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4.06 AVERAGE
4.06 AVERAGE
challenging
emotional
funny
inspiring
reflective
slow-paced
I'm finding it a little hard to give this book an objective review, because reading it has been an unattainable goal for so long. In response to a friend saying he wouldn’t get around to reading it until he retired, I decided I was going to read it in French (so there!). Ten years later, I’ve read the first 30 pages of Swann’s Way over and over again, but each time I start over I give up after the initial burst of energy wears off. So now I’ve decided to read it in English—and maybe read it in French when I retire. :)
It’s very different than I expected. So far, I’m seeing it as one man’s artistic and sexual awakening, made unique because of:
a) the time period/social class
b) his acute attention to himself and the things he experiences, not just in descriptions, but in observations and commentary
c) the book’s structure
d) the unreliability of the narrator
The Structure
The first section is the reverie on memory that I expected, focusing on his childhood at their country house in Combray. Then the narrative changes completely. It becomes the story of M. Swann—their neighbor at Combray—meeting and courting his wife years before. This is not an entirely objective story, though Proust goes out of his way to tell us that later on he knew Swann personally and was told much of this by him. But this is so specific in its imagining, down to Swann’s innermost thoughts, that Proust is obviously using this to foreshadow, to prepare the reader for his own tumultuous relationship with Albertine (more on that later). Or maybe he really does see everything filtered through his own view to the point where he can’t imagine anyone experiencing it differently. His opinions on Art, which he believes are completely objective and divorced from the styles and taste of his time, make me think so.
Anyway, after this story, which surprised me because of its different tone and style from the first section, we move into the next part, where Proust talks about his illnesses (asthma and allergies, it seems) and how they prevented him from traveling as he would have liked. (His discussion of the strong images evoked by the names of places he’d never seen makes me wonder if he may have been synesthesic.) However, it was on the walks that he took to try to make himself stronger, and make up for his missed opportunities to travel, that he meets his own first obsession—Gilberte, Swann’s daughter. His very one-sided relationship with her, who he pursues despite her parents’ disapproval and who eventually allows him into her inner circle of friends, is the focus of the rest of this section. The break between this section and the next book feels a little false, because the topic continues there.
The Reliability of the Narrator
I can’t help but wonder about the reliability of the narrator, especially knowing that his lover, Albertine, (who we meet in later books) is based on his male butler. So, especially in matters of sexuality, I’m on the lookout for falsehood or omission. Is he entirely truthful about why he was stopped from his lone visits with his uncle, with whom the family eventually cut off all contact? Is it simply because of the company he kept (the loose women) or something else? And why is the memory of the smell of his uncle’s study caught up with his first sexual encounter? And, for that matter, is Gilberte who he says she is? Would he actually be wrestling with a young girl to the point of “shedding his pleasure,” or is Gilberte actually another boy? Is that why her parents disapproved so strongly?
Homosexuals figure strongly in the book. He’s particularly interested in a couple of lesbians in Combray who live together despite society’s censure and are who are blamed for the death of one’s broken-hearted father. He also contemplates the possibility that Swann’s promiscuous wife had affairs with women as well as men. But when it comes to himself, no mention is made. He is sickly, obsessed with art, melancholy, seemingly friendless, and thought of as odd by adults—all of this he tells us, but nothing more. It points to a sort of unreliability that I always associated with postmodern writing, and I’m pleased to see it here, in what I thought would be a very conventional (if overwritten) sort of memoir. I'll update if my opinion changes as I read more. Looking forward to the rest.
It’s very different than I expected. So far, I’m seeing it as one man’s artistic and sexual awakening, made unique because of:
a) the time period/social class
b) his acute attention to himself and the things he experiences, not just in descriptions, but in observations and commentary
c) the book’s structure
d) the unreliability of the narrator
The Structure
The first section is the reverie on memory that I expected, focusing on his childhood at their country house in Combray. Then the narrative changes completely. It becomes the story of M. Swann—their neighbor at Combray—meeting and courting his wife years before. This is not an entirely objective story, though Proust goes out of his way to tell us that later on he knew Swann personally and was told much of this by him. But this is so specific in its imagining, down to Swann’s innermost thoughts, that Proust is obviously using this to foreshadow, to prepare the reader for his own tumultuous relationship with Albertine (more on that later). Or maybe he really does see everything filtered through his own view to the point where he can’t imagine anyone experiencing it differently. His opinions on Art, which he believes are completely objective and divorced from the styles and taste of his time, make me think so.
Anyway, after this story, which surprised me because of its different tone and style from the first section, we move into the next part, where Proust talks about his illnesses (asthma and allergies, it seems) and how they prevented him from traveling as he would have liked. (His discussion of the strong images evoked by the names of places he’d never seen makes me wonder if he may have been synesthesic.) However, it was on the walks that he took to try to make himself stronger, and make up for his missed opportunities to travel, that he meets his own first obsession—Gilberte, Swann’s daughter. His very one-sided relationship with her, who he pursues despite her parents’ disapproval and who eventually allows him into her inner circle of friends, is the focus of the rest of this section. The break between this section and the next book feels a little false, because the topic continues there.
The Reliability of the Narrator
I can’t help but wonder about the reliability of the narrator, especially knowing that his lover, Albertine, (who we meet in later books) is based on his male butler. So, especially in matters of sexuality, I’m on the lookout for falsehood or omission. Is he entirely truthful about why he was stopped from his lone visits with his uncle, with whom the family eventually cut off all contact? Is it simply because of the company he kept (the loose women) or something else? And why is the memory of the smell of his uncle’s study caught up with his first sexual encounter? And, for that matter, is Gilberte who he says she is? Would he actually be wrestling with a young girl to the point of “shedding his pleasure,” or is Gilberte actually another boy? Is that why her parents disapproved so strongly?
Homosexuals figure strongly in the book. He’s particularly interested in a couple of lesbians in Combray who live together despite society’s censure and are who are blamed for the death of one’s broken-hearted father. He also contemplates the possibility that Swann’s promiscuous wife had affairs with women as well as men. But when it comes to himself, no mention is made. He is sickly, obsessed with art, melancholy, seemingly friendless, and thought of as odd by adults—all of this he tells us, but nothing more. It points to a sort of unreliability that I always associated with postmodern writing, and I’m pleased to see it here, in what I thought would be a very conventional (if overwritten) sort of memoir. I'll update if my opinion changes as I read more. Looking forward to the rest.
challenging
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
challenging
funny
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
I set myself the challenge this year of reading the million-word novel known as Remembrance of Things Past, In Search of Lost Time, or À la Recherche du Temps Perdu.
I suspect most modern readers would hate this book with its astonishingly long sentences (up to 600 words) and its tendency to obsess for many pages on end on small matters such as whether the main character's mother will kiss him goodnight (80 pages) or whether the sun will come out so that the narrator can go and play in the Champs-Elysées and therefore see the girl he loves. However, it is all written so beautifully and with such a lovely ironic sense of the frivolity of these concerns that I found it very absorbing. Also, I laughed out loud half a dozen times, and not many books have that effect on me, so for that alone, it was worth it.
The author's descriptive passages are so lovely that I didn't mind how long they were. It almost feels as though nothing happens in the whole novel (and that is kind of the point, because the two main characters — the narrator and his neighbour Charles Swann — cannot ever do anything decisive) but when I looked back at the end, I realised there was quite an engaging plot.
Another reason for reading this book is that it is simply so different from everything else I have ever read, even though I have read a lot of novels from this era. It is truly impossible to describe, and you will either love it or hate it—I can't predict which.
I suspect most modern readers would hate this book with its astonishingly long sentences (up to 600 words) and its tendency to obsess for many pages on end on small matters such as whether the main character's mother will kiss him goodnight (80 pages) or whether the sun will come out so that the narrator can go and play in the Champs-Elysées and therefore see the girl he loves. However, it is all written so beautifully and with such a lovely ironic sense of the frivolity of these concerns that I found it very absorbing. Also, I laughed out loud half a dozen times, and not many books have that effect on me, so for that alone, it was worth it.
The author's descriptive passages are so lovely that I didn't mind how long they were. It almost feels as though nothing happens in the whole novel (and that is kind of the point, because the two main characters — the narrator and his neighbour Charles Swann — cannot ever do anything decisive) but when I looked back at the end, I realised there was quite an engaging plot.
Another reason for reading this book is that it is simply so different from everything else I have ever read, even though I have read a lot of novels from this era. It is truly impossible to describe, and you will either love it or hate it—I can't predict which.
emotional
lighthearted
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Pierwsza część serii opowiadań o życiu autora jest utrzymana w bardzo nostalgicznym i tęsknym tonie. Marcel Proust lubi nawiązywać do swoich wspomnień, malując nam przekrzywiony obraz przeszłości, jaką zapamiętał. Podoba mi się jego przedstawianie tych odczuć, które tak często towarzyszom nam podczas naszych własnych wspomnień z dzieciństwa.
Większą część tej książki zajmue jednak jednostronny romans Swanna z Odettą, który zakochany bez umiaru, przechodzi miłosne męczarnie dla wybranki jego serca, która tak naprawdę nigdy go nie kochała. Przeżycie opusane jest bardzo ciekawie i owocnie, wciągając czytelnika w rozterki biednego Swanna.
Proust ma również bardzo specyficzny sposób opisywania, niemal wyśpiewując sonaty prostym i zwyczajnym rzeczą, takim jak katedry czy głóg. Jest człowiekiem z wyjątkową delikatnością i wrażliwością, którą wyraża na każdym kroku swojego pisarskiego dzieła.
Większą część tej książki zajmue jednak jednostronny romans Swanna z Odettą, który zakochany bez umiaru, przechodzi miłosne męczarnie dla wybranki jego serca, która tak naprawdę nigdy go nie kochała. Przeżycie opusane jest bardzo ciekawie i owocnie, wciągając czytelnika w rozterki biednego Swanna.
Proust ma również bardzo specyficzny sposób opisywania, niemal wyśpiewując sonaty prostym i zwyczajnym rzeczą, takim jak katedry czy głóg. Jest człowiekiem z wyjątkową delikatnością i wrażliwością, którą wyraża na każdym kroku swojego pisarskiego dzieła.
I couldn’t really put into words what I expected, but I didn’t expect to be blown away by this as much as I was and am. This is gorgeous and so evocative - and deeply satisfying to me. I love this.
swann’s lowkey boring. team narrator all the way!
captivating book though... told myself i was in no rush to read the other six (6) novels in the collection, but i just realized i have the second one already in my possession. so you may see me adding yet another honker to my “currently reading” list soon. no promises tho
captivating book though... told myself i was in no rush to read the other six (6) novels in the collection, but i just realized i have the second one already in my possession. so you may see me adding yet another honker to my “currently reading” list soon. no promises tho
Read this off and on, with a couple aborted starts. When I finally came back to it a third time, planning just to kill time and not intending to finish it any time soon, I finally ‘got’ it. When you give it time, it’s one of the most pleasant books I’ve ever read. The prose is beautiful and even the most challenging sentences reward your decoding like a kind of easy crossword clue. But when I tried to rush it, it just didn’t work. You’re supposed to read to enjoy yourself and relax, it seems to argue with its form, not to arrive at the end. (This makes some sense re: his thematic aim, as memories of an unreachable past are best in the middle of the act of remembering, there is no tangible, satisfying past to return to, and once the remembering is done, you're left empty.) Given the childhood baggage about reading slowly that, frankly, motivated me to tackle a 4,000+ page multi-volume novel like a rehabilitated amputee running a marathon, it was sometimes hard not to want it over with so I could collect my trophy.
On the first read, the structure’s pretty odd, and though I’m under the impression that derailing the narrative halfway through for a novella-sized digression about the love affair of the titular side character was done for some purpose that will become clear later on, it’s a weird choice nonetheless and comes right after my favorite part of the novel (the indulgent sensory meditations on detail at the end of Combray II). I did wish I felt Swann's pain more in this section. Given the subject matter, you'd think it would be ripe for dredging the readers emotions up, but I felt largely detached through this section until the incredible passage at the Guermantes's party as Swann listens to the music one final time.
Davis’s translation is the way to go as far as I’m concerned, and it sucks that after her, within the Penguin route, the next translator is Grieve, who couldn’t have a more different approach as a translator (one that I think is pretty ill-advised), so you're basically forced to go back to the MKE translation for the remaining volumes.
On the first read, the structure’s pretty odd, and though I’m under the impression that derailing the narrative halfway through for a novella-sized digression about the love affair of the titular side character was done for some purpose that will become clear later on, it’s a weird choice nonetheless and comes right after my favorite part of the novel (the indulgent sensory meditations on detail at the end of Combray II). I did wish I felt Swann's pain more in this section. Given the subject matter, you'd think it would be ripe for dredging the readers emotions up, but I felt largely detached through this section until the incredible passage at the Guermantes's party as Swann listens to the music one final time.
Davis’s translation is the way to go as far as I’m concerned, and it sucks that after her, within the Penguin route, the next translator is Grieve, who couldn’t have a more different approach as a translator (one that I think is pretty ill-advised), so you're basically forced to go back to the MKE translation for the remaining volumes.