Bonne Anniversaire

It's his birthday today. Old Marcel. He'd be 136 years old if he hadn't died. Perhaps today would be a good day to take stock of this task we've collectively set for ourselves. I for one have been lagging. It's been a month and no Proust. Just cookbooks and books about babies. I keep putting it off and don't know when I'll pick it up again. In the shadow of young girls in flower was the first Proust I ever considered reading. I saw a newly issued edition in a bookstore and found the cover so lovely, the title so haunting, that I bought it on a whim, realizing only later that I should probably read the first book before the second. Once so eager to embark upon a literary endeavor that I cast all logic aside in favor of aesthetic fulfillment, now I can't muster the gusto to even begin the second one after the first. But maybe today is the day. Maybe it has to be. Maybe we'll all get a second wind. And maybe we'll be the better for it -- who can say what gifts Marcel Proust will bestow upon his faithful on this, his B-day?

Prouststorm

Travelers passing through the northern shore of France would often report strange storms that would come - seemingly - from no where. On cold days the pressure would dramatically shift and a huge gust of hot air would rush at the traveler. Inexplicably the perfume of honeysuckles and rose water would fill his nostrils and then - just as he felt he was in a warm and fragrant paradise thousands of pages of prose (usually in six volumes but sometimes only in five - but always hard bound.... VERY hard bound) would fall on the unlucky soul. If he survived the Prouststorm he would live on only as a husk of his former self rattling on and on about girls he never dated without end.

Un amour de Swann

So I admit I've been reading other books - good books. I'm not ashamed. What? Did you expect me to remain faithful? Was Odette faithful? Was Swann? Was anyone? No.

It's been rough going.... slow. Must go.... ....on....
"To think that I've wasted years of my life, that I've longed to die, that I've experienced my greatest love, for a woman who didn't appeal to me, who wasn't even my type."

I can't help but say that I know exactly how he feels. Not just with women but with all of my enterprises, to think that I've wasted all this energy - two months of perfectly good reading time, created an amazing blog for a book that doesn't really ever appeal to me which isn't even my type.... (sometimes I wish I were reading more Waugh, Greene or LeCarre and blogging about it) I must soldier on - I have taken a personal vow and I must finish what I have begun. I shall begin Nom de pays : le nom and then tackle the next challenge: À l'ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs.

For anyone who has been in one of these relationships as Swann's or anyone who has known someone close to them who was in one of these things, this was excruciating to read - many a nerve was hit (except for the whole class apparatus issue). I just wanted to forcibly take Swann and get him out of there.
But I really love dear Uncle Adolphe - I mean you send this guy to help you out and he can't help but try to seduce the very woman you're trying to get with. I want to read lots more about this guy. I really hope he pops up throughout. Please Proust!

Proust in Greece

Like Gregory, I was plodding. The distracted self! In an effort to keep up and abreast of the challenge, I took "Swann's Way" with me on my recent trip to Greece. It was an interesting experience. I find that reading while traveling--in motion to an elsewhere that is unfamiliar--I experience a book simultaneously with the physical journey and the two become inseparable and linked in my memory. To do this with Proust was ironic and extremely pleasurable. I spent time in Greece as a child, and I often found myself on some street in Athens inhaling a sudden smell that jolted me back to a lost childhood memory and the sensation of vertigo of mind, the reliving of a moment, the physical supplication to memory that Proust captures and returns to again and again in "Swann's Way". There is great pleasure in experiencing a book like this, especially in Greece (human/cultural mecca) where time and millenniums are so elusive.

I am surprised to find the novel so amusing. I laugh all the time while reading it, not in any particular section, all the time. The awkwardness and angst of first love, unrequited love, bad love--I suppose I am laughing with Proust. Although engaging, I felt great relief at the end of "Swann in Love". Not hopeful (poor Swann, poor Odette!), but relieved. "To think that I wasted years of my life, that I wanted to die, that I felt my deepest love, for a woman who did not appeal to me, who was not my type!" Ah Proust.

Slow Progress Dogs Proust Blogger

Yes, I know. This is exactly what you said would happen. I am going very, very slow - everything is a distraction from what I should be focusing on - Marcel, Marcel, Marcel. I just finished the Combray sections of Swann's Way - the tender walks down Guermantes Way and the Meseglise Way through space and time. The incident with Swann's beautiful daughter Gilberte has a certain resonance (for everyone?) which brings up all sorts of memories of how terrible and embarrassed one can feel when he's in love. Especially in youth (but not in youth too) when it's all so terribly awkward. (but do we know how young our narrator is? how old are these memories?? does anyone know?) . The narrator seems adept at spying - it almost seems more a literary tool so that the author can maintain the first person memories and still go into the third person omniscient. Could he really successfully spy on the Venteuils so well over so much time? I guess it's not so crazy - he has a spy's knack for remembering an insane number of details from long periods of time. It makes me wonder how Proust would have fared if he were in the espionage biz. hmmmm......

I am excited to begin the meat and potatoes of Swann's Way: Swann in Love. At this point I really hope it goes well for poor Swann - I could use that right now to get my back in to sorts.

PROUST BONG!

Why let Marcel have all the fun? With this new painted glass pipe you too can recall stuff you always thought you forgot! Remember: it's a real hoot if you smoke it at the same time every day except for Saturdays. When people ask you why you're smoking at a different time on Saturday you can go upstairs and tell your infirmed aunt and have a HUGE laugh.
'OMG! Monsieur Levan asked why we're smoking an hour early today! I just told him "Monsieur Levan - IT'S SATURDAY!!!!!!!!" '

'LOL!!!!!'

'hahahaha!'

What's goin' on?

So I made a mad dash and made it to my goal for my first week of page 150 in Swann's Way. What have I read? Lot's of description of the family's house in Combray. Little bits of the rest of the narrator's life that takes place in Paris usually. All this brought on by the famous madeleines, tea and that hot lemon drink. He wants to tell us about the experience with his aunt eating the madeleines but he keeps getting distracted by other memories. Sometimes these are fun sometimes they are not. Always well written but for some reason I find the rift with the philandering rich uncle more interesting than some other things.
questions:
1) how old is our narrator? is he the same age in Combray I as in Combray II? How much time has elapsed?
2) is there any structure at all to what he's narrating? is it just random?
3) could it all just be random memories tied together? could it?

I regret to say that the person who was writing in the margins seems to have given up around page 100, so no more smileys or little notes on the side. From here on out I'm on my own. I feel like a bomber in World War Two who's gone beyond the range of my fighter escort. Now it's just a few centimeters of sheet metal between me and the cold thin air, the anti-aircraft batteries and the German fighters who stalk me like wolves...

the text I'm reading

This week I've elected to read to page 150. I'm only a third of the way through (it's on Tuesday) before I say anything about the actual book I wanted to mention some things about the actual copy I have.
I checked it out of N.Y.U.'s Bobst Library and am not surprised that it's very worn and written in. I did not expect the emoticons however. Next to the passage where Proust humorously writes that nature had not endowed his grandfather with the capacity to be interested in Swedish collectivism, the previous holder of my book wrote

;-)

in yet another scene where the narrator is taunting his aunts there is

=)

On the margins of page 34 the previous holder wrote of her (I've assumed it's a 'her' but it could just as easily be a 'his') ambivalence towards returning to New York City because she had an exam coming.

In Search of Lost Proust

Unlike my languid kindred Sir Gregor, some of us (insert snobbish uptone here) are still hard at work; and far from being able to recline apon the Proustian shore must instead bury themselves in a sea of Chaucer lest their GPA fall into the B average abyss. We can only dream of Proust while sawing away at Troilus and Criseyde, and flirt with our dearest Swans Way while The Prioresses Tale isn't looking.

This summer however, it is SO on.

My exams end in about a month, and after I climb off my aircraft and back onto American soil I shall flag the first taxi I can find. I will then proceed to make awkward, stilted conversation with the cabbie-attempting no doubt to simultaneously instruct him about my Proustian ventures. And convince him that I'm not a tourist so to not even think about overcharging me, bitch. Once safely in Brooklyn I shall make ways to the first bookshop I can find, no matter how scurvy th establishment shall be. Once inside I shall claim a copy of Proust, fling it triumphantly in front of the sales person, apologize for accidently smacking them in the face with it (or not, if I happen to be at Barnes and Nobles, because lets face it-they probably deserved it), and take it home. And by home, I meen whoevers couch I'm going to be living on first, or a charming cardboard box from IKEA. I shall then snuggle down with Marcel and declaire myself one step closer to being a useful, educated and Proustian human being. I'll also buy a burrito, because damn, I miss those.

Mmm, burritos.

Until then, farewell my lovelies and viva la Proust!

before reading my first page...

It is May and I am about to begin reading Swann's Way by Marcel Proust. I just wanted to explain why I am starting this blog and what I hope to post throughout my journey through In Search of Lost Time.

I am going to make a go at reading the entire series but it is rather massive - we'll see how it goes. I might need a break between books (so I would read some murder mysteries - we'll see if I'm into blogging about those) or I might build momentum and not want to stop. Either way, this blog will be my repository for my thoughts about the book and about the act of reading the book.

PROUST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!