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.

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.

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...

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...

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.

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: Completed Within a Budding Grove

Pages Read Since Last Post: 534

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

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

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

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