I love E. M. Forster’s writing, so when I ran across a reference to this book, characterizing it as the best travel book, I had to read it, even though I don’t expect to visit Alexandria. Forster is one of my favorite English prose stylists of the first half of the twentieth century. He never sacrifices clarity for effect; his elegance is that of simplicity; he wears his learning lightly. I admire the way he could deftly relate the history of this city of paradox: the greatest Hellenistic city (“more Greek than Greece,” page 25), planted on the coast of the venerable Egyptian empire.
The book is divided into two parts, nearly equal in length. The first contains a sketch of Alexandria’s history. Even before Alexander chose it as the site for his ideal metropolis, Homer has Menelaus pass this way on his return from Troy, and Herodotus records his impressions in Book II of his Histories. The reign of the Ptolemies culminates in the ultimate femme fatale, Cleopatra, as Rome encloses the city, gateway to Egypt, in its grasp. It was here, in the flourishing Jewish community, that the Hebrew scriptures were rendered into Greek; the confluence of Hellenism and Judaism reached its summit in the person and writings of Philo. Soon Christianity spread here as well, and the virulent doctrinal controversies over the nature of Christ originated here, where both Arius and Athanasius officiated. Where else could they have arisen than this city where Neoplatonism flourished, with its constant query over how God could interact with his creation? Some of the darkest episodes in church history took place here as well, such as the sundering of Hypatia by a mob of fanatic monks. A woman who openly taught philosophy: scandalous (at least to them)! And it was monks such as these, not—as legend has it—the conquering Arabs, who destroyed the Great Library. With the Arab conquest, nevertheless, Alexandria’s fortunes declined. It was periodically awakened from its slumber, such as by the clash of Napoleon and Nelson, where once Caesar, Antony, and Octavian strove, but in Forster’s day was less important than Cairo.
I see that Forster has infected me with the romance of this remarkable city. I’ll leave off; he describes it much better than I.
The second half of the book is the travel guide per se. It is an unusual guide book: a guide to what was, more than what is. The Great Lighthouse on Pharos, the Ptolemaic palace, the Mouseion with the most magnificent library of the ancient world, the tomb of Alexander: all gone. In some cases, it is uncertain where they once stood. This reflects the history of this place: At times, the apex of civilization, then for long periods, a neglected backwater.
Some readers may be tempted to skip over this second half, yet that would mean missing good insets that shouldn’t be overlooked, such as his reimagining of the Great Lighthouse on Pharos. Even Forster’s descriptions of what a tourist a century ago could still see (even if only the locations of what formerly stood) are written with his characteristic economy of style.
The temptation to quote liberally is great; I’ll resist, except to say to the prospective reader: be on the lookout for his bon mot about grammar, the wit of his potted biography of Neoplatonist philosopher Plotinus, and his general advice on visiting museums. Just a few of the pleasures waiting between this book’s covers. ( )

Called the best guidebook ever written, Forster's homage to Alexandria is at once informative, evocative, and nostalgic. The first half of the book is a series of vignettes on various moments and characters in the city's history. Forster immersed himself in the literature of ancient Alexandria and Greece, and it is this intimate acquaintance with the thought of the old city that gives the historical section its depth. Using a style that, though terse, always has time for a story or interesting quote, he covers the ancient library and mouseion, the Alexandrian contributions to science, the Christian and Arab periods. In the celebrated section "The Spiritual City," he outlines the religious heritage of Alexandria, demonstrating how Christianity as we know it today was largely formed in this city. Durrell drew heavily on this section for the gnostic theme that runs through the Quartet. The historical section concludes with a translation of Cavafy's "The God Abandons Antony," the first Cavafy poem to appear in print in English, and Forster considered the primary achievement of his guidebook to be the introduction of Cavafy to the English-speaking world.
Each historical section is linked to sections in the guide, and Forster claimed that "the 'sights' of Alexandria are in themselves not interesting, but they fascinate when we approach them through the past." Forster spent much time on trams in Alexandria, and the great love of his life, Mohammed el Adl, was a tram conductor on the Bacos route. It is fitting, then, that the tramlines should provide the web holding the guidebook together. Forster takes us through the city by tram, pointing out interesting buildings and sites to left and right. The guide also contains maps of the ancient and modern city, and plans of the Greco-Roman Museum and the Wadi Natrun monasteries.
The book had a difficult birth: Forster's Alexandrian publisher suffered a fire in which they thought the books had been burned. After recouping insurance compensation, they discovered that they had in fact survived. They then decided to burn the books deliberately. In 1935, members of the Royal Archaeological Society of Alexandria decided to reprint the book. Forster put some work into revisions, but this second edition did not sell well, and it was only after the book was published in the US that it achieved moderate sales.
More than any other guidebook, Forster's comes across as a labor of love. Lawrence Durrell wrote of the guidebook that Forster "must have been deeply happy, perhaps deeply in love . . . Paradoxically, if that is the word, the book is also saturated with the feeling of loneliness, that of a cultivated man talking to himself, walking by himself."