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The Guermantes Way

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If I had to send a single book to space martians, it would probably be Anna Karenina, the most concise powerhouse ever written. But as for sheer reading experience and linguistic ability, Proust is the grandmaster. In Search of Lost Time is the most staggering human achievement ever produced. Many of his famously long sentences contain more beauty than most people's complete bodies of literary work. I marvel that a human being was able to so beautifully and succinctly articulate, by using himself, the whole human experience. Proust's only rival in terms of felicity of language is Charles Dickens, but the former's subject matter is inarguably just so much more sophisticated than the latter's. I wish I could speak French just to read this masterpiece in its original language. I don't know if this translation is particularly better or worse, I just know the voice that comes through is unmistakably Proust's, and that's plenty. I am thrilled that I still have four volumes left to read, but I'm also greatly discouraged that no one else is reading them with me. Each time I tell people that I'm reading Proust, they either think I'm kidding or say, "you must be the only person in America to be doing that." Knowing that a piece of art like this is perennialy ignored in the museum while the line goes out the door for Thomas Kincaide's sugar packets is enough to make you want to hang yourself.

I've come to Proust quite late. I tried to read Remembrances many years ago but couldn't get my head around the extended sentences liberally convoluted with parenthesis. Recently I took another plunge and a different approach. I realized that to read Proust is a consuming commitment. The reader has to relinquish the comfort of the customary literary narrative. If you do this then the world of Proust will first entice you then become an obsessive pleasure into which you will eagerly immerse yourself.

Having said this now comes the question of which translation to read. I've read the first English translation by C.K. Scott Moncrieff published by Random House in 1927. I've also read the new Penguin translation of The Guermantes Way by Mark Treharne. The Penguin translations are "easier" to read and cater more to a 21st century sensibility. To my mind the restructuring of sentences at times, unfortunately, sacrifice the poetics of Proust's language in favor of adherence to modern grammatical convention. Montcrieff also had the advantage of doing his translation closer to the time in which Proust actually lived and worked; the flavor of this early translation feels more "authentic" and contemporaneous with the period. An example: The first sentence in Montcrieff's The Germantes Way reads: "The twittering of the birds at daybreak..." Treharne's reads: "The early-morning twitter of the birds..." Does this matter? It's your call.

Read the Penguins if this gets you into Proust. But don't discount earlier translations. Just read Proust...you'll be happy you did!

Presumably, one does not read a review of Proust to find out if the story is good. It's a bit like reading a review of the Bible in order to find out whether it says anything relevant about religion. Proust's place in literature is beyond doubt--how his translators fare, however, is open to debate. Mark Treharne has validated Penguin's decision to tackle this new translation with a brilliant, crisp, fresh, easily-accessible Proust. In fact, the text is so easily accessible that one wonders if something has been lost in translation along with Proust's famous obtuseness. But be reassured, the original's consistent ability to astonish with its insights into the human psyche is there throughout. This is Proust as he would have sounded had he written in English. Well done, Treharne.

The second I finished The Guermantes Way I slammed the book down on the floor, half out of Proust's genius, and half out of having finished it. Proust was a genius, and In Search of Lost Time is a masterpiece filled with beauty. From the beginning of the novel all the way to the death of the Narrator's Grandmother and the Narrator's meeting with Albertine, I was captivated. But after those instances of poetic beauty and delicate word placement and description that permeate the first half...it comes to a halt as soon as the Narrator begins to enter society. I realize that this is the point...Parisian society lacks the poetic hawthorns, the madeleine, the seascape of Balbec, all the things that are present in Swanns Way and In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower...because none of that is present in society. Proust does a good job of omitting those things due to the lack of it in the Narrators new surroundings. Yet, this is where I found it tiring, and was anxious to finish it. The last 50 pages had me in a fit to get it over with. The vast amount of names is what irritated me the most. How many times do you hear the name Mme de Guermantes, M. de Charlus, The Duc de Guermantes, The Princess of Parma, Mme Villiparisis, etc? In the last 200 pages alone?....you read every name 1,000+ times. It's as if Proust forgot about the personal pronouns "he" and "she."

But I in no way regret reading The Guermantes Way at all. Proust is a pleasure to read!

Reading Proust's "In Search of Lost Time is like listening to Wagner's Ring in several ways. Both works are pinnacles of artistic creation, very long, entrancingly beautiful, and make overwhelming demands on the attention of the audience. Amazon's sales ranks display something of the difficulty. "Swan's Way," the first and most popular of Proust's six volumes (as of 4/18/2008) ranks 6,586; the second, "Young Girls in Flower," ranks 40,389; and the third, "Guermantes Way," ranks 62,649. The numbers soar into the stratosphere for the remaining three volumes.

The sustained cognitive effort needed to read Proust (or listen to Wagner) quickly overcomes good intentions. The difficulty is not that the books are long. Many contemporary best sellers are themselves weighty tomes. For Proust character and setting take precedence over action. Sentences and paragraphs are long, convoluted, and like many Wagnerian melodies, go on forever. However, as with all great literature, each element of the text is essential. If skimmed, the meaning is elusive. Slowly digested, the words unfold into ideas of great originality, wit, and amazing beauty.

Reading the series is worth the effort. The books describe the development of an increasingly sophisticated person. "Swan's Way" revolves around a young boy's attachment to his mother and a flirtatious playmate. "Young Girl's in Flower" describes the awkward yearnings of an adolescent for a pretty girl. "Guermantes Way" dwells on a young man's infatuation for a society doyenne, Mme de Guermantes, who rules the exclusive Fauberg St. Germain. "Guermantes Way" is both a guide for climbing into fashionable society, and a cautionary tale of inevitable disappointment.

Social deities project a glittering irresistible allure in the mind of an aspirant. However, having made the ascent via a path of rigid conformity, once actually in an exclusive salon, at an elegant soiree, or at a stylish dinner party, these luminaries unmask themselves as not much different from the middle class citizens they disdain, not more intelligent, more sensitive, or more interesting. Aristocracy is distinguished only by its wealth, exclusivity, and generations of inbreeding. Proust's luscious satire of the Fauberg St. Germain at the opera, and their trite opinions about Wagner, demonstrates no less. Here, as elsewhere in "Lost Time," an eagerly desired liaison rests on delusion and fails to produce imagined happiness.

Compared to the first two volumes adorned with habitual despondency the narrator in this third volume is in full swing of his adulthood, ready to dance the music of social life. His friendship with Saint-Loup, the handsome socialite, whom he first met during the summer in Balbec (vol. II) blossoms into an undying loyalty. The ludicrous fascination of Swann with Odette (vol. I) is recaptured in this sequel with even more illogical fascination of Saint-Loup with Rachel.

With the help of Saint-Loup, the vivacious narrator is able to obtain introduction to Duchesse Guermantes and subsequently dinner invitations from the most fashionable salons in Paris. He brushes elbows with impractical royalties famed for their ostentatious attires and extravagant parties. As a bourgeoisie or commoner it is easy to get enchanted with their glitzy lifestyle. It becomes some sort of entertainment to the impoverished not realizing the reason socialites act this way is due to boredom.

From anti-Semitism to Dreyfus Affair Proust wittingly mocks this flock of aristocrats who are themselves "for the birds". Nearly a century had past from the onset of the French Revolution to the time this book was written and yet Proust encaptulates the same sentiments of those Freethinkers of the eighteenth century and leaves Voltaire, Hugo, and Balzac to name a few out in the cold.