Long live the blog:
www.powellathon.blogspot.com
The adventure continues...
Monday 7 July 2008
Wednesday 28 May 2008
Temps perdu
A summer gets into its stride, can I suggest we begin to take steps to end this blogette over the next month or so. I think there is some fun further reading, both of the Proust corpus (OK, only Pleasures and Days), but also related works - this I noticed reviewed in the LRB the other week, but this should be discretionary. However, there is some nonsense out there so some caution needed.
And I would have thought that a shiny new blog starting in (say) July in preparation for an August or September start for Powell is in order. I am transferring thoughts on other reading across to my actual - if intermittant - other blog, so am keen to make sure we start having something lengthy and pretentious to chat about soon.
How about an August start date?
And I would have thought that a shiny new blog starting in (say) July in preparation for an August or September start for Powell is in order. I am transferring thoughts on other reading across to my actual - if intermittant - other blog, so am keen to make sure we start having something lengthy and pretentious to chat about soon.
How about an August start date?
Thursday 8 May 2008
Further thoughts on dancing
I started to comment, but realised I had too much to say. E & I had drinks on this subject, so I cannot claim this is all mine. In no particular order:
1. Do we want this blog to continue or do another one?
2. I suggest we hold off till Sept, in line with the academic year
3. I also suggest we change our rules and keep months rota, but only count days from the opening of the volume to completion.
4. I can think of a number from my end who might join in, even possibly Anna though this would make 3 essential, as we're not buying each volume twice. It does depend though on what we read. I suggest we take informal soundings.
5. What do we do with Alexis?
6. Finally, other thoughts. Though I am pro-Powell, there are a number of other options; wikipedia has this useful list (though it does say of Proust, "in some serious sense, it escapes classification"). But, at some point the pinnacle has to be Zola's Rougon-Macquart cycle, coming in at 20 volumes. Or terrifyingly, Balzac's Comedie Humaine at nearly a hundred items.
1. Do we want this blog to continue or do another one?
2. I suggest we hold off till Sept, in line with the academic year
3. I also suggest we change our rules and keep months rota, but only count days from the opening of the volume to completion.
4. I can think of a number from my end who might join in, even possibly Anna though this would make 3 essential, as we're not buying each volume twice. It does depend though on what we read. I suggest we take informal soundings.
5. What do we do with Alexis?
6. Finally, other thoughts. Though I am pro-Powell, there are a number of other options; wikipedia has this useful list (though it does say of Proust, "in some serious sense, it escapes classification"). But, at some point the pinnacle has to be Zola's Rougon-Macquart cycle, coming in at 20 volumes. Or terrifyingly, Balzac's Comedie Humaine at nearly a hundred items.
Come Dancing!
So, it's decided then - the Proust blog continues!Our next assignment will be Anthony Powell's 12 volume A Dance to the Music of Time - hence the gratuitous use of the glorious Poussin painting of the same name (which hangs in the Wallace Collection and apparently inspired Powell) and the suitably awful yet predictable title of this entry. Apparently, The Dance is littered with Proust references and even a trip to Cabourg (Balbec), so it seems all the more appropriate.
I suggest the best way to tackle this is one (~200 page) volume per month for a year. Giving us plenty of scope for other reading and the blogging thereof. Suggest we curb our competitive instincts this time round, at least with regard to days spent reading. Instead we could, indeed should, institute a system of Proust points for references spotted in this (and other) books. So two issues remain:
1. We need a start date - I suggest July or August (although I'm not averse to June if other Proustanauts are keen). I already own the first two volumes of The Dance so could begin forthwith - others may appreciate a break from big projects. Alternatively we could coincide with M. Garrood's job move (since Proust coincided with mine last time round).
2. Any prospective Powellanauts (as new initiates must surely be titled) out there?
Tuesday 6 May 2008
Et puis, M. Smith est finis
Gasp.
Finished this morning just before jumping on bike and cycling through London to work - an antidote to Proustian self-absorption if ever there was one.
I found the last pages by turns heart-rending and immensely frustrating, trying to remember who had married who and who had changed their name accordingly, &c. &c. But then that I suppose goes for the rest of the beast as well so it wasn't like that was enormously surprising.
The musings on Art were a bit wanky I thought, more so than usual at any rate; but ultimately I found the whole of the last section rather too much folded up in on itself. Discussing a book he's about to write that will interrogate the reader's self is all very well but it's a bit like listening to actors talk about acting. I find I would much rather be watching a performance. Or, heaven forbid, reading a book. With, y'know, some plot in it and that.
Irritatingly of course Proust is largely successful (at least with this Proustanaut) at forcing this introspective self assessment from his reader, if only because you've got so much time to fill between anything bloody happening.
Disappointed that M. Charlus simply faded out of view, and I also found the massive gaps in time deeply unsatisfying. Although of course as we all know it is not a linear thing.
Er, is it?
I'm glad to have done it though, and of course very glad to have had some company along the way.
What's next? =)
Finished this morning just before jumping on bike and cycling through London to work - an antidote to Proustian self-absorption if ever there was one.
I found the last pages by turns heart-rending and immensely frustrating, trying to remember who had married who and who had changed their name accordingly, &c. &c. But then that I suppose goes for the rest of the beast as well so it wasn't like that was enormously surprising.
The musings on Art were a bit wanky I thought, more so than usual at any rate; but ultimately I found the whole of the last section rather too much folded up in on itself. Discussing a book he's about to write that will interrogate the reader's self is all very well but it's a bit like listening to actors talk about acting. I find I would much rather be watching a performance. Or, heaven forbid, reading a book. With, y'know, some plot in it and that.
Irritatingly of course Proust is largely successful (at least with this Proustanaut) at forcing this introspective self assessment from his reader, if only because you've got so much time to fill between anything bloody happening.
Disappointed that M. Charlus simply faded out of view, and I also found the massive gaps in time deeply unsatisfying. Although of course as we all know it is not a linear thing.
Er, is it?
I'm glad to have done it though, and of course very glad to have had some company along the way.
What's next? =)
Monday 5 May 2008
In Search of Imaginary Time... or at least a decent explanation of it
Books read since last post:
Life and Times of Michael K; J.M.Coetzee
A Brief History of Time; Stephen W. Hawking
Persepolis; Marjane Satrapi
Persepolis 2; Marjane Satrapi
Fitting that my first two post-Proust books had the words time or times in the title. With Coetzee it's obviously incidental - Michael K was very good and very haunting although I preferred Disgrace overall. It's a fairly meaningless debate to have (although M. Garrood might refute that point), both were worthy Booker winners and should the rest of his oeuvre come close to these, then Coetzee is a worthy Nobel Laureate.
I re-attempted Hawking after an aborted attempt 6 years ago. Even then I found it surprisingly accessible (not unlike my initial reaction to Proust). This time I ploughed through and finished it in 6 days - more than 2 chapters a day is far too hideous to contemplate. I can proudly say that I understood it... well most of it... some of it anyway. No look, I got the point of it and the general message - a remarkable enough achievement for a pop sci book on theoretical physics. Where Professor Hawking really lost me was with the concept of imaginary time, which he none-too-helpfully describes as being like imaginary numbers (e.g. square root of -1 = i) but with time... nope - I don't get it either and I'm not coming from his baseline "general members of the public" target audience. As I see it, anyway, the only practical implications of this might be that when counting days reading Proust in imaginary time I may actually have beaten Will... a mathematical proof requiring the full attention of the Lucasian Professor in Mathematics I feel - I'll pop next door to Caius and suggest it to him.
My other reading was a joy. I read both Persepolis books yesterday - for the uninitiated an autobiographical graphic novel by the great-granddaughter of the last Shah of Iran. Her parents are Marxist revolutionaries who are engaged in protests against the Islamic regime. The first part, about her childhood, is dreamlike and a joy. The second part, in which she lives in Austria for some time before feeling too out of place in the West and returning home, is a lot more political and still very good. I feel a lot more informed about life in modern-day Iran having read this - but best of all it's very funny and I laughed a lot. There's a movie out now - set to become the desperately cool film to watch over the next few weeks and in keeping with my trendy young don image I'll probably toddle along, but I recommend the book very highly first.
Life and Times of Michael K; J.M.Coetzee
A Brief History of Time; Stephen W. Hawking
Persepolis; Marjane Satrapi
Persepolis 2; Marjane Satrapi
Fitting that my first two post-Proust books had the words time or times in the title. With Coetzee it's obviously incidental - Michael K was very good and very haunting although I preferred Disgrace overall. It's a fairly meaningless debate to have (although M. Garrood might refute that point), both were worthy Booker winners and should the rest of his oeuvre come close to these, then Coetzee is a worthy Nobel Laureate.
I re-attempted Hawking after an aborted attempt 6 years ago. Even then I found it surprisingly accessible (not unlike my initial reaction to Proust). This time I ploughed through and finished it in 6 days - more than 2 chapters a day is far too hideous to contemplate. I can proudly say that I understood it... well most of it... some of it anyway. No look, I got the point of it and the general message - a remarkable enough achievement for a pop sci book on theoretical physics. Where Professor Hawking really lost me was with the concept of imaginary time, which he none-too-helpfully describes as being like imaginary numbers (e.g. square root of -1 = i) but with time... nope - I don't get it either and I'm not coming from his baseline "general members of the public" target audience. As I see it, anyway, the only practical implications of this might be that when counting days reading Proust in imaginary time I may actually have beaten Will... a mathematical proof requiring the full attention of the Lucasian Professor in Mathematics I feel - I'll pop next door to Caius and suggest it to him.
My other reading was a joy. I read both Persepolis books yesterday - for the uninitiated an autobiographical graphic novel by the great-granddaughter of the last Shah of Iran. Her parents are Marxist revolutionaries who are engaged in protests against the Islamic regime. The first part, about her childhood, is dreamlike and a joy. The second part, in which she lives in Austria for some time before feeling too out of place in the West and returning home, is a lot more political and still very good. I feel a lot more informed about life in modern-day Iran having read this - but best of all it's very funny and I laughed a lot. There's a movie out now - set to become the desperately cool film to watch over the next few weeks and in keeping with my trendy young don image I'll probably toddle along, but I recommend the book very highly first.
Wednesday 23 April 2008
Out of the Fug
And into the cool light of day. Well, the last volume in any case. Found Fug really hard going, but now things have started to happen again (metaphorically of course) in the final volume I've read nearly 30 pages without once looking to see how far I've got to go.
Oh.
Ah well.
He doesn't really do plot does he? Just has arbitrary things happen at the end of books so he can spend the next one wittering on about the arbitrary thing that happened at the end of the last one. Found the twist about Saint-Loup interesting but not surprising, really, but most damning of all I don't at this stage particularly care for either of them so it didn't have any real emotional impact.
I did however very much like Marcel's misreading of Gilberte's interest in him, which did feel very true to life.
As ever it seems there are little nuggets of brilliance in there somewhere, it's just wading through the rest of it that's the challenge...
Oh.
Ah well.
He doesn't really do plot does he? Just has arbitrary things happen at the end of books so he can spend the next one wittering on about the arbitrary thing that happened at the end of the last one. Found the twist about Saint-Loup interesting but not surprising, really, but most damning of all I don't at this stage particularly care for either of them so it didn't have any real emotional impact.
I did however very much like Marcel's misreading of Gilberte's interest in him, which did feel very true to life.
As ever it seems there are little nuggets of brilliance in there somewhere, it's just wading through the rest of it that's the challenge...
Monday 21 April 2008
Moi Aussi!
Page: n/a
Pages read since last post: 178
Days reading Proust: 150 (16, 64, 29, 16, 7, 4, 14)
Books read since last post: 0
Students' theses and dissertations read since last post: 4
Just quickly to declare my own completion. If M Garrood gets full bonus marks for finishing in the middle of the French countryside outside Paris, then I feel I should at least get half marks for finishing it whilst ill in bed this morning. I'm sure that my malaise has been brought on by the number of students demanding my attention in the past week.
I will post some thoughts on this volume and the novel as a whole at a later date when the dust has settled. For now, it's back to marking dissertations, which, whilst probably written late at night decidedly lack the allure of M Proust's mellifluous prose.
Pages read since last post: 178
Days reading Proust: 150 (16, 64, 29, 16, 7, 4, 14)
Books read since last post: 0
Students' theses and dissertations read since last post: 4
Just quickly to declare my own completion. If M Garrood gets full bonus marks for finishing in the middle of the French countryside outside Paris, then I feel I should at least get half marks for finishing it whilst ill in bed this morning. I'm sure that my malaise has been brought on by the number of students demanding my attention in the past week.
I will post some thoughts on this volume and the novel as a whole at a later date when the dust has settled. For now, it's back to marking dissertations, which, whilst probably written late at night decidedly lack the allure of M Proust's mellifluous prose.
Saturday 19 April 2008
Finis
Page: n/a
Pages read since last post: 770
Days reading Proust: 112 (23,7,44,9,23,3,3)
Books read since last post: 3 (E.Gibbon, Decline and Fall Vol 3, A. Memmi, The colonizer and the colonized, :L.Sciascia, The Day of the Owl)
In brief: I think the whole thing tails off a bit. Cap/Fug is a strangely contrasting book, where we have a long dull section where nothing happens, except that the narrator is a colossal weirdo - which is fair enough. This followed by an absurd plot packed short(er) section in The Fugitive, which are a little silly (Saint Loup, really! Sounds like wish fulfilment to me), and is reminiscent of nothing more than one of the dodgy final scenes in Shakespeare where every character conveniently gets married off within a small pool of other characters.
This all makes Time Regained feel like a coda, and it is, and some of it is excellent. The final turn of the wheel for Charlus degrades him to the figure of pity that one can see growing in previous volumes. Similarly, the fate of many of the protagonists is fascinating. However, as with the earlier inconsistencies, the whole thing doesn't quite work. There is a very rapid passage of time in volume six (by my calculations we cannot be earlier than a notional 1930, and the narrator no younger than his early forties), which is created by a lengthy sanatorium visit by the narrator, and his observations of the turn of the wheel of generations is well observed, but a little too indiscriminate. I know he is odd, but he might have corresponded with some of these people in the intervening period and know what they were doing; equally, while all age, this seems to happen to everyone - none of whom he recognises, but people don't all change that much in (max) 16 years. This overstylisation to my mind marrs the major final scenes, though there is much to treasure.
I'll post more later on major themes, but want to flag my irritation with c. p.200 - 280, where he bangs on about his art. It doesn't belong here, but rather in an academic study. However, I would suggest he models it on Gibbon, whose final volume of his original trilogy confirms them as masterpieces of erudition for their time, but eloquence for today, rather than Memmi's work on Tunisia which has dated horribly and is pretentious leftist intellectual claptrap. Finally, those seeking an antidote to Proust could do much worse than the Day of the Owl, which is short, action packed and powerful. If anything, it could be said to have been overcut, not something we can ever accuse Marcel of.
Pages read since last post: 770
Days reading Proust: 112 (23,7,44,9,23,3,3)
Books read since last post: 3 (E.Gibbon, Decline and Fall Vol 3, A. Memmi, The colonizer and the colonized, :L.Sciascia, The Day of the Owl)
In brief: I think the whole thing tails off a bit. Cap/Fug is a strangely contrasting book, where we have a long dull section where nothing happens, except that the narrator is a colossal weirdo - which is fair enough. This followed by an absurd plot packed short(er) section in The Fugitive, which are a little silly (Saint Loup, really! Sounds like wish fulfilment to me), and is reminiscent of nothing more than one of the dodgy final scenes in Shakespeare where every character conveniently gets married off within a small pool of other characters.
This all makes Time Regained feel like a coda, and it is, and some of it is excellent. The final turn of the wheel for Charlus degrades him to the figure of pity that one can see growing in previous volumes. Similarly, the fate of many of the protagonists is fascinating. However, as with the earlier inconsistencies, the whole thing doesn't quite work. There is a very rapid passage of time in volume six (by my calculations we cannot be earlier than a notional 1930, and the narrator no younger than his early forties), which is created by a lengthy sanatorium visit by the narrator, and his observations of the turn of the wheel of generations is well observed, but a little too indiscriminate. I know he is odd, but he might have corresponded with some of these people in the intervening period and know what they were doing; equally, while all age, this seems to happen to everyone - none of whom he recognises, but people don't all change that much in (max) 16 years. This overstylisation to my mind marrs the major final scenes, though there is much to treasure.
I'll post more later on major themes, but want to flag my irritation with c. p.200 - 280, where he bangs on about his art. It doesn't belong here, but rather in an academic study. However, I would suggest he models it on Gibbon, whose final volume of his original trilogy confirms them as masterpieces of erudition for their time, but eloquence for today, rather than Memmi's work on Tunisia which has dated horribly and is pretentious leftist intellectual claptrap. Finally, those seeking an antidote to Proust could do much worse than the Day of the Owl, which is short, action packed and powerful. If anything, it could be said to have been overcut, not something we can ever accuse Marcel of.
Tuesday 15 April 2008
A Slog
Page: TR 273
Pages read since last post: 61
Days reading Proust: 144 (16, 64, 29, 16, 7, 4, 8*)
Books read since last post: 0
Tough going this one. The first half of the book is interesting - almost like a Proust Comeback Special after a few years away, when we get to catch up with all our favourite characters - think Blues Brothers 2000 (but with less BB King and more Vinteuil). Sadly, I've hit a section that is about as enjoyable as Blues Brothers 2000 was and I'm finding it hard to get going. The revelations on memory and art were quite fun at first and Proust's ideas have weathered very well and been recognised as such in recent years. I have limited interest in literary theory though, so it's all been getting a bit desperate for me over the past few days.
My progress also wasn't helped by my reluctant attendance of a stag weekend in Bournemouth - a sorry little crudhole of a seaside town which hardly passed for Balbec. A very weird stag weekend, I have to say - not only did we not see any cricket whatsoever, but just as we appeared to be about to enter a bookshop, we were instead redirected by the "Best" Man into an establishment a few doors away which appeared to be staffed entirely by young ladies of the scantily clad variety. Some of this band of young girls, I hesitate to suggest, may even have been daughters of Gomorrah and had no shame in indulging acts of this variety in a very public fashion - even adopting an elevated position upon a stage or platform, such that one's eyes were naturally drawn to this debauchery. Our hero would not have been impressed.
Pages read since last post: 61
Days reading Proust: 144 (16, 64, 29, 16, 7, 4, 8*)
Books read since last post: 0
Tough going this one. The first half of the book is interesting - almost like a Proust Comeback Special after a few years away, when we get to catch up with all our favourite characters - think Blues Brothers 2000 (but with less BB King and more Vinteuil). Sadly, I've hit a section that is about as enjoyable as Blues Brothers 2000 was and I'm finding it hard to get going. The revelations on memory and art were quite fun at first and Proust's ideas have weathered very well and been recognised as such in recent years. I have limited interest in literary theory though, so it's all been getting a bit desperate for me over the past few days.
My progress also wasn't helped by my reluctant attendance of a stag weekend in Bournemouth - a sorry little crudhole of a seaside town which hardly passed for Balbec. A very weird stag weekend, I have to say - not only did we not see any cricket whatsoever, but just as we appeared to be about to enter a bookshop, we were instead redirected by the "Best" Man into an establishment a few doors away which appeared to be staffed entirely by young ladies of the scantily clad variety. Some of this band of young girls, I hesitate to suggest, may even have been daughters of Gomorrah and had no shame in indulging acts of this variety in a very public fashion - even adopting an elevated position upon a stage or platform, such that one's eyes were naturally drawn to this debauchery. Our hero would not have been impressed.
Thursday 10 April 2008
En vacances
Page: 473
Pages read since last post: 416
Days reading Proust: 106 (23,7,44,9,23)
Books read since last post: 2
F. Herbert, Heretics of Dune; Chapter House Dune
I have finished the Captive and have to confess to being a little underwhelmed. The only really excellent section was the thankfully long soiree at the Verdurins, which I liked very much, but broadly I think it fails as an anatomisation of jealousy etc etc. Alsso, it reqlly suffers from the obvious inconsistencies, mostly around deaths, some of which are then contrdicted in the same scene. There is quite a bit of that around Cottard and Saniete especially and it detracts. Nonetheless, much still of value and good fun, but beginning to fray around the edges.
Not as much as Dune though, which after a faint rally in book 5, is rubbish in 6, though both passed the time, and I am one Sextet down now. I'm taking a breather tonight to read Albert Memmi's account of colonial Tunisia as I also leave the country, then kicking onto Fug. I'm tempted to delay TR so that I can complete it in a Paris cafe on Saturday week.
Pages read since last post: 416
Days reading Proust: 106 (23,7,44,9,23)
Books read since last post: 2
F. Herbert, Heretics of Dune; Chapter House Dune
I have finished the Captive and have to confess to being a little underwhelmed. The only really excellent section was the thankfully long soiree at the Verdurins, which I liked very much, but broadly I think it fails as an anatomisation of jealousy etc etc. Alsso, it reqlly suffers from the obvious inconsistencies, mostly around deaths, some of which are then contrdicted in the same scene. There is quite a bit of that around Cottard and Saniete especially and it detracts. Nonetheless, much still of value and good fun, but beginning to fray around the edges.
Not as much as Dune though, which after a faint rally in book 5, is rubbish in 6, though both passed the time, and I am one Sextet down now. I'm taking a breather tonight to read Albert Memmi's account of colonial Tunisia as I also leave the country, then kicking onto Fug. I'm tempted to delay TR so that I can complete it in a Paris cafe on Saturday week.
Dark Times
Page: TR 212
Pages read since last post: 212
Days reading Proust: 140 (16, 64, 29, 16, 7, 4, 4*)
Books read since last post: 0
Completely different feel to this volume. We catch up with Marcel some years later, with him having spent time convalescing between the end of Fug and the start of this one. Thankfully he has spared us the details of the interim period. Europe has been plunged into war and for the increasingly irrelevant aristocracy these are dark times, with allegiances not always so easy to determine. Gilberte and Saint-Loup are less-than-happily married now, and the narrator's friend is not all he once was battling with personal troubles and an awareness of his own mortality. When he meets with an untimely end on the Front, Marcel treats us to a heartwarming tribute to the friend he had grown apart from in recent times. "This man who throughout his life, even when sitting down, even when walking across a drawing-room, had seemed to be restraining an impulse to charge, while with a smile he dissembled the indomitable will which dwelt within his triangular head, at last had charged".
As the wartime horrors dissolve into yet another period of convalescence, we have a break of a few years before Marcel returns to Paris. Cue further deteriorations in many of the main characters: the narrator himself of course, the Verdurins, Charlus in particular and even Francois is less than her usual sturdy self now. Marcel, in seriously poor health, is currently agonising about his perceived literary failings. As the lines between fiction and autobiography become increasingly blurred perhaps there is still time left for one last great revelation. .
Pages read since last post: 212
Days reading Proust: 140 (16, 64, 29, 16, 7, 4, 4*)
Books read since last post: 0
Completely different feel to this volume. We catch up with Marcel some years later, with him having spent time convalescing between the end of Fug and the start of this one. Thankfully he has spared us the details of the interim period. Europe has been plunged into war and for the increasingly irrelevant aristocracy these are dark times, with allegiances not always so easy to determine. Gilberte and Saint-Loup are less-than-happily married now, and the narrator's friend is not all he once was battling with personal troubles and an awareness of his own mortality. When he meets with an untimely end on the Front, Marcel treats us to a heartwarming tribute to the friend he had grown apart from in recent times. "This man who throughout his life, even when sitting down, even when walking across a drawing-room, had seemed to be restraining an impulse to charge, while with a smile he dissembled the indomitable will which dwelt within his triangular head, at last had charged".
As the wartime horrors dissolve into yet another period of convalescence, we have a break of a few years before Marcel returns to Paris. Cue further deteriorations in many of the main characters: the narrator himself of course, the Verdurins, Charlus in particular and even Francois is less than her usual sturdy self now. Marcel, in seriously poor health, is currently agonising about his perceived literary failings. As the lines between fiction and autobiography become increasingly blurred perhaps there is still time left for one last great revelation. .
Sunday 6 April 2008
Ah, sweet release!
Page: 0 (nominal)
Pages read since last post: 479
Days reading Proust: 136 (16, 64, 29, 16, 7, 4)
Lawns mown: 1
Welsh teams in the FA Cup Final: 1 (1st time since 1927)
Books read since last post: 2
Henry David Thoreau, Civil Disobedience
Justin Cartwright, This Secret Garden: Oxford Revisited
Well, that's just reading for you isn't it? When it's going badly you'd rather do anything but pick up a book, when it's going well you almost can't concentrate on anything else - I even find myself getting off the bus one or two stops later than I normally would just to give myself an extra ten minutes at it.
So it has been with Cap/Fug - by the far the best volume of the novel so far (for me at least). In fact, it is so good, so beautifully constructed, so deliciously peppered with twists and turns, so fantastically well-scripted that I can't bring myself to discuss it in detail here because, a) I will simply not do it justice and b) I will spoil it for those of you who are (hopefully) enjoying it every bit as much as I did. Needless to say, my first Proust revelation, back in volume 1, that he is actually very funny, has been matched by revelation number 2, that his capacity to surprise you is every bit as spendid. There aren't many novels where the line "questions asked fifteen hundred pages earlier finally have their disconsolate answer" might legitimately be used in the liner notes. Not only is this true, and brilliantly so, but so many of the little details and minor characters of previous volumes are reintroduced here as significant - bonus smug marks for Proustanauts who remember the original references, you will probably surprise yourself with how much you can recollect. And there lies that familiar and well-documented regret, that like all great works of art, you'll never again experience it for the first time.
Well it all comes down to this then. 450 pages to go and we are tentatively promised an apocalyptic conclusion - though I'm less inclined to predict this than I was the Grand National result. I'm going to get straight on with Time Regained without a break - frankly, if it's half as good as the last 300 pages have been then I'll be done with it by the end of the week. I can't wait to finish it, but you know what? I'm going to miss the bloody thing when I'm done. The joys of a good book, eh?
Briefly - Civil Disobedience, good and short - one non-stop rant on the failings of democracy. Can't think of any Proustanauts this would appeal to. This Secret Garden - don't bother. Jan Morris' Oxford is far better and a great deal less self-indulgent.
Pages read since last post: 479
Days reading Proust: 136 (16, 64, 29, 16, 7, 4)
Lawns mown: 1
Welsh teams in the FA Cup Final: 1 (1st time since 1927)
Books read since last post: 2
Henry David Thoreau, Civil Disobedience
Justin Cartwright, This Secret Garden: Oxford Revisited
Well, that's just reading for you isn't it? When it's going badly you'd rather do anything but pick up a book, when it's going well you almost can't concentrate on anything else - I even find myself getting off the bus one or two stops later than I normally would just to give myself an extra ten minutes at it.
So it has been with Cap/Fug - by the far the best volume of the novel so far (for me at least). In fact, it is so good, so beautifully constructed, so deliciously peppered with twists and turns, so fantastically well-scripted that I can't bring myself to discuss it in detail here because, a) I will simply not do it justice and b) I will spoil it for those of you who are (hopefully) enjoying it every bit as much as I did. Needless to say, my first Proust revelation, back in volume 1, that he is actually very funny, has been matched by revelation number 2, that his capacity to surprise you is every bit as spendid. There aren't many novels where the line "questions asked fifteen hundred pages earlier finally have their disconsolate answer" might legitimately be used in the liner notes. Not only is this true, and brilliantly so, but so many of the little details and minor characters of previous volumes are reintroduced here as significant - bonus smug marks for Proustanauts who remember the original references, you will probably surprise yourself with how much you can recollect. And there lies that familiar and well-documented regret, that like all great works of art, you'll never again experience it for the first time.
Well it all comes down to this then. 450 pages to go and we are tentatively promised an apocalyptic conclusion - though I'm less inclined to predict this than I was the Grand National result. I'm going to get straight on with Time Regained without a break - frankly, if it's half as good as the last 300 pages have been then I'll be done with it by the end of the week. I can't wait to finish it, but you know what? I'm going to miss the bloody thing when I'm done. The joys of a good book, eh?
Briefly - Civil Disobedience, good and short - one non-stop rant on the failings of democracy. Can't think of any Proustanauts this would appeal to. This Secret Garden - don't bother. Jan Morris' Oxford is far better and a great deal less self-indulgent.
Friday 4 April 2008
Cheating
Page: 57
Pages read since last post: 57
Days reading Proust: 97 (23,7,44,9,14*)
Number of 6 book cycles I am attempting to finish on holiday: 3
Books read since last post: 6
G. Durrell, How to shoot an amateur naturist
P.Grimbert, Secret
F. Herbert, Dune; Dune Messiah; Children of Dune; God Emperor of Dune
As you can tell, I have in effect given up on Proust and instead have read most of Dune. I have to confess to finding The Captive a little dull in execution, but I suspect I need a prolonged slog at it to rectify that. Of other reading, Secret is excellent (and short), whereas Dune is obviously long and patchy. While the first book is excellent, I now remember why I never got beyond book 4 before. Mark you, that does not appear to have stopped people banging on about its profundity. For fun though, I would recommend the wikipedia entry on the subject. What particularly irritates me about these is where science fiction critics start claiming historiographical background for their work and stress the parallels between Gibbon's Decline and Fall and various works. This parallelism seems to extend to, er, having an Empire, and it falling.
Anyway, I am taking the last two Dune books, the last two Proust volumes and the last Gibbon with me on holiday tomorrow. I aim to complete them on the various train journeys we have.
Back in a fortnight.
Pages read since last post: 57
Days reading Proust: 97 (23,7,44,9,14*)
Number of 6 book cycles I am attempting to finish on holiday: 3
Books read since last post: 6
G. Durrell, How to shoot an amateur naturist
P.Grimbert, Secret
F. Herbert, Dune; Dune Messiah; Children of Dune; God Emperor of Dune
As you can tell, I have in effect given up on Proust and instead have read most of Dune. I have to confess to finding The Captive a little dull in execution, but I suspect I need a prolonged slog at it to rectify that. Of other reading, Secret is excellent (and short), whereas Dune is obviously long and patchy. While the first book is excellent, I now remember why I never got beyond book 4 before. Mark you, that does not appear to have stopped people banging on about its profundity. For fun though, I would recommend the wikipedia entry on the subject. What particularly irritates me about these is where science fiction critics start claiming historiographical background for their work and stress the parallels between Gibbon's Decline and Fall and various works. This parallelism seems to extend to, er, having an Empire, and it falling.
Anyway, I am taking the last two Dune books, the last two Proust volumes and the last Gibbon with me on holiday tomorrow. I aim to complete them on the various train journeys we have.
Back in a fortnight.
Tuesday 1 April 2008
Unputdownable
And whether that's a word or not it's not one that I thought I would be using about this particular book.
Like M Murray I am a little confused as to why it is so gripping. There are certainly more instances of the narrator saying things like 'as we shall see' and 'as will become clear': it feels like he is bracing for a complete meltdown at some point in the near future.
Also there's the fact that he is named as Marcel for the first time and so there is now a genuine confusion of writer and narrator, the novel informed by but not necessarily a representation of real life. Er, I think I might have just disappeared in a bubble of my own pretension.
But there is also the continuing saga of Charlus and the somewhat gratifying thought that Albertine might actually be having some fun whilst she's in Paris, albeit entirely off-page, and understandably without MP in tow.
Hoping to be off Cap by the weekend and into Fug by early next week. Foolishly we're going to the Grand National at the weekend and even more foolishly we're driving so no reading time for me on Saturday. How dashed inconvenient.
Pip pip!
Like M Murray I am a little confused as to why it is so gripping. There are certainly more instances of the narrator saying things like 'as we shall see' and 'as will become clear': it feels like he is bracing for a complete meltdown at some point in the near future.
Also there's the fact that he is named as Marcel for the first time and so there is now a genuine confusion of writer and narrator, the novel informed by but not necessarily a representation of real life. Er, I think I might have just disappeared in a bubble of my own pretension.
But there is also the continuing saga of Charlus and the somewhat gratifying thought that Albertine might actually be having some fun whilst she's in Paris, albeit entirely off-page, and understandably without MP in tow.
Hoping to be off Cap by the weekend and into Fug by early next week. Foolishly we're going to the Grand National at the weekend and even more foolishly we're driving so no reading time for me on Saturday. How dashed inconvenient.
Pip pip!
Wednesday 26 March 2008
Captivated (of sorts)
Page: 314
Pages read since last post: 314
Days reading Proust: 130 (16, 64, 29, 16, 5*)
Books read since last post: 2
Graham Swift, Last Orders
Jean-Dominique Bauby, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
I'm making sterling progress through this one, though I'm at a bit of a loss to explain why. Even by Proust's lofty standards this has been a remarkably uneventful volume. Actually, that's not strictly true, there have been several events of note e.g. Swann's death, Bergotte's death, Cottard's death (and mysterious resurrection due to poor editing), yet all are covered with uncharacteristic brevity. The majority of the 300 pages I've read so far have been occupied with general moping about Albertine's lesbianic tendencies or otherwise... with scant evidence to support this hypothesis. Still, as ever the language is a delight and having left just one week between volumes I seem to be riding "The Big Mo" a la Senator Obama. I intend to capitalise on this and press on through Fug with equal endeavour.
Pages read since last post: 314
Days reading Proust: 130 (16, 64, 29, 16, 5*)
Books read since last post: 2
Graham Swift, Last Orders
Jean-Dominique Bauby, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
I'm making sterling progress through this one, though I'm at a bit of a loss to explain why. Even by Proust's lofty standards this has been a remarkably uneventful volume. Actually, that's not strictly true, there have been several events of note e.g. Swann's death, Bergotte's death, Cottard's death (and mysterious resurrection due to poor editing), yet all are covered with uncharacteristic brevity. The majority of the 300 pages I've read so far have been occupied with general moping about Albertine's lesbianic tendencies or otherwise... with scant evidence to support this hypothesis. Still, as ever the language is a delight and having left just one week between volumes I seem to be riding "The Big Mo" a la Senator Obama. I intend to capitalise on this and press on through Fug with equal endeavour.
Briefly, Last Orders - excellent, and a worthy Booker winner (1996). Better than the enjoyable movie adaptation. TDBATB - OK... not especially profound, but short and certainly the best nictitated book I have ever read.
Friday 21 March 2008
The run in
Page: n/a
Pages read since last post: 0
Days reading Proust: 83 (23,7,44,9)
Books read since last post: 4
Career moves made: 1 (though it won't take effect until June)
P.Rose, A Year of Reading Proust
R. Chandler, The Big Sleep
G.H. Hardy, A Mathematician's apology
I.McEwan, On Chesil Beach
Having had a rather good break, for which the standout was Hardy, I am embarking on Cap/Fug over Easter with the intention of running through both it and Time Regained as one. I think we are now ready for a final free for all and suggest that we all run to our own timetables.
Best of luck.
Pages read since last post: 0
Days reading Proust: 83 (23,7,44,9)
Books read since last post: 4
Career moves made: 1 (though it won't take effect until June)
P.Rose, A Year of Reading Proust
R. Chandler, The Big Sleep
G.H. Hardy, A Mathematician's apology
I.McEwan, On Chesil Beach
Having had a rather good break, for which the standout was Hardy, I am embarking on Cap/Fug over Easter with the intention of running through both it and Time Regained as one. I think we are now ready for a final free for all and suggest that we all run to our own timetables.
Best of luck.
Monday 17 March 2008
Carry On Marcel!
Days Reading Proust: 125 (16, 64, 29, 16)
Page: Finishes S&G
Pages Read Since Last Post: 406
Books Read Since Last Post: 0
Grant Proposals Written Since Last Post: 2 (totalling £17K)
Not much to add to previous comments. It was tremendous fun this one - probably my favourite volume so far (as reflected in a higher page-per-day count than any other). Charlus is clearly a brilliant comic creation, particularly when plumbing the depths of high-campery. The descent of the humour to Kenneth Williams-esque levels could have been irritating, but in fact only added to my general enjoyment of the book, and constantly reminded me of what a thoroughly modern novel this is.
The narrator is obviously being ridiculous in messing Albertine around... although it pains me somewhat, as I see rather too much of myself in him. The Verdurins have re-emerged as, oddly enough, some of the more likeable characters for me, and I've enjoyed re-visiting Balbec immensely. A few mysteries remain - firstly, what is happening with Saint-Loup and his purported upcoming marriage?... something fishy going on (actually I'm being a little disingenuous here as I am already aware of two major upcoming plot twists involving Saint-Loup, although whether either of these are related to current happenings I cannot say). Secondly, is Swann dead yet? It's been alluded to on 3 occasions, but I'm not sure if this is the narrator writing this with hindsight, or Marcel's reluctance to pen another death scene at this stage. In any case, he shall be missed.
So, onwards. I am in favour of a very short break - long enough to knock off a shortish Booker winner. I'm aiming to have read a decent number of older Bookers prior to this year's Booker of Booker vote. Currently halfway through Graham Swift's 1996 winner Last Orders, and enjoying it very much. I saw the film a few years ago - a Michael Caine/Ray Winstone/Bob Hoskins vehicle, and a good effort although the book is better. Quick straw poll of Proustanauts - who should and who will win the prize? Also, what has been the best movie adaptation of a Booker winner?
I'm spending the Easter weekend in the North. I have been generously given the option of wedding planning with my brother and soon-to-be-sister-in-law, so I instead plan to make a good impression on my copy of Cap/Fug. Who knows, given the cliffhanger of a closing statement at the end of this last volume I may be able to put it down as research.
Page: Finishes S&G
Pages Read Since Last Post: 406
Books Read Since Last Post: 0
Grant Proposals Written Since Last Post: 2 (totalling £17K)
Not much to add to previous comments. It was tremendous fun this one - probably my favourite volume so far (as reflected in a higher page-per-day count than any other). Charlus is clearly a brilliant comic creation, particularly when plumbing the depths of high-campery. The descent of the humour to Kenneth Williams-esque levels could have been irritating, but in fact only added to my general enjoyment of the book, and constantly reminded me of what a thoroughly modern novel this is.
The narrator is obviously being ridiculous in messing Albertine around... although it pains me somewhat, as I see rather too much of myself in him. The Verdurins have re-emerged as, oddly enough, some of the more likeable characters for me, and I've enjoyed re-visiting Balbec immensely. A few mysteries remain - firstly, what is happening with Saint-Loup and his purported upcoming marriage?... something fishy going on (actually I'm being a little disingenuous here as I am already aware of two major upcoming plot twists involving Saint-Loup, although whether either of these are related to current happenings I cannot say). Secondly, is Swann dead yet? It's been alluded to on 3 occasions, but I'm not sure if this is the narrator writing this with hindsight, or Marcel's reluctance to pen another death scene at this stage. In any case, he shall be missed.
So, onwards. I am in favour of a very short break - long enough to knock off a shortish Booker winner. I'm aiming to have read a decent number of older Bookers prior to this year's Booker of Booker vote. Currently halfway through Graham Swift's 1996 winner Last Orders, and enjoying it very much. I saw the film a few years ago - a Michael Caine/Ray Winstone/Bob Hoskins vehicle, and a good effort although the book is better. Quick straw poll of Proustanauts - who should and who will win the prize? Also, what has been the best movie adaptation of a Booker winner?
I'm spending the Easter weekend in the North. I have been generously given the option of wedding planning with my brother and soon-to-be-sister-in-law, so I instead plan to make a good impression on my copy of Cap/Fug. Who knows, given the cliffhanger of a closing statement at the end of this last volume I may be able to put it down as research.
Tuesday 11 March 2008
Indecision
Page: 615 (ish. I've finished, but am not with the book)
Pages read since last post: 335 (also ish)
Days reading Proust: 83 (23,7,44,9)
Books read since last post: 1 (MacMillan, Seize the hour: When Nixon met Mao)
Weeks spent agonising about jobs: 2 (to date)
This was rather good fun. The genuine emergence of a discernable plot, though of course not the critical purpose of this novel, is a great help to those of us with a more literal mindset than Marcel. It's not perfect though - the opening section is tedious - and some elements are irritating, especially the end with the frankly blameless Albertine being buggered around with the narrator's silly posturing (not sure if these are perfectly chosen words).
Still, the meat of the novel is excellent, with the return of the Verdurins and the author's chief comic of the last volume - Charlus - being brought for a more extended turn and reduced to a somewhat more pathetic level. The really fascinating element of the work is however inaccessible to us. The Sodomy of the title is far less shocking to us that it would have been to our parents let alone the readership of the '20s and the force and power of the narrative Proust is trying to convey is thus often either mundane or comic, when one has the feeling that it wasn't to many of the authorship. I'm not sure this would be true of the whole audience and suspect that many of Proust's circle might have been closer to us than we think, but it is a dimension missing nonetheless.
MacMillan's book misses a dimension too and lacks both grit and tension. The relationship between China and America and their clashes in the late twentieth century is enduringly interesting and very relevant. Their ideologies, themselves internally conflicted and opposed make the subject a complex one. This book does not do it justice, and we have instead decent enough portraits of the main protagonists with context shoe horned in. The result is a bit of a mess. A shame, her Peacemakers was one of my favourite politics books of recent times and is far superior.
More than ever before, I am keen to move onto the next. I think that the programme of official start dates has now collapsed given variations in pace. I suggest we that we now simply record days from the reading of the first sentence of a novel to the last.
I am not sure about start times for The Captive. Both Easter weekend and my holiday on the 5th April are possible start dates. Either way, I should have decided about my next job by then, but no promises.
Pages read since last post: 335 (also ish)
Days reading Proust: 83 (23,7,44,9)
Books read since last post: 1 (MacMillan, Seize the hour: When Nixon met Mao)
Weeks spent agonising about jobs: 2 (to date)
This was rather good fun. The genuine emergence of a discernable plot, though of course not the critical purpose of this novel, is a great help to those of us with a more literal mindset than Marcel. It's not perfect though - the opening section is tedious - and some elements are irritating, especially the end with the frankly blameless Albertine being buggered around with the narrator's silly posturing (not sure if these are perfectly chosen words).
Still, the meat of the novel is excellent, with the return of the Verdurins and the author's chief comic of the last volume - Charlus - being brought for a more extended turn and reduced to a somewhat more pathetic level. The really fascinating element of the work is however inaccessible to us. The Sodomy of the title is far less shocking to us that it would have been to our parents let alone the readership of the '20s and the force and power of the narrative Proust is trying to convey is thus often either mundane or comic, when one has the feeling that it wasn't to many of the authorship. I'm not sure this would be true of the whole audience and suspect that many of Proust's circle might have been closer to us than we think, but it is a dimension missing nonetheless.
MacMillan's book misses a dimension too and lacks both grit and tension. The relationship between China and America and their clashes in the late twentieth century is enduringly interesting and very relevant. Their ideologies, themselves internally conflicted and opposed make the subject a complex one. This book does not do it justice, and we have instead decent enough portraits of the main protagonists with context shoe horned in. The result is a bit of a mess. A shame, her Peacemakers was one of my favourite politics books of recent times and is far superior.
More than ever before, I am keen to move onto the next. I think that the programme of official start dates has now collapsed given variations in pace. I suggest we that we now simply record days from the reading of the first sentence of a novel to the last.
I am not sure about start times for The Captive. Both Easter weekend and my holiday on the 5th April are possible start dates. Either way, I should have decided about my next job by then, but no promises.
Friday 7 March 2008
On Schedule
Days Reading Proust: 116 (16, 64, 29, 7*)
Page: 209 S&G
Pages Read Since Last Post: 209
Books Read Since Last Post: Finished Eating for England, Nigel Slater
I've set myself the target of getting through this one in 3 weeks, aiming to hit Cap/Fug straight after Easter. So far then I'm bang on schedule, being one third of the way in, and have also managed to finish off the last 200 pages of Nigel Slater's delightful little book in the past week. Whilst being someway off Will's storming performance (update?) I'm rather pleased with this progress.
I'm becoming increasingly sceptical of the benefits of Proust breaks now. Certainly if you take my overall performance c.f. M. Garrood's, you will notice that the most electric start with each volume has been made by the person who most recently finished the previous one. My strong performances on Swann's Way and The Guermantes Way being trumped by Will's powerful starts on WABG and S&G. Someone can do some statistics on this, but I put it down to technique. The person who was most recently in a Proustian mindset appears able to pick it up faster upon restart each time - I definitely felt this way at New Year, having left just two days between volumes 2 and 3. Note too, how Elliot motored straight through the first 4 volumes with minimal faffdom, thus embarrassing us all on the leader board. This further suggests that Alexis will now struggle to pick it up again. RIP.
In conclusion, fellow Proustanauts, I am proposing an early restart on Easter weekend. We can break our Lenten fasts with a quick blast through the first 100 pages of Cap/Fug. What sayest thou?
In other news - on my expedition to Heffer's yesterday I saw on their display table a book entitled Proust and the Squid. A quick flick through revealed that it was in fact a popular science book on the psychology of reading, with minimal allegorical reference either to our mustachioed hero or indeed any species of marine cephalopod that he might have encountered on a trip to Balbec. A cunning marketing ploy to sell books to Proustanauts and marine biologists perhaps - two markets I had hitherto considered insignificant and mutually exclusive. Perhaps this further vindicates my decision not to choose a career in publishing.
Page: 209 S&G
Pages Read Since Last Post: 209
Books Read Since Last Post: Finished Eating for England, Nigel Slater
I've set myself the target of getting through this one in 3 weeks, aiming to hit Cap/Fug straight after Easter. So far then I'm bang on schedule, being one third of the way in, and have also managed to finish off the last 200 pages of Nigel Slater's delightful little book in the past week. Whilst being someway off Will's storming performance (update?) I'm rather pleased with this progress.
I'm becoming increasingly sceptical of the benefits of Proust breaks now. Certainly if you take my overall performance c.f. M. Garrood's, you will notice that the most electric start with each volume has been made by the person who most recently finished the previous one. My strong performances on Swann's Way and The Guermantes Way being trumped by Will's powerful starts on WABG and S&G. Someone can do some statistics on this, but I put it down to technique. The person who was most recently in a Proustian mindset appears able to pick it up faster upon restart each time - I definitely felt this way at New Year, having left just two days between volumes 2 and 3. Note too, how Elliot motored straight through the first 4 volumes with minimal faffdom, thus embarrassing us all on the leader board. This further suggests that Alexis will now struggle to pick it up again. RIP.
In conclusion, fellow Proustanauts, I am proposing an early restart on Easter weekend. We can break our Lenten fasts with a quick blast through the first 100 pages of Cap/Fug. What sayest thou?
In other news - on my expedition to Heffer's yesterday I saw on their display table a book entitled Proust and the Squid. A quick flick through revealed that it was in fact a popular science book on the psychology of reading, with minimal allegorical reference either to our mustachioed hero or indeed any species of marine cephalopod that he might have encountered on a trip to Balbec. A cunning marketing ploy to sell books to Proustanauts and marine biologists perhaps - two markets I had hitherto considered insignificant and mutually exclusive. Perhaps this further vindicates my decision not to choose a career in publishing.
Monday 3 March 2008
In haste
Page; 279
Pages read since last post: 279
Books read since last post: 0
I finished Thubron (still good, though the earlier sections are best) on Friday and moved swiftly on to Proust. I must confess to finding this all quite fun and it looks like we discern (1,800 pages in) a plot. That said, the opening meditation is overly dense and complex, and boring by the end.
However, the most pretentious part of the book comes on the back cover, where the publisher states "The question 'does Albertine desire women rather than men?' is here treated as a philosophical topic of inexhaustible complexity.'" It's neither.
And, in my copy anyway, we appear to have lost the handsome coloured inner jacket notes. A sadness.
Pages read since last post: 279
Books read since last post: 0
I finished Thubron (still good, though the earlier sections are best) on Friday and moved swiftly on to Proust. I must confess to finding this all quite fun and it looks like we discern (1,800 pages in) a plot. That said, the opening meditation is overly dense and complex, and boring by the end.
However, the most pretentious part of the book comes on the back cover, where the publisher states "The question 'does Albertine desire women rather than men?' is here treated as a philosophical topic of inexhaustible complexity.'" It's neither.
And, in my copy anyway, we appear to have lost the handsome coloured inner jacket notes. A sadness.
Friday 29 February 2008
Miscalculation
Books read since last post: 6 (almost)
Dee Brown, Bury my heart at Wounded Knee
Nick Cohen, What's Left?
J.M. Coetzee, The Life and times of Michael K
H. Hesse, Siddhartha
P. Leigh Fermor, The violins of St Jacques
C. Thubron, The Shadow of the Silk Road
Unlike Andrew, I am not missing Marcel and could so with a somewhat longer Proust break. In particular I could do with reading a cluster of books about China I have acquired. But in any case, I had intended to be hitting the S&G road by now, but am still stuck in Iran with Mr Thubron. The book is excellent (much better than In Siberia), but is taking a little longer to read than I had anticipated when I picked it up on Tuesday. Still, we travel to Liverpool tonight which should give me time to polish it off.
In other reading, Siddhartha was predictably a bit rubbish and Coetzee brilliant (I would recommend this book of his many times over). The others contained flaws: Leigh Fermor let down by a silly end, Cohen by sloppy logic, and Brown - the best of the three - couldn't quite make up its mind if it was a lament or a history - nonetheless should be read.
Sodom tonight.
Dee Brown, Bury my heart at Wounded Knee
Nick Cohen, What's Left?
J.M. Coetzee, The Life and times of Michael K
H. Hesse, Siddhartha
P. Leigh Fermor, The violins of St Jacques
C. Thubron, The Shadow of the Silk Road
Unlike Andrew, I am not missing Marcel and could so with a somewhat longer Proust break. In particular I could do with reading a cluster of books about China I have acquired. But in any case, I had intended to be hitting the S&G road by now, but am still stuck in Iran with Mr Thubron. The book is excellent (much better than In Siberia), but is taking a little longer to read than I had anticipated when I picked it up on Tuesday. Still, we travel to Liverpool tonight which should give me time to polish it off.
In other reading, Siddhartha was predictably a bit rubbish and Coetzee brilliant (I would recommend this book of his many times over). The others contained flaws: Leigh Fermor let down by a silly end, Cohen by sloppy logic, and Brown - the best of the three - couldn't quite make up its mind if it was a lament or a history - nonetheless should be read.
Sodom tonight.
Thursday 28 February 2008
Sodom Eve (or Gomorrah Tomorrah)
Days Reading Proust: 109 (16, 64, 29)
Page: 1 S&G (nominal)
Pages Read Since Last Post: 0
Books Read Since Last Post: 8 and a bit
The Emigrants, W. G. Sebald;
The Genie in the Bottle, Hugh Montgomery;
Kiss in the Hotel Joseph Conrad and Other Stories, Howard Norman;
Atomised, Michele Houllebecq;
The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho;
Death and the Penguin, Andrei Kurkov;
Here is New York, E.B.White;
No Country for Old Men, Cormac McCarthy;
some of Eating for England, Nigel Slater
April may (officially) be the cruellest month, but February has been my first Proust-free month since we started this venture, and I tell you what, I'm missing the old bugger.
I have, nevertheless, had a productive month reading-wise, albeit with no consistency in quality. The low-point of the month with the wishy-washy, pseudo-mystic, badly written tripe that was The Alchemist. This book has sold > 60 million copies worldwide, which suggests that it might even be more widely read than Proust... heaven forbid! Atomised wasn't much better - the first 100 pages grabbed my attention, but the novelty of literary porn soon wore off when I realised that Houllebecq didn't have the first clue about science and was waffling like an undergraduate who hasn't done the reading.
The Emigrants was an enjoyable, semi-factual set of stories about displacement, which neatly tie together in the last section. I will read more Sebald. The other book of short stories I read this month: Kiss in the Hotel Joseph Conrad was a purchase of a few years back from a secondhand bookshop, largely on strength of its title (although it turned out to have nothing to do with Gene Simmons and his popular music outfit). It was OK, nothing special, couple of nice stories but none of them especially profound. The title remains the best thing about it.
No Country for Old Men, which I finished last night, was gripping and at times horrifically so. Sadly it was let down by a weak ending, and I'm still not sure about the author's use of narrative breaks during key events to relate the outcome through character's experience of the aftermath - maybe genius, maybe just confusing. I like McCarthy, as readers of earlier posts will note. The Road was excellent and I plan to read the rest of his oeuvre, but I do wish he'd use punctuation - we have it for a reason. Death and the Penguin was also good fun. Relentlessly black humour and, to this date, the only book I have ever read which juxtaposes the Ukranian mafia with Antarctic birdlife.
The real highlight of the month was E.B. (Charlotte's Web) White's short essay, Here is New York. I bought it from a stall outside the Met on my first visit there in 2002, promptly shelved it and forgot about it until I sorted out my books after moving in December. It is nostalgic and overly sentimental, and as such is a complete delight. It takes no more than about 20 minutes to read and copies should be handed out to everyone waiting in those tedious lines to have their passport inspected at JFK. Like any great travel writing, it is very much of its time and is largely out of date by the time it enters the canon. White tells us of people giving that once popular suicide spot the Empire State Building a wide berth because of falling bodies, brass bands in Central Park being accompanied by the horn of the Queen Mary, smokestacks in the Bowery and the plans for building the UN that were to turn NY into the capital of the world. There were more glorious images and glimpses of the recent past in this book than nearly all the others I have read this month put together.
By contrast, The Genie in the Bottle, was a bleak look at our near future. The book, which is a key part of Project Genie, is intended to educate schoolkids about global warming, and the author, a friend and research collaborator of mine, wants to give every child in the UK aged 7-11 a free copy. This is important stuff - spread the word!
Still, my one and only Proust reference of the month came from Eating for England, where Nige points out the differences between the petite French madeleine "delicately ridged like a scallop shell" and the English madeleine "a dumpy castle made out of sponge, doused in raspberry jam and sprinkled with dessicated coconut [which] then gets a cherry on top, and if it's really lucky, wings of livid green angelica." He concludes, "It's a case of Proust versus Billy Bunter".
So, tomorrow we start again. The novelty of being halfway through has worn off and I'm itching to restart. We have, optimistically, been considering possible future projects, including Anthony Powell's 12 volume Dance to the Music of Time. We may, of course, be getting ahead of ourselves here - I had a crisis with volume 2, Will struggled a little to start volume 3 and former-Proustanaut Alexis seems to have given up reading altogether. Only Elliot has progressed unhindered and has already finished S&G to boot - contracting pneumonia must surely constitute cheating. Robert Proust, who edited the final 3 volumes after his brother's death, certainly saw it as an advantage, "The sad thing is that people have to be very ill or have a broken leg in order to have the opportunity to read In Search of Lost Time." Do I feel a cold coming on?
Page: 1 S&G (nominal)
Pages Read Since Last Post: 0
Books Read Since Last Post: 8 and a bit
The Emigrants, W. G. Sebald;
The Genie in the Bottle, Hugh Montgomery;
Kiss in the Hotel Joseph Conrad and Other Stories, Howard Norman;
Atomised, Michele Houllebecq;
The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho;
Death and the Penguin, Andrei Kurkov;
Here is New York, E.B.White;
No Country for Old Men, Cormac McCarthy;
some of Eating for England, Nigel Slater
April may (officially) be the cruellest month, but February has been my first Proust-free month since we started this venture, and I tell you what, I'm missing the old bugger.
I have, nevertheless, had a productive month reading-wise, albeit with no consistency in quality. The low-point of the month with the wishy-washy, pseudo-mystic, badly written tripe that was The Alchemist. This book has sold > 60 million copies worldwide, which suggests that it might even be more widely read than Proust... heaven forbid! Atomised wasn't much better - the first 100 pages grabbed my attention, but the novelty of literary porn soon wore off when I realised that Houllebecq didn't have the first clue about science and was waffling like an undergraduate who hasn't done the reading.
The Emigrants was an enjoyable, semi-factual set of stories about displacement, which neatly tie together in the last section. I will read more Sebald. The other book of short stories I read this month: Kiss in the Hotel Joseph Conrad was a purchase of a few years back from a secondhand bookshop, largely on strength of its title (although it turned out to have nothing to do with Gene Simmons and his popular music outfit). It was OK, nothing special, couple of nice stories but none of them especially profound. The title remains the best thing about it.
No Country for Old Men, which I finished last night, was gripping and at times horrifically so. Sadly it was let down by a weak ending, and I'm still not sure about the author's use of narrative breaks during key events to relate the outcome through character's experience of the aftermath - maybe genius, maybe just confusing. I like McCarthy, as readers of earlier posts will note. The Road was excellent and I plan to read the rest of his oeuvre, but I do wish he'd use punctuation - we have it for a reason. Death and the Penguin was also good fun. Relentlessly black humour and, to this date, the only book I have ever read which juxtaposes the Ukranian mafia with Antarctic birdlife.
The real highlight of the month was E.B. (Charlotte's Web) White's short essay, Here is New York. I bought it from a stall outside the Met on my first visit there in 2002, promptly shelved it and forgot about it until I sorted out my books after moving in December. It is nostalgic and overly sentimental, and as such is a complete delight. It takes no more than about 20 minutes to read and copies should be handed out to everyone waiting in those tedious lines to have their passport inspected at JFK. Like any great travel writing, it is very much of its time and is largely out of date by the time it enters the canon. White tells us of people giving that once popular suicide spot the Empire State Building a wide berth because of falling bodies, brass bands in Central Park being accompanied by the horn of the Queen Mary, smokestacks in the Bowery and the plans for building the UN that were to turn NY into the capital of the world. There were more glorious images and glimpses of the recent past in this book than nearly all the others I have read this month put together.
By contrast, The Genie in the Bottle, was a bleak look at our near future. The book, which is a key part of Project Genie, is intended to educate schoolkids about global warming, and the author, a friend and research collaborator of mine, wants to give every child in the UK aged 7-11 a free copy. This is important stuff - spread the word!
Still, my one and only Proust reference of the month came from Eating for England, where Nige points out the differences between the petite French madeleine "delicately ridged like a scallop shell" and the English madeleine "a dumpy castle made out of sponge, doused in raspberry jam and sprinkled with dessicated coconut [which] then gets a cherry on top, and if it's really lucky, wings of livid green angelica." He concludes, "It's a case of Proust versus Billy Bunter".
So, tomorrow we start again. The novelty of being halfway through has worn off and I'm itching to restart. We have, optimistically, been considering possible future projects, including Anthony Powell's 12 volume Dance to the Music of Time. We may, of course, be getting ahead of ourselves here - I had a crisis with volume 2, Will struggled a little to start volume 3 and former-Proustanaut Alexis seems to have given up reading altogether. Only Elliot has progressed unhindered and has already finished S&G to boot - contracting pneumonia must surely constitute cheating. Robert Proust, who edited the final 3 volumes after his brother's death, certainly saw it as an advantage, "The sad thing is that people have to be very ill or have a broken leg in order to have the opportunity to read In Search of Lost Time." Do I feel a cold coming on?
Friday 15 February 2008
Statistics
I'm listening to the cricket and they calculating run rates (we may be about to lose, though not as abjectly as last time).
It is also occuring to me that in the general free for all that is now the Proustathon, we have not really caclulated days. In fact only Andrew and I have been doing this. Given that some of us are chronically anal, this won't do. I suggest we recommence. Simple scoring rules: count the days reading Proust continuously between start of each volume and completion. The start is deemed to be either when you start or when we all decide to do so. The inital post on this here.
I have reconstructed the leaderboard based on some dodgy assumptions about Elliot
Elliot: 4 vols, 93 days (15,37, 24,17)
Will: 3 vols, 74 (23,7,44)
Andrew: 3 vols, 109 (16,64,29)
Alexis: 2 vols, 112 (19, 48,45*)
Elliot, I may have overstated your days, I have basically worked from continuous reading of Proust between your 30 days ish on 30th Dec to final completion of vol 4 on the 10th Feb (Sunday last).
Interestingly, my previous assumption that we would get to completion by 100 days has already proved woefully optimistic. Similarly, my assumption that we would be finishing vol 6 by June now looks only realistic for Elliot.
Apologies for anality, but would you all expect any less. I'll keep updating.
It is also occuring to me that in the general free for all that is now the Proustathon, we have not really caclulated days. In fact only Andrew and I have been doing this. Given that some of us are chronically anal, this won't do. I suggest we recommence. Simple scoring rules: count the days reading Proust continuously between start of each volume and completion. The start is deemed to be either when you start or when we all decide to do so. The inital post on this here.
I have reconstructed the leaderboard based on some dodgy assumptions about Elliot
Elliot: 4 vols, 93 days (15,37, 24,17)
Will: 3 vols, 74 (23,7,44)
Andrew: 3 vols, 109 (16,64,29)
Alexis: 2 vols, 112 (19, 48,45*)
Elliot, I may have overstated your days, I have basically worked from continuous reading of Proust between your 30 days ish on 30th Dec to final completion of vol 4 on the 10th Feb (Sunday last).
Interestingly, my previous assumption that we would get to completion by 100 days has already proved woefully optimistic. Similarly, my assumption that we would be finishing vol 6 by June now looks only realistic for Elliot.
Apologies for anality, but would you all expect any less. I'll keep updating.
Wednesday 13 February 2008
A year of reading Proust
Page: 691
Pages read since last post: 389
Days reading Proust: 74 (23,7,44)
Other books read: 0
Books about Proust bought in charity shops: 1 (P.Rose, A Year of reading Proust)
I have finally finished this. It feels as if it has lagged tremendously, but it hasn't been that long. Anyway, I enjoyed this very much. There is a real feeling of plot, though not quite as tight and fast moving as we were promised in early volumes. Still, this does feel to me the first volume that we can say is more than a string of vignettes, and I am grateful for that.
I don't have much to add to the comments from others, except to point that the interminable salon scenes remain for me fascinating and good fun, and it is worth noting (for you that are thinking about this) that many of the aristocracy are made up. Some of the references are true true. The princes of Ligne for example are famous (and there was a rather good book about one of them that I read recently). Similarly the house of Parma and the issues around the Napoleon nobility against the Bourbon are also historically as well as literarily fascinating.
In the light of Alexis' total failure to read and / or post and Elliot's massive lead, I think there is no real need to wait too long. I intend to start on the 29th after I have read all the short books outstanding in my life.
Roll on Sodom and Gomorrah.
Pages read since last post: 389
Days reading Proust: 74 (23,7,44)
Other books read: 0
Books about Proust bought in charity shops: 1 (P.Rose, A Year of reading Proust)
I have finally finished this. It feels as if it has lagged tremendously, but it hasn't been that long. Anyway, I enjoyed this very much. There is a real feeling of plot, though not quite as tight and fast moving as we were promised in early volumes. Still, this does feel to me the first volume that we can say is more than a string of vignettes, and I am grateful for that.
I don't have much to add to the comments from others, except to point that the interminable salon scenes remain for me fascinating and good fun, and it is worth noting (for you that are thinking about this) that many of the aristocracy are made up. Some of the references are true true. The princes of Ligne for example are famous (and there was a rather good book about one of them that I read recently). Similarly the house of Parma and the issues around the Napoleon nobility against the Bourbon are also historically as well as literarily fascinating.
In the light of Alexis' total failure to read and / or post and Elliot's massive lead, I think there is no real need to wait too long. I intend to start on the 29th after I have read all the short books outstanding in my life.
Roll on Sodom and Gomorrah.
Tuesday 5 February 2008
Pour L'Amour Des Chiens
Page: 302
Pages read since last post: 216
Days reading Proust: 66* (23,7,36*)
References to Proust found in the new Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah band CD: 2
Books read in January: 3 (Gibbon, vols 1 & 2, I am Legend)
This is the fewest books read in a month since records began (August 2005). I am appalled at my own laziness.
Anyway, I have finally gotten on with this. And I must confess I really don't see how you can all be finding the salon scenes dull. This one really is fab, though I grant a bit long (hardly a unique comment in this novel). I'm also loving the historical conext and the prince of Borodine really makes one think about the strange survival of the Napoleonic and Bourbon French nobility side by side. It would make a fascinating book. And the Dreyfusard controversy is always interesting. I'm reading J'Accuse next (which at this rate will be March) - at least it's short.
On a lighter note, the new Bonzo Dog Doo-dah band album has two references to Proust, in Hawkeye the Gnu (where a Moose eats a copy in the library), and Salmon Proust (which adds to the collection of related recipes in other texts).
I have now broken the back of Gibbon and can look forward to volume 3, which, rather impressively, is the only one that is directly relevant to my doctorate.
Pages read since last post: 216
Days reading Proust: 66* (23,7,36*)
References to Proust found in the new Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah band CD: 2
Books read in January: 3 (Gibbon, vols 1 & 2, I am Legend)
This is the fewest books read in a month since records began (August 2005). I am appalled at my own laziness.
Anyway, I have finally gotten on with this. And I must confess I really don't see how you can all be finding the salon scenes dull. This one really is fab, though I grant a bit long (hardly a unique comment in this novel). I'm also loving the historical conext and the prince of Borodine really makes one think about the strange survival of the Napoleonic and Bourbon French nobility side by side. It would make a fascinating book. And the Dreyfusard controversy is always interesting. I'm reading J'Accuse next (which at this rate will be March) - at least it's short.
On a lighter note, the new Bonzo Dog Doo-dah band album has two references to Proust, in Hawkeye the Gnu (where a Moose eats a copy in the library), and Salmon Proust (which adds to the collection of related recipes in other texts).
I have now broken the back of Gibbon and can look forward to volume 3, which, rather impressively, is the only one that is directly relevant to my doctorate.
Thursday 31 January 2008
So good he wrote it twice
Days Reading Proust: 109 (16, 64, 29)
Page: Finished The Guermantes Way
Pages Read Since Last Post: 382
Rooms Unintentionally Furnished in a Proustian Style: 1 (hitherto known as The Balbec Suite)*
Entertaining, yet Practical, Housewarming Presents Received from Fellow Proustanauts: 1**
Books Read Since Last Post: Half of The Emigrants, W. G. Sebald
For those of you lagging behind, firstly, "do you imagine that the poisonous spittle of five hundred little men of your sort, hoisted on to each other’s shoulders, could even drool down on to the tips of my august toes?"; and secondly, be warned that one could, realistically, skip the entire second half of the novel given it is largely a re-write (with a few vaguely significant changes) of the first half. Like so:
Part 1
Enjoyable section involving Saint-Loup
Lengthy salon scene at Mme Villeparisis' pad
Humourous interlude with Charlus
Death of narrator's grandmother (Part 2, Chapter 1)
Part 2, Chapter 2
Enjoyable section involving Saint-Loup
Even more lengthy salon scene at the Guermantes' pad
Humourous interlude with Charlus
Terminal illness of Swann
Given these two parts were originally published as separate volumes and in consecutive years, I'd be highly surprised if this weren't spotted at the time and met with disappointment. Then again, J K Rowling pulled the same trick with the first two Harry Potter books and they still sold millions - maybe this is why I am not in publishing. Naturally, I stand to be accused of hypocrisy by anyone who has bothered to read my own recent, formulaic output of academic papers - fortunately only about 3 people will have done so, hence I feel quite safe.
Grumbles aside - I did quite enjoy this one. I've not been a fan of the salon scenes, but the social comedy is sharper in this volume. The Duchesse is a reasonably interesting character - claiming to be an intellectual, and succeeding in giving this impression, but only by virtue of comparison to her idiotic husband and most of her inane circle. Charlus (he of the august toes) is a brilliant comic invention - even better than Bloch or Francoise - and his efforts to seduce the narrator are hilarious. The scene with Albertine is a bit pathetic, to be honest, but intentionally so, one feels - thank goodness for Francoise's timely interruption. Also, the narrator's final realisation, and the punchline to the whole joke really, that despite hankering after high society for so long he'd actually be far happier contemplating hawthorn bushes and munching on madeleines back in Combray was a splendid moment of pathos.
The best-written section of the entire novel, so far, though was the death of the narrator's grandmother - tender and moving, yet visceral and slightly horrific - not helped by the amusing yet inappropriate behaviour of the Duc de Guermantes.
So, I feel each volume has had it's flaws so far, but the novel as a whole is beginning to come together. We're roughly halfway through now and still the narrator seems a little divorced from the action. Excellent prospects for the next volume though - the death of Swann, further encounters with Charlus, re-introduction of Albertine perhaps? Can't wait.
* The Balbec Suite, formerly known as my guest room, has now been furnished and is awaiting the arrival of its first guests. Whilst shopping for bed-linen and curtains last weekend, and avoiding the drab browns and beiges that seem to be in vogue with the masses these days, I found a rather fetching collection of sage-green damask-style furnishings which fitted the bill nicely. Only whilst checking-out did I notice the name of the collection - Marcel. He would approve.
** Many thanks to the Duc et Duchesse de Canandaigua for their splendid gift. I shall think of you next time I am measuring up for curtains.
Page: Finished The Guermantes Way
Pages Read Since Last Post: 382
Rooms Unintentionally Furnished in a Proustian Style: 1 (hitherto known as The Balbec Suite)*
Entertaining, yet Practical, Housewarming Presents Received from Fellow Proustanauts: 1**
Books Read Since Last Post: Half of The Emigrants, W. G. Sebald
For those of you lagging behind, firstly, "do you imagine that the poisonous spittle of five hundred little men of your sort, hoisted on to each other’s shoulders, could even drool down on to the tips of my august toes?"; and secondly, be warned that one could, realistically, skip the entire second half of the novel given it is largely a re-write (with a few vaguely significant changes) of the first half. Like so:
Part 1
Enjoyable section involving Saint-Loup
Lengthy salon scene at Mme Villeparisis' pad
Humourous interlude with Charlus
Death of narrator's grandmother (Part 2, Chapter 1)
Part 2, Chapter 2
Enjoyable section involving Saint-Loup
Even more lengthy salon scene at the Guermantes' pad
Humourous interlude with Charlus
Terminal illness of Swann
Given these two parts were originally published as separate volumes and in consecutive years, I'd be highly surprised if this weren't spotted at the time and met with disappointment. Then again, J K Rowling pulled the same trick with the first two Harry Potter books and they still sold millions - maybe this is why I am not in publishing. Naturally, I stand to be accused of hypocrisy by anyone who has bothered to read my own recent, formulaic output of academic papers - fortunately only about 3 people will have done so, hence I feel quite safe.
Grumbles aside - I did quite enjoy this one. I've not been a fan of the salon scenes, but the social comedy is sharper in this volume. The Duchesse is a reasonably interesting character - claiming to be an intellectual, and succeeding in giving this impression, but only by virtue of comparison to her idiotic husband and most of her inane circle. Charlus (he of the august toes) is a brilliant comic invention - even better than Bloch or Francoise - and his efforts to seduce the narrator are hilarious. The scene with Albertine is a bit pathetic, to be honest, but intentionally so, one feels - thank goodness for Francoise's timely interruption. Also, the narrator's final realisation, and the punchline to the whole joke really, that despite hankering after high society for so long he'd actually be far happier contemplating hawthorn bushes and munching on madeleines back in Combray was a splendid moment of pathos.
The best-written section of the entire novel, so far, though was the death of the narrator's grandmother - tender and moving, yet visceral and slightly horrific - not helped by the amusing yet inappropriate behaviour of the Duc de Guermantes.
So, I feel each volume has had it's flaws so far, but the novel as a whole is beginning to come together. We're roughly halfway through now and still the narrator seems a little divorced from the action. Excellent prospects for the next volume though - the death of Swann, further encounters with Charlus, re-introduction of Albertine perhaps? Can't wait.
* The Balbec Suite, formerly known as my guest room, has now been furnished and is awaiting the arrival of its first guests. Whilst shopping for bed-linen and curtains last weekend, and avoiding the drab browns and beiges that seem to be in vogue with the masses these days, I found a rather fetching collection of sage-green damask-style furnishings which fitted the bill nicely. Only whilst checking-out did I notice the name of the collection - Marcel. He would approve.
** Many thanks to the Duc et Duchesse de Canandaigua for their splendid gift. I shall think of you next time I am measuring up for curtains.
Thursday 24 January 2008
All's well that ends well
Page: 0 (nominal)
Pages read since last post: 417
Episodes of Transformers watched: 8
Polished off TGW a couple of days ago. Found it hard going at first, then picked up when he leaves Paris, then zipping along until the interminable salon scene where the author seems to assume an encyclopaedic knowledge of European aristocracy (yes Will, I'm looking at you).
If it's a device to demonstrate the shallow, vapid emptiness of said aristocracy then, well, job done M. Proust.
Fortunately the last forty or so pages with their hilarious interview with Charlus made up for it and actually made me chuckle at a mixture of the narrator's naivete and Charlus' impossibility.
Have had a breather after finishing vol.3 but am v anxious to get going with vol.4 if only because of the title. Truly I am the lowest common denominator of Proust readers.
Halfway through Imperium by Ryszard Kapuściński, a trawl around the USSR before the fall of the iron curtain. Interesting stuff, though it does make me want to invest in a really good atlas. Although that might be tricky as no doubt a lot of the places he talks about are now part of another country/independent/smoking craters in the ground.
Pages read since last post: 417
Episodes of Transformers watched: 8
Polished off TGW a couple of days ago. Found it hard going at first, then picked up when he leaves Paris, then zipping along until the interminable salon scene where the author seems to assume an encyclopaedic knowledge of European aristocracy (yes Will, I'm looking at you).
If it's a device to demonstrate the shallow, vapid emptiness of said aristocracy then, well, job done M. Proust.
Fortunately the last forty or so pages with their hilarious interview with Charlus made up for it and actually made me chuckle at a mixture of the narrator's naivete and Charlus' impossibility.
Have had a breather after finishing vol.3 but am v anxious to get going with vol.4 if only because of the title. Truly I am the lowest common denominator of Proust readers.
Halfway through Imperium by Ryszard Kapuściński, a trawl around the USSR before the fall of the iron curtain. Interesting stuff, though it does make me want to invest in a really good atlas. Although that might be tricky as no doubt a lot of the places he talks about are now part of another country/independent/smoking craters in the ground.
Tuesday 22 January 2008
The art of failure
Current page: 86
Pages read since last post: 86
Days reading Proust: 52 (23, 7, 22*)
Pages of Gibbon read instead: c.800
Demoralising, but expected, job rejections received: 1
Other books read: 1 (R. Matheson, I am legend)
Like the revolutionaries of 1688, I have created a rod to beat my own back. Their's led to the revolution in America (bad); mine means that having cheerfully insisted on a 21 day blog requirement, I have to confess that my progress through volume three has been astonishingly poor (worse). In fact, there is a very real danger that I will pass through the month barrier with only a tiny fraction of the text complete. This is not really a reflection on book itself; more my lack of time. I think I will enjoy this one and have put it aside to complete this volume of Gibbon.
On the plus side I am legend is as good as I remember it, though I now approach the film with trepidation, and I have found a new favourite Gibbon quotation:
'While the blood of Christ still smoked on Mount Calvary, the Docetes [sic] invented the impious and extravagant hypothesis, that, instead of issuing from the womb of the Virgin, he had descended on the banks of the Jordan in the form of perfect manhood' (Decline and Fall, Vol. 2, p.305 [Everyman edition])
The history is wrong. Docetists don't believe this (apparently he means Marcionites) but it was a joy to read this morning.
Pages read since last post: 86
Days reading Proust: 52 (23, 7, 22*)
Pages of Gibbon read instead: c.800
Demoralising, but expected, job rejections received: 1
Other books read: 1 (R. Matheson, I am legend)
Like the revolutionaries of 1688, I have created a rod to beat my own back. Their's led to the revolution in America (bad); mine means that having cheerfully insisted on a 21 day blog requirement, I have to confess that my progress through volume three has been astonishingly poor (worse). In fact, there is a very real danger that I will pass through the month barrier with only a tiny fraction of the text complete. This is not really a reflection on book itself; more my lack of time. I think I will enjoy this one and have put it aside to complete this volume of Gibbon.
On the plus side I am legend is as good as I remember it, though I now approach the film with trepidation, and I have found a new favourite Gibbon quotation:
'While the blood of Christ still smoked on Mount Calvary, the Docetes [sic] invented the impious and extravagant hypothesis, that, instead of issuing from the womb of the Virgin, he had descended on the banks of the Jordan in the form of perfect manhood' (Decline and Fall, Vol. 2, p.305 [Everyman edition])
The history is wrong. Docetists don't believe this (apparently he means Marcionites) but it was a joy to read this morning.
Thursday 17 January 2008
Proust Live!
Just a quicky chaps - I've only read about a dozen pages since yesterday's entry so I'll refrain from furnishing everyone with the details. This is to suggest attendance of an event being held in honour of our hero, should anyone be at a loose end on Saturday 9th February (Alexis being exempted on geographical grounds).
*****
Saturday, 09 February 2008 - King's College Hall, Cambridge
Proust and Fauré: The Eternal Moment
- Music by Ravel, Fauré and Franck. Readings from Proust and Mallarmé
*****
The link to Proust is (slightly) less than frivolous, since Faure's First Violin Sonata and Franck's String Quartet, are believed to offer possible models for the "little phrase" of the composer Vinteuil that infiltrates the consciousness of Swann in Swann's Way.
This notice comes courtesy of Mrs Harriot Weiskittel, friend of the blog.
Wednesday 16 January 2008
On middle class angst
Days reading Proust: 95 (16, 64, 15*)
Page: 309 (Guermantes Way)
Pages Read Since Last Post: 309
Books Read Since Last Post: A Venetian Bestiary, Jan Morris
Progress has been neither electric (a la Vol. 1) nor ponderous (Vol. 2), but steady; and, as discussed in previous postings, this seems to be the way to tackle Proust.
The Guermantes Way is an absolute delight. I have enjoyed this first section far more than any of the other society sections of the novel, although I still prefer the more pastoral sections of Combray or Balbec... alas, I fear we may not see too much more of these as the narrator continues to hob-nob his way through various salons. The people we encounter are increasingly caricatures, with our narrator playing the straight man to the social comedy he longs to be part of, yet is so scathingly critical of. I find myself chuckling uncomfortably as Bloch fumbles from one faux pas to the next... too much empathy there for my liking.
At this point in ALRDTP the novel seems to be one long thesis on the middle class complaint. Combray (geographically situated between the way by Swann's and the Guermantes way) being the very metaphor for comfortable middle class existence. Our narrator, of course, personifies this angst so beautifully. Seemingly ashamed of his own parents and preferring to hang-out with high society families who adopt him, yet unable to sleep so much as a wink without his mother (or grandmother) to kiss him goodnight. He is the epitome of the aspiring middle classes - he has no idea what to aspire to however, only that he needs to aspire in a general sense. Ultimately he knows he will never be part of society and his pining for the Duchesse in the early part of this volume is both futile and faintly ridiculous. I think he'd actually be far happier if he accepted his lot in life. After all, this is someone for whom the prospect of sleeping alone in a hotel room away from home is almost too terrifying to comprehend. Convenient, perhaps, that in the year he was due to visit Florence and Venice his health deteriorated and was forced to abandon the trip. A comment, along the lines of "Quite the adventurer, aren't we?", made to the narrator when he mentions that he's going back to Balbec, seems a trifle harsh - though he appears to miss (or ignore) the sarcasm himself.
Best of all, The Guermantes Way, has some very funny moments, particularly the re-appearance of Rachel (When From The Lord), and the hat incident at Mme de Villeparrisis' salon, which make it a real joy. I have to confess, however, I had to look up the Dreyfus affair to really follow that particular thread.
A Venetian Bestiary was short, fun and welcome relief from Proust. It referenced a lot of paintings and statues that I now need to look up, or better, visit in situ. I also have Ms Morris' full length Venice sitting on my new acquisitions shelf for a post Vol. 3 reward. I'll need very little encouragement to revisit La Serrenisima after that, and no degree of Proust-like manflu will hold me back... I may take my grandmother along with me though, just to be safe.
Page: 309 (Guermantes Way)
Pages Read Since Last Post: 309
Books Read Since Last Post: A Venetian Bestiary, Jan Morris
Progress has been neither electric (a la Vol. 1) nor ponderous (Vol. 2), but steady; and, as discussed in previous postings, this seems to be the way to tackle Proust.
The Guermantes Way is an absolute delight. I have enjoyed this first section far more than any of the other society sections of the novel, although I still prefer the more pastoral sections of Combray or Balbec... alas, I fear we may not see too much more of these as the narrator continues to hob-nob his way through various salons. The people we encounter are increasingly caricatures, with our narrator playing the straight man to the social comedy he longs to be part of, yet is so scathingly critical of. I find myself chuckling uncomfortably as Bloch fumbles from one faux pas to the next... too much empathy there for my liking.
At this point in ALRDTP the novel seems to be one long thesis on the middle class complaint. Combray (geographically situated between the way by Swann's and the Guermantes way) being the very metaphor for comfortable middle class existence. Our narrator, of course, personifies this angst so beautifully. Seemingly ashamed of his own parents and preferring to hang-out with high society families who adopt him, yet unable to sleep so much as a wink without his mother (or grandmother) to kiss him goodnight. He is the epitome of the aspiring middle classes - he has no idea what to aspire to however, only that he needs to aspire in a general sense. Ultimately he knows he will never be part of society and his pining for the Duchesse in the early part of this volume is both futile and faintly ridiculous. I think he'd actually be far happier if he accepted his lot in life. After all, this is someone for whom the prospect of sleeping alone in a hotel room away from home is almost too terrifying to comprehend. Convenient, perhaps, that in the year he was due to visit Florence and Venice his health deteriorated and was forced to abandon the trip. A comment, along the lines of "Quite the adventurer, aren't we?", made to the narrator when he mentions that he's going back to Balbec, seems a trifle harsh - though he appears to miss (or ignore) the sarcasm himself.
Best of all, The Guermantes Way, has some very funny moments, particularly the re-appearance of Rachel (When From The Lord), and the hat incident at Mme de Villeparrisis' salon, which make it a real joy. I have to confess, however, I had to look up the Dreyfus affair to really follow that particular thread.
A Venetian Bestiary was short, fun and welcome relief from Proust. It referenced a lot of paintings and statues that I now need to look up, or better, visit in situ. I also have Ms Morris' full length Venice sitting on my new acquisitions shelf for a post Vol. 3 reward. I'll need very little encouragement to revisit La Serrenisima after that, and no degree of Proust-like manflu will hold me back... I may take my grandmother along with me though, just to be safe.
Tuesday 15 January 2008
In search of lost toys
Page: 274 (Guermantes Way)
Pages read since last post: 274
Number of episodes of Transformers watched since last post: 18
Number of days off work sick this week: 2/2
Number of kitchens flooded by neighbours: 1
Number of bedrooms ditto: 1
Just a shorty, am feeling very authentic as have had pneumonia (not just manflu) and have made inroads into book three as a result. Initial progress very slow but picked up when the narrator leaves Paris and the infatuated longings for a woman he could never have (and indeed should never have wanted as the narrator seems to imply).
Have been alternating Proust with old episodes of Transformers kindly loaned by M. Garrood. More or less as I remember it, but has made me surprisingly nostalgic for the actual toys themselves. This is perhaps unsurprising seeing as how each program is essentially a 20-minute long advert but still...
Pages read since last post: 274
Number of episodes of Transformers watched since last post: 18
Number of days off work sick this week: 2/2
Number of kitchens flooded by neighbours: 1
Number of bedrooms ditto: 1
Just a shorty, am feeling very authentic as have had pneumonia (not just manflu) and have made inroads into book three as a result. Initial progress very slow but picked up when the narrator leaves Paris and the infatuated longings for a woman he could never have (and indeed should never have wanted as the narrator seems to imply).
Have been alternating Proust with old episodes of Transformers kindly loaned by M. Garrood. More or less as I remember it, but has made me surprisingly nostalgic for the actual toys themselves. This is perhaps unsurprising seeing as how each program is essentially a 20-minute long advert but still...
Monday 7 January 2008
On interchangeable young women
Page: 1 (nominal, vol.3 yet to be purchased)
Pages read since last post: 168
Books read since last post: Small Island, Andrea Levy; The Ladies of Grace Adieu, Susanna Clarke
Well one upside of being monstrously ill over the Christmas period was finally finishing WABG. Overall I found it an easier read than Swann's Way until the final section, where I found the interminable ruminations on interchangeable young women rather heavy going.
Broadly speaking (ironic though that might seem with regard to M. Proust) I would say his male characters seem vastly more nuanced than his female characters (with the possible exception of Francoise).
In fact I began to feel rather sorry for Andree, whose only fault seems to have been to try to be nice to everyone and to possibly fancy the narrator a little. This then is enough for her to be branded (I paraphrase) 'one of those people you can never trust' - ridiculous given Albertine's cardboard cut-out tease and desist behaviour.
And yet... I think this begins to get to the heart of the monsternovel - the narrator's callowness, his desire to be more than he is and his repeated failure to express what he wants; all these things are recognisable traits and perhaps what makes them so unbearable is the ring of truth and the inevitability of self-reflection on the part of the reader.
Anyway, enough psychoguff. One great benefit from this 'heavy reading' is that normal reading now seems as effortless as breathing. Inhaled Andrea Levy's Small Island (best of Orange prize winner) - v well written but possibly too neat a conclusion for my liking. The Ladies of Grace Adieu is a collection of shorts set in the same world as Jonathan Strange and Mister Norrell, a world which I sadly confess I cannot return to enough.
Apologies for the lack of proper italicisation, this mac doesn't appear to like it much. EDIT: But my PC does, hurrah.
Bring on the Guermantes Way...
Pages read since last post: 168
Books read since last post: Small Island, Andrea Levy; The Ladies of Grace Adieu, Susanna Clarke
Well one upside of being monstrously ill over the Christmas period was finally finishing WABG. Overall I found it an easier read than Swann's Way until the final section, where I found the interminable ruminations on interchangeable young women rather heavy going.
Broadly speaking (ironic though that might seem with regard to M. Proust) I would say his male characters seem vastly more nuanced than his female characters (with the possible exception of Francoise).
In fact I began to feel rather sorry for Andree, whose only fault seems to have been to try to be nice to everyone and to possibly fancy the narrator a little. This then is enough for her to be branded (I paraphrase) 'one of those people you can never trust' - ridiculous given Albertine's cardboard cut-out tease and desist behaviour.
And yet... I think this begins to get to the heart of the monsternovel - the narrator's callowness, his desire to be more than he is and his repeated failure to express what he wants; all these things are recognisable traits and perhaps what makes them so unbearable is the ring of truth and the inevitability of self-reflection on the part of the reader.
Anyway, enough psychoguff. One great benefit from this 'heavy reading' is that normal reading now seems as effortless as breathing. Inhaled Andrea Levy's Small Island (best of Orange prize winner) - v well written but possibly too neat a conclusion for my liking. The Ladies of Grace Adieu is a collection of shorts set in the same world as Jonathan Strange and Mister Norrell, a world which I sadly confess I cannot return to enough.
Apologies for the lack of proper italicisation, this mac doesn't appear to like it much. EDIT: But my PC does, hurrah.
Bring on the Guermantes Way...
Wednesday 2 January 2008
Losing one's rhythm
Page: 1
Pages read since last post: 0
Days elapsed reading Proust: 32 (23, 7,2*)
Books read since last Post: 3 (E.Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire vols 5 & 6, A. de Botton, How Proust can change your life)
On reflection, it was a mistake starting Gibbon. It means that having spend December grinding ever more slowly through the Decline and Fall, I now have to do the same thing again with Proust without any kind of break. It's not as if I've finished either, having only read half of Gibbon (in the wrong order). So I am now left with seven hefty volumes staring at me from my selves, all written by the same two, long dead, excessively prolix, literary figures. At least they are not on the same shelf, no categorisation system I can think of would put them together.
I have a more general reluctance to return to Proust though, which is a result of having left it for so long. Part of the joy of MP is that immersion that comes from heavy reading. As one recedes from the reading itself, I find that I forget why he needed so long to tell us anything in the first place. So it is with some trepidation I approach vol. 3. I also have an overflowing new acquisitions bookcase as a result of Christmas, which contains much that is tempting and short (this is a relative term), although the two may be linked.
One never knows though and I may be sucked back in very effectively, but I do not anticipate rapid progress.
Pages read since last post: 0
Days elapsed reading Proust: 32 (23, 7,2*)
Books read since last Post: 3 (E.Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire vols 5 & 6, A. de Botton, How Proust can change your life)
On reflection, it was a mistake starting Gibbon. It means that having spend December grinding ever more slowly through the Decline and Fall, I now have to do the same thing again with Proust without any kind of break. It's not as if I've finished either, having only read half of Gibbon (in the wrong order). So I am now left with seven hefty volumes staring at me from my selves, all written by the same two, long dead, excessively prolix, literary figures. At least they are not on the same shelf, no categorisation system I can think of would put them together.
I have a more general reluctance to return to Proust though, which is a result of having left it for so long. Part of the joy of MP is that immersion that comes from heavy reading. As one recedes from the reading itself, I find that I forget why he needed so long to tell us anything in the first place. So it is with some trepidation I approach vol. 3. I also have an overflowing new acquisitions bookcase as a result of Christmas, which contains much that is tempting and short (this is a relative term), although the two may be linked.
One never knows though and I may be sucked back in very effectively, but I do not anticipate rapid progress.
Happy New Guer
Days reading Proust: 81 (16, 64, 1*)
Page: 1 (GW)
Pages Read Since Last Post: 514
Books Read Since Last Post: St Pancras Station, Simon Bradley
OK, I'll not pretend that it was easy, but once I'd got through the first section it was mostly plain sailing. Unlike M. Garrood, I much preferred the Balbec section to Mme Swann at Home, so it was relatively easy to get stuck into it for extended periods - the Christmas recess chez mes parentals helped (the constant interruptions with offers of cups of tea did not). A monster tally of 64 days for volume 2 fails to recognise the fact that on Christmas Eve I was still loitering around page 220, and just three very productive days (Christmas Eve, Boxing Day and Friday) put the rest of the volume to bed.
Right now I'm quietly optimistic about the rest of the novel and my ability to progress through it. The development/introduction of characters in the second half of Budding Grove suggests some interesting possible developments in subsequent volumes. The painter, Elstir, is both a useful friend to the narrator and a great guide for the reader to the beauties of coast and countryside around Balbec. Bloch and Saint-Loup are great foils for each other in their own rights, but also seem to reflect the narrator's own schizophrenic personality - his hankering after high society and his fear that he might actually be a total boor. Similarly the circle of girls around Albertine, particularly Andree, are a curious bunch, though what role (if any) they will play in the future is yet to be determined. As for Albertine herself - she seems to be the most one-dimensional of the major characters introduced here. The scene where she rebuffs the narrators advances will surely recurr at later stages in their relationship - other than that, she has done very little of note save passing the narrator a few suggestive notes and fertive glances. Personally, I'd switch my attention to Andree or Rosamonde if I were him.
On a personal note, I am now fully moved and settled into my new pad (visitors welcome). This stability, which I have not had for the past few months, will hopefully help me to sustain my recent pace to some degree.
I have had a slight, intentionally delayed start to The Guermantes Way whilst I quickly bashed through St Pancras Station - finished this morning on the bus. It's a reasonably interesting and fairly witty account of the architecture and history of, unsurprisingly, St Pancras station - my new favourite building in London, following a recent visit. Ultimately, it's a book suited either to railway enthusiasts or geeks of Victorian architecture, of which I am gladly neither, but was enjoyable enough. There are two possible links to Proust, firstly in it's evocation of rail travel in the early 20th C, although this was admittedly a short section in Budding Grove. St Pancras will, however, more than likely function as our departure point on the pilgrimage to Pere LaChaise following the completion of ALRDTP, so this was a laudable addition to the experience.
Page: 1 (GW)
Pages Read Since Last Post: 514
Books Read Since Last Post: St Pancras Station, Simon Bradley
OK, I'll not pretend that it was easy, but once I'd got through the first section it was mostly plain sailing. Unlike M. Garrood, I much preferred the Balbec section to Mme Swann at Home, so it was relatively easy to get stuck into it for extended periods - the Christmas recess chez mes parentals helped (the constant interruptions with offers of cups of tea did not). A monster tally of 64 days for volume 2 fails to recognise the fact that on Christmas Eve I was still loitering around page 220, and just three very productive days (Christmas Eve, Boxing Day and Friday) put the rest of the volume to bed.
Right now I'm quietly optimistic about the rest of the novel and my ability to progress through it. The development/introduction of characters in the second half of Budding Grove suggests some interesting possible developments in subsequent volumes. The painter, Elstir, is both a useful friend to the narrator and a great guide for the reader to the beauties of coast and countryside around Balbec. Bloch and Saint-Loup are great foils for each other in their own rights, but also seem to reflect the narrator's own schizophrenic personality - his hankering after high society and his fear that he might actually be a total boor. Similarly the circle of girls around Albertine, particularly Andree, are a curious bunch, though what role (if any) they will play in the future is yet to be determined. As for Albertine herself - she seems to be the most one-dimensional of the major characters introduced here. The scene where she rebuffs the narrators advances will surely recurr at later stages in their relationship - other than that, she has done very little of note save passing the narrator a few suggestive notes and fertive glances. Personally, I'd switch my attention to Andree or Rosamonde if I were him.
On a personal note, I am now fully moved and settled into my new pad (visitors welcome). This stability, which I have not had for the past few months, will hopefully help me to sustain my recent pace to some degree.
I have had a slight, intentionally delayed start to The Guermantes Way whilst I quickly bashed through St Pancras Station - finished this morning on the bus. It's a reasonably interesting and fairly witty account of the architecture and history of, unsurprisingly, St Pancras station - my new favourite building in London, following a recent visit. Ultimately, it's a book suited either to railway enthusiasts or geeks of Victorian architecture, of which I am gladly neither, but was enjoyable enough. There are two possible links to Proust, firstly in it's evocation of rail travel in the early 20th C, although this was admittedly a short section in Budding Grove. St Pancras will, however, more than likely function as our departure point on the pilgrimage to Pere LaChaise following the completion of ALRDTP, so this was a laudable addition to the experience.
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