Apologies if this has already been shared, but folks might want to check out Proust FM. It’s a continuous loop of In Search of Lost Time. You can also go at your own pace: https://proustfm.com
Have you ever listened to the unabridged audiobooks of Proust, read by Neville Jason? They seem to be quite popular.Of course, that opens up the ongoing argument of whether listening to an audio book is the same as physically reading it.
one thing, amongst many, that Proust seems to do, is map the infinite plasticity of thought and the inner world, and how that corresponds with the outer world, what the world is, and how others are. And so the encounter with the server who is also lost in thought, is how we all live, people simultaneously within themselves and outwardly with others.
Your memory of the library - we can use an imaginative microscope to remember, turn over, a small section of our lives, and when we look at it, see multitudes of things in the details we remember. Just to think that this is what Proust did, in a flow, with a whole life of memories and experiences.
For years I was intimidated by the London Library until friends took me in and showed me the stairs Virginia Woolf used to climb and where they thought T S Eliot had set.
But my true library home is the Henry E Huntington Library in San Marino—years of Sarurday’s there disappeared when the library stopped opening on Saturdays and I moved to Indianapolis, about which I will not comment. At home I am surrounded by books, as many antiquarian as I have been able to afford.
Washington Irving got me into Westminster Abbey where I spent almost 40 years guiding visitors to graves and memorials.
In my ignorance, however, I confess to never having read Proudt except in college classes. Now, though, you inspire me to try, but I make no promises. I am busy writing my own books, and I have no pool handy. But thanks for your essay which truly challenged me. Dickens, though, is my buddy and pal. I did lots of night walking around London in his company. Cheers!
A lovely meditation on Proust's and James's gifts for capturing those ineffably languorous moments in our lives. Thank you. I am reminded of an astonishing, if minor, tale, "Broken Wings" (1900), whose first micro-chapter—barely four pages long—so disoriented and discouraged me that, upon finishing it, I had not retained a single concrete detail of the narrative's action, characters, setting, or circumstances. It was as if James had written the text in Romanian, so I put the book aside. And yet... and yet I had somehow intuited the essentials, because a few days later, when I unthinkingly resumed with Chapter 2, I was able to proceed with surprisingly little confusion. I still cannot explain the experience, but I have always credited it to James's genius for impressionism.
Excellent work - really enjoying this series on Proust. I too have just finished Guermantes Way, and you've inspired me to order Vol. 4 to keep pace with the series!
This is so poetic and true, especially: 'Writing is a method of remembering, a daydream of its own: it is not until we move the pen or type the keys that we realise what we knew.'
Are you reading Proust in French or a translation?
Apologies if this has already been shared, but folks might want to check out Proust FM. It’s a continuous loop of In Search of Lost Time. You can also go at your own pace: https://proustfm.com
omg what!?
Yeah. You might enjoy having a look at Ben Murray’s (Proust FM creator) 2023 piece commenting on the first 10 chapters.
https://benmurray.substack.com/p/chapter-list-for-my-book-on-proust?r=5o99d7&utm_medium=ios
omg! I am about two years into a very, very purposefully slow read of Proust. Absolutely thrilled to discover this resource!
Thank you for sharing this, Christopher!
No problem.
Have you ever listened to the unabridged audiobooks of Proust, read by Neville Jason? They seem to be quite popular.Of course, that opens up the ongoing argument of whether listening to an audio book is the same as physically reading it.
I have not...
Dear Henry
This essay leaves me breathless - it is so delightful - so beautiful, that it is beyond my words to express my appreciation.
I’m relatively new to your writing (which came to me through Samuel Johnson), but I now know that your giftedness in matters literary is exceptional.
Thank you :)
one thing, amongst many, that Proust seems to do, is map the infinite plasticity of thought and the inner world, and how that corresponds with the outer world, what the world is, and how others are. And so the encounter with the server who is also lost in thought, is how we all live, people simultaneously within themselves and outwardly with others.
Your memory of the library - we can use an imaginative microscope to remember, turn over, a small section of our lives, and when we look at it, see multitudes of things in the details we remember. Just to think that this is what Proust did, in a flow, with a whole life of memories and experiences.
For years I was intimidated by the London Library until friends took me in and showed me the stairs Virginia Woolf used to climb and where they thought T S Eliot had set.
But my true library home is the Henry E Huntington Library in San Marino—years of Sarurday’s there disappeared when the library stopped opening on Saturdays and I moved to Indianapolis, about which I will not comment. At home I am surrounded by books, as many antiquarian as I have been able to afford.
Washington Irving got me into Westminster Abbey where I spent almost 40 years guiding visitors to graves and memorials.
In my ignorance, however, I confess to never having read Proudt except in college classes. Now, though, you inspire me to try, but I make no promises. I am busy writing my own books, and I have no pool handy. But thanks for your essay which truly challenged me. Dickens, though, is my buddy and pal. I did lots of night walking around London in his company. Cheers!
A lovely meditation on Proust's and James's gifts for capturing those ineffably languorous moments in our lives. Thank you. I am reminded of an astonishing, if minor, tale, "Broken Wings" (1900), whose first micro-chapter—barely four pages long—so disoriented and discouraged me that, upon finishing it, I had not retained a single concrete detail of the narrative's action, characters, setting, or circumstances. It was as if James had written the text in Romanian, so I put the book aside. And yet... and yet I had somehow intuited the essentials, because a few days later, when I unthinkingly resumed with Chapter 2, I was able to proceed with surprisingly little confusion. I still cannot explain the experience, but I have always credited it to James's genius for impressionism.
Beautifully written!
Thank you :)
Great stuff!
So good, Henry. Do you think that your own writing is picking up a little Proust, in the best of ways? Thank you for this post.
Excellent work - really enjoying this series on Proust. I too have just finished Guermantes Way, and you've inspired me to order Vol. 4 to keep pace with the series!
splendid! lmk how you get on!
This is so poetic and true, especially: 'Writing is a method of remembering, a daydream of its own: it is not until we move the pen or type the keys that we realise what we knew.'
Are you reading Proust in French or a translation?
The older I get, the more relatable I find Casaubon. I wonder sometimes if Eliot felt the same.