The Year of Reading Proust discussion

This thread is for the discussion that will take place through Sunday, 20 Jan. of Swann's Way, to page 224 in ML / page 162 in LD (to the paragraph beginning: “It is perhaps from another impression which I received at Montjouvain...” / “It was perhaps from an impression received also near Montjouvain...”)

The "asparagus and chamber pots" stuff is on page 168.

Also, not to be all weird with genealogy, but I do the family tree for my extended peeps, and I can tell you that Léonie is not his aunt. She's the daughter of his grandparent's sibling, which makes her a first cousin once removed. Just sayin'.

I'm familliar with calling friends of my parents "aunt" and "uncle" out of like, a form of respect or something (especially if they are close friends), but yeah...it's really interesting to me that someone who is a cousin is called an aunt. She'd be a generation older, so maybe that's why, and maybe it's a respect thing. Just thought it was interesting.

Jason wrote: "I'm familliar with calling friends of my parents "aunt" and "uncle" out of like, a form of respect or something (especially if they are close friends), but yeah...it's really interesting to me that..."

There is a line in the second section that states Leonie is Aunt by "courtesy", but actually a cousin. I'll see if I can find it.

EDIT: quote - "My grandfather's cousin - by courtesy my great-aunt - with whom we used to stay, was the mother of that Aunt Leonie..." I found it on the kindle - location 1142-47 ML (not sure of the corresponding page number)

Proustitute wrote: "Oh, if you find it then Jason gets an F on his Proust homework for the week!"

I edited the quote into my message #9...Sorry Jason ;-D

It wasn't quite as I remembered it but still stated that Aunt Leonie was the child of his grandfather's cousin. How far removed is that? My head begins to reel at family genealogy and lineage.

Yes, that is the exact quote I mean. It states that Léonie is the daughter of his great-aunt. It doesn't specifically say anything about "cousin" in that quote, but obviously, if we know that a cousin is someone who shares a grandparent, they are first cousins, one generation removed (meaning the narrator's father is actually direct first cousins with Léonie).

Assuming we're talking paternal grandfather here, which I think we are.

Oh, except it actually states the great-aunt herself is a cousin (not a sibling) of the grandfather. So, sorry! That puts Léonie at an even greater relational distance from the narrator. More like a second-cousin, once removed, then.

I should learn to read posts in their entirety before commenting.

Jason wrote: "Oh, except it actually states the great-aunt herself is a cousin (not a sibling) of the grandfather. So, sorry! That puts Léonie at an even greater relational distance from the narrator. More like ..."

I know. It's the reason I remembered it. When I came across this the first time I stopped and re-read...went on with my reading and then circled back to review yet again.

Proustitute wrote: "Also, did you never have family who sometimes weren't even related by blood at all but you called them Aunt X or Uncle Y?"

My father's side of the family is from Bangladesh; pretty much *every* relative or family friend of one's parents' generation gets called 'auntie' / 'uncle' :)

I haven't read this week's section yet. But I'm very pleased to note that it involves the section on the hawthorns! I love that bit. Can't wait to read it again!

I loved that, Jonathan! I laughed out loud. Way to draw a girl's attention, narrator.

Geesh, not Monday yet and you guys are gabby.

Since some of you have snuck in and already gotten started, I'm going to join you because I'm still giddy from reading Proust in this new section and just have to share my feelings with you.

@Cheryl, even though I am as yet still kindle-resistant, this is the section where I would have most needed a kindle to highlight passages because starting at page 128 -131(where I've stopped to take a break because I want to go back and read these pages again), I want to write down almost everything! Proust just gets better and better. I don't want to write down the passages I loved because I don't want to ruin it for the others, but my goodness each sentence is like a musical composition, that builds up in tempo, culminating in such bliss that you just want to applaud BRAVO! These pages are so pleasing to read, I feel such elated joy that makes me want to break out in song at the end of each sentence. I won't say more, but if you're like me, you'll love it!!!!Fabulous! Fabulous!

ReemK10 (Got Proust?) wrote: "Since some of you have snuck in and already gotten started, I'm going to join you because I'm still giddy from reading Proust in this new section and just have to share my feelings with you.

@Cher..."

LOL! Love your enthusiasm, Reem!

ReemK10 (Got Proust?) wrote: "Since some of you have snuck in and already gotten started, I'm going to join you because I'm still giddy from reading Proust in this new section and just have to share my feelings with you.

@Cher..."

Which edition are you reading, Reem? I'm reading the Modern Library boxed set. Could you quote the opening and closing lines of the 3 pages you are speaking of?

Cheryl wrote: "ReemK10 (Got Proust?) wrote: "Since some of you have snuck in and already gotten started, I'm going to join you because I'm still giddy from reading Proust in this new section and just have to shar..."

I'm reading the Penguin Lydia Davis.
Let's see, starting with page 128 "Near the church, we met Legrandin... a face of ice."
Page 129: "It was like any attitude... often leave us with some doubts."
Page 130: "Monsieur, do you know the lady, ... the ladies of Guermantes....he could only attempt to mitigate it."

Enjoy the trip!

I apologize for the brief and flippant comment, but Proust has written perhaps the most beautiful and flowery description of shit I have ever read.

ReemK10 (Got Proust?) wrote: "Since some of you have snuck in and already gotten started, I'm going to join you because I'm still giddy from reading Proust in this new section and just have to share my feelings with you.

@Cher..."

There's no going back, once you experience that bliss. Yes, Proust is bliss-addiction. I can not even count the times I have read something gleaming and then had to put down the book. I needed time to savor my awe; I just couldn't continue reading.....

Proustitute wrote: "One thing that struck me in this section was the emphasis on names. The Narrator asks roundabout questions of his family in order to have them repeat the name Swann: it becomes almost a fetish obje..."

Instant "classic" post. "...especially the idea of objects and one's surroundings recalling parts of one's past and the narratives we have written inside of us, those that make us who we are." I had never thought of "words/names" in place of objects; rather like writing the loved one's name over and over in a notebook.

Hadrian wrote: "I apologize for the brief and flippant comment, but Proust has written perhaps the most beautiful and flowery description of shit I have ever read."

We are getting scatological here.

It is not the feces that are affected by eating asparagus, but the urine.

Try it...!!!

Proust's description has even made it into medical pages:

http://www.webmd.com/food-recipes/fea...

Yes, not poop but pee! :P

And Marcelita:

"Proust is bliss-addiction."

YES! Yes. So true.

Marcelita wrote: "ReemK10 (Got Proust?) wrote: "Since some of you have snuck in and already gotten started, I'm going to join you because I'm still giddy from reading Proust in this new section and just have to shar..."

Lol, yes there's no going back, and a lot to look forward to with an entire year of reading Proust!I always have conflicting sentiments however because I believe the translator is also largely responsible for our reading pleasure when we read in translation.

@P " narratives we have written inside of us, those that make us who we are."

I really like this sentence.This makes for a thought-provoking topic. There are narratives we tell ourselves, narratives that we tell others about ourselves, narratives that we are still to realize about ourselves, and we go through a thousand drafts as we write and rewrite our own narrative(s).

Kalliope wrote: "Hadrian wrote: "I apologize for the brief and flippant comment, but Proust has written perhaps the most beautiful and flowery description of shit I have ever read."

We are getting scatological her..."

So, according to WebMD, that means Proust was among the small percentage who have a good nose. That man was sensitive to everything, hence the nervous disposition.

Aloha wrote: "Kalliope wrote: "Hadrian wrote: "I apologize for the brief and flippant comment, but Proust has written perhaps the most beautiful and flowery description of shit I have ever read."

We are getting..."

I also belong to the 25% of the population that carry the gene, and that is why I burst out laughing when I read the section.

The color description, with the "outre-mer, rose, azur, mauve" and also made me think of Manet's asparagus paintings.



and

.

I already mentioned these two paintings in my review of Le lys rouge

Proustitute wrote: "One thing that struck me in this section was the emphasis on names. The Narrator asks roundabout questions of his family in order to have them repeat the name Swann: it becomes almost a fetish obje..."

I have printed this out, because it will require further thinking on my part. Thank you.

Lovely to see the Manet asparagus paintings here! I have yet to reach this passage, but seeing it reminded me that the image is also used in Edmund de Waal's fantastic "The Hare with Amber Eyes." Charles Ephrussi, one of de Waal's relatives, is noted as perhaps serving as a model for the character of Swann. I imagine it's been brought up elsewhere, but the memoir makes for great auxiliary reading -- de Waal gets at how memory is embedded in objects (a netsuke, a madeleine) in a way that to me seems similar to Proust's. I'm a Proust newbie, but I find myself wanting to go back and reread "Hare" to see what new things I'll discover -- wonderful, really, all the different ways into (and out of) the Swann narrative.

Torea wrote: "Lovely to see the Manet asparagus paintings here! I have yet to reach this passage, but seeing it reminded me that the image is also used in Edmund de Waal's fantastic "The Hare with Amber Eyes." C..."

Yes, I have read The Hare With Amber Eyes: A Family's Century of Art and Loss, which is a fascinating story, and in my review of Monsieur Proust's Library I mentioned also the Charles Ephrussi anecdote related to these two paintings. It is a pity that they are not in the same museum now.

The forbidden flower: Gilberte along the Méségise way,

"I looked at her, at first with the sort of gaze that is not merely the messenger of the eyes, but a window at which all the senses lean out, anxious and petrified, a gaze that would like to touch the body it is looking at, capture it, take it away and the soul along with it; then, so afraid was I that at any second my grandfather and my father, noticing the girl, would send me off, telling me to run on a little ahead of them, with a second sort of gaze, one that was unconsciously supplicating, that tried to force her to pay attention to me, to know me!" (LD p.142 Kindle edition)

The passage from the hawthorns to Gilberte is a part of what defines Proust for me. What comment could I have on it, it is simply what it is.

I'm up to 117 now in LD and two things have held their banners out for me to notice. One I can name, the other I don't have a word for.

Ritual. Mass. ... and scents and memories, all coalescing with the hawthornes on the altar. There is so much that is mixed within this little passage; it evokes so many images and even personal memories. The ritual of church broken by the first appearance of the nativity set, for instance.

The second theme:

P. 118: "I had seen M. Vinteuil hurry to place a piece of music in a conspicuous position on the piano. But once my parents had entere, he had taken it away and put it in a corner. No doubt he had been afrad of letting them think he was happy to see them only so that he could play them some of his compositions."

How often have I done such a thing! Placed a book on a ledge, only to snatch it away when the guest arrives. Or set out a bowl of chocolates only to sweep them away and set down some chips. Why? What is the reason behind this? Shame, worry, humility? A fear that, should the guest see this particular item, they would discuss it. Or worse, dismiss it, make some offhanded comment, and destroy our current infatuation with the item in question.

Martin wrote: "The second theme:

P. 118: "I had seen M. Vinteuil hurry to place a piece of music in a conspicuous position on the piano. But once my parents had entere, he had taken it away and put it in a corner. No doubt he had been afrad of letting them think he was happy to see them only so that he could play them some of his compositions."

How often have I done such a thing! Placed a book on a ledge, only to snatch it away when the guest arrives. Or set out a bowl of chocolates only to sweep them away and set down some chips. Why? What is the reason behind this? Shame, worry, humility? A fear that, should the guest see this particular item, they would discuss it. Or worse, dismiss it, make some offhanded comment, and destroy our current infatuation with the item in question. "

I also was struck by that passage, and so many others in this week's section, all which point to Proust's deep understanding of the social masks we wear -- and the complications that ensue when the masks a turned askew, often as people on different levels of the social hierarchy interact. I saw that with M. Vinteiul, wanting to share his compositions but not wanting to appear to want that, and going through tortures to decide whether to engineer that. And of course, the discussion between the Narrator's father and M. Legrandin re. a contact in Balbec was so beautifully written that I was gasping, cringing, and laughing throughout that section. Such close observations, so beautifully expressed.

Eugene wrote: "The forbidden flower: Gilberte along the Méségise way,

"I looked at her, at first with the sort of gaze that is not merely the messenger of the eyes, but a window at which all the senses lean out,..."

I read this and thought I'm lagging behind, I need to catch up with Eugene to read this part that he writes about, so I pick up my book and get sidelined by this gem:

"I have friends wherever there are companies of trees, wounded but not vanquished, which huddle together with touching obstinancy to implore an inclement and pitiless sky." LD 134 Just perfect.I have those same friends.

I also have visions of people in our group reading, and every now and then one of us will read a line that will bring about a fainting spell. Good reading, enjoy!

Proustitute wrote: "Eugene wrote: "The passage from the hawthorns to Gilberte is a part of what defines Proust for me. What comment could I have on it, it is simply what it is. ."

I know! I feel the same, and I know ..."

I adored it. I was lost in it. It was so vivid and engaging. And so sensual. It transported me back to some ideal summer, with components from different summer days I remembered -- for example, combining memories of a walk through fields in Somerset (the warmth, the blue sky, the sun, the blue sky, the feel of the dirt path under my feet, the hedges marking boundaries) with memories of my grandparents' amazing flower beds. (I have no memories of hawthorns or France, but Proust's descriptions tapped into memories I could access. It made reading that section such a pleasurable, immediate experience.)

Torea wrote: "Lovely to see the Manet asparagus paintings here! I have yet to reach this passage, but seeing it reminded me that the image is also used in Edmund de Waal's fantastic "The Hare with Amber Eyes." C..."

In case you missed these magical moments:
Finally, Edmund de Waal describes best...what it is like to read Proust. This is one of my personal touchstones.
http://m.youtube.com/#/watch?v=3ZR1xM...

Get out your grandmother's handkerchief...or two. This clip is only for those who have already read "The Hare with the Amber Eyes."
Edmund de Waal, Hare with the Amber Eyes,
DSCN2614 599
voscarsson

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=e8wqJINrGj0

http://www.flickr.com/photos/34977978...

They speak for themselves.

ReemK10 (Got Proust?) wrote: "http://www.flickr.com/photos/34977978...

They speak for themselves."

So beautiful.

Proustitute wrote: "I wonder if first-time readers here were similarly enraptured by the hawthorn sequence, and if so, why? "

The prose. The colors. You could feel them dripping and swirling in your mind. Deliciously tangible.
But, what really set the tone for this magnificence though was this passage:

And then, inspiring me with that rapture which we feel on seeing a work by our favorite painter quite different from any of those that we already know, or, better still, when someone has taken us and set us down in front of a picture of which we have hitherto seen no more than a pencilled sketch, or when a piece of music which we have heard played over on the piano bursts again in our ears with all the splendour and fullness of an orchestra...

For me, the last part concerned with music was especially resonant. I played piano when I was younger, and was especially enamored with a particular piece by Rachmaninoff. However, it wasn't until years later that I thought to go listen to it in its orchestral entirety. Chills don't even begin to describe my emotional reaction. And of course when that passage surfaced, I couldn't help but become enamored with it.
It also helped that I had a similar experience a couple of days ago at a concert involving Danse Macabre and a gorgeously talented violinist. All the residual emotions just funneled into the reading.

ReemK10 (Got Proust?) wrote: "I also have visions of people in our group reading, and every now and then one of us will read a line that will bring about a fainting spell. Good reading, enjoy! "

It is true that I was in dire need of sustenance while reading the hawthorn passage, so I may have come closer than intended to that state.
I figure it aided the enjoyment level, but food's better in the long run.

I don't have the text in front me right now (I'm reading Goodreads at my work desk!) so I'm not sure if I'm thinking of the right hawthorns passage. But what sticks in my mind is when he talks about his 'loyalty' to the hawthorns. A silent relationship, entirely one-sided, a kind of childish fetishism I suppose, with something that can't reciprocate - but it feels like it does. 'Inanimate' is the wrong word, as it's a living thing, but these feelings are very intense for a child and I loved how those passages brought those memories - or the memory at least of the feeling - back to me.

I remember when I was a child I was carrying a stick around all day. My parents made me throw it away as we were going into some official building (maybe a hospital?), and I sulkily threw into an area beneath a tree where many other similar sticks were lying. I began to fret about 'my' stick, thinking it must miss me as I missed it. On the way back I went to the area under the trees - there were an infinity of sticks, all very similar to my one. There was no way I could ever find it. I was distraught. I had betrayed the stick's trust; all the worse because, as a stick, it couldn't show itself. It just had to lay there mutely, alone and abandoned, while I blundered about failing to find it.

What a neurotic kid I was! Still am, just about other things that I now think are important :)

Kris wrote: "It transported me back to some ideal summer, with components from different summer days I remembered..."

Yes - so evocative - triggering very different memories of course in different people but there is some commonality in the feeling...

Marcelita, I do love that interview. There should be more "Praise For Proust" type interviews or discussions. Finding a famous and/or good writer who loves Proust and letting them enthuse with their love of his words.

"Every dreamer knows that it is entirely possible to be homesick for a place you've never been to, perhaps more homesick than for familiar ground."
~ Judith Thurman

Isn't this true of our craving to walk the Meseglise- la -Vineuse way and the Guermantes way?

Sorry I didn't reaize that there is a spoiler in this and already an auxiliary thread. @P should I delete this?
@Margaret and Jeremy "The Transverse Way"

"A network of transversals, of crisscrossing diagonal paths, interconnected the two "ways" that structure the book, the Guermantes way and the Meseglise way.
www.ashgate.com/pdf/SamplePages/Deleu...

I like that Thurman quote. I had not seen it before. Thanks Reem! Reminded me a bit of: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saudade for which English doesn't quite have a word for :)

Nick wrote: "I like that Thurman quote. I had not seen it before. Thanks Reem! Reminded me a bit of: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saudade for which English doesn't quite have a word for :)"

Made me think of something else. Not Saudade, but similar, which is a nostalgia for something you've never had. Is there a term for that? I've always find that idea intriguing, since I often have nostalgic memories of things that I knew had never existed for me yet palapble as if it did exist, which is one step beyond wishfulness.

Nick wrote: "I like that Thurman quote. I had not seen it before. Thanks Reem! Reminded me a bit of: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saudade for which English doesn't quite have a word for :)"

Thanks Nick for introducing me to the word saudade. I've never come across it before. Isn't it really like being in a state of melancholy? Or is it nostalgia without the pain of a broken heart? I love that Brazil has an official day to celebrate Saudade. January 30th, I'm going to have to remember that. Cheers :)

Aloha, wouldn't nostalgia for something you've never had before be a sense of adventure in that you want to go out and find what you yearn for?

My wife is Portuguese and she's told me before that saudade is used when you want to express how much you miss someone, but that it carries a much more intense connotation than its closest English counterpart, which is just to say "I miss you."

So yeah, no direct translation. Cool concept, though.

ReemK10 (Got Proust?) wrote: "Aloha, wouldn't nostalgia for something you've never had before be a sense of adventure in that you want to go out and find what you yearn for? "

Reem, it's more like a sentimental memory of something you've never had. I can see what you mean about how it would make you be attracted to anything similar.

I love how words can tie into feelings so much, and that some meanings (such as your wife's experience of saudade) cannot be conveyed too adequately in another language, only approached, encircled, suggested. I think wikipedia actually has a list of words like this, culturally specific meanings or concepts which other languages don't have.

The way "Monsieur le Curé" discusses the Church is just the opposite from the way the Narrator did. All magic is gone. With the exception of the etymological comments, which add humor and color, it is a very pedestrian description.

He uses however the Brioche image again, but if the Narrator had used it for the Belltower ("doré et cuit lui-même comme une plus grande brioche bénie") le Curé uses it for the town ("elle --la ville en quartiers-- est comme une brioche dont les morceaux tiennent ensemble, mais sont déjà découpés").

M Vinteuil's daughter is the second young woman described as "hommasse" (mannish) so far. The other was the kitchen maid who looked like the Giotto's Charity figure, which was also "hommasse".

Kalliope wrote: "M Vinteuil's daughter is the second young woman described as "hommasse" (mannish) so far. The other was the kitchen maid who looked like the Giotto's Charity figure, which was also "hommasse"."

Proust had a fascination with androgyny, men who have feminine features, an women who have mannish features.