The Year of Reading Proust discussion

This thread is for the discussion that will take place through Sunday, 27 Oct. of The Fugitive, to page 708 (page break, to the section beginning: “I had suffered indeed at Balbec...”)

(Agostinelli family portrait by Nadar)


(in 1907 with Odilon Albaret at the wheel)

A great weakness no doubt for a person, to consist merely of a collection of moments; a great strength also: he is a product of memory, and our memory of a moment is not informed of everything that has happened since; this moment which it has recorded endures still, lives still, and with it the person whose form is outlined in it. ML p. 645

"Weakness/strength", "moment/everything". A greatness of Proust is how he plumbs the depths and scales the heights of his characters lives; the lives he speaks of are expressed, as language is, as theses, antitheses and partial antitheses drawn in his unique syntax of which form and content are inseparable. If his sentence structures were easier to read he wouldn't be developing the complexities and intricacies of his characters lives. Former Speaker Tip” O' Neill seems to be saying more when he said, "All politics is local," and that more is best expressed by a question: what could be more local to a writer than a sentence?

But the most profound achievement of Proust, to my way of thinking, is his meta-antithesis or what he doesn't say which tells you what he says, his thesis (I know that's hard to understand and seemingly nonsensical)...but that's why he's he.

A favorite site, that I dream I will understand one day.
(Maybe with "voice" translation to English text.)

"Alfred Agostinelli"
Jean-Marc Quaranta official
By Fondation Singer-Polignac

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xhv8...

Marcelita wrote: "
"Alfred Agostinelli"
Jean-Marc Quaranta official
By Fondation Singer-Polignac

http:/..."

Marcelita, hopefully, when Quaranta's book comes out with Agostinelli's biography, it will be translated into English.

It may be a good idea to read it when it comes out because so far I do not feel much "sympathy" for Agostinelli.

Alfred Agostinelli's brother, Emile, had a daughter in 1914 and he named her "Marcelle"...!!

I have not finished the reading yet (almost) but this whole extract could be taken out and compared with the long passage on the death of the grandmother.

This one seems more directed towards his own consciousness and the way the mind functions, and in a certain way is colder (even if it includes allusions to their intimacy, and could be then the most personal part of the novel so far), while the writing on the grandmother contained more pathos.

This is a quick judgment. I normally read the section twice. So, I have to think more about this.

But I really feel like extracting both passages and reading them on a stand-alone basis, when we are finished with the whole novel.

A key to the Narrator's incessant desire to suffer...

And immediately, by an abrupt transposition, from the torments of jealousy I passed to the despair of separation. ML p. 665

Art is not alone in imparting charm and mystery to the most insignificant things; pain is endowed with the same power to bring them into intimate relation with ourselves. ML p. 666

Eugene wrote: "A key to the Narrator's incessant desire to suffer..."

"L'art n'est pas seul à mettre du charme et du mystère dans les choses les plus insignifiantes; ce même pouvoir de les mettre en rapport intime avec nous est dévolu aussi à la douleur."GF p153

Yes Eugene! It feels as if suffering, which makes the Narrator feels new and heightened emotions, is another avenue for him to explore as a source of greatness in Art, besides his fascination for art and nature.

En perdant la vie je n'aurais pas perdu grand'chose; je n'aurais plus perdu qu'une forme vide, le cadre vide d'un chef-d'oeuvre. Indifférent à ce que je pouvais désormais y faire entrer, mais heureux et fier de penser à ce qu'il avait contenu, je m'appuyais au souvenir de ces heures si douces, et ce soutien moral me communiquait un bien-être que l'approche même de la mort n'aurait pas rompu. GF p158

A note in the GF edition highlights the above as anticipating the end of the novel (view spoiler)[: the hero shows he is already conscious of his own life as the frame for a work of art, but that frame is still empty. (hide spoiler)]

I haven't finished this week's section but I'm continually stunned by his view of love: it's "l'amour maladif" (love as a sickness), which we've seen repeated over and over with Swann & Odette, Narrator & Gilberte, Saint-Loup & Rachel... On and on and on it's the same pattern of his love increasing as he suffers from jealousy and possessiveness. A pattern that probably ties back to his love for his mother ("momma's boy"?).

The section where the Narrator tries to understand why he fell in love with this woman or that one is striking:

"... Qui m'eût dit à Combray, quand j'attendais le bonsoir de ma mère avec tant de tristesse, que ces anxiétés guériraient, puis renaîtraient un jour, non pour ma mère, mais pour une jeune fille qui ne serait d'abord, sur l'horizon de la mer, qu'une fleur que mes yeux seraient chaque jour sollicités de venir regarder, mais une fleur pensante et dans l'esprit de qui je souhaiterais si puérilement de tenir une grande place, que je souffrirais qu'elle ignorât que je connaissais Mme de Villeparisis. Oui, c'est le bonsoir, le baiser d'une telle étrangère pour lequel, au bout de quelques années, je devais souffrir autant qu'enfant quand ma mère ne devait pas venir me voir." GF p160

ETA: I just joined the discussion so I'm probably stating the obvious and I realise you've probably already discussed this death by now! :)

In this week, the Narrator is picking up on many elements from the earlier volumes, pulling things together. Many are details from Combray, but others are more structural ones.

Recently we were understanding better the role that the story of Swann and Odette and his jealousy as a premonition or a sampling of what he would experience himself later on. In the reading this week we go a bit further:

Si Albertine avait pu être victime d'un accident, vivante j'aurais eu un prétexte pour courir auprès d'elle, morte j'eusse retrouvé comme disait Swann la liberté de vivre,. Je le croyais? Il l'avait cru, cet homme si fin et qui croyait se bien connaître. Comme on sait peu ce qu'on a dans le coeur.p. 134.

Moonlight or "Clair de lune" figured prominently in the Swann-Odette section, and this week I have counted so far four times... there may be more.

Here it is in visual graphics showing the length of each note.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LlvUep...

A very powerful imagery which was used before and the Narrator picks up again, and which is also heavily charged symbolically, is the sunlight streaming through the window and the ineffectual curtains to protect the Narrator.

Et si Françoise en revenant dérangeait sans le vouloir les plis des grand rideaux, j'étouffais un cri à la déchirure que venait de faire en moi ce rayon de soleil ancien qui m'avait fait paraître belle la façade neuve de Bricqueville l'Orgueilleuse...

and further on..

Je disais à Françoise de refermer les rideaux pour ne plus voir ce rayon de soleil. Mais il continuait à filtrer, aussi corrosif, dans ma mémoire. p. 138.

Kalliope wrote: "

This one seems more directed towards his own consciousness and the way the mind functions..."

Thinking more about the way he is writing about his sorrow, and how I see it more as an excuse to explore himself, the workings of his mind, the way perception works, the passage and play of time in consciousness, and the crystallization of subjectivity... here are some passages which struck me...

Et enfin ces changements de temps, ces jours différents, s'ils me rendaient chacun une autre Albertine ce n'était pas seulement par l'évocation des moments semblables. Mais l'on se rappelle que toujours, avant même que j'aimasse, chacun avait fait de moi un homme différent, ayant d'autres désirs parce qu'il avait d'autres perceptions... p. 146

On n'est que par ce qu'on possède, on ne possède que ce qui nous est réellement présent, et tant de nos souvenirs, de nos humeurs, de nos idées partent faire des voyages loin de nous-même , où nous les perdons de vue. Alors nous ne pouvons plus les faire entrer en ligne de compte dans ce total qui est notre être. Mais ils ont des chemins secrets pour rentrer en nous. p. 147

and a bit later again.

Et ces moments du passé ne sont pas immobiles; ils gardent dans notre mémoire le mouvement qui les entraînait vers l'avenir --un avenir devenu lui-même le passé -- nous y entraînant nous-même.p. 148.

These passages are interspersed with those evoking Albertine, but it is interesting to me that even these are analyzed from the point of view of how his own self is dealing with them.

A self study in sorrow rather than the sorrow itself.

Thinking of the recent visit to Chartres..

Ce n'est pas d'en bas, dans le tumulte de la rue et la cohue des maisons avoisinantes, c'est quand on s'est éloigné que des pentes d'un coteau voisin, à une distance où toute la ville a disparu, ou ne forme plus au ras de terre qu'un amas confus, on peut, dans le recueillement de la solitude et du soir, évaluer, unique, persistante et pure, la hauteur d'une cathédrale. p. 153.

Now regret makes what was his former "prison" seem instead a sweet enclave...

Je compris combien cette lumière qui me semblait venir d'une prison coulait en moi de plénitude, de vie et de douceur; je compris que cette vie que j'avais menée à Paris dans un chez-moi qui était son chez-elle, c'était justement la réalisation de cette paix profonde que j'avais rêvée et crue impossible, le soir où elle avait couché sous le même toit que moi, au Grand Hôtel de Balbec.p. 154.

And another element that is linked with an episode from the past.

Book Portrait wrote: "Eugene wrote: "A key to the Narrator's incessant desire to suffer..."

"L'art n'est pas seul à mettre du charme et du mystère dans les choses les plus insignifiantes; ce même pouvoir de les mettre ..."

I had underlined the same passage as I was reading it. "L'art.." The Narrator has indeed a very sad view on love. Didn't he call it a 'reciprocal torture'? I was also struck by his comment about benefiting from Albertine's death. "...je bénéficiais en quelque sorte de sa mort car une femme est d'une plus grande utilité pour notre vie si elle est au lieu d'un élément de bonheur, un instrument de chagrin." A recurrent theme for Proust as in the following quote.
"Happiness is beneficial for the body, but it is grief that develops the powers of the mind."

Kalliope wrote: "Kalliope wrote: "

This one seems more directed towards his own consciousness and the way the mind functions..."

Thinking more about the way he is writing about his sorrow, and how I see it more a..."

Can't we all identify with his self- study of sorrow, though?

Jocelyne wrote: "Kalliope wrote: "Kalliope wrote: "

Thinking more about the way he is writing about his sorrow, and ho..."

Yes and no, at least for me. That is why I wrote in comment #7 above that I sensed a difference with the passage on the death of the grandmother, which I would like to reread after I am finished with this one.

The grandmother passage for me had a greater resonance because it expressed more pure sorrow, it was a real elegy, rather than an analysis of the sorrow. I find the latter an extraordinary scrutiny but his attention is too much turned towards himself.

More passages that struck me.

Mais l'infini de l'amour en son égoïsme fait que les êtres que nos aimons sont ceux dont la physionomie intellectuelle et morale est pour nous le moins objectivement définie, nous les retouchons sans cess au gré de nos désirs et de nos craintes, nous ne les séparons pas de nous, ils ne sont qu'un lieu immense et vague où extérioriser nos tendresses.

And then there is the quote that Jocelyne posted above in #16, which is followed by:

Ma joie d'avoir possédé un peu de l'intelligence d'Albertine et de son coeur ne venait pas de leur valeur intrinsèque mais de ce que cette possession était un degré de plus dans la possession totale d'Albertine, possession qui avait été le bout et la chimère, depuis le premier jour où je l'avais vue.... nous ne faisons que projeter hors e nous le plaisir que nous éprouvons à la voir.

And about a page later... more on his own self...

J'étais resté aussi égoïste depuis lors, mais le moi auquel j'étais attaché maintenant, le moi qui constituait ces vives réserves qui mettent en jeu l'instinct de conservation, ce moi n'était plus dans la vie; quand je pensais à mes forces, à ma puissance vitale, à ce que j'avais de meilleur, je pensais à un certain trésor que j'avais possédé (que j'avais été seul à posséder puisque les autres ne pouvaient connaître exactement le sentiment, caché en moi, qu'il m'avait inspiré) et que personne ne pouvait plus m'enlever puisque je ne le possédais plus.p. 157.

Kalliope wrote: "Jocelyne wrote: "Kalliope wrote: "Kalliope wrote: "

Thinking more about the way he is writing about his sorrow, and ho..."

Yes and no, at least for me. That is why I wrote in comment #7 above th..."

I see your point.

Jocelyne wrote: "

Yes and no, at least for me. That is why I wrote in co..."

I have actually made a document with the passage on the grandmother's death because I want to send it to a couple of friends who have experienced death of a loved one recently. I would not do that with this section.

Book Portrait wrote: I haven't finished this week's section but I'm continually stunned by his view of love...

Today I finished listening to this week's reading on Audible in my truck towing sheep in a trailer behind me at 70 MPH on I-87; in fact, so engrossed was I, I went 18 pages into next week's reading unknowingly and found a resolution, a tentative one of course, of Albertine and the Narrator there. But It begins, we are in it now, in this week's reading.

Apropos "l'amour maladif"--this is a complex novel but a simple one too--one aspect that I note is the continual refrain, perhaps a dozen times, that 'Albertine is dead' and this chorus of fact runs through 20 pages of this reading--'Alas she is no more'--but the Narrator tenderly and actually expresses his love for her--but 'She is dead'--as he never did when she was alive and one must believe that the Narrator was not aware of the extent of his love for her until she died. Dead she may be but alive and well in his (our) memory, and for sure, in better stead there than she was in his house.

Hopping all over the place, and here back to last week's reading, is a consideration of Proust the writer--Proust the artist--and his art is of course the book we read. As the Narrator criticized Albertine in a letter she wrote for "phrase making" (what does Proust call that in French?) he certainly was not a phrase maker in the way of many French writers that preceded him were. His lyricism was fresh and he should be lauded for that, even for his failures: the patient/sickness similes, etc. But he was not a phrase maker; I was trying to find a word for his anti-lyricism and his word is perfect.

I hope we can be somewhat tangental.

Kalliope wrote: "Moonlight or "Clair de lune" figured prominently in the Swann-Odette section, and this week I have counted so far four times... there may be more.

Here it is in visual graphics showing the length ..."

This is the most amazing thing! I am a visual person with a minimal knowledge of music and seeing the music likes this makes more sense than any inner landscape I could conjure. Even better I think watching the animated score over and over again would lead to a larger, brighter, awakened inner landscape. Now I need to reread the passages where Claire de Lune is mentioned in the book with new ears/eyes. What a treat! :)

Kalliope wrote: "...he is writing about his sorrow, and how I see it more as an excuse to explore himself, the workings of his mind, the way perception works, the passage and play of time in consciousness, and the crystallization of subjectivity..."

Absolutely. The initial shock of learning of Albertine's death was emotionally charged and as he goes on, for many pages, ruminating on his suffering he slips into this distanced, analytical, philosophical self that is sporadically reminded of the true ache at the core of this struggle (the lyrical leitmotiv "but she is dead") which slowly wanes.

Jocelyne wrote: "I was also struck by his comment about benefiting from Albertine's death. "...je bénéficiais en quelque sorte de sa mort car une femme est d'une plus grande utilité pour notre vie si elle est au lieu d'un élément de bonheur, un instrument de chagrin." ..."

The wording he uses is powerful and unsettling in the egocentrism it shows, isn't it? It goes back to what Kalliope was underlying about the self-study.

Eugene wrote: "Today I finished listening to this week's reading on Audible in my truck towing sheep..."

LOL! You remind me of the Proust Lu project.

Proust anywhere, anytime works for me. :D


... But he was not a phrase maker; I was trying to find a word for his anti-lyricism and his word is perfect.

Proust's style struck many as overly elaborate, ornate and somewhat precious. What is fascinating to me is that he actually spoke like this! These endless sentences are entirely him, it's not a style he affected. It's his words, his cadence, his non-linear, Escher-staircase syntax (mind?). I think his understanding of human nature and his humour is what motivates readers to push through the prose. And the reward is worth it, isn't it? :)

I'll look up the French for "phrase-making"...

The Narrator finds comfort in Albertine's last message not only because of the reassurance that she wanted to come back to him but also because of the beauty of the event thus completed. An indication that he is working through this death also with the mind of a writer that can sublimate his loved one's death through the aesthetic creation of a work of art.

Du moins j'étais heureux qu'avant de mourir elle m'eût écrit cette lettre, et surtout envoyé la dernière dépêche qui me prouvait qu'elle fût revenue si elle eût vécu. Il me semblait que c'était non seulement plus doux, mais plus beau ainsi, que l'événement eût été incomplet sans ce télégramme, eût eu moins figure d'art et de destin. En réalité il l'eût eu tout autant s'il eût été autre; car tout événement est comme un moule d'une forme particulière, et, quel qu'il soit, il impose, à la série des faits qu'il est venu interrompre et semble en conclure, un dessin que nous croyons le seul possible parce que nous ne connaissons pas celui qui eût pu lui être substitué. p168

As a reader I also had the "beauty" of the events in mind and was expecting Albertine to die in a plane crash like Agostinelli and in keeping with the imagery of "l'oiseau en cage" found in La Prisonnière. Maybe it was too obvious and Proust decided against it?

Strangely I was listening to this part and thought he was talking of "dessein" (fate design) and not "dessin" (drawing) in the last sentence.

Book Portrait wrote: ".Strangely I was listening to this part and thought he was talking of "dessein" (fate) and not "dessin" (drawing) in the last sentence. ."

Nice! - and one could be substituted for the other, eût pu lui être substitué, as he said himself about the 'dessin'.

I'm only half way through this week's reading but, yes, the nature and suddenness of Albertine's death was a shock to me. The skill here is that, like the Narrator must, I momentarily forget she is dead as I read on.
The other thing that has struck me in this section is the imagery used, the evening light on the stairs, the morning light through the windows, all changed now into sharp and ominous elements.
dans la porte de l'escalier, au milieu du noir que je croyais total, la partie vitrée était translucide et bleue, d'un bleu de fleur, d'un bleue d'aile d'insecte, d'un bleu qui m'eût semblé beau si je n'avais senti qu'il était un dernier reflet, coupant comme un acier, un coup suprême que dans sa cruauté infatigable me portait encore le jour
These are the the kinds of sentences that make me keep reading. For me, Proust is all about language, emotion rendered in words.
I

Fionnuala wrote: "Book Portrait wrote: ".Strangely I was listening to this part and thought he was talking of "dessein" (fate) and not "dessin" (drawing) in the last sentence. ."

Nice! - and one could be substitute..."

Oh yes, the imagery is fantastic. I re-read that sentence several times "d'un bleu de fleur, d'un bleu d'aile d'insecte...." Sublime.

@Book portrait & Kalliope, last night I re-read the pages about the Narrator's grief over his grandmother. You are so right. It is far more visceral and emotional, while this section here is more cerebral and analytical.

@Eugene, I get such a kick our of your listening in your truck and sharing Proust with your sheep!

Fionnuala wrote: "Book Portrait wrote: ".Strangely I was listening to this part and thought he was talking of "dessein" (fate) and not "dessin" (drawing) in the last sentence. ."

Nice! - and one could be substitute..."

GR has been down for hours... and this is happening now so often..

Anyway... that passage on blue is so, well, so very blue.... it has all the tints... I think it was in the Du côté de chez Swann that we spoke of colours, and although he uses a great deal the word "rose" it seemed to me he had explored the blues, and all the possible terms, a great deal more... And this passage adds on to his blues....

And I agree, for me the best thing in the whole novel is the language.

Kalliope wrote: "Fionnuala wrote: "Book Portrait wrote: ".Strangely I was listening to this part and thought he was talking of "dessein" (fate) and not "dessin" (drawing) in the last sentence. ."

Nice! - and one c..."

Seeing your review on Venice with the stunning mask as opening felt like a clin d'oeil to this week's "blue" section of The Fugitive.

Tiepolo Blue ...!!!

Book Portrait wrote: It's his words, his cadence, his non-linear, Escher-staircase syntax...

...Croyez que de mon côté je n'oublierai pas cette promenade deux fois crépusculaire (puisque la nuit venait et que nous allions nous quitter) et qu'elle ne s'effacera de mon esprit qu'avec la nuit complète.»

Je sentis que cette dernière phrase n'était qu'une phrase et qu'Albertine n'aurait pas pu garder, pour jusqu'à sa mort, un si doux souvenir de cette promenade où elle n'avait certainement eu aucun plaisir puisqu'elle était impatiente de me quitter.

The translation uses "phrase making" and I had hoped that Proust had used a French term but he doesn't. Besides the sentences are more to foreshadow Albertine's imminent death (here it's distance) than to talk of writing style.

What I had hoped to see was an exposition of his diction (a term to search) which is so individual. As Flaubert is different from Stendhal, Proust is far, far different from either in figurative diction; even if you were to straighten out his "non-linear, Escher-staircase syntax" (I like that) into a series of simple subject-verb sentences and convert his 1st person narration to 3rd you still would have his word choice which is his own and highly unusual. It's what makes him who he is.

Thinking through the writing of ISOLT I find that Proust never gives us rest stops rather he goes to fresh tensions and never do we rest as readers.

Fionnuala wrote: "These are the the kinds of sentences that make me keep reading. For me, Proust is all about language, emotion rendered in words."

Lol. You're right. When I started reading Du côté de chez Swann, I was literally dazzled by the beauty of his prose and I had to keep rereading the sentences to pay attention to what Proust was saying, not how. :)

No one before (or since) has pushed the French language like that, so much so that many germanophone readers were reminded of the German syntax with the embedded relative clauses and the key information (often with a humorous/satirical kick) kept for the end. Proust sentences are a bit like Gothic cathedrals. Lol. He might have liked that.

@ Eugene: I was Albertine was saying "c'est pas du chiqué" (ie "it's not junk")... am going to check!

ETA: no you're right, I have the exact same sentences you copied. "chiqué" must be somewhere else...

Searching for the word "phrase" in online versions of La Prisonnière and Albertine, I'm surprised by the number of occurences. Clearly a very important topic for Proust, "la phrase": his own sentences, the musical sentences ("la petite phrase de Vinteuil") or the way people speak (Françoise, Charlus, le directeur du Grand-Hôtel... as marking individuality/social classes... or concealing things... with Albertine). Sorry for this tangential rambly riff! That's what happens when I start thinking out loud. :)

ETA2: I agree, Eugene, Proust has a unique diction that really comes to life when we listen to Proust being read. Kalliope posted a link to a series of articles in the francophone thread about the actors who recorded Proust. This one is about reading Proust out loud:

http://www.la-croix.com/Culture/Livre...

Ever since I heard Paul Morand imitate Proust's way of speaking, which immediately reminded of the way Celeste Albaret spoke, I've adpoted this as Proust's true "voice" (for which we, of course, have no recording... so it will remain a mystery... no way of knowing whether his asthma caused a particular breathing rhythm, these long sentences... oops another bit of ramblinessiness from me... *lol*)

In the passage where the narrator thinks about the type of woman he falls in love with (is it fair to say it's the elusive one, the one that will make him suffer the most?) he compares Albertine to Gilberte and then, in another clue as to the overall architecture of his novel, he compares both to Vinteuil's petite phrase (Gilberte) et septuor (Albertine).

Qui sait si alors les mêmes qualités de sang riche, de rêverie inquiète ne reviendraient pas un jour jeter le trouble en moi, mais incarnées cette fois en quelle forme féminine, je ne pouvais le prévoir. A l'aide de Gilberte j'aurais pu aussi peu me figurer Albertine, et que je l'aimerais, que le souvenir de la sonate de Vinteuil ne m'eût permis de me figurer son septuor. GF p162

Jocelyne wrote: " It is far more visceral and emotional, while this section here is more cerebral and analytical.
..."

So, it comes as a no surprise that after the section on how he reacts to the death, he soon goes back to his obsessions and sends Aimé to find out more about Albertine.

Le nom d'Albertine, sa mort avaient changé de sens, ses trahisons avaient soudain repris toute leur importance, p.147.

I found this quite shocking.

Book Portrait wrote: "the passages where Claire de Lune is mentioned in the book with new ears/eyes.
..."

Yes, it figured prominently in Odette, then also, less prominently in Balbec and now comes up again.


And yes, these colour graphs of a musical piece are quite something.

Here is another one with the Prelude to the Après midi d'un faune.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Yazhx...

Although he had been tracing Swann and Odette as a sort of sample of the emotions that he himself went through later on, he also realizes that they have reached a point in which both stories or situations differ.

Car jamais rien ne se répète exactement, et les existences les plus analogues, et que grâce à la parenté des caractères et à la similitude des circonstances on peut choisir pour les présenter comme symétriques l'une de l'autre, restent en bien des points opposées.p. 158.

to which follows the enigmatic sentence:

Et certes la principale opposition (l'art) n'était pas manifestée encore.

This whole section, with the analytical examination of the self in pain and despair, and the fascination with the aesthetic qualities of sorrow, as well as the style in some fragments of visual preciosity, make me think of the Symboliste school and the Décadent movement of the late 19th century.

Last week Mallarmé was mentioned, and from the letters we know that this poet had figured prominently in the conversations between Agostinelli and Proust.

And now a very interesting turn in the Narrator's thinking.. on causality of events which is the essence of the tragic, since one incident would lead to another one, successively, until disaster happens.. And this brings out in him his sense of responsibility and also guilt.

... puisque de ma prison elle s'était évadée, pour aller se tuer sur un cheval que sans moi elle n'eût pas possédé... p. 159.

To be followed, a couple of pages later by ..

Et ainsi il me semblait que par ma tendresse uniquement égoïste j'avais laissé mourir Albertine comme j'avais assassiné ma grand-mère. pp 160-161.

I just love Proust's sentences that start with how.

How little do we know of what we have in our hearts! (MKE641)
How slow the day is in dying on these interminable summer evenings!(MK# 649)
How much more so with me if this change of weather recalled to me the weather in which Albertine, at Balbec, in the lashing rain, had set out, heaven knows why, on long rides, in the clinging tunic of her waterproof! (MKE 662)

Always a How and the exclamation mark at the end! These are only a few in this section that I've gotten to so far, but the whole novel has had so many!

and my absolute favorite:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nTIXKU...

And this is all because the way we relate to a person has at least two existences, parallel but which cross each other.

Car les êtres ont un développement en nous, mais un autre hors de nous,....., et qui ne laissent pas d'avoir des réactions l'un sur l'autre.

and later... the inner life will echo what happens outside

Si bien que cette longue plainte de l'âme qui croit vivre enfermée en elle-même n'est un monologue qu'en apparence puisque les échos de la réalité le font dévier, et que telle vie est comme un essai de psychologie subjective spontanément poursuivi mais qui fournit à quelque distance son "action" au roman purement réaliste d'une autre existence, et duquel à leur tour les péripéties viennent infléchir la courbe et changer la direction de l'essai psychologique. p. 159.

In the last quote I have put in bold the word "roman" or novel.. so he is equating and thinking about his life as a novel in which both the realist and the psychological elements have a role.

ReemK10 (Paper Pills) wrote: "I just love Proust's sentences that start with how.

..."

Very true, Reem... the "Comme..."

I also like the ones starting with "Or....".. a very difficult one to translate

I remember my teacher drawing attention to how Colette used it a fair amount... My teacher would just stand there and say "Or..." and keep silence for a while... and we just waited for her to come out of her revêrie..

He gets very close to philosophy later on..

We construct the person we love:

C'est que cette femme n'a fait que susciter par des sortes d'appels magiques mille éléments de tendresse existant en nous à l'état fragmentaire et qu'elle a assemblés, unis, effaçant toute lacune entre eux, c'est nous-même qui en lui donnant ses traits avons fourni toute la matière solide de la personne aimée. p. 161.

Even the famous l'habitude is given the weight of causality by a school of thought in philosophy.

... comme l'habitude donne à la simple association d'idées entre deux phénomènes, à ce que prétend une certaine école philosophique. p. 161.

ReemK10 (Paper Pills) wrote: ";and my absolute favorite:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nTIXKU... "

Reem, I found an amazing transcribed interview with Proust on the same youtube page as your link, an interview which appeared in the 'Le Temps' newspaper on the 13 of November 1913
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhoqSH...
In it, Proust, or the beautiful voiceover, talks about being obliged to publish the first part of his work separately and compares the problem to those of people who live in apartments too small for the tapestries they would like to hang and are obliged to cut them into sections. It is full of interesting thoughts. Perhaps it exists in English somewhere. If not, we should translate it - and post it here in time for the 13th of November!

And Kall, having listened, for the very first time, to someone reading Proust's words out loud, I finally understand how much you love your audio version of La Recherche.

Fionnuala wrote: "
Reem, I found an amazing transcribed interview with Proust on the same youtube page as your link..."

What a find Fionnuala...!!!!. I have listened to it once and it is fascinating.

He associates his novel to Bergson's thinking while at the same time he disassociates it from it.

He insists that his novel is not the fruit of "l'Intélligence" or "raisonnement" but the product of his "sensibilité"...

I have been surprised by the way he associates the "mémoire volontaire" to the eyes, but that it is the fragance, the flavours that awake in us a different sense of one's past....

And this takes us to the kind of reading we have been doing in this group, and for which I am grateful to everyone.

We have paid attention to all the details Proust has included in his books. His colours, his flowers, the clothes, the furniture, the effects of light, the literary, artistic, musical, historical references, all of these carried his "sensibilité" and he was using them precisely to try and evoke his reality.

To read the book distilling of all these subtleties does not do justice to the novel, to Proust's work.

I plan to transcribe the interview.. but I will do it in phases.. I reckon it is equivalent to 4 pages of the book (in my audio edition, which YES, Fio, it is fabulous, the pace is roughly 2 minutes per page).

By the way, I've ordered:

http://www.amazon.fr/Correspondance-P...

Just wonderful! So glad that you found what you did. In fact, in so many ways, we are so lucky that this is only a first reading of ISOLT. For our reading to have been so rich with all the details picked out and discussed and all the music and visuals is an incredible first start. I am not an analytical reader, so I delight in what you put under the magnifying glass and explain which is so vital to our understanding of the text. For me, I'm just trying to get into his head to see things differently. I really don't judge him at all. The blogs I read yesterday gave me such a reader's high because it was so special to be able to see how everyone took a bite of the same cake if you will, and each tasted it differently. It is the most amazing novel, and to think that each time we read it, we will experience it totally differently because we will have changed is mind-boggling. Many thanks to those of you who work so hard at giving us these links to explore!!!! And to those of you who analyze the text and the emotions!

ReemK10 (Paper Pills) wrote: "The blogs I read yesterday gave me such a reader's high because it was so special to be able to see how everyone took a bite of the same cake if you will, and each tasted it differently."

Very fitting description, Reem!
I will read those writerly reactions to La Recherche when I reach the end.

Kall, that volume of letters looks like a good buy.

Yes, I also listened again to the 1913 interview and tried to take notes.
There's so much in it. The empahais on 'sensibilité' is clear and marked. Also the difference between 'mémoire vonuntaire et involuntaire', which I need to think about more.
I was particularly interested in the last part where he talks about style because as we said earlier this week, this has become such an important element for us. I transcribed that bit and please excuse any mistakes of spelling:

Le style n'est nullement un enjolivement, comme croient certaines personnes. Ce n'est même pas un question de technique. C'est comme la couleur chez le peintre, une qualité de la vision, la révélation de l'univers particulier que chacun de nous voit et que ne voient pas les autres. Le plaisir que nous donne un artiste, c'est de nous faire connaitre un univers de plus.

My rough translation: "Style is not ornamental, as some people maintain. It's not even a question of technique. It's like the way an artist uses colour, an aspect of the ways we see things. The pleasure we get from an artist (art) is to learn about new worlds (new ways of seeing).

And it seems Proust did really speak the way he wrote, BP!.

And, and, Proust uses a train metaphor to describe the Recherche, how it doubles back on itself so that we see characters and events in different ways and different points of their lives depending on which side/part of the train we look out from. That's exactly the metaphor I used to construct my review of the first volume way back at the beginning of the year.

Fionnuala wrote: ".."

Fionnuala,

You have found a piece of gold. I wanted to keep that interview, so I have transcribed it.

Do you remember how earlier on the Narrator was saying that in the long pieces of writing from the 19th century, such as those by Balzac and by Michelet, the most important interesting thing would be the preface that these writers would append to their completed editions, AFTER they had finished their work?.. Well, this is not quite that, since it is from 1913, but it can be seen as the preface to half of his work, that is ex-Albertine long episode.

Here it is.. Fionnuala, please read it while listening.. some parts I was not sure...

It is a BEAUTIFUL piece...

TRANSCRIPTION OF THE INTERVIEW. Link posted by Fionnuala above in #45.

Interview de Marcel Proust par Elie Joseph Bois, parue dans le journal Le Temps du 13 novembre 1913.

Je ne publique qu’un volume, Du côté de chez Swann, d’un roman qui aura pour titre général A la Recherche du Temps Perdu. J’aurais voulu publier le tout ensemble, mais on n’édite plus d’ouvrages en plusieurs volumes. Je suis comme quelqu’un qui a une tapisserie trop grande pour les appartements actuels et qui a été obligé de la couper. Des jeunes écrivains avec qui je suis d’ailleurs en sympathie préconisaient au contraire une action brève avec peu de personnages. Ce n’est pas ma conception du roman. Comment vous dire cela. Vous savez qu’il y a une géométrie plane et une géométrie dans l’espace. Et bien pour moi le roman ce n’est pas seulement de la psychologie plane mais de la psychologie dans le temps. Cette substance invisible du temps j’ai taché de l’isoler. Mais pour cela il fallait que l’expérience pût durer. J’espère qu’à la fin de mon livre tels petits faits sociales sans importance, tel mariage entre deux personnes qui dans le premier volume appartiennent à deux mondes bien différents indiquera que du temps a passé et prendra cette beauté de certaines plombs patinés de Versailles que le temps a engainé dans un tourteau d'emeraude.

Puis comme une ville qui pendant que le train suit sa contournée nous apparaît tantôt à notre droite tantôt à notre gauche. Les divers aspects qu’un même personnage aura pris aux yeux d’un autre au point qu’il aurait été comme des personnages successives et différents donneront, mais pas cela seulement, la sensation du temps écoulé.

Tels personnages se rebelleront plus tard différents de ce qu’ils sont dans le volume actuel différents de ce qu’on les croira ainsi qu’il arrive bien souvent dans la vie du reste. Ce ne sont pas seulement les mêmes personnages qui réapparaitront au cours de cette œuvre sous des aspects divers comme dans certains cycles de Balzac mais en un même personnage, nous dit M. Proust, certaines impressions profondes presque inconscientes. A ce point de vue continue M. Proust, mon livre serait peut-être comme un essai d’une suite de romans de l’inconscient. Je n’aurai aucune honte à dire des romans Bergsoniens, si je le croyais, car à toute époque il arrive que la littérature attache ou essaie de se rattacher, après coup naturellement, à la philosophie régnante mais ce ne serait pas exacte car mon œuvre est dominée par la distinction entre la mémoire involontaire et la mémoire volontaire, distinction qui non seulement ne figure pas dans la philosophie de M. Bergson mais y est même contredite par elle. Comment établissez vous cette distinction? pour moi la mémoire volontaire qui est surtout une mémoire de l’intelligence et des yeux, ne nous donne du passé que des phases sans vérité mais qu’une odeur une saveur retrouvées dans des circonstances toutes différentes réveillent en nous, malgré nous, le passé. Nous sentons combien ce passé était différent de ce que nous croyons nous rappeler et que notre mémoire volontaire peignait comme les mauvais peintres avec des couleurs sans vérité. Déjà dans ce premier volume vous verrez le personnage qui raconte, qui dit Je et qui n’est pas moi, retrouver tout d’un coup des années, des jardins des êtres oubliés dans le coup d’une gorgée de thé où il a trempé un morceaux de madeleine. Sans doute il se les rappelait, mais sans leurs couleurs, sans leurs charmes. Je puis lui faire dire que comme dans ce petit jeu Japonais où l’on trempe des tenues de bouts de papier qui aussitôt trempés dans le bol s’étirent se contournent et deviennent des fleurs, des personnages, toutes les fleurs de son jardin, les nymphéas de la Vivonne et les bons gens du village et leurs petits logis et l’église et tout Combray et ses environs et tout cela qui prend forme et solidité est sorti, villes et jardins, de sa tasse de thé. Voyais vous, je crois que ce n’est guère qu’au souvenir involontaire que l’artiste devrait demander la matière première de son œuvre. D’abord précisément parce qu’ils sont involontaires qu’ils se forment de même, attirés par la ressemblance d’une minute identique ils ont seule une griffe d’authenticité et puis il nous rapportent les choses dans un exacte dosage de mémoire et d’oubli. Mais enfin, comme ils nous font gouter la même sensation dans une circonstance toute autre ils la libèrent de toute contingence ils nous en donnent l’essence extra temporelle, celle qui est justement qui est justement le continu du beau style, cette vérité générale et nécessaire que la beauté du style seule traduit.

Si je me permet de raisonner ainsi sur mon livre, poursuit Monsieur Marcel Proust, c’est qu’il n’est à aucun degré une œuvre de raisonnement, c’est que ses moindres éléments m’ont été fournis par ma sensibilité, que je les ai d’abord aperçus au fond de moi-même sans les comprendre ayant autant de peine à les convertir en quelque chose d’intelligible que s’ils avaient été aussi étrangers au monde de l’intelligence que, comment dire, un motif musicale.

Il me semble que vous pensez qu’il s’agit des subtilités. Mais non, je vous assure, mais des réalités au contraire. C’est que nous n’avons pas su éclaircir nous même. Ce qui était clair avant nous, par exemple des idées logiques, cela n’est pas vraiment notre. Nous ne savons même pas si c’est le réel, c’est du possible que nous élisons arbitrairement. D’ailleurs vous savez, ça se voie tout de suite au style. Le style n’est nullement un enjolivement comme croient certaines personnes. Ce n’est même pas une question de technique. C’est comme la couleur chez les peintres, une qualité de la vision. La révélation de l’univers particulier que chacun de nous voit et que ne voient pas les autres. Le plaisir que nous donne un artiste c’est de nous faire connaître un univers de plus.