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...
Wednesday 23 April 2008
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!
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