by Jennifer Villarina
I wanted to follow up on one of my comments that I don't think I expressed very clearly, specifically how seeing the recreation of Proust's room at Musée Carnavalet in Paris had a powerful influence on my perspective of his work. I wanted to clarify because seeing the room affected me deeply.
My shift in appreciation is for Proust the author, not Marcel the narrator. Seeing the insulated world in which he wrote his masterpiece and feeling a sensation of isolation and loneliness, I could better appreciate the copious detail of Proust's writing that before I had often found tedious and even petty. Looking at his small brass bed and picturing him writing there at night, the party at the Guermantes suddenly had more life and meaning to me, whereas it annoyed me to no end when I first read it. Standing before his little room I understood something about Proust: in those last years of his life Proust lived through his writing. He created (or in some cases re-created) a social life for himself and lived with his characters.
Previously, I had been irritated by what I considered the superficial nature of Proust's writing. I wanted depth, commentary, greater character exploration. Now I've found I can appreciate the novel as a stream of consciousness without wanting to extract more from it than is offered. I realize this is what various members in the group have been trying to impress upon me all along. I guess I'm a bit set in my literary ways. It took a visceral experience for me to let go of my expectations and appreciate Proust's writing for the true work of art it is.
Comments