Proust C’est Moi

I had originally planned to further outline the parallels between the life of of Marcel Proust’s as of yet unnamed narrator and myself by writing this entire post in French, but then I realized that I had pretty much exhausted my French vocabulary with the title of my post.

So instead I will carry on in English, which should as an added bonus make it easier for you to read, Twinner.

I know what you are thinking, I am once again too quickly jumping to the conclusion that there are undeniable similarities between myself and the protagonist. You will probably throw my earlier claims of “Dodo Brooke c’est moi!” (We’re both idealists!) and “Frog and Toad c’est moi!” (Give me a break already, I was four.) But this time I really think I have something.

On page 1 of the book Proust tells us how his narrator falls asleep while reading and he feels like he becomes a part of the narrative. Me too!

Sure, our narrator is reading about “a church, a quartet, the rivalry between Francois I and Charles V.” and I am reading mysteries featuring deceptively clever elderly sleuths and the latest happenings of the glitterati. (Thank you very much, People magazine.)

But still, parallels!

Let me just say, that Proust sure can write a sentence. Take this one for instance:

“I did not know that, much more than her husband’s little deviations from his regimen, it was my weak will, my delicate health, the uncertainty they cast on my future that so sadly preoccupied my grandmother in the course of those incessant perambulations, afternoon and evening, when we would see, as it passed and then passed again, lifted slantwise toward the sky, her beautiful face with its brown furrowed cheeks, which with age had become almost mauve like the plowed fields in autumn, crossed, if she was going out, by a veil half raised, while upon them, brought there by the cold or some sad thought, an involuntary tear was always drying.”

Yowza! That’s just one sentence.

Funny you posting that Germaine Greer article in your last post. I saw that myself and almost forwarded to you.

Well, back to Combray,
Justin

P.S. Welcome to the blog Marie. I saw your comment glad to have you reading with us.