The Alexandria Quartet (Justine, 1957, Balthazar, 1958, Mountolive, 1958, Clea, 1960) showcases a vibrant array of characters as varied and rich as any found in twentieth-century literature. At first glance, these characters appear extraordinarily exotic, partly due to their Alexandrian backdrop, which seems to influence their personalities in enigmatic ways. However, readers soon recognize these characters as familiar, both in life and literature. They are quite conventional: diplomats and politicians who operate within the power structures yet remain oddly powerless; bumbling intelligence agents lacking not only intelligence but also the insight to understand their own schemes; prostitutes with hearts of gold; writers and artists who are more talkative than productive, whose creative endeavors are thwarted for various reasons; and lovers of all kinds who are, for the most part, incomplete in their affections.

Although many characters might seem conventional, what feels novel is the prismatic diffusion of identity—a multifaceted quality where all characters blur and intermingle. Early in the first volume, Justine sits before a multiple mirror (one of several in the narrative) and observes: "Look! five different pictures of the same subject." She muses that if she were a writer, she would "aim for a multi-dimensional effect in character, a sort of prism-sightedness. Why shouldn't people display more than one profile at a time?" This Picassoesque fragmentation is a key aspect of character portrayal. Even more crucial is the sense of interconnectedness, where distinct, separate identities are shattered or denied. All characters "cast a field about each other," and they can only be truly understood through their relationships.

Justine is portrayed with varying characteristics, appearing at times as exotic and passionate, while at others as nymphomaniacal and devoid of sexuality unless it intertwines with political intrigue. Readers might believe they understand her when they interpret her sexual behavior as an effort to overcome the trauma of being raped in childhood. Alternatively, when one considers that her sexual liaisons might all be tied to espionage, it suggests she is simply Nessim's informant, a pawn in her husband's anti-British scheme. Even her psychoanalysts struggle to uncover her true identity beneath her many facades. As readers delve into the complex layers of the complete Alexandria Quartet and realize that the core details of the first book are somewhat deceptive, they eventually come to comprehend, alongside Darley—the young, romantic narrator learning to perceive reality—that Justine possesses a singular identity, a solitary essence: "the primitive face of mindless Aphrodite."
One of the most significant groups of characters in this or any other of Durrell's works is that of the artists, including writers and painters like Arnauti, Pursewarden, Darley, Keats, and Clea. Some of these characters, after enduring substantial hardship and struggle, arrive at a sense of completeness and achieve a genuine, fundamental creativity, which is the realm of art and love. Among the more distinctive and unforgettable characters is Scobie, whom some critics have hailed as one of literature's great comic originals, comparable to figures like Falstaff or Uncle Toby. On one hand, he embodies one of the narrative's sexual extremes through his homosexuality and transvestism. On the other hand, he exemplifies childlike innocence and virtue. Durrell encourages readers to view him as Saint Scobie, the "holy fool," as G. S. Fraser describes, "who knows nothing and everything."

Lastly, it is worth emphasizing that Alexandria, "the capital of memory," serves as a central character, representing the origin and convergence of all elements in Western culture. As Durrell implies, it is the most tangible character in the narrative.