Volume One

I have completed the first volume of Remembrance of Things Past earlier in the week. I found marked differences in the writing toward the end of the the final book of this volume. In my opinion this can be attributed to the actions of the main character being closer in action to what we do in this day and age. Further, the interplay between the individuals seems to occur with greater frequency, though the longer passages do contain incredible prose that rivals any in earlier sections.

On another note I find that the reading of Proust has had a more profound effect on my life, in particular my reading life, certainly my ability to concentrate and elucidate ideas and expressions in writing and in verbal communication. I have found a greater inspiration to write from Proust than from any other source of writing in my life. I cannot exactly state the particulars that are in the writing that inspire or teach or reveal to my desire or mind or heart that which I have not been able to see in other literature or schooling. I almost have a sensation that, like some occult tome, or ancient carved tablet, my particular circumstance now resonates in harmony with the textural flow of Proust. A secret come to light, hidden between the pages, and transmitted across the ages.

Page 900

I have reached page 900, leaving only 118 pages to go in the first volume. I have found the writing to be a bit more open, leaning toward a more conversational style. The prose, is as ever, beautiful and the long descriptive passages blot the world around me out. The struggles I experience in reading Proust is the conflict between the rough rude ill-bred aggressive world I live in in comparison to the world rich in culture, manners, and grace. I often find myself distracted by the formal descriptions and respectful conversations, that imply or state that the people in the world of Proust are listening and interested in each other. Even as Proust details the separation of class and the oft denigrating or snobbish behavior of characters I find that at least they do not fear for their lives from those around them and even those in the class loser than the common servants are given polite words and connected interactions. The contrast is stark and troubling.

Catching up

I am not very Proust like in my posts. I do not write enough inside the body of the messages and I do not write enough posts. I would guess that Proust would write pages and pages, detailing thoughts and emotions, ideas and musings, descriptions and undulations, that would reveal the whys and wherefores of the limiting capacity toward posting. How was that for a Proustian sentence?

Ok, so I have been reading and reading and reading. I have been reading Proust and I have been reading other writers. I am finding as is on the frontispiece of _Dead Souls_ that there are books and there are Books and even some of the greatest literature can only fall into the class of books. I have become enchanted with Kawabata and Gogol but Doctorow and Steinbeck leave me cold. I do ok with Mahfouz but I have no love or connection for Nabakov. I have not started with M.F.K. Fisher or Jane Austen and I particularly like Calvino, I can see why Calvino is so popular in bookstores. Ok so I gotta go live life a bit see you again soonish.