now a monk who is, in Durrell's eyes, a quintessential Greek - half mystic and half man of action, who is happy merely to provide for his flock and living a happy life.
Which brings us to the mystery of this book - what does the Labyrinth mean to these people, why has it happened to them and what are they telling us the reader about life? It's clear that Durrell is not writing merely to tell a thrilling tale.
There is certainly a moral tone in the work, and indeed an obvious moral reckoning for some of the characters: Miss Dombey's lack of belief revealing itself at the critical moment, and Campion's disgust at life put to the test by his predicament. There is also a philosophical point being made... that one doesn't have to engage with ' modern life' to be engaged with life, and that seeking alternatives to Christianity such as Eastern Religions or the occult don't help unless an individual makes an internal commitment to change.
Durrell apparently described this book to his good friend Henry Miller as "a rotten book but with some small lucid moments and one or two good lines." I think he was selling himself a little short. It's by no means a great novel, but it is a good one.
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