donato 's review for:

Du côté de chez Swann by Marcel Proust

5.0

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Books that have an enormous impact on both Literature itself and the very language we use, on the very way we experience the world (and ourselves), are hard to write about [1]. These books have already been pored over line by line, letter by letter, space by space, punctuation mark by punctuation mark; the lives of their conceivers also pored over in the same way, as if further meaning were to be found there: we must not only possess the great thing, we must know the how and the where and the wherefore. But as these books themselves try to teach us, why not just experience the damn thing, the mind-blowing sensuality of it all? Because what these books provide is a full immersive experience, the original virtual reality, the real virtual reality (if you'll allow me). Because it's not just the what, it's not just the characters or the story, it's the text itself that envelops you: the language, the style, the density of it (like an underwater world with hidden caves), the accumulation and crescendo of the text a symphony not only of sound but of sight, of all the senses; the immensity of the imagination, the (re- and de-)construction of reality and one's very identity through thoughts words memory but above all experience [2]. Despite its flaws (or because of them?), its ramblings on, its occasional opacity (wait, that's not a flaw [3]), the magic is strong, the effect powerful. In fact, I temporarily lost my will (desire?) to read another book after this one. I didn't know what to do; was this the be-all-end-all? That's it, it's all right there, what else is there to say? That's what happened to Beckett maybe. But he did go beyond Proust [4]. We can too.


[1] Examples here, here and here.

[2] It's also hilarious, something that's true of all great literature. How does one not laugh, for example, during those gatherings chez les Verdurins?

[3] See:
Kermode
Henry James
Gadda

[4] Especially the trilogy:
Molloy
Malone meurt
L'innomable