Digging a little in my archives, I found that the intellectual level of my blog had significantly decreased over time, as if simply holding a blog made inevitably more parochial. No, but what happened to the heyday when I knock you out of art criticism and notes on politics, literature and broadcasts by Radio-lock? The influence of Facebook is certainly something, and perhaps also the fact that my belly button away more of my back and becomes, thereby, becoming more visible. Anyway, I decided to remedy the situation by talking about Proust (no less). You'll forgive me the dubious title pun.
For a little over two years I put myself in the head to read the At has Search of Lost Time complete. First, because I was a little tired of hearing about it from my teachers and my classmates (UQAM offers a 45-hour course on Proust), and especially tired of reading theoretical works which took into example (see Genette without having read Proust, it becomes downright annoying). Then, because I remembered having read an excerpt from In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower in an anthology in college and have found it very beautiful. Finally, because I thought the first sentence ("For a long time, I went to bed early") quite delicious. Without doubt a challenge, too. So I started full of enthusiasm.
I've already given my love for Alexandrian and literature from another era . Both say that the language of Proust and his interminable sentences do not scare me any more than his descriptions of high society divided by the Dreyfus affair. Still, it takes some perseverance to get through Research without giving up. There are thousands of pages, after all, during which it happens quite a few things and where most is the description of landscapes, introspection and comments (often quite accurate) on the foibles and quirks of humanity. Being a contemplative and introspective nature, I must say though that I often agree, despite the anachronism in the narrator. But after reading in the space of a few months (in summer, even), From Swann and In the shadow of young girls riv r, I left the following volumes take dust on my bookshelf. I have moved Petite-Patrie and Villeray without opening them suddenly at the end of last summer, it happened: I found research.
Since last fall, I slipped continuously (except for Christmas to read two Maigret) The Guermantes I and II and Sodom and Ghomorre I and II, and I just get into The prisoner . I have less than half of the volumes to read, and about 1500 pages. And you know what? I like it.
My relationship with Proust went through several stages. At first, especially with In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower I had a little trouble. I got tired of descriptions and reflections that constantly interrupted the action, I wanted to learn about the changing relationships between the characters and digressions continual beginning to weigh me. He had to accept all that and I finally catch the rhythm of these sentences half a page, which now seem well short lull me peacefully. Still, I must admit I'm not always a reader of the most serious. If I revel in some passages, I have no problem to avail myself of rights drive Pennac when the author dwells too much on the etymology of the names of obscure villages, and I read diagonally. Sometimes, too, Proust annoys me, and I even say "gnagnagna" in my head rolling fast on a passage.
But ultimately, the thousands of pages are like a long journey along the same person, during which I learn to be thoroughly familiar with his style, to notice its evolution over the volumes and love with his faults and freedom taken on grammar (yes, he puts a comma between subject and verb, sometimes, and gives its past participle with "en"). If I started read, perhaps because it was a must literature, I continue because I found a real pleasure.
Read Research, perhaps a bit like St Jacques de Compostela or climb Mount Everest. It takes patience and some preparation, but the scenery and the inner journey are worth it, as much or more than the arrival at the end of the trip.
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