Lawrence Durrell's literary reputation blew up like a multi-coloured bubble with the Alexandria Quartet, but the bubble was pricked at least a decade ago and relatively few can read his novels today. His travel writings are also of their time, while the poetry, which many people preferred to his prose and which got into a whole series of anthologies, seems to have fallen into limbo. Durrell had, however, a colourful and full life - which means something more than sleeping with or marrying a lot of women. He did all that, of course, but he had a civilised enjoyment of the world at many levels and his literary friendships alone are enough to make him interesting (though one could wish that he had seen less of the now-unreadable Henry Miller and the pretentious, man-eating Anais Nin). Durrell was one of those Englishmen, familiar from all epochs, who find England dull and rainy and inhibiting and who head for warmer and more exotic climes - he called his homeland "Pudding Island" and spent as little time there as he could. He was an exultantly unfaithful husband and a bad father - his favourite daughter, Sappho, committed suicide - but he had a genuine talent for friendship, and apparently many people ignited in his company. Even those who find his writings dated or indigestible should be capable of enjoying this biography.