Kylog

After reading “Combray” and now diving into the first hundred pages or so of “Swann in Love,” I’m struck by a number of differences between the two sections. First, the narrator truly vanishes (with a minor exception on page 211, Proust would be nothing if he were consistent or ideological): this is a straight (hee hee), non-memoir-ish, 3rd person narrative. Yes, there are still the characteristic Proustian digressions and wise words (”as we all know whenever we …” kind of stuff), but it’s not about Proust/Marcel. Shocking really. Related to this is the linearity of the narrative, again in marked contrast to “Combray,” where the reader is frequently disoriented as to the orientation in time as the narrator dips in and out of various memories from his childhood (and adulthood even).

But despite these developments, the Proustian ethos is unmistakable and unstoppable — little details like the narrative voice or the structure of the narrative are trifling. Except. Except, yes the Proust machines marches on, but I’m seeing new sides to Proust. I was so struck reading “Combray” by the narrator’s kind heart. He’s a satirist but always affable, poking fun at everyone including himself, but in an affectionately ribbing way. Even the exploration of sadism and cruelty toward the end of “Combray” and the confession of the narrator’s cruel words to Francoise re the death of Aunt Leonie are balanced by his confessional attitude and clear affection for all parties.

This is not the narrator of “Swann in Love.” May I introduce the jaded Proust, he of the wicked tongue, painting a world where everyone is shallow, redeeming qualities are few and far between, the laughter is harsh, and our sympathies can find no possible home, except Swann, who is alternately a cynical womanizer and a pathetic pushover. Ouch. The narrator’s one venture into the first person comes (p 211) when he says a) Swann and I share personality, b) my grandparents would have nothing to do with him.

The Verdurins’ circle is a collection of embarassments: besides the Verdurins themselves (total caricatures and shells of human beings who one night “resembled two masks in a theatre each representing Comedy in a different way” (286)), there is Cottard who plays the classical role of the Fool to perfection, always saying the wrong thing to people and grinning nervously. But Swann goes and then is cruel to the people, as when Mme Cottard tries to bond with him over theatre, mentioning two new plays, and he responds icily: “I must confess my want of admiration is almost equally divided between those two masterpieces.” (281). But lest we think ill of Swann the narrator reassures us: “In reality there was not one of the ‘faithful’ who was not infinitely more malicious than Swann” (290).

So, my my. What can have brought on such a spiteful, venomous creation such as this? What happened to the affable Proust of the idyllic Combray? Read the title: Swann in Love. It appears that there is a subject which brings out the Dark Side and, yes, it’s a four-letter word.

Swann’s relationship with Odette is unpleasant from the get go. A friend introduces them with some CYA: he “had made her out to be harder of conquest than she actually was in order to appear to have done [Swann] a bigger favour by the introduction”. But Swann’s “indifferent” to her looks (and apparently enjoys the easy conquest, anyway, thank you very much). Next, his love for her seems to based on her sitting next to him on the couch when he happens to hear a favorite piece of music (someone online suggested that she set this up knowing his fondness for the piece: what did I miss?), coupled with her passing familiarity to Zipporah, a homely shepherd’s daughter, in a Botticelli painting. And now (the section I’m just at) we get to her fooling around and Swann’s all-consuming jealousy. Niiice.