In Search

Proust.  I was always too intimidated to try.  But when I heard about the goodreads.com reading group to read all of ‘In Search of Lost Time’ (ISOLT) in 2013, I decided to give it a try.  Nothing like peer pressure to keep you motivated, and the discussions might well help to give me some clue what I was [trying to] read.  So I plunged into ‘Swann’s Way’ (the Lydia Davis) translation with fear, anticipation, humility, and trepidation.

Well, I made it through ‘Swann’s Way’.  So many reactions, many of them very surprising to me.

Highlights:

It’s not all that difficult to read.  It requires patience, and the ability to plow through long passage that may not seem relevant, but it’s not Greek. 

The book is long and sprawling.  At first it seems dreamlike and almost unstructured, and that’s troubling.  Then it seems dreamlike and almost unstructured, and that’s not troubling at all.  It’s wonderful. 

Reality, illusion, dream, wakefulness, deception, truth.  Proust weaves these together seemingly without effort to produce an all-too-accurate portrayal of what it is to be alive and trapped in human consciousness.  At least some of the spirit of Freud (leavened with a French sensibility) prevails.  Yes, it’s all terribly self-conscious, and there are points where you want to scream “Get over it!”  But that is also what I scream at myself on a regular basis in my life.

I know of no comparable literary expression of the role of art and beauty in life.  The description of a musical performance and the emotional effects on the listener is closer than anything I’ve ever read to my deepest experiences of music.  And there are similar depictions of the effects of literature, architecture, and painting.  Stunning.

Yes, there were passages where I became hopelessly lost.  Yes, there were passages where I had to reread several times.  Sometimes I made progress, sometimes not.  I guess reading Proust is a lifetime affair.  One time won’t cut it.

There is a surprising amount of humor, some of it really, really funny.  I didn’t expect that.

Over the month of reading I became absolutely seduced by the inward-looking self-conscious and reflective pose of the narrator.  It’s like having a very effective therapist.  The experience is one in which you can be very very honest and confidential with yourself.  Somehow most of the usual day-to-day embarrassment melts away.  If Proust can be this honest, why withhold as a reader?

There is some achingly beautiful prose.  I’m not qualified to comment on translation issues.  I can only testify that there were sometimes tears at the pure beauty of the prose itself.

Reading Proust affected my reading in general.  I was generally reading ‘Swann’s Way’ and another book at the same time during the month.  I was always comforted on returning to the Proustian womb.  So warm, comforting, and reassuring.  Also very limiting.  But it’s a trade-off that I can buy off on.  At least for now.

So will I continue on with the next book in the ISOLT series?  Not sure.  Maybe.  Maybe not.  Depends on what other reading might take me elsewhere.

For now I bow to Proust and his unique take on the human condition.  I take comfort in knowing that I can return to the Proustian cathedral should my soul tell me that I need to do so.  I don’t think it was wise for me to postpone my first Proust until the age of sixty.  But better late than never. 

Before it’s too late.