mandarine

I recently stumbled upon a nice post by the Literate Kitten who had just finished reading Proust’s ‘Swann’s Way’ (in French: ‘Du Côté de Chez Swann’):

I learned that I can take on a challenging read, even when working at a challenging job. I learned that a few pages each evening, regularly read, do miraculously add up. I learned that I bring a certain element of unique reading to a great book. And, perhaps most importantly, I learned I could again be excited, down to tips of my marrowed-bones and quiver of my soul, about words.

Update: and another great post by Dorothy:

I’ve been reading in small chunks of about 10 pages or so, and read about 50 pages a week. For me, that’s the perfect way to read it; regularly enough to keep the story and ideas fresh in my mind, but at a slow enough pace to absorb it and to keep from feeling bogged down. This is most definitely not a book to rush.

Golden honey and warm milk

I had meant to start reading Proust’s books ever since I was fifteen. My Mum’s shelves were full of them. But I had never been able to read past the first ten pages and had conclusively classified Proust as dull plotless prose with telescopic sentences.

The revelation came early this year when I –shame on me– ripped a borrowed audio book to stuff it into my MP3 player so I could ‘read’ while cycling to work. In it was a fifteen minute excerpt from Proust’s ‘Swann’s way’ that has not left my MP3 playlist since. It takes a good actor not to stumble over the long sentences and the unexpected commas, but then the words flow like golden honey and warm milk. It has become an addiction — just this one fifteen-minute passage about how fine a stroll it is to walk along the banks of the Vivonne river. I play it in a loop when I want to doze off for a nap. I play it as loud as my ears will suffer to cover conversations on my commuter’s train. I play it again and again and again. So much so that now I have started reading the book for real.

I agree that it is hard reading, with little in the way of an enthralling plot, even though the vivid descriptions of childhood emotions are sometimes gripping. I believe that although they are classified as prose, Proust’s novels should be considered as poetry: I have to read them slowly, little sip after little sip, like very sweet liquor. It is OK if it takes me a full year to finish the bottle.

What if Proust was a blogger ?

What struck me is that both the Literate Kitten (and Dorothy) mentioned reading only a few pages each day. As I was reading the fabuluous excerpts from ‘Swann’s way’ quoted in her post, I began to think: ‘what if Proust was a blogger ?’ Would I not blogroll him right away, subscribe to his feed and come back every day for more ? Would you not do the same ? This is impossible, because Mr Marcel Proust unfortunately died a while ago, but what if someone was to set-up a blog pretending to be Proust and posted the whole ‘Recherche du Temps Perdu’ page-wise ?

Maybe we know better; we do not really need this kind of make-believe and can choose our own reading pace with the real book. I like the blog allegory, though. I feel compelled to turn to the book daily, I can take my time and read slowly, and I feel no guilt to pause after a page or two.

Read on

Why I prefer on-screen reading (soon)
Why can’t I ever remember what books I have read ? (afterwards)

Read away

LitKit’s post

Dorothy’s post

A fabulous group blog about Proust’s In Search of Lost TIme

Du Côté de Chez Swann from the Gutenberg project

Swann’s way (Eglish translation by Scott-Moncrieff, C. K.) from the Gutenberg project

Marcel Proust on Wikipedia

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