Remembrance of Things Past: Swann's Way by Marcel Proust (trans. C. K. Scott Moncrieff)

 

First of all, this translation is absolutely exquisite, it's the first one into English and though there have been many others, this is the one that continues to be republished and updated. Though my French isn't nearly good enough to read Proust, I'm sure that Moncrieff let very little of the original escape him. This is a notoriously taxing stream-of-consciousness novel, but I think it's reputation is somewhat exaggerated, it's nowhere near the trackless raving of Ulysses (which I opened once or twice and ran away from). The first half (when the narrator is remembering his childhood in Combray) is absolutely stunning, the richness of the language and imagery bowled me over and I felt I could keep reading it forever. Every single detail felt so real, every emotion overpowering. But in the second half, when the narrator describes Swann's affair with Odette, was to me unbelievable dull. First of all, I don't understand the gradations and nuances of late-nineteenth-century French society (which is probably essential), and second, I also found the characters and their emotions completely baffling and confusing. I was also very confused by the attitude the narrator (or is it Swann? it's unclear) takes towards lesbianism, he call it 'a culmination of evil', but it's very hard to understand in this case if he's serious or mocking the thoughts of his character. Seeing as modernist writers are usually associated with rather progressive attitudes towards 'alternative' sexualities, I'm not sure what to think. But overall, I don’t think I’ve ever read a book so delightful, precise, gorgeous, sensitive and philosophical in some parts and so unbearably dull, self-obsessed, and judgemental in others. I might need a long break before I attempt the next volume.