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? =)
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3 comments:
Congratulations! I think a Proust party is in order for later in the year.
We should ponder what comes next soon; in the meantime, I am reading medium length books for the foreseeable.
Well done sir! I think we can all feel suitably smug for the next few months at least and a film evening should be done if only for the joys of watching Malkovich play Charlus.
Currently, I'm working through some more of the books on this list:
http://www.curious.org.uk/top-100-books.htm
Started going through it about 10 years ago, Proust and Hawking were my 81st and 82nd, respectively. Currently reading Birdsong, which passed me by for some reason - I've had a bit of a false start on it and am only 12 pages in, but am planning to attack it tonight. No rush to tackle Delia, however.
As for the next big project - we pondered Anthony Powell's Dance to the Music of Time (neither imaginary nor non-linear time I hope - one struggles to imagine the time signatures involved). 12 volumes of ~200 pages each. Hence one per month for a year - allows side projects and much blogging. Particularly given the time theme I'm in favour of keeping this blog going too, rather than starting a new one. Worth roping some others in?
Dancing sounds good, and more manageable.
I'd skim Birdsong, I remember thinking it was twaddle when I had to read it for my English course.
Which is a worryingly long time ago now...
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