Page: Completed Within a Budding Grove

Pages Read Since Last Post: 534

Books Read Since Last Post: Paul Cartledge, Thermopylae; Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol.

If it were not for the fact that The Guermantes Way is even longer than Within a Budding Grove, I would be pretty pleased with myself right now: about half the reading since my last post was done today. I completed my grading earlier this week, so I spent all of today curled up with M. Proust as the snow fell outside. It seemed odd to be reading about a summer holiday during a nor’easter.

I liked this better than vol. 1. It is wittier, and Proust’s writing is remarkably vivid (as when he describes a woman emerge from an elevator “like a doll coming out of its box”). It is still grossly overweight; I know it’s quite deliberate, but even so … I read a bit, get bored, and then he writes something like the astral tables bit which means I have to go on.

I think that Will’s idea of saving vol. 3 until Jan 1^st is a wise one. I’d like to read something else for a while too.

Du temps perdu, perdu

Days reading Proust: 30 (ish)
Page: 450 (WABG)
Pages Read Since Last Post: 946
Books Read Since Last Post: Swann's Way, The Princess Bride

Belated greetings from a fellow traveller down the way of Swann. I shall summarise my position briefly.

Having started Swann's Way once earlier this year I went into this with my eyes open, but even so I have been surprised at how slow, not to say soporific, the task at hand can be. I have lost count of the number of times I have come to, Proust in hand, confused and unaware I had even drifted off. Fortunately I have not yet done so on public transport.

However, I have become firmly convinced that the endeavour is worthwhile. Currently three quarters of the way through Budding Grove, I am struck by the fact that since not much happens but is described in (occasionally excruciating) detail, the reader builds up a kind of false memory of the narrator's experiences. Quite bizarre but not something I have ever experienced in a book before (and possibly quite difficult to explain, for which apologies).

Although I fear my own writing style has begun to suffer from the disease which appeared to afflict M. Proust, to whit the regressive comma, the only known cure for which is a cold shower, a stiff brandy, and a large helping of Hemingway, that grizzled old sea salt dog, whose terse stylistics so changed us, indeed the very face of literature, forever.

And breathe.

After Swann's Way I had to take a palate cleanser of The Princess Bride. Highly recommended, both for this purpose and in its own right.

Then straight back into Budding Grove, which I have found to be both much slower going than the first volume and much faster, the cameos in the dining room in particular have flown by. The illusion of things actually happening seems to do the trick for me; it has now been some time since I have had to put the book from me in exasperation at the narrator's apparently infinite ability to think about things too much.

And perhaps those moments in the book are only so unbearable because I recognise parts of myself in there...

Although since starting this post some days ago I have in fact lost my copy of Within a Budding Grove (worn and dog-eared as it was starting to get) and so will have to buy another one if I am to finish by year's end. I feel it would be somehow inappropriate to appropriate a fellow Proustonaut's copy for my own ends.

Forcing the pace

Books Read Since Last Post: 13


W. Dalrymple, The Last Mughal: The Fall of a Dynasty, Delhi, 1857
K. Desai, The inheritance of loss
R. Gunesekera, Monkfish Moon
_____ The Sandglass
E. Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, vol.4
M.M. Kaye, The Far Pavilions
R. Knox, A historical account of captivity in Ceylon
C. Muller, The Jam Fruit Tree
V.S. Naipaul, In a Free State
_____ A bend in the river
_____ An area of darkness
M. Ondaatje, Running in the Family
R. Prawer Jhabvala, In Search of Love and Beauty


Not a long post. Just to update on my reading while away. The standouts for me were Gibbbon (who is as good as he is meant to be, though in many ways superceded), Dalrymple and Genesekara's Monkfish moon. All excellent. I was disappointed by Desai and Naipaul, especially An area of darkness.


I sense an impasse developing on the progress of vol 2; so I suggest that we aim to all be wrapped up by Christmas, and recommence on New Year's day. I can think of no better book to read hungover and on limited sleep than Proust....

Can I also suggest we discipline ourselves to post at least every 3 weeks on progress thereafter, even if none has been made.

AWOL

Page: 209 (out of 743).
Pages Read Since Last Post: 209
Books Read Since Last Post: (3). A. R. Burn, Penguin History of Greece, Melville, Billy Budd, Hermione Lee, Virginia Woolf’s Nose, & various Dilbert books)

Gentlemen,

My apologies for my prolonged absence from the blog. If only it signaled that I was deeply engrossed in WABG, but alas it merely signifies the fact that I’ve been making pretty slow progress through it too. I’m not sure if the true Proust experience can be obtained a few pages at a time, but there’s little option right now.

I had been hoping to make some pretty impressive progressive over Thanksgiving, but instead I have been grading papers and attending antique fairs. Middle age has apparently struck early, but I’m loving every minute of it.

I know we’re not supposed to declare work books, but I would thoroughly recommend Lee’s splendid book on biography (which, at 115 pages or so, has much to recommend it to people on the Proust quest). Proust even gets a mention there: Lee notes that Claire Tomalin’s biography of Pepys compares the two figures a lot. I must confess that Proust could well do with some Pepysian escapades, and I was hopeful when Bloch introduces the narrator to brothels, but nothing else has materialized so far.

I’m certain that my previous comment reveals my complete ignorance of what is yet to come in the novel, but I am rather enjoying reading a novel where the outcome remains something of a mystery.

I anticipate further slow progress until the end of the semester (only 2 weeks away).

Absence

Page: n/a
Pages read since last post: 0
Days elapsed reading Proust: 30 (23, 7)
Books read since last Post: 4 (R.W. Johnson, South Africa, C. Thubron, In Siberia, L.
MacNeice, Autumn Journal, J. Roth, The White Cities)

I remain smug, though less so this morning as I am freezing in my house while a may fixes my radiators. However, that will pass. I post to highlight two absences.

1) I am off to the Raj tomorrow, and will not be taking Proust with me. I return on the 3rd, ready for action. I am taking the opportunity to take a pile of Indian and Sri Lankan writing with me and will report back.

2) More seriously, if we can characterise my absence as with leave, Alexis must surely be without. For this blog must have posts or it will shrivel and die or loneliness, which, while a true Proustian sentiment, is not the point. I demand posting.

Since Proust I have also read a fine crop of books. With the exception of the Thubron (which was fine), all the above books are excellent. Roth and MacNeice are prticularly fine, though both lend themselves to reading in small sections rather than at once. Roth makes me want to go to the Midi as soon as possible and I am hastily rearranging my holidays for next year.

Reader's Block

Page: 104
Pages read since last post: 0
Days elapsed reading Proust: 32 (16, 16*)
Books read since last Post: 0 (unless the Observer Book of Space, which came free with yesterday's paper counts)

Aargh! What is my problem? I know it's good. I actually quite like it. There's just so bloody much of it and I can't get going, even though I want to.

I'm now (at least) in 2nd place overall, and have taken as many days to read near enough to bugger all of volume 2 as it took me to knock off the entirety of Swann's Way. The extent of my proustcrastination even dictates that I should be preferentially blogging the fact I haven't touched it over the past weekend to actually reading the damn thing... although I think I deserve some kind of acknowledgement of bravery for posting the first mid-volume 0 page blog.

It's fast becoming hopeless. We all knew there'd be moments of hesitation, doubt and self-loathing - but only 600 pages in?!?! That's a little under one fifth of the whole novel. What's a boy to do? And still, that pink portrait of Proust perpetually gazes down on me from the bookshelf as I sleep, as I stir, as I lie awake at night thinking of all the other books I could be reading... Help me! Someone, anyone, HELP ME!

P.S. Proust tribulations aside it's been a splendid autumn weekend here on the Fens. I saw a corking firework display at Ely Cathedral on Saturday night and had a lovely dinner with friends afterwards. I even got my ironing done yesterday afternoon whilst listening to the dramatisation of Dr Zhivago on Radio 4 (with dodgy regional British accents). All very pleasant.

Stuttering

Page: 104
Pages read since last post: 104
Days elapsed reading Proust: 29 (16, 13*)
Books read since last Post: 3 (Jan Morris, Hav; Haruki Murakami (ed.), Birthday Stories; Woody Allen, Mere Anarchy)

I write this on the eve of my surrendering an outright share of the lead to M. Garrood. I am relaxed about this.

My ever so slow start to Volume 2 is even slower than is immediately apparent since at least 75 pages were knocked off on an Easyjet flight home from Munich. I attribute this inactivity to a number of causes.

Firstly, it was clearly a mistake purchasing all 5 remaining volumes en masse. Instead of monitoring my progress through a single volume and thus maintaining momentum, I can only see my meagre progress in terms of the entire novel. The edition we are using displays a rather glowering portrait of Proust tugging on the lapels of his jacket along the spines of the volumes when placed adjacent to each other and in the correct order. I have, thus far, not even reached the great man's kneecap - his splendid whiskers remain nearly two volumes away!

Secondly, I have recently moved job, sold a flat, bought a house, contemplated the move, made several trips back to Oxford and generally felt rather unsettled in my life. Scant opportunity therefore for idling away the hours with ALRDTP.

Thirdly, I have been distracted by some fairly wonderful and crucially, shorter, other books. Morris is a national treasure, and Hav is one of her most glorious books - every bit as enthralling as her other travel books on Venice, Oxford and the ascent of Everest, but all the more remarkable, given Hav is an entirely fictional place. Birthday Stories is a mixed bag, but an interesting enough one. Mere Anarchy, whilst lacking some of the punch of his earlier prose collections, is a worthy product of Allen's genius for the surreal, bizarre and generally absurd.

So, the plan. I will take M. Garrood's advice, I think, and devote a chunk of this weekend to allowing myself to be swallowed up by the prose. I agree, by the way, that this volume is superior to much of volume 1, which makes my inability to read it even more frustrating. Hopefully I can break the back of it this weekend, and perhaps hold on for a 2nd place finish. If not, I will remain in lethargy, knowing at least, by way of consolation, that Proust would almost certainly approve.

Smugness

Page: 618
Pages read since last post: 338
Days elapsed reading Proust: 30 (23, 7)
Books read since last Post: 4 (A. Oz, My Michael; R. Harris, Pompei; R. Kapuscinski, The Emperor; A. Steinsaltz, The Essential Talmud)

I finished on Friday (I've been in Wales since and no Internet there). I am now very smug. I'm even more smug given I have also managed to polish off several other books this weekend. I haven't done a great deal else to be fair. While Budding Grove didn't quite sustain the high notes of the first section, it is still magical. The section on Balbec (actually sections, as it doesn't have the same unity as the Paris section) is still enchanting, though more variable. The emergence of ancillary characters is a joy to behold. I'm not sure how much we see of Bloch, Saint Loup and the various girls around Albertine in future, but it was a pleasure to see them this time. Albertine herself is a little annoying, as is (increasingly) the narrator. And, while this bodes badly for the rest of the books, it doesn't spoil this one.

In other news, The Emperor is astounding (if odd) and I have been seduced by My Michael, though I'm still not quite convinced. Robert Harris does what he always does well, but it's a bit cartoonish, while Steinsaltz on the Talmud overcomplicates the task before him.

I'm in India in a fortnight, and not back till the 3rd Dec. I suggest we extend our start date for volume 3 to the 4th Dec. I am happy to postpone it to the New Year.

Joy unconfined

Page: 280
Pages read since last post: 280
Days elapsed reading Proust: 27 (23, 4*)
Books read since last Post: 1 (R.Graves, I Claudius)

Volume II is a joy. I did not get reound to picking it up on Saturday, realising - with a somewhat downcast heart - that it is about 100 pages longer than Swann's Way. However, once started, I am finding this volume simply magical to read. It helps that, although not quite the tight, fast moving plot we have been promised, there is a sense of movement. That said, it's best parts are not those of pace and plot, but the long meditations, like the section on Bergotte c.page 150. There are some splendid one liners as well, which I have momentarily misplaced, but may collect later.

I also think I have a better idea about how to read this now. Like some of the mammoth Russians, though not long C19 British authors, these are books that really require immersion over sustained blocks of time. One needs to luxuriate in the language and the narrative (such that it is). I suspect that part of my problem with Swann in love was not giving it enough attention, though I maintain it is inferior to Combray and especially to this volume.

Incidentally, deep immersion is not the best approach to I Claudius which - though still excellent - I would have said works best when read in a more fragmentary way. Otherwise, it feels a little too short. Caligula's reign, for example, I remember from last time as being a long drawn out nightmare, but the section is actually quite short, especially when read through on one morning. Nonetheless, a great book.

My cup overfloweth.

Ready to bud

Books read since last post: 5 (G. Garcia Marquez, In evil hour, D. Lodge, The British Museum is falling down, J.Bauby, The diving bell and the butterfly, P.Auster, Travels in the Scriptorium, M.Mazower, Salonica [almost])

I am no longer sans Proust. My copy has this minute arrived on my desk. We can begin again. I propose that we defer the start until Saturday 27th October. I'm going to regret the following sentance in the context of the book we are reading, but time is here not relevant. We'll go by days in our own time zones.

I have not missed the Proustian action over the last week and have been luxuriating in short books, as is evident. As a perfect antidote to Proust I would recommend the David Lodge, which is short, funny and British. It was most welcome. The other novels could be skipped, especially the Auster, and Salonica, while interesting, is also a bit repetitive, overlong and has a tendency to double back on itself - Budding Grove here I come.

On an aside, I think the leaderboard notation ought to be as follows:

Murray: 16 days (16,0)
Haynes: +3 (19,0)
Garrood: +7 (23,0)

Forgive the noughts; they are the incomplete vol 2 tallies to be updated as we go. I propose we periodically update as people complete volumes. Let battle commence on Saturday.

Delving into a Budding Grove

Books read since last post: Starter for Ten, David Nicholls; How Proust Can Change Your Life, Alain de Botton

Unsurprisingly, the de Botton makes more sense having actually read some of ALRDTP. Not his finest hour - that would be the glorious Essays in Love - but enjoyable nevertheless, and worthwhile for the account of the single awkward meeting between Proust and Joyce alone, whereupon each denied any knowledge of the other's oeuvre.

The start date for Within a Budding Grove has been set provisionally for this coming Saturday (20th October). Coinciding, perhaps, with an English triumph in Paris of the rugby union variety. Our restart, however, remains at the mercy of the irksome industrial action by postal staff (postal workers seems an inappropriate term). M. Garrood will advise on Friday as to whether his copy of volume 2 has successfully negotiated the backlog.

Bring it on

Page: 513 (Swann's Way complete)
Pages read since last post: 120
Days elapsed reading Proust: 23
Books read since last Post: 1 (M. Marqusee, Redemption Song: Muhammad Ali and the spirit of the sixties)

One down. I finished Swann this evening, perhaps fittingly in a university lecture hall, waiting for the lecture to start (which it did, late). I must confess that despite my earlier condemnation of Swann in love, the ending was rather good. I still contend that the section is about half as much again too long, but the ending struck was wistful in just the right way. Seen from this side of reading it, I am remembering Swann in love fondly - though I am in no hurry to reread it. Conversely, I'm not sure what to make of the short final section. The recurrance of the pattern established in the previous section with the narrator and Gilberte lacks subtlety (and does make me think that Proust is overly cruel to his protagonists, who appear to spend their time being unhappy when they have the thing they desire), and the whole thing meanders a bit. This last may strike people as an absurd criticism of Proust, but it seems all a bit pointless, though through the medium of some Googling, I think the point may be revealed in the second volume.

As an inside, I do not have the second volume as it is being held up by the postal strike (I think). I will advise on arrival, but don't expect it before the end of the week. I would suggest Saturday as the new start date. In the meantime, I suggest a guessing game for completion of the sextet, both in total number of days and in chronological time: I'm not sure we'll keep our cracking pace, but my thoughts are that we'll hit completion in June next year, and I think that the winner will come in at 110 days.

Lagging behind

Page: 393
Pages read since last post: 27
Days elapsed reading Proust: 20
Books read since last Post: 3 (P.Roth, My life as a man, P.Theroux, The Mosquito Coast, M.Simkins, Fatty Batter)

Congratulations M Haynes. As you will both see, my delays continue. I keep getting distracted by what have been generally disappointing books: Roth clever, but fragmeted, Theroux just a bit silly and pointless and Simkins dishonest, though fun. I am returning to Proust this weekend, as well as trying to get an essay out on Prosopography so we may have no need to wait till the 8th.

On a final plea, can we largely not include work books, unless they are interesting. I'm pretty certain neither of you are interested in my recent work reading: Can the market deliver - funding public service television in the digital age, and A. Peacock, Public Service Broadcasting without the BBC. And I have excluded Byzantine reading as well: thrillers such as A.Cameron (ed.), Fifty years of Byzantine Prosopography and a series of books about databases.

Oh, and Swann in love is still really tedious, but I can see the end now.

The Habit of Finding Life Interesting

Page: I have just finished Swann's Way.
Pages since last post: hard to tell exactly; I have been forced to switch from the Vintage edition to the Modern Library one. The ML is, however, a rather handsome 6 volume set.
Smugness: 100%
Books read since last post: Blackwell Companion to Mark Twain. (Well, if we're allowed work books ...)

Maillot jaune

Current page: Loitering betwixt and between Swann's Way and Within a Budding Grove
Pages read since last post: None
Running total of days reading Proust: 16
Other books read since last post: The Facts Behind the Helsinki Roccamatios by Yann Martel

Firstly, don't bother with the Martel. Some interesting ideas for short stories but written whilst a student... and believe me, it shows.

Secondly, and the main point of this post, some decisions regarding regulation of Proust-reading have been decided upon, by email correspondence, sadly, not on this blog. I will therefore summarise.

1. Upon the completion of a volume, the individual will pause in his search of lost time, to allow the others to catch up.
2. Proust-reading will then recommence, hopefully in synchrony, one month after the first completion (i.e. 8th November for Budding Grove), unless the remaining individuals finish sooner, in which case the new volume can begin sooner. The start date is very much a movable feast, however, providing all parties are in agreement.
3. The tally of days spent reading Proust for each individual will therefore be halted upon completion of a volume, and restarted on the new commencement date.

These rules should thus give the most accurate quantification of one's efficiency of Proust consumption, will maintain coherence in the blog and allow for gentlemanly breaks in Proust for the reading of more frivolous material, which is a good thing, providing one doesn't select the early short stories of a one-hit-wonder Booker Prize winner.

In search of a tight forward-moving plot...

Current page: Swann's Way 513 (last page)
Pages read since last post: 273
Other books read since last post: Living Without Oxygen (Closed and Open Systems in Hypoxia Tolerance) by Peter Hochachka

I am, I feel, entitled to a measured amount of smugness in having finished Swann's Way this morning at ~ 8.45 just as the bus deposited me on Silver Street on my way into work. I now feel vindicated in having forced my way through Swann in Love on Saturday, and am pleased to report that the odd, little final section recaptures, to some extent, the glories of Combray (albeit in Paris this time around). There are also hints at some of the themes of Swann in Love, as the protagonist develops an infatuation with the indifferent daughter of Swann and Odette. The analogy of Marcel as Swann, Gilberte as Odette, and the children playing in the parks of the Champs Elysees as the salon society of the previous section is very obvious, yet surprisingly it does knit the book together rather better than I'd expected. It is hard, however, to see exactly where this is all going to go from here. We have been assured, as M. Garrood has pointed out, of a tight forward-moving plot from the novel as a whole, and some of the amazon.co.uk reviews for volume 2 hint that it lies therein.

I have now purchased Within a Budding Grove (from Waterstones Cambridge), and am poised to begin. In the interest of long-term progress, however, I may adopt a policy of punctuating my completion of each volume with something shorter and more frivolous, by way of reward. I have a limited selection available, due to the extremely gradual nature of my relocation from Oxford, however I may try out Yann Martel's curiously-titled collection of pre-Life of Pi short stories - The Facts Behind the Helsinki Roccamatios - a Hay-on-Wye purchase of some years ago... quite possibly on that very most famous of stag weekends.

Second Life

Current Page: 175
Other books read: 1 (Alan Bennett, The Uncommon Reader)
Books about to be purchased today at second-hand book sale near here: Think Hay-on-Wye proportions.

If my first post comes a little late, it must surely be out of shame: I am languishing in 3^rd place with a very paltry amount of reading done to date. I am barely two thirds of the way through Combray, but I am now on my Fall Break, so prepare to be overtaken! And yet, it seems strangely appropriate to be taking my time over this book. So far, I found the cake section the least interesting, and I can’t help but say (with one of Alan Bennett’s characters) that it might work with Fuller’s cakes, but not with madeleines. What I do love, though, is Proust’s manifesto on reading around p. 100, and his description of how the novelist’s “happy discovery was to think of substituting for those opaque sections, impenetrable to the human soul, their equivalent in immaterial sections, things, that is, which one’s soul can assimilate”. Bennett’s own novella (a good antidote to the length of ALRDTP) puts it so much better, though: “Books are not about passing the time. They’re about other lives.” In this respect, reading Proust seems like a more interesting version of Second Life (only our avatar here is an asthmatic Frenchman).

I am fast approaching the point of my furthest prior explorations into ALRDTP, so I am looking forward to Swann in Love, even if it has not received entirely favorable reviews from Monsieur G.

In lieu of actually reading, though, I have thought of a future project: The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. What do you think?

"bores"

Current page: 366
Pages read since last post: 142
Other books read since last post: 1 (Alan Dean Foster, Clash of the Titans) & 2 halves (A history of Morocco; Roth, My life as a man)

Swann in love is really quite tedious. I cheerfully rambled through Combray, which I thought was simply lovely, even though, as we have cheerfully observed, nothing happens. However, this second section is proving a seriously debilitating slog. I have been ill for the last few days which had impeded my ability to move at any pace, but mostly, it is the tedious antics of the Verdurins. I know they are supposed to be petty minded and absurd, but do we really need 235 hundred pages (the length of many of many many good and great novels) to tell us this? We've definitely got it by now and there are a hundred pages to go, though there is doubtless some key plot to come for the inside cover assures me that the novel has a "tight, forward-moving plot" - I don't think it will be a surprise. I'm going to restrain myself on the troubles of believability of the section, which I just just find (so far) bizarre and rest content in the knowledge that I've got the bugger down to less than 100 pages to go for this section.

I'm putting my order for the second volume on hold

Longtemps, je me suis couché de bonne heure...

Swann's Way, Page 240.

Surprisingly easy going thus far. Granted, there has been precious little plot to speak of, but the Combray section seems to be regarded as a prelude to the novel. Am rather smug at the thought that I am about halfway through the first volume - though my fellow Proustians have yet to declare their hands - they may be halfway along the Guermantes Way by now, whilst I am still dawdling along past Swann's.

So, thus far, we have had the narrator tossing and turning in bed, waiting for a goodnight kiss from Mamma (~30 pages), lengthy descriptions of hawthorn bushes, encounters with various young girls, Great Aunt Leonie spying on the neighbours whilst drinking Vichy water and a curiously racy scene involving a couple of young ladies and a photograph of a deceased father. Also, the famous madeleines epsiode - recipe here, courtesy of Rick Stein.

The subject title of this post, incidentally, is rather predictably the first line of the novel, and has presented problems for translators due to Proust's distinctive use of the perfect tense. Several years ago, Penguin held a competition amongst readers to translate this famous first line - a notable entry, which may or may not have snatched the top prize, was “For absolutely bloody ages it was lights out early.”

Myself, I shall settle for "resting", like Aunt Leonie, and tackling the novel-within-a-novel that is Swann in Love.

The Search Begins...

Just 12 hours away from the Opening Ceremony. In a suitably Proustian fashion it should perhaps entail all the pomp and bombast involved with sitting in bed alone, dipping madeleines into lime blossom tea and contemplating the minutiae of life and time past... alternatively, and more probably for me, it will slip by unnoticed in the alcoholic blur of a late Friday evening following the latest installment of the Rugby WC 2007. Incidentally, the match this evening will be a titanic and apposite clash, as Proust's own nation pits itself against that of James Joyce. Fittingly, the match will be taking place in Paris - a city key in the publishing careers of both men. Neither of these sides have had a particularly impressive start to the tournament, so it remains to be seen whether Brian O'Driscoll and his men in green will Bloom at the big occasion, or whether Sebastien Chabal and Les Bleus will Swann onto the pitch and have their Way.

Well, since this will be my last pre-Proust blog I should summarise my final reading projects B.P.*. I successfully polished off Love in the Time of Cholera, which finally got going and redeemed itself at the close. I've only read two Garcia Marquez novels - the obvious two - and found that both dragged on somewhat. Since the passage of time was a major theme in both books, this is, perhaps, unsurprising. I may try his latest offering at some point - has something to do with whores doesn't it? Following Cholera, I motored through Penguins Stopped Play - a passionate tale dealing with the great themes of friendship, love, loss, death and the glory of a sweetly-timed cover drive. Good fun, and worth a read, but surpassed in the realms of amusing village cricket memoirs, I feel, by the very similar, yet ever so slightly funnier Fatty Batter. Next I knocked off Ian McEwan's latest - On Chesil Beach - in a couple of hours on Sunday morning - typical McEwan unpleasantness, and less good than most of his other books. Finally, I'm presently racing through Cormac McCarthy's The Road - Pulitzer Prize winner this year, and, more crucial for its sales figures one feels, a choice of the ever-so-odious Oprah's book club. Pretty good read though - a fable of a father and son travelling in a contemporary post-Apocalyptic world due to some unspecified natural disaster on a monstrous scale. Reminds me, a tad, of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, only without the motorcycles... or the zen for that matter... hmm, hard to put my finger on it really. Still, it's definitely worth a crack - short book and entertaining enough to pass a few hours.

So, there we have it. The Search for Lost Time begins at 11 p.m. fortunately my edition doesn't have one of those lengthy introductions from a well-respected academic, which I always feel obliged to read and get deeply irritated with after a few paragraphs. No, just the briefest of notes on the translation and we're off. Best of luck to my two fellow Proustians... let's contemplate a more considered closing ceremony for a few years hence. I suggest a collective visit to Pere LaChaise Cemetery to digest the last few pages of Time Regained and pay our respects to the Master, before retiring to a nearby cafe for madeleines and tea... or maybe something slightly stronger with which to watch Rugby WC 2011 .

Allez Les Rouges!

* Before Proust

P-Day

I agree with Andrew; September 22nd would seem to make an admirable starting point, and it would give us a chance to clear the decks of other reading projects.

The Day of Lost Time

Gentlemen - as P-Day approaches we've been splendidly Proustian in our moments of inactivity punctuated by protracted periods of naval-gazing, yet we still hasn't produced an official start date. We have, of course, decided that we will commemorate the important occasion that is the 85th anniversary of the publication of the first English translation of Swann's Way this September. However, this still leaves the small matter of which day in September (and the smaller matter of which time zone we utilise to mark the commencement of that day).

As for the day, the options are:
September 1st - being a logical start day. Clearly the choice of any straight-forward thinking individual. Or my personal preference:
September 22nd - since the first publication of said book was in September '22.

I also have an alterior motive, in that I am currently battling with Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Sadly not One Hundred Years of Solitude (that being a situation any ambitious Proust-reader might appreciate), but the rather less good Love in the Time of Cholera. I'd ideally like to polish this off before tackling M. Proust. Still, there are three of us, so can I move to a vote on this issue.

As for the time zone - this is clear - we go with the neutral, Parisian-favoured Central European Summer Time - i.e. 11 pm British Summer Time or 6 pm Eastern Daylight Time the day before the official start date. Pedants who, at this juncture, feel the need to point out that Daylight Saving Time didn't exist in Marcel's day should continue their naval-gazing in silence.

3 Men and a Book

1922 would appear to have been quite a busy year - Eliot and Joyce were publishing around then; The Great Gatsby is also set in 1922.

A September start-date is fine with me, although it robs me of my advantage (i.e. the summer). Until then, I'm reading William C. Carter's biography of Proust.

Anniversaire

Further to the offline contribution from Alexis, we should note that the English translation of Swann appeared in September 1922, a fitting start point. I cannot find a precise date, so we can pick one.

Also, I note we are not the only ones to have attempted this; one suspects this is not the universe of Proust blogs, but it's the one I found.

Vacation reading

Anyone itching to get stuck into several thousand pages of tedium might wish to consider Alain de Botton's excellent appraisal. I read it several years ago when I had no intention of tackling the main feature, so I feel it could serve as a useful appetiser.

One has to wonder, however, with Monsieur de Botton's sole motivation for writing this book was to publicise the fact that he has read A La Recherche. This, in my view, is entirely commendable.

Edition

May I suggest that we adopt this edition:

Moncrieff/Kilmartin translation

Vintage Classics New Ed Edn.

(published 5th Dec 1996)

I (and Alexis) already own it.

Inspiration

The genesis of this enterprise should of course also be included. The original All-England Summarize Proust Competition can be seen here

Regulation

A - excellent use of technology here; very web 2.0 (actually, I'm not sure it is, but I've never really understood the difference between normal and 2.0)

As a regulator, I feel it should be my role here to begin a discussion on ground rules. Here are some thoughts, including those already discussed:

1. We must agree editions. I'll acquire mine and we can all synchronise
2. Start date: I propose September
3. Some form of standard reporting should adorn each post; I would have thought
- current page
- pages read since last post
- other books read since last post
- summary to date (in a sentence or even a word)
then the detailed post can follow.

I think that would allow maximum freedom, but a sound base. It does leave open the question: can others join? I would have thought they can, provided they have not started Proust already.

Thoughts?

Commencer

Having purchased Swann's Way (£2.50, Amnesty Bookshop, Cambridge) just 9 days ago I feel that there can be no backing out at this stage. Of course, I've been a little pre-occupied of late with another volume purchased that very same day: that being a book describing the adventures of a certain boy wizard. One wonders whether a similar degree of hysteria surrounded the midnight launch, in 1927, of Le Temps Retrouvé - the conclusion of another 7 part series .