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Guermantes Way: Pt. 1
In the overture to Swann's Way, the themes of the whole of In Search of Lost Time are introduced, and the narrator's childhood in Paris and Combray is recalled, most memorably in the evocation of the famous maternal good-night kiss. The recollection of the narrator's love for Swann's daughter Gilberte leads to an account of Swann's passion for Odette and the rise of the nouveaux riches Verdurins.
442 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1920
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About the author
Marcel Proust
2,157 books7,481 followersMarcel Proust was a French novelist, best known for his 3000 page masterpiece À la recherche du temps perdu (Remembrance of Things Past or In Search of Lost Time), a pseudo-autobiographical novel told mostly in a stream-of-consciousness style.
Born in the first year of the Third Republic, the young Marcel, like his narrator, was a delicate child from a bourgeois family. He was active in Parisian high society during the 80s and 90s, welcomed in the most fashionable and exclusive salons of his day. However, his position there was also one of an outsider, due to his Jewishness and homosexuality. Towards the end of 1890s Proust began to withdraw more and more from society, and although he was never entirely reclusive, as is sometimes made out, he lapsed more completely into his lifelong tendency to sleep during the day and work at night. He was also plagued with severe asthma, which had troubled him intermittently since childhood, and a terror of his own death, especially in case it should come before his novel had been completed. The first volume, after some difficulty finding a publisher, came out in 1913, and Proust continued to work with an almost inhuman dedication on his masterpiece right up until his death in 1922, at the age of 51.
Today he is widely recognized as one of the greatest authors of the 20th Century, and À la recherche du temps perdu as one of the most dazzling and significant works of literature to be written in modern times.
Born in the first year of the Third Republic, the young Marcel, like his narrator, was a delicate child from a bourgeois family. He was active in Parisian high society during the 80s and 90s, welcomed in the most fashionable and exclusive salons of his day. However, his position there was also one of an outsider, due to his Jewishness and homosexuality. Towards the end of 1890s Proust began to withdraw more and more from society, and although he was never entirely reclusive, as is sometimes made out, he lapsed more completely into his lifelong tendency to sleep during the day and work at night. He was also plagued with severe asthma, which had troubled him intermittently since childhood, and a terror of his own death, especially in case it should come before his novel had been completed. The first volume, after some difficulty finding a publisher, came out in 1913, and Proust continued to work with an almost inhuman dedication on his masterpiece right up until his death in 1922, at the age of 51.
Today he is widely recognized as one of the greatest authors of the 20th Century, and À la recherche du temps perdu as one of the most dazzling and significant works of literature to be written in modern times.
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December 12, 2017
ابزارکار هنرمند
من زمانى به خاطر خواندن بعضی نقدها، فكر مى كردم كه داستان نويس بايد پيش از نوشتن داستان، فلسفه اى (به معنى اصطلاحى كلمه) داشته باشد، ايدئولوژى اى، مكتب فكرى اى. نوشته هايش را بايد با خط كش و گونيا و پرگار با اين يا آن مكتب روانشناسى يا اسطوره شناسی یا جامعه شناسى يا فلسفى جور كند، به طورى كه هر جزئى ترين توصيفش اشاره اى باشد به فلان حرف فرويد و یونگ يا بهمان حرف ماركس. سال ها طول كشيد تا بفهمم منتقدهايى هم هستند كه اين نقدها را نقد مى كنند، و داستان را چيزى بيشتر از جولانگاه مكاتب فكرى مى دانند. چراكه مكاتب به سرعت برق و باد دنبال هم مى آيند و مى روند، و شكسپير هنوز به قوت خود باقى است.
اين فريبى نيست كه فقط من دچارش شده باشم. سوزان سونتاگ در علیه تفسیر از نويسنده هاى ديگرى هم نام مى برد كه چطور با دقتى وسواس آميز اصرار دارند كه هر كلمه شان نماد چيزى باشد كه در فلان مكتب گفته شده، و اثرشان در نهايت چيزى نيست جز حرف هاى همان مكتب در قالب داستان. و آن وقت سؤال پيش مى آيد كه اگر كسى بخواهد فلسفه و روانشناسى بخواند، چرا بايد كتاب هاى فلسفى و روانشناسى را كه حرف هاى خودشان را واضح و روشن زده اند رها كند و بيايد همان حرف ها را در يك داستان نمادين، مخفى شده زير هفت لايه استعاره و رمز بخواند؟ و علاوه بر اين، آيا هنر كار ديگرى ندارد جز ابزار تبليغاتى فلسفه و علم بودن؟
پروست با این رمان ثابت می کند كه داستان نويس بودن نياز به چيزى به جز داستان نويس بودن ندارد. داستان نويس بودن يعنى دقيق بودن در انسان ها، روحيات انسان ها، رفتارهاى انسان ها، روابط پيدا و پنهان انسان ها، گفتگوهاى انسان ها، با تمام معانى كنايى و پوشيده شان. همين و همين. داستان نويس بودن نيازى به گذراندن پيش نياز فلسفه و روانكاوى ندارد، اين را پيش از اين عباس معروفى هم در این سو و آن سوی متن گفته بود، اگر هم نياز به روانشناسى و فلسفه خواندن باشد، تنها براى اين است كه ذهن نويسنده بازتر شود و بتواند چيزهاى بيشترى را ببيند، نه براى آن كه مستقيم از نظريات روانشناسى و فلسفى در داستان استفاده كند. مشاهده گر بودن. هيچ چيز جزئى اى را ناديده نگذاشتن. درون نگرى. از ديد پروست، و خيلى هاى ديگر، اين ها ابزارهاى داستان نويسى هستند. و كسى كه از اين ها بى بهره باشد، فلسفه دانى هيچ كمكى به او نخواهد كرد.
من زمانى به خاطر خواندن بعضی نقدها، فكر مى كردم كه داستان نويس بايد پيش از نوشتن داستان، فلسفه اى (به معنى اصطلاحى كلمه) داشته باشد، ايدئولوژى اى، مكتب فكرى اى. نوشته هايش را بايد با خط كش و گونيا و پرگار با اين يا آن مكتب روانشناسى يا اسطوره شناسی یا جامعه شناسى يا فلسفى جور كند، به طورى كه هر جزئى ترين توصيفش اشاره اى باشد به فلان حرف فرويد و یونگ يا بهمان حرف ماركس. سال ها طول كشيد تا بفهمم منتقدهايى هم هستند كه اين نقدها را نقد مى كنند، و داستان را چيزى بيشتر از جولانگاه مكاتب فكرى مى دانند. چراكه مكاتب به سرعت برق و باد دنبال هم مى آيند و مى روند، و شكسپير هنوز به قوت خود باقى است.
اين فريبى نيست كه فقط من دچارش شده باشم. سوزان سونتاگ در علیه تفسیر از نويسنده هاى ديگرى هم نام مى برد كه چطور با دقتى وسواس آميز اصرار دارند كه هر كلمه شان نماد چيزى باشد كه در فلان مكتب گفته شده، و اثرشان در نهايت چيزى نيست جز حرف هاى همان مكتب در قالب داستان. و آن وقت سؤال پيش مى آيد كه اگر كسى بخواهد فلسفه و روانشناسى بخواند، چرا بايد كتاب هاى فلسفى و روانشناسى را كه حرف هاى خودشان را واضح و روشن زده اند رها كند و بيايد همان حرف ها را در يك داستان نمادين، مخفى شده زير هفت لايه استعاره و رمز بخواند؟ و علاوه بر اين، آيا هنر كار ديگرى ندارد جز ابزار تبليغاتى فلسفه و علم بودن؟
پروست با این رمان ثابت می کند كه داستان نويس بودن نياز به چيزى به جز داستان نويس بودن ندارد. داستان نويس بودن يعنى دقيق بودن در انسان ها، روحيات انسان ها، رفتارهاى انسان ها، روابط پيدا و پنهان انسان ها، گفتگوهاى انسان ها، با تمام معانى كنايى و پوشيده شان. همين و همين. داستان نويس بودن نيازى به گذراندن پيش نياز فلسفه و روانكاوى ندارد، اين را پيش از اين عباس معروفى هم در این سو و آن سوی متن گفته بود، اگر هم نياز به روانشناسى و فلسفه خواندن باشد، تنها براى اين است كه ذهن نويسنده بازتر شود و بتواند چيزهاى بيشترى را ببيند، نه براى آن كه مستقيم از نظريات روانشناسى و فلسفى در داستان استفاده كند. مشاهده گر بودن. هيچ چيز جزئى اى را ناديده نگذاشتن. درون نگرى. از ديد پروست، و خيلى هاى ديگر، اين ها ابزارهاى داستان نويسى هستند. و كسى كه از اين ها بى بهره باشد، فلسفه دانى هيچ كمكى به او نخواهد كرد.
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January 8, 2023Are there names that have fascinated you from your childhood, names which you heard spoken but which didn’t match any real person of your acquaintance or any place you actually knew, names which little by little began to contain their own unique aura around which you wove a brilliant but imaginary world?
Such names, unlike the other vocabulary we learn as children, don’t carry any meaning we can easily understand. We can’t see the object to which they refer or easily grasp the idea they embody. We have to invent a story for them.
Many of the people and places mentioned in my hearing as a child seemed like a foreign language that needed to be deciphered. My child’s mind sought to translate them in some accessible way, and that translation was often done by means of images. My mother’s uncle James whom she often spoke about but whom I never met or even saw in a photograph, became, in my mind’s eye, a figure in a dark suit, white shirt and check tie. But this soberly dressed figure had the head of a large brown bear. Every time she spoke of him, I saw that same besuited bear, sometimes with a foot propped on the pedal of his bicycle, always with a hat on the back of his head. That was Uncle James.
The images in my head were mostly invented but sometimes supported by the tiny, faded oval of whiteness peering out of an old photograph. My father’s great-aunt Ann was such a white oval. But there wasn’t much to latch onto in the blankness of the little face. The rest of the photo was more promising; it showed a dark figure in a wide-brimmed hat, long dress and laced up boots, her feet turned out like Mary Poppins. So I endowed the dark figure with an umbrella and at the mention of her name, the sky gained a new type of bird as Aunt Ann floated off among the clouds.
Names, both place names and people’s names have dominated Proust’s A la Recherche du Temps Perdu from the very beginning. The name Guermantes fascinated the young narrator from early childhood. He endowed it with its own colour, he linked it to the historical fables of the region he lived in, he created images for himself around the name based on the colored figures in the stained glass windows of his local church and the glimpse he once had of a woman who bore the name Guermantes and who embodied for him a kind of ultimate perfection. In this, the third volume of the series, the narrator and the reader finally get to meet the Duchesse de Guermantes in all her imagined splendour. And she is splendid indeed.
I have my own set of images inspired by the stained glass windows of the church of my childhood where the main theme was Judgement Day. The images I have are partly linked to what I'd learned at school but they take a turn that the nuns who taught us never gave the story. The mass of monotone sinners on the redeemer's left-hand side get transformed by the light into an array of colorful personages that more than rival the red and gold saints on his right-hand side. I think Proust might have approved.
Such names, unlike the other vocabulary we learn as children, don’t carry any meaning we can easily understand. We can’t see the object to which they refer or easily grasp the idea they embody. We have to invent a story for them.
Many of the people and places mentioned in my hearing as a child seemed like a foreign language that needed to be deciphered. My child’s mind sought to translate them in some accessible way, and that translation was often done by means of images. My mother’s uncle James whom she often spoke about but whom I never met or even saw in a photograph, became, in my mind’s eye, a figure in a dark suit, white shirt and check tie. But this soberly dressed figure had the head of a large brown bear. Every time she spoke of him, I saw that same besuited bear, sometimes with a foot propped on the pedal of his bicycle, always with a hat on the back of his head. That was Uncle James.
The images in my head were mostly invented but sometimes supported by the tiny, faded oval of whiteness peering out of an old photograph. My father’s great-aunt Ann was such a white oval. But there wasn’t much to latch onto in the blankness of the little face. The rest of the photo was more promising; it showed a dark figure in a wide-brimmed hat, long dress and laced up boots, her feet turned out like Mary Poppins. So I endowed the dark figure with an umbrella and at the mention of her name, the sky gained a new type of bird as Aunt Ann floated off among the clouds.
Names, both place names and people’s names have dominated Proust’s A la Recherche du Temps Perdu from the very beginning. The name Guermantes fascinated the young narrator from early childhood. He endowed it with its own colour, he linked it to the historical fables of the region he lived in, he created images for himself around the name based on the colored figures in the stained glass windows of his local church and the glimpse he once had of a woman who bore the name Guermantes and who embodied for him a kind of ultimate perfection. In this, the third volume of the series, the narrator and the reader finally get to meet the Duchesse de Guermantes in all her imagined splendour. And she is splendid indeed.
I have my own set of images inspired by the stained glass windows of the church of my childhood where the main theme was Judgement Day. The images I have are partly linked to what I'd learned at school but they take a turn that the nuns who taught us never gave the story. The mass of monotone sinners on the redeemer's left-hand side get transformed by the light into an array of colorful personages that more than rival the red and gold saints on his right-hand side. I think Proust might have approved.
May 18, 2023
Imam posebnu vrstu otpora kad sednem da pišem o Prustu za društvene mreže. Pored toga što angažuje sva moja čula, kad god otvorim neki deo Potrage, imam utisak da su se široke vratnice zaprege raskrilile i da je sasvim moguće iskoračiti u nešto veliko i svetlo. Otići na kraj sveta zbog glogova ili kakvog ružičnjaka, kod Prusta je poseban oblik estetike, jedna vrsta ''telosa'' koji je duboko ličan i privatan. Ne znam šta je to što Prust čini mom biću, još manje znam da li ću to nešto umeti da imenujem do kraja, ali je sasvim moguće poleći dušu na mekanu pokožicu prstiju i izložiti je, vazdušastu i prozirnu, majskom suncu i kiši. Prust čini da otvaram oči ka stvarima i da ih sagledam po ivicama i one, odbijajući se i vraćajući se meni, otkrivaju zaumni svet, podtekst stvarnosti, dagerotipski snimak karanfila, zumbula, belih rada, razbokorenih ruža - kao na prozoru katedrale u Šartru čiji je lavirint inspirisao Žida - koji pokazuju da čovek može sesti na jednu stenu i do kraja vremena voleti čitav svet, a da istovremeno, taj svet nema nikakve veze s njim...
February 9, 2020
در طرف گرمانت 2..
February 20, 2020
خیلی طول کشید این جلدو بخونم حال روحیم زیاد خوب نبود برای همین خیلی طولش دادم .
دو سه تا دوست از بلبک پیدا کرده بود اینجا دربارشون بیشتر گفت و عاشق خانوم گرمانت شده بود که من حرص خوردم چرا اینا عاشق زنای شوهر دار میشن ؟؟
دو سه تا دوست از بلبک پیدا کرده بود اینجا دربارشون بیشتر گفت و عاشق خانوم گرمانت شده بود که من حرص خوردم چرا اینا عاشق زنای شوهر دار میشن ؟؟
April 19, 2020
| ”عشق خیلی اسرارآمیز است. خوب که فکرش را بکنید هیچوقت نمیدانیم یک آدم چرا آدم دیگری را دوست دارد. شاید به هیچوجه به خاطر آن چیزی نباشد که ما فکر میکنیم.“ |
اینکه به هرمقولهای میرسیم انقدر خوب و جزئی راجع بهش بحث میشه نشون میده تسلط نویسنده توو زمینههای مختلف و ژرفای هرچیزی چقدر خوب بوده.
بازم تاکید کنم که ترجمهی آقای سحابی هم واقعا جای تقدیر داره.
اینکه به هرمقولهای میرسیم انقدر خوب و جزئی راجع بهش بحث میشه نشون میده تسلط نویسنده توو زمینههای مختلف و ژرفای هرچیزی چقدر خوب بوده.
بازم تاکید کنم که ترجمهی آقای سحابی هم واقعا جای تقدیر داره.
October 17, 2020
بقول دوستم «گزارش ملال»؛ بخش مهمیه، جزئیاتش خیرهکنندهان و گاهی هم درخشان میشه، جهت پرداختن یک کل بزرگ هم کارکرد داره اما بطور خلاصه برام مساوی با «ملالانگیز» بود!
February 1, 2020
طرف گرمانت در مجموعه جستجو، حضور راوی جوان ست در جهان پرافسون اشراف،و
دلداده ی نامها و مکان ها
.
،راوی بعد از تجربه های متفاوت در این دنیای پر زرق و برق چشم نواز
درون پوک، فاسد و سطحی این مردمان حقیر را کاملا می بیند و می شناسد
افسون این افسانه های خیالی در درونش فرو می پاشد و
،در انتها دل می کَنَد، وآنجا را و آنها را ترک می کند،
رها و آزاد از قید نامها و جاها
.
دوک دوگرمانت، شکوهمند و المپيوار، سنگين نشسته بود.
چنان که گفتي حس آگاهي بر
ثروت بيکرانهاش، حسي که با ذره ذره تنش آميخته بود،
به گونهاي که همه آن ثروت درکورهاي ذوب )
(و به شکل يک شمش انسانيِ درآمده باشد
.به او چگالی خارق العاده ای می داد
چون با اون خداحافظي کردم مودبانه از جا برخاست و
من توده لَخت يکپارچه سي ميليون فرانک
را حس کردم ،که تربيت قديمي فرانسوي
حرکتش ميداد، بلندش ميکرد و
.پيش روي من ميايستانيد
.
...دوک و دوشس گرمانت از اشراف مشهوری هستند که راوی جوان برای راه یافتن به محفلشان بسیار کوشیده و
دلداده ی نامها و مکان ها
.
،راوی بعد از تجربه های متفاوت در این دنیای پر زرق و برق چشم نواز
درون پوک، فاسد و سطحی این مردمان حقیر را کاملا می بیند و می شناسد
افسون این افسانه های خیالی در درونش فرو می پاشد و
،در انتها دل می کَنَد، وآنجا را و آنها را ترک می کند،
رها و آزاد از قید نامها و جاها
.
دوک دوگرمانت، شکوهمند و المپيوار، سنگين نشسته بود.
چنان که گفتي حس آگاهي بر
ثروت بيکرانهاش، حسي که با ذره ذره تنش آميخته بود،
به گونهاي که همه آن ثروت درکورهاي ذوب )
(و به شکل يک شمش انسانيِ درآمده باشد
.به او چگالی خارق العاده ای می داد
چون با اون خداحافظي کردم مودبانه از جا برخاست و
من توده لَخت يکپارچه سي ميليون فرانک
را حس کردم ،که تربيت قديمي فرانسوي
حرکتش ميداد، بلندش ميکرد و
.پيش روي من ميايستانيد
.
...دوک و دوشس گرمانت از اشراف مشهوری هستند که راوی جوان برای راه یافتن به محفلشان بسیار کوشیده و
February 7, 2025
پروست آدم شناس درجه یکی است!
اما اطناب دارد، آن هم خیلی زیاد. خصوصا در این جلد. توصیفات طولانی و بی مورد درباره مجلس های اشرافی و گفتگوهایی که رد وبدل میشود، ریتم کتاب را کند میکند. آنطور که آدم حیفش میآید آن حرف های نغز و پرمغز را لابهلای آن همه توصیفات خسته کننده میبیند.
اما اطناب دارد، آن هم خیلی زیاد. خصوصا در این جلد. توصیفات طولانی و بی مورد درباره مجلس های اشرافی و گفتگوهایی که رد وبدل میشود، ریتم کتاب را کند میکند. آنطور که آدم حیفش میآید آن حرف های نغز و پرمغز را لابهلای آن همه توصیفات خسته کننده میبیند.
January 6, 2022
If you are like me, you had a slightly difficult time with the first two volumes of this series. I am not sure if it's because I have become somewhat acclimated to the writing style. Yes, there still are a few tedious digressions, but they are fewer and shorter. Thus, I do not think it is just me.
In the first two volumes, the reader has only heard about the Guermantes, who were universally regarded as the wittiest and most fashionable family in the land, especially the Duchess. In this volume, Marcel, who by this point, is in his early twenties, somehow fulfills a life long dream of getting an invite to this supposed heaven on earth. It is unclear how the invitation came about (initially, he concieved the idea to stalk the Duchess on her morning walks, to the point where she was clearly annoyed by him). However, the change probably started at a salon of his best friend's aunt, Madame Villeparisis.
Though a washed up wild-child with literary ambitions, who flouted convention to the point where none of the "best" people would be caught dead at her house; she had some success with the less stuffy aristocrats who had nothing to lose, like her cousin Duchess herself.
All the truly great ladies had one relative to whose house they could go to slum with politicians, artists, and writers. For whatever reason, it was probably seeing Marcel at this interesting gathering, along with the endorsement of his best friend, that made the Duchess change her tune enough to invite him to one her "dinner parties."
These contrasting party-scenes, read almost like the script from an episode of Absolutely Fabulous. However, Marcel's image is tarnished as he realizes that even these illustrious personages engage in nothing but scurrilous gossip and are mostly "illiterate" when it comes to literature.
It seems that 99% of their talk is hair splitting on who has a legitimate claim to a particular title (and everyone is a "cousin" even if they cannot find a common ancestor more recent than Louis XI). While a lot of this stuff was kind of lost on me, it's not hard to infer the significance if you have some clue about the Revolutionary and Napoleonic periods. The action is set during the Dreyfus affair, which, like Trumpism, was just as polarizing in that people avoided the topic in mixed company).
Of course the Duchess liked to think of herself as someone who is "modern" and open minded, unlike the Courvoisiers, her close cousins who are stuck in the 1600s (though a snob like everyone else, she truly is more intelligent and well-read than most others of her class). However, she was prone to do and say things just to be a "king mixer," like praising someone's collection of really tacky-sounding Empire furniture which was universally loathed. However, because the Duchess liked it, everyone else claimed they loved it too.
The other funny thing was how she and her husband, who despised one another, nevertheless relied on one another in a good cop/bad cop way to draw out from the Duchess (who was the master of the put-down), all of the stories that in turn gave people something to repeat at their dinner parties; thus cementing their reputation as the gayest place to be.
Though disillusioned, Marcel realizes that he can get a lot of material to write about and has no intention of staying away from these people, as long as he never allows himself to truly believe that anything they say is sincere (they do seem like a bunch of gas-lighters). I don't know if the next volume picks up where this one left off, but for once, I actually wanted more. However, I will not say anything because it gives away too much of the story.
In the first two volumes, the reader has only heard about the Guermantes, who were universally regarded as the wittiest and most fashionable family in the land, especially the Duchess. In this volume, Marcel, who by this point, is in his early twenties, somehow fulfills a life long dream of getting an invite to this supposed heaven on earth. It is unclear how the invitation came about (initially, he concieved the idea to stalk the Duchess on her morning walks, to the point where she was clearly annoyed by him). However, the change probably started at a salon of his best friend's aunt, Madame Villeparisis.
Though a washed up wild-child with literary ambitions, who flouted convention to the point where none of the "best" people would be caught dead at her house; she had some success with the less stuffy aristocrats who had nothing to lose, like her cousin Duchess herself.
All the truly great ladies had one relative to whose house they could go to slum with politicians, artists, and writers. For whatever reason, it was probably seeing Marcel at this interesting gathering, along with the endorsement of his best friend, that made the Duchess change her tune enough to invite him to one her "dinner parties."
These contrasting party-scenes, read almost like the script from an episode of Absolutely Fabulous. However, Marcel's image is tarnished as he realizes that even these illustrious personages engage in nothing but scurrilous gossip and are mostly "illiterate" when it comes to literature.
It seems that 99% of their talk is hair splitting on who has a legitimate claim to a particular title (and everyone is a "cousin" even if they cannot find a common ancestor more recent than Louis XI). While a lot of this stuff was kind of lost on me, it's not hard to infer the significance if you have some clue about the Revolutionary and Napoleonic periods. The action is set during the Dreyfus affair, which, like Trumpism, was just as polarizing in that people avoided the topic in mixed company).
Of course the Duchess liked to think of herself as someone who is "modern" and open minded, unlike the Courvoisiers, her close cousins who are stuck in the 1600s (though a snob like everyone else, she truly is more intelligent and well-read than most others of her class). However, she was prone to do and say things just to be a "king mixer," like praising someone's collection of really tacky-sounding Empire furniture which was universally loathed. However, because the Duchess liked it, everyone else claimed they loved it too.
The other funny thing was how she and her husband, who despised one another, nevertheless relied on one another in a good cop/bad cop way to draw out from the Duchess (who was the master of the put-down), all of the stories that in turn gave people something to repeat at their dinner parties; thus cementing their reputation as the gayest place to be.
Though disillusioned, Marcel realizes that he can get a lot of material to write about and has no intention of staying away from these people, as long as he never allows himself to truly believe that anything they say is sincere (they do seem like a bunch of gas-lighters). I don't know if the next volume picks up where this one left off, but for once, I actually wanted more. However, I will not say anything because it gives away too much of the story.
April 15, 2016
Remember how in Swann’s Way there was, well, another way, another path to walk? That’s the Guermantes Way. And this is Marcel introduction to the world of the Guermantes family, for better or for worse.
Marcel and his family have moved to Paris, taking us away from both Combray and Balbec that we’ve come to know so well, and into an apartment next to the home of Mme and Monsieur Guermantes. Marcel has a thing about names, for him names represent more than a place or a person, they contain worlds. He’ll arrange entire fictions around the names of things, and he’s done so with the name Guermantes as well, leading to an extraordinary fascination with Mme Guermantes. He believes the world she inhabits is wondrous, magical and impressive, merely because he has no idea what her world contains, but only has access to the images and the fictions her name conjures up in his head.
There’s something here about the allure of the unknown. It plays a particular role when it comes to love as well, nothing is more attractive than that we cannot know about the other, nothing inspires love more than the realization we don’t know everything there is to know. And it makes room for jealousy.
Marcel is infatuated with Mme Guermantes, to the point where he starts following her around, talking about his love for her (which is really not love at all). In a desperate attempt at being introduced to her, he visits his friend Saint-Loup, Mme Guermantes nephew, in the hopes he’ll write to her and tell her wonderful things about him (he does, it doesn’t work). His time in Donciere, where Saint-Loup is stationed (he’s with the military) is Marcels first time away from home entirely on his own, he slowly finds his own confidence, helped by Saint-Loup, and the subject of the Dreyfuss Affair rears its head for the first time. This will become, and already is at this time, an important cultural and political event. It splits the seas; either you think Dreyfus is innocent or you think he’s guilty, you’re with the jews or against them, with the military or against it. What you think can keep or exclude you from certain circles. It becomes a social signifier.
Most importantly however is the illness of Marcels grandmother and what follows from it. At the end of the novel she falls ill, and the world will never be the same.
I realize, these reviews are not really reviews, more like summaries of what happens, and for that I’m sorry. I’m doing this more for me, to remember what was immediately important in each book. However, I remember really liking this segment. Perhaps because it seemed to contain that same hesitant quality from the previous books, of Marcel still having his ‘innocence’ and not having been quite so corrupted by the frivolous social life of the nobility. He is still outside of the social elite, he’s looking in with his strong imagination to And I adore Saint-Loup and his diehard devotion to Marcel, although Marcel seems to squander it most of the time, not appreciating that such friendship is hard to come by. The ending, perhaps, is what I treasured the most. To think that a walk to Champs-Élysées could be so heartbreaking.
Marcel and his family have moved to Paris, taking us away from both Combray and Balbec that we’ve come to know so well, and into an apartment next to the home of Mme and Monsieur Guermantes. Marcel has a thing about names, for him names represent more than a place or a person, they contain worlds. He’ll arrange entire fictions around the names of things, and he’s done so with the name Guermantes as well, leading to an extraordinary fascination with Mme Guermantes. He believes the world she inhabits is wondrous, magical and impressive, merely because he has no idea what her world contains, but only has access to the images and the fictions her name conjures up in his head.
There’s something here about the allure of the unknown. It plays a particular role when it comes to love as well, nothing is more attractive than that we cannot know about the other, nothing inspires love more than the realization we don’t know everything there is to know. And it makes room for jealousy.
Marcel is infatuated with Mme Guermantes, to the point where he starts following her around, talking about his love for her (which is really not love at all). In a desperate attempt at being introduced to her, he visits his friend Saint-Loup, Mme Guermantes nephew, in the hopes he’ll write to her and tell her wonderful things about him (he does, it doesn’t work). His time in Donciere, where Saint-Loup is stationed (he’s with the military) is Marcels first time away from home entirely on his own, he slowly finds his own confidence, helped by Saint-Loup, and the subject of the Dreyfuss Affair rears its head for the first time. This will become, and already is at this time, an important cultural and political event. It splits the seas; either you think Dreyfus is innocent or you think he’s guilty, you’re with the jews or against them, with the military or against it. What you think can keep or exclude you from certain circles. It becomes a social signifier.
Most importantly however is the illness of Marcels grandmother and what follows from it. At the end of the novel she falls ill, and the world will never be the same.
I realize, these reviews are not really reviews, more like summaries of what happens, and for that I’m sorry. I’m doing this more for me, to remember what was immediately important in each book. However, I remember really liking this segment. Perhaps because it seemed to contain that same hesitant quality from the previous books, of Marcel still having his ‘innocence’ and not having been quite so corrupted by the frivolous social life of the nobility. He is still outside of the social elite, he’s looking in with his strong imagination to And I adore Saint-Loup and his diehard devotion to Marcel, although Marcel seems to squander it most of the time, not appreciating that such friendship is hard to come by. The ending, perhaps, is what I treasured the most. To think that a walk to Champs-Élysées could be so heartbreaking.
January 21, 2015
“Livet er for kort, og Proust er for lang”, skrev Anatole France i 1913. Er K også ved at gå kold?
Anatole France fældede sin berømte dom over Proust allerede efter udgivelsen af kun første del af På sporet af den tabte tid, Swanns verden. Så langt i værket var jeg bestemt ikke enig, som læsere af disse noter vil vide. Og jeg var stadig begejstret efter anden del, I skyggen af unge piger i blomst (bind 3-4 i den nye danske oversættelse).
Men jeg må bringe den tilståelse, at der var tider under læsningen af mammutværkets tredje del, Guermantes’ verden (bind 5-6), hvor Anatole Frances diktum bevægede sig længere og længere frem i pandelappen.
For pokker da, hvor går det bare langsomt for Proust, hvor er han omstændelig, og hvor kan han dog bare ikke gøre sig færdig med sine temaer!
Læs hele min anmeldelse her: http://bognoter.dk/2014/11/20/marcel-...
Anatole France fældede sin berømte dom over Proust allerede efter udgivelsen af kun første del af På sporet af den tabte tid, Swanns verden. Så langt i værket var jeg bestemt ikke enig, som læsere af disse noter vil vide. Og jeg var stadig begejstret efter anden del, I skyggen af unge piger i blomst (bind 3-4 i den nye danske oversættelse).
Men jeg må bringe den tilståelse, at der var tider under læsningen af mammutværkets tredje del, Guermantes’ verden (bind 5-6), hvor Anatole Frances diktum bevægede sig længere og længere frem i pandelappen.
For pokker da, hvor går det bare langsomt for Proust, hvor er han omstændelig, og hvor kan han dog bare ikke gøre sig færdig med sine temaer!
Læs hele min anmeldelse her: http://bognoter.dk/2014/11/20/marcel-...
July 29, 2021
Proust zoomer langt ind på vores forhold til os selv, hinanden og livet i en grad hvor vi undervejs kommer helt ind til meget nuancerede detaljer af forholdene. Nogle af detaljerne og nuancerne bliver lige lovligt udfoldet til min smag, mens andre rammer den midterste plet hos mig og sender refleksionen i høj-accelleration. Der er til stadighed så mange og så stærke passager, som jeg glæder mig til at mindes senere. Det er langsommeligt, men meget særligt at læse på sporet af den tabte tid.
“Men selv uden for sjældne øjeblikke som disse, hvor vi pludselig mærker hvordan den oprindelige enhed skælver og genfinder sin form og mejsles ud i stavelser som i dag er døde, og selv om navnene, i dagliglivets svimlende hvirvel hvor de blot har en rent praktisk funktion, er blevet lige så farveløse som en prismesnurretop der drejer alt for hurtigt og derfor virker helt grå, er det til gengæld således at når vi i grublende drømmerier forsøger at gribe tilbage til fortiden ved at bremse eller standse den uophørlige bevægelse vi er trukket med i, da genser vi lidt efter lidt alle de farvetoner der ligger side om side, men fuldstændigt adskilt fra hinanden, og som i løbet af tilværelsen bliver fremlagt for os én efter én af ét og samme navn.” s. 5.9
“For eftersom hun kun havde dette ene ord ‘stor’ til begge ting, forekom det hende at de var ét og det samme; ligesom visse ædelsten opviste Francoises ordforråd enkelte steder fejl, der kastede skygge helt ind i hendes tankevirksomhed.” s. 5.24
“…for begæret haster mod sin tilfredsstillelse på et plan som skråner så stærkt at skønheden i sig selv kan virke som et samtykke.” s. 5.254
“Hvert eneste øjeblik arbejder vi på at give vores liv en form, men vi gør det ved ubevidst at kopiere, som efter en tegning, de træk der er karakteristiske for den person vi er, og ikke dem der er karakteristiske for den som vi godt kunne tænke os at være.” s. 5.261
“Alligevel skal man huske på at de opfattelser vi danner os af hinanden, og de venskabs- og familieforhold vi indgår i, kun tilsyneladende er stabile og i virkeligheden er i lige så evig bevægelse som havet.” s. 5.379
“Ikke desto mindre var jeg det samme menneske, blot med nogle timers afstand.” s. 5.398
“Der er ikke noget mere tilfredsstillende end at gøre sig stort besvær for et menneske der virkelig er det værd. Kunststudierne, interessen for antikviteter, samlingerne, haverne - selv for de bedste af os er det altsammen bare erstatningsprodukter, surrogater og alibier. På bunden af vores tønde, som Diogenes, er det et menneske vi vil have. Vi dyrker begonier og beskærer takstræer i mangel af bedre, fordi takstræerne og begonierne finder sig i det. Men vi ville hellere have brugt vores tid på en menneskelig busk, hvis vi havde været sikre på at den var det værd. Hele problemet ligger dér; De må jo vide lidt om Dem selv. Er De det værd eller ej?” s. 5.404
“Det er i sygdommen det går op for os at vi ikke lever alene, men er lænket til et væsen fra et andet rige, et væsen som en afgrund skiller os fra, som ikke kender os, og som det er umuligt at få til at forene os: vores legeme.” s. 5.422
“Men selv uden for sjældne øjeblikke som disse, hvor vi pludselig mærker hvordan den oprindelige enhed skælver og genfinder sin form og mejsles ud i stavelser som i dag er døde, og selv om navnene, i dagliglivets svimlende hvirvel hvor de blot har en rent praktisk funktion, er blevet lige så farveløse som en prismesnurretop der drejer alt for hurtigt og derfor virker helt grå, er det til gengæld således at når vi i grublende drømmerier forsøger at gribe tilbage til fortiden ved at bremse eller standse den uophørlige bevægelse vi er trukket med i, da genser vi lidt efter lidt alle de farvetoner der ligger side om side, men fuldstændigt adskilt fra hinanden, og som i løbet af tilværelsen bliver fremlagt for os én efter én af ét og samme navn.” s. 5.9
“For eftersom hun kun havde dette ene ord ‘stor’ til begge ting, forekom det hende at de var ét og det samme; ligesom visse ædelsten opviste Francoises ordforråd enkelte steder fejl, der kastede skygge helt ind i hendes tankevirksomhed.” s. 5.24
“…for begæret haster mod sin tilfredsstillelse på et plan som skråner så stærkt at skønheden i sig selv kan virke som et samtykke.” s. 5.254
“Hvert eneste øjeblik arbejder vi på at give vores liv en form, men vi gør det ved ubevidst at kopiere, som efter en tegning, de træk der er karakteristiske for den person vi er, og ikke dem der er karakteristiske for den som vi godt kunne tænke os at være.” s. 5.261
“Alligevel skal man huske på at de opfattelser vi danner os af hinanden, og de venskabs- og familieforhold vi indgår i, kun tilsyneladende er stabile og i virkeligheden er i lige så evig bevægelse som havet.” s. 5.379
“Ikke desto mindre var jeg det samme menneske, blot med nogle timers afstand.” s. 5.398
“Der er ikke noget mere tilfredsstillende end at gøre sig stort besvær for et menneske der virkelig er det værd. Kunststudierne, interessen for antikviteter, samlingerne, haverne - selv for de bedste af os er det altsammen bare erstatningsprodukter, surrogater og alibier. På bunden af vores tønde, som Diogenes, er det et menneske vi vil have. Vi dyrker begonier og beskærer takstræer i mangel af bedre, fordi takstræerne og begonierne finder sig i det. Men vi ville hellere have brugt vores tid på en menneskelig busk, hvis vi havde været sikre på at den var det værd. Hele problemet ligger dér; De må jo vide lidt om Dem selv. Er De det værd eller ej?” s. 5.404
“Det er i sygdommen det går op for os at vi ikke lever alene, men er lænket til et væsen fra et andet rige, et væsen som en afgrund skiller os fra, som ikke kender os, og som det er umuligt at få til at forene os: vores legeme.” s. 5.422
February 24, 2021
Næsten halvvejs igennem det mytiske mesterværk, hvor vi nu er tilbage i den parisiske overklasse med lange, træge dialoger, krydret med digressioner, observationer over aristokraternes kedsommelige tilværelse og dybe refleksioner over menneskelig adfærd, psykologi og sindets mange mærkværdige krinkelkroge. Det er ikke altid lige spændende, indrømmet, men når man forsvinder ind i "Proust-zonen", er der intet andet, der tæller, og det er vel også en kvalitet i sig selv.
August 23, 2024
میدانی چیست مارسل؟ حق با توست این مهمانیها این آدمهای اسنوب، این چشم و همچشمیها - و آن بلوک، علی الخصوص آن بلوک- برای آدم وقتی نمیگذارند که برود بنشیند بنویسد و شاهکاری خلق کند. (بله آن قسمت پیادهروی صبحگاهی و دنبال کردن کالسکه با چشم پیش خودمان میماند.)
یک جایی آخرهای کار، توصیفی از بیماری داشتی از تب، و بعدتر از بیحالی دم موت، یادم آمد من گمان میکردم درد را اگر پیدا کنم توی تن، می توانم آرامش کن، بغلش کنم. توصیف تو، نشانم داد از کجاها رد میشودآن درد.
یک جایی آخرهای کار، توصیفی از بیماری داشتی از تب، و بعدتر از بیحالی دم موت، یادم آمد من گمان میکردم درد را اگر پیدا کنم توی تن، می توانم آرامش کن، بغلش کنم. توصیف تو، نشانم داد از کجاها رد میشودآن درد.
December 14, 2018
Lecture 17 de ∞
ce n’est pas moi qui le dit
c’est le narrateur
mais il dit : « un langage de mode néo-homérique »
je ne sais pas s’il a raison
je ne sais pas si on peut modernisé un style
je ne sais pas si une forme de langage peut être à la mode
comprenez bien
j’adore les dialogues homériques
je trouve encore qu’à la recherche du temps perdu est un livre passionnant
je suis encore éblouit par l’écriture de Proust
mais
je pense que Proust est un courant littéraire à lui seul
il n’a rien à voir avec le réalisme, le
romantisme ou le naturalisme
il est les trois à la fois
et rien du tout
je m’excuse
je perds le fil
je m’excuse
je réfléchie à voix haute
je m’excuse
je me sens un peu seul en ce moment
j’ai fini le premier tome de Le côté de Guermantes et j’ai l’impression d’avoir de moins en moins de d’interlocuteurs
je ne sais plus à qui
parler de mon expérience
j’ai l’impression d’épuiser toutes les personnes à qui je parle
est-ce que ça vous dérangerait si on commençait à se tutoyer
comme ça je me sentirais plus proche de vous
comme ça j’aurais l’impression d’avoir une conversation plus intime
est-ce que tu me lis encore
ou je ne t’intéresse plus
ce n’est pas moi qui le dit
c’est le narrateur
mais il dit : « un langage de mode néo-homérique »
je ne sais pas s’il a raison
je ne sais pas si on peut modernisé un style
je ne sais pas si une forme de langage peut être à la mode
comprenez bien
j’adore les dialogues homériques
je trouve encore qu’à la recherche du temps perdu est un livre passionnant
je suis encore éblouit par l’écriture de Proust
mais
je pense que Proust est un courant littéraire à lui seul
il n’a rien à voir avec le réalisme, le
romantisme ou le naturalisme
il est les trois à la fois
et rien du tout
je m’excuse
je perds le fil
je m’excuse
je réfléchie à voix haute
je m’excuse
je me sens un peu seul en ce moment
j’ai fini le premier tome de Le côté de Guermantes et j’ai l’impression d’avoir de moins en moins de d’interlocuteurs
je ne sais plus à qui
parler de mon expérience
j’ai l’impression d’épuiser toutes les personnes à qui je parle
est-ce que ça vous dérangerait si on commençait à se tutoyer
comme ça je me sentirais plus proche de vous
comme ça j’aurais l’impression d’avoir une conversation plus intime
est-ce que tu me lis encore
ou je ne t’intéresse plus
September 8, 2023
Especially the aristocratic salon scenes are central to this part. Drawing of the hypocritical environment around mme de Guermantes. A bit tough to digest by the detailed description. But, once again, beautiful passages, like the agony of Bergotte on his death bed.
March 19, 2024
یک فرد، آن چنان که من خیال میکردم، ذاتی روشن و بیحرکت نیست که با همه خوبیها، عیبها، نقشهها، نیتهایش درباره ما (همانند باغچهای با همه گلها و گیاهانش که از پس نردهای تماشا کنیم) در برابرمان ایستاده باشد، بلکه سایهای است که هرگز در آن رخنه نمیتوان کرد و دربارهاش چیزی به نام شناخت مستقیم وجود ندارد، و ما به یاری گفتار و حتا کردارش درباره او برای خود مجموعهای از باور میسازیم، در حالی که این و آن چیزی جز دانستههایی نابسنده و اغلب متناقض، به ما نمیدهند، سایهای که میتوان مجسم کرد که در آن، با یک اندازه احتمال، گاه عشق و گاه نفرت میدرخشد.
حقیقت این است که من مال این سرزمین که خودم را درش این قدر تبعیدی حس میکنم نیستم؛ اگر نیروی جاذبه نبود اینجا نمانده بودم و به فضای دیگری پر کشیده بودم. من از سیاره دیگری ام.
اینهم یکیاز راههای حل مساله زندگی است که به اندازه کافی به چیزها و کسانی که از دور به چشممان زیبا و اسرارآمیز آمدهاند نزدیک شویم تا ببینیم که در آنها از راز و زیبایی نشانی نیست؛ این، یکی از چند دستور سلامت است که میتوان برگزید، که شاید چندان دلچسب نباشد، اما آن اندازه آرامش میآورد که زندگیمان را بگذرانیم و، ـــ از آنجا که امکان میدهد حسرت هیچ چیز را نخوریم، چون به ما میباوراند که به بهترین چیز ها رسیدیم و بهترينش هم چیزی نبود ـــ به مرگ تن دهیم.
آیا با عشق نیز نباید کار کسانی را کرد که به جای شکوه و زاری برای آن که سر و صدا فرو بنشیند پنبه در گوش میکنند؛ و آیا به تقلید از آنان، نباید توجه و نیروی دفاعیمان را به درون خودمان منتقل کنیم و هدفمان نه غلبه بر آدمی که دوست داریم، که مهار کردن رنجی باشد که از دستِ او می کشیم؟
چنین است که دیوانهای از بام تا شام تار و پود انزوا و بیحرکتی خویش را میبافد بیآنکه به تحمل آنها عادت کند، و شاید همچنان که میشتابد تا حلقه تازهای به زرهی بیفزاید که زندانیاش میکند دلش یکسره هوای رقص و شکار و سفر داشته باشد. ما هر لحظه در کار شکل دادن به زندگی خویشیم، اما ناخواسته صورت کسی را کپی میکنیم که هستیم و نه آنی را که خوش داریم باشیم...
همه چیزهای مهمی که میشناسیم کار عصبیهاست، همه مکتبها را آنها بنیان گذاشتهاند و همه شاهکارها را آنها ساختهاند و نه کسان دیگر. بشریت هرگز نخواهد فهمید چقدر به آنها مدیون است و بخصوص آنها برای ارائه این همه چیز به بشریت چقدر رنج کشیدهاند. ما از شنیدن موسیقی خوب، از دیدن نقاشیهای زیبا لذت میبریم، اما نمیدانیم که برای سازندگانشان به چه بهایی تمام شدهاند، به قیمت چه بیخوابیها، چه گریهها، چه خندههای عصبی، چه کهیرها، چه آسمها، چه صرعها، و چه مقدار اضطراب مرگ که از همه آنهایی دیگر بدتر است.
حقیقت این است که من مال این سرزمین که خودم را درش این قدر تبعیدی حس میکنم نیستم؛ اگر نیروی جاذبه نبود اینجا نمانده بودم و به فضای دیگری پر کشیده بودم. من از سیاره دیگری ام.
اینهم یکیاز راههای حل مساله زندگی است که به اندازه کافی به چیزها و کسانی که از دور به چشممان زیبا و اسرارآمیز آمدهاند نزدیک شویم تا ببینیم که در آنها از راز و زیبایی نشانی نیست؛ این، یکی از چند دستور سلامت است که میتوان برگزید، که شاید چندان دلچسب نباشد، اما آن اندازه آرامش میآورد که زندگیمان را بگذرانیم و، ـــ از آنجا که امکان میدهد حسرت هیچ چیز را نخوریم، چون به ما میباوراند که به بهترین چیز ها رسیدیم و بهترينش هم چیزی نبود ـــ به مرگ تن دهیم.
آیا با عشق نیز نباید کار کسانی را کرد که به جای شکوه و زاری برای آن که سر و صدا فرو بنشیند پنبه در گوش میکنند؛ و آیا به تقلید از آنان، نباید توجه و نیروی دفاعیمان را به درون خودمان منتقل کنیم و هدفمان نه غلبه بر آدمی که دوست داریم، که مهار کردن رنجی باشد که از دستِ او می کشیم؟
چنین است که دیوانهای از بام تا شام تار و پود انزوا و بیحرکتی خویش را میبافد بیآنکه به تحمل آنها عادت کند، و شاید همچنان که میشتابد تا حلقه تازهای به زرهی بیفزاید که زندانیاش میکند دلش یکسره هوای رقص و شکار و سفر داشته باشد. ما هر لحظه در کار شکل دادن به زندگی خویشیم، اما ناخواسته صورت کسی را کپی میکنیم که هستیم و نه آنی را که خوش داریم باشیم...
همه چیزهای مهمی که میشناسیم کار عصبیهاست، همه مکتبها را آنها بنیان گذاشتهاند و همه شاهکارها را آنها ساختهاند و نه کسان دیگر. بشریت هرگز نخواهد فهمید چقدر به آنها مدیون است و بخصوص آنها برای ارائه این همه چیز به بشریت چقدر رنج کشیدهاند. ما از شنیدن موسیقی خوب، از دیدن نقاشیهای زیبا لذت میبریم، اما نمیدانیم که برای سازندگانشان به چه بهایی تمام شدهاند، به قیمت چه بیخوابیها، چه گریهها، چه خندههای عصبی، چه کهیرها، چه آسمها، چه صرعها، و چه مقدار اضطراب مرگ که از همه آنهایی دیگر بدتر است.
February 18, 2022
"Supportez d'être appelée une nerveuse. Vous appartenez à cette famille magnifique et lamentable qui est le sel de la terre. Tout ce que nous connaissons de grand nous vient des nerveux. Ce sont eux et non pas d'autres qui ont fondé les religions et composé les chefs-d'oeuvre. Jamais le monde ne saura tout ce qu'il leur doit et surtout ce qu'eux ont souffert pour le lui donner. Nous goûtons les fines musiques, les beaux tableaux, mille délicatesses, mais nous ne savons pas ce qu'elles ont coûté à ceux qui les inventèrent, d'insomnies, de pleurs, de rires spasmodiques, d'urticaires, d'asthes, d'épilepsies, d'une angoisse de mourir qui est pire que tout cela, et que vous connaissez peut-être, Madame (...)"
November 30, 2020
Proust jatkaa tarinaansa hitaasti mutta varmasti. Kertoja ihastuu tällä kertaa Guermantesin herttuattareen, viettää aikaa Saint-Loupin kanssa ja alkaa liikkua seurapiireissä. Ja siinähän se juoni oikeastaan tällä kertaa olikin, mutta kuten aina, varsinainen syy lukea näitä kirjoja ei tosiaan ole juonen kiemurat vaan Proustin mahtava kielenkäyttö.
July 19, 2021
شرح مجالس و محافل یک مشت متفرعن ، خانم بازی با طول و تفصیل و شرح جزییات البته نمیدونم این فرانسوی ها چه اصراری به تور کردن زنهای شوهردار دارند، اصلا یادم نمیاد رمان فرانسوی خونده باشم که ته مایه اش این نباشه!
October 8, 2023
The story continues with long fine sentences like this one 😈
“I was stopped by my strong desire; I felt that a woman must appear to satisfy it; if in the darkness I suddenly felt a dress pass by, the very violence of the lust I felt prevented me from believing that this touch was accidental, and I tried to embrace the frightened passer-by. This Gothic alley was so real to me that if I had been able to pick up a woman here and own her, it would have been impossible for me not to believe that it was the ancient voluptuousness that had united us, even if this woman had been a simple street whore, who took up position there every evening, because she would have borrowed her mystery from the winter…”
This sentence about the modern invention of the telephone says almost everything about Proust's brilliant narrative style:
“is at once transported hundreds of miles (both the man and the surroundings in which he finds himself) to our ear, at the very moment we, in a fleeting whim, have commanded it. And we are like a person in a fairy tale who gets his wish granted by a sorceress and sees his grandmother or his fiancee conjured up in an otherworldly light, turning the pages of a book, shedding a tear or picking flowers, right next to it. and yet far away, in the very place where she is in reality. For this miracle to take place, we need only put the magic funnel to our mouths and call….”
Reminds me of…
"when in one's madness, thanks to a mixture of naive judgment and cowardly fear of suffering, one has turned a harlot into an unattainable idol"
Uhadada:
""But now go to Robert. I know that today at lunch you participated in one of these orgies he has with a woman who disgraces him. You should use the influence you have over him to make him understand the grief he is causing his poor mother and all of us by dragging our name through the mud.”
Exciting:
"I said to myself that the relationship between goodness and malevolence in one and the same heart - a relationship which so far seemed to me not to be very well studied - could be interesting to chart in all its diversity."
"Get you some mistresses if your family doesn't mind, it's none of my business and I can only encourage you, little brat, little brat who must start shaving soon," he said, stroking my chin. "
…
Historien fortsætter med lange fine sætninger som denne 😈
“jeg blev standset af mit stærke begær; jeg følte at en kvinde måtte dukke op for at tilfredsstille det; hvis jeg i mørket pludselig mærkede en kjole passere forbi, forhindrede selve voldsomheden i den lyst jeg følte, mig i at tro at dette strejf var tilfældigt, og jeg forsøgte at omfavne den skræmte forbipasserende. Denne gotiske gyde var så virkelig for mig at hvis jeg havde kunnet samle en kvinde op her og eje hende, så ville det have været umuligt for mig ikke at tro at det var den antikke vellyst der havde forenet os, selv hvis denne kvinde havde været en simpel gadetøs, som tog opstilling dér hver aften, for hun ville have lånt sit mysterium fra vinteren…”
Den her sætning omkring den nymodens opfindelse telefonen siger næsten alt om Proust’s geniale fortællerform:
“bliver med ét transporteret hundredvis af mil (både mennesket og de omgivelser det befinder sig i) hen til vores øre, i samme øjeblik vi i et flygtigt indfald har befalet det. Og vi er som en person i et eventyr der får opfyldt sit ønske af en troldkvinde og ser sin mormor eller sin forlovede fremmanet i et overjordisk lys, i færd med at bladre i en bog, fælde en tåre eller plukke blomster, lige ved siden af og alligevel langt borte, på selve det sted hvor hun befinder sig i virkeligheden. For at dette mirakel skal finde sted, behøver vi blot at sætte den magiske tragt for munden og anråbe….”
Minder mig om…
“når man i sin galskab, takket være en blanding af naiv dømmekraft og fej frygt for lidelsen, har gjort en skøge til et uopnåeligt afgudsbillede”
Uhadada:
“”Men gå De nu hen til Robert. Jeg ved at De i dag til frokost deltog i et af disse orgier han holder med en kvinde som vanærer ham. De burde bruge den indflydelse De har på ham, til at få gjort ham begribeligt hvilken sorg han volder sin stakkels mor og os alle sammen ved at trække vores navn gennem sølet.”
Spændende:
“jeg sagde til mig selv at forholdet mellem godhed og ondskabsfuldhed i ét og samme hjerte – et forhold der forekom mig hidtil ikke at være særlig velundersøgt – kunne være interessant at kortlægge i al dets forskelligartethed.”
“Få Dem nogle elskerinder hvis Deres familie ikke har noget imod det, det angår ikke mig, og jeg kan kun opmuntre Dem til det, lille frækkert, lille frækkert som snart må begynde at barbere sig,” sagde han og strøg mig over hagen.”
“I was stopped by my strong desire; I felt that a woman must appear to satisfy it; if in the darkness I suddenly felt a dress pass by, the very violence of the lust I felt prevented me from believing that this touch was accidental, and I tried to embrace the frightened passer-by. This Gothic alley was so real to me that if I had been able to pick up a woman here and own her, it would have been impossible for me not to believe that it was the ancient voluptuousness that had united us, even if this woman had been a simple street whore, who took up position there every evening, because she would have borrowed her mystery from the winter…”
This sentence about the modern invention of the telephone says almost everything about Proust's brilliant narrative style:
“is at once transported hundreds of miles (both the man and the surroundings in which he finds himself) to our ear, at the very moment we, in a fleeting whim, have commanded it. And we are like a person in a fairy tale who gets his wish granted by a sorceress and sees his grandmother or his fiancee conjured up in an otherworldly light, turning the pages of a book, shedding a tear or picking flowers, right next to it. and yet far away, in the very place where she is in reality. For this miracle to take place, we need only put the magic funnel to our mouths and call….”
Reminds me of…
"when in one's madness, thanks to a mixture of naive judgment and cowardly fear of suffering, one has turned a harlot into an unattainable idol"
Uhadada:
""But now go to Robert. I know that today at lunch you participated in one of these orgies he has with a woman who disgraces him. You should use the influence you have over him to make him understand the grief he is causing his poor mother and all of us by dragging our name through the mud.”
Exciting:
"I said to myself that the relationship between goodness and malevolence in one and the same heart - a relationship which so far seemed to me not to be very well studied - could be interesting to chart in all its diversity."
"Get you some mistresses if your family doesn't mind, it's none of my business and I can only encourage you, little brat, little brat who must start shaving soon," he said, stroking my chin. "
…
Historien fortsætter med lange fine sætninger som denne 😈
“jeg blev standset af mit stærke begær; jeg følte at en kvinde måtte dukke op for at tilfredsstille det; hvis jeg i mørket pludselig mærkede en kjole passere forbi, forhindrede selve voldsomheden i den lyst jeg følte, mig i at tro at dette strejf var tilfældigt, og jeg forsøgte at omfavne den skræmte forbipasserende. Denne gotiske gyde var så virkelig for mig at hvis jeg havde kunnet samle en kvinde op her og eje hende, så ville det have været umuligt for mig ikke at tro at det var den antikke vellyst der havde forenet os, selv hvis denne kvinde havde været en simpel gadetøs, som tog opstilling dér hver aften, for hun ville have lånt sit mysterium fra vinteren…”
Den her sætning omkring den nymodens opfindelse telefonen siger næsten alt om Proust’s geniale fortællerform:
“bliver med ét transporteret hundredvis af mil (både mennesket og de omgivelser det befinder sig i) hen til vores øre, i samme øjeblik vi i et flygtigt indfald har befalet det. Og vi er som en person i et eventyr der får opfyldt sit ønske af en troldkvinde og ser sin mormor eller sin forlovede fremmanet i et overjordisk lys, i færd med at bladre i en bog, fælde en tåre eller plukke blomster, lige ved siden af og alligevel langt borte, på selve det sted hvor hun befinder sig i virkeligheden. For at dette mirakel skal finde sted, behøver vi blot at sætte den magiske tragt for munden og anråbe….”
Minder mig om…
“når man i sin galskab, takket være en blanding af naiv dømmekraft og fej frygt for lidelsen, har gjort en skøge til et uopnåeligt afgudsbillede”
Uhadada:
“”Men gå De nu hen til Robert. Jeg ved at De i dag til frokost deltog i et af disse orgier han holder med en kvinde som vanærer ham. De burde bruge den indflydelse De har på ham, til at få gjort ham begribeligt hvilken sorg han volder sin stakkels mor og os alle sammen ved at trække vores navn gennem sølet.”
Spændende:
“jeg sagde til mig selv at forholdet mellem godhed og ondskabsfuldhed i ét og samme hjerte – et forhold der forekom mig hidtil ikke at være særlig velundersøgt – kunne være interessant at kortlægge i al dets forskelligartethed.”
“Få Dem nogle elskerinder hvis Deres familie ikke har noget imod det, det angår ikke mig, og jeg kan kun opmuntre Dem til det, lille frækkert, lille frækkert som snart må begynde at barbere sig,” sagde han og strøg mig over hagen.”
July 17, 2020
Eccomi al mondanissimo terzo volume de La recherche. Il nostro narratore qui lascia molto più spazio alla vita ed alle relazioni sociali che alle riflessioni solitarie. Ne deriva che la presenza di dialoghi sia molto più numerosa rispetto ai due testi precedenti e nei dialoghi Proust scatena tutta la sua ironia sulla superficialità e ipocrisia del mondo da lui frequentato, quei salotti di chiacchiere, critiche e pregiudizi senza fine.
Bellissimi i pensieri sulla non coincidenza delle cose reali rispetto all'idea che i loro nomi evocano (la Duchessa di Guermantes alla fine non ne esce benissimo).
Importante anche il contributo che Proust offre, trattando largamente l'Affaire Dreyfus nel testo, al ruolo dell'intellettuale nella società. Questi continui rimandi all'Affaire testimoniano come, seppure dopo un conflitto mondiale appena lasciato alle spalle, gli strascichi di questo episodio che ha fatto tremare la Terza Repubblica sono ancora presenti.
Insomma, anche questo terzo volume è, come quelli letti finora, un libro monumentale
Bellissimi i pensieri sulla non coincidenza delle cose reali rispetto all'idea che i loro nomi evocano (la Duchessa di Guermantes alla fine non ne esce benissimo).
Importante anche il contributo che Proust offre, trattando largamente l'Affaire Dreyfus nel testo, al ruolo dell'intellettuale nella società. Questi continui rimandi all'Affaire testimoniano come, seppure dopo un conflitto mondiale appena lasciato alle spalle, gli strascichi di questo episodio che ha fatto tremare la Terza Repubblica sono ancora presenti.
Insomma, anche questo terzo volume è, come quelli letti finora, un libro monumentale
July 11, 2025
explotan los niveles de burgués de proust, pero es increíble las reflexiones sobre los nombres y la construcción del pasaje a la adultez como la desaparición de los misterios
me fascina, aunque sea medio triste, la forma en la que el narrador presenta la vida de los demás como misterios que permean toda su percepción del mundo
este tomo se compone de solo tres cuadros ( tres conversaciones en salones) y a veces hace que sea medio larguero (en comparación con a l'ombre des jeunnes filles en fleurs donde estamos siempre descubriendo lugares nuevos) más que nada cuando uno pasa DÍAS leyendo y en el libro no pasan ni diez minutos, pero bueno esa es la magia/tortura de proust.
amo que todas las mujeres misteriosas de las que se enamora siempre están en relación con un hombre que "admira", acá me cuesta mucho no leer a la duquesa de guermantes como una extensión/proyección de los sentimientos homosexuales del narrador hacia saint-loup
+ mucho dreyfuss, interesante pero me gustó más leer los momentos en los que se asoma el coté de sodoma y gomorra
me fascina, aunque sea medio triste, la forma en la que el narrador presenta la vida de los demás como misterios que permean toda su percepción del mundo
este tomo se compone de solo tres cuadros ( tres conversaciones en salones) y a veces hace que sea medio larguero (en comparación con a l'ombre des jeunnes filles en fleurs donde estamos siempre descubriendo lugares nuevos) más que nada cuando uno pasa DÍAS leyendo y en el libro no pasan ni diez minutos, pero bueno esa es la magia/tortura de proust.
amo que todas las mujeres misteriosas de las que se enamora siempre están en relación con un hombre que "admira", acá me cuesta mucho no leer a la duquesa de guermantes como una extensión/proyección de los sentimientos homosexuales del narrador hacia saint-loup
+ mucho dreyfuss, interesante pero me gustó más leer los momentos en los que se asoma el coté de sodoma y gomorra
April 18, 2020
Maybe I'm slightly overfed by Proust as I felt my attention drifting and found parts of this volume fairly tedious.
We're back in Paris, the narrator's family having moved into a house belonging to Mme Guermantes, who is the object of the narrator's romantic dreams. Desperate to get close to her, he starts almost stalking her on daily walks and finally manages to get invited to a meeting at her aunt's (Mme Villeparaisis) 'salon' where Mme Guermantes, M Guermantes, Saint-Loup and his parents, and Charlus are among the many guests. Longwinded and not particular interesting descriptions of the snobbery and the social 'mores' at the 'Salon' dominated my impression of the volume. The narrator - unbeknownst to him - is clearly hit upon by M Charlus when they leave the salon - exciting developments will follow, I'm sure. The volume ends by the grandmother of the narrator suffering a stroke.
And btw Saint-Loups relationship with an actress also plays a major role. The narrator realises that she's (also) a protistute which he himself had already been presented to a regular visits to a brothel. Another example of the way in which, in Proust, women seem to be often taking advantage of their gullible admirers.
We're back in Paris, the narrator's family having moved into a house belonging to Mme Guermantes, who is the object of the narrator's romantic dreams. Desperate to get close to her, he starts almost stalking her on daily walks and finally manages to get invited to a meeting at her aunt's (Mme Villeparaisis) 'salon' where Mme Guermantes, M Guermantes, Saint-Loup and his parents, and Charlus are among the many guests. Longwinded and not particular interesting descriptions of the snobbery and the social 'mores' at the 'Salon' dominated my impression of the volume. The narrator - unbeknownst to him - is clearly hit upon by M Charlus when they leave the salon - exciting developments will follow, I'm sure. The volume ends by the grandmother of the narrator suffering a stroke.
And btw Saint-Loups relationship with an actress also plays a major role. The narrator realises that she's (also) a protistute which he himself had already been presented to a regular visits to a brothel. Another example of the way in which, in Proust, women seem to be often taking advantage of their gullible admirers.
November 3, 2022
The narrator finally starts to go out into society and his reflections on it are as intriguing as his descriptions of nature, if not more so. Though the endless opinions on the Dreyfuss affair get tedious, I surprised myself being sucked in by Saint-Loup's long description of military strategy as art, (and wondered how many modern generals would dare philosophize in such a way).
My favorite passage is towards the beginning where the narrator describes sound as incessant noise, then muffled sound as though everything is far away, and then deafness, with the culminating image of a building collapsing silently to ruins. Breathtaking!
This is only the first half of Le côté de Guermantes and it ends rather abruptly, making it hard not to slip right to part II. (My towering to-be-read-pile has other ideas...)
My favorite passage is towards the beginning where the narrator describes sound as incessant noise, then muffled sound as though everything is far away, and then deafness, with the culminating image of a building collapsing silently to ruins. Breathtaking!
This is only the first half of Le côté de Guermantes and it ends rather abruptly, making it hard not to slip right to part II. (My towering to-be-read-pile has other ideas...)
March 17, 2024
Le fil rouge de l'histoire est difficile à suivre, et l'histoire n'est pas intéressante. Lente, longue, ennuyeuse. Seuls des passages avec Monsieur Charlus sont dynamiques, inattendus, et faciles à lire. Le narrateur, de retour à Paris, tombe amoureux de la duchesse de Guermantes. Son neveu, Saint-Loup, est l'ami du narrateur, mais n'aide en rien à rencontrer la duchesse. Il la rencontre finalement et est invité à dîner. Le personnage est plus adulte et se fait un peu plus considérer par les autres. Le dîner dure la moitié du livre. La comparaison Germantes/Courvoisier est interminable et chiante à mourir.
-Albertine vient à Paris. Il embrasse et on en parle plus du reste du livre.
-Sa grand-mère meurt
- Swan est très malade.
La dernière page de l'histoire est bien.
-Albertine vient à Paris. Il embrasse et on en parle plus du reste du livre.
-Sa grand-mère meurt
- Swan est très malade.
La dernière page de l'histoire est bien.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 14, 2025
O digo que se me ha hecho bastante duro o soy una mentirosa. De todos los volúmenes que llevo leídos, con este ha sido con el que más he tenido la sensación de estar leyendo una crónica de época interminable. Lástima de mi poco dominio de las dinámicas del salón francés y del caso Dreyfus, y suerte de la mención ocasional de viejos conocidos como Liszt y la princesa de Sayn-Wittgenstein. No le pongo un rating más bajo porque, como siempre, me he señalado varios fragmentos para enmarcar y porque hay 150-200 páginas que se leen relativamente rápido, teniendo en cuenta el tipo de novela que es esto. Por suerte, sigo motivada para continuar con mi reto Proust.
February 20, 2023
Den var lidt tungere end de foregående at komme igennem – måske fordi broderparten af bogen foregår til en eftermiddagskomsammen hos en adelsdame, og jeg ærligt talt havde lidt svært ved at skelne de mange fine og snobbede gæster fra hinanden og holde rede på deres indbyrdes (familie)forhold.
Jeg forstår sådan set godt, hvor Proust vil hen med denne minutiøse skildring af spillet mellem alle disse personer, men jeg skal indrømme, at min lettelse var stor, da vores hovedperson endelig forlod selskabet!
Jeg forstår sådan set godt, hvor Proust vil hen med denne minutiøse skildring af spillet mellem alle disse personer, men jeg skal indrømme, at min lettelse var stor, da vores hovedperson endelig forlod selskabet!
December 26, 2022
Continuem avançant en #AlaRecercadeltempsperdut de #marcelproust, l’obra homèrica pel volum però genial tant en la història i com la descriu. Una genialitat que la fa una de les millors obres de tots els temps. Ara amb una descripció minuciosa dels salons drl París del tombant sXIX-XX. En ple cas #dreyfus, sobta el viu antisemitisme que traspuava l’aristocràcia francesa de l’època com tant bé copsa el genial autor. Gaudint molt de la traducció catalana de Josep Mª Pinto !
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