In Search of Lost Titles

This week, as my nightly reading, I began and finished Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass. This is not a great accomplishment since a) it is only 12 chapters and b) it is a children's book. Nevertheless, I tremedously enjoyed the book, as always. In fact, I came to the conclusion that I enjoy this book more than the previous, Alice in Wonderland. I think because the former is more structured and the latter is more or less organic in its composition, I prefer Through the Looking Glass.

Last night, as I was planning to go to bed, I began to search for a book to read. I decided on fiction because ... well, just because.

I pondered seriously over Homer's The Odyssey but I am not in the mood for poetry. So no Whitman or Dante.

I am not in the mood for a play either so no Stoppard, Shakespeare or Beckett.

Yes, I want a novel.

I hadn't yet read Irving Stone's bio-fiction of Vincent Van Gogh, Lust for Life. I previously read his bio-fiction of Michelangelo The Agony and the Ecstasy. It was very good which is why I purchased Lust for Life. But I am not in the mood for painting books.

I thought about a Thomas Pynchon novel but those are to vulgar for my current tastes.

Next, I thought about Umberto Eco's Baudolino. I hadn't read it yet. His The Name of the Rose, Foucault's Pendulum and The Island of the Day Before were all good if not great but I heard this new book was somewhat dissapointing and I want a book that I know will be good.

I thought about Kafka. Amerika, The Trial, The Castle. I decided against this because I don't fancy a book so close to my own present circumstances. So no Rand, no Orwell, and no Huxley.

Finally, as I was debating about picking up my beloved Ulysses for the umpteenth time, I spied my two volume copy of A La Recherche Du Temps Perdu, by Marcel Proust. This book has been translated into English as either Remembrance of Things Past or In Search of Lost Time. The former title is more widespread though the latter is more accurate.

It is a seven book novel written in the early decades of the twentieth century. It is considered to be one of the greatest novels of all time. Its relative obscurity is due to its length. I mean, it's difficult to make the book into a film for mass distribution though it has been done. Its obscurity is also due to its complexity. I would not put it up on the level of Finnegans Wake or Ulysses but certainly it would come within the same group as these novels and The Divine Comedy.

Now I haven't actually read the entire novel. I first heard of this work while I was in college. When I was not studying history I was teaching myself about the works of classical literature. I finally found a used book store that had all seven of the books in a two volume set for $16. (This was the same store where I found my translation of the complete works of Rabelais, the five books of Gargantua and Pantagruel and the first U.S. Edition of Joyce's Stephen Hero. Good store.

When I did purchase A La Recherche I began reading it but, like most people, I found myself disinterested after a few dozen pages. I mean, Proust spends the first thirty pages describing how the narrator turns and returns over in his bed before going to sleep! This book is over 2,500 pages!

So I began reading a number of books about the work, critical commentaries and that sort of thing. I even read specific passages in the different books, but never the whole thing.

But last night I decided once again to sally forth and venture through the maze that is A La Recherche. The reason that I am posting this is that I wish to use Panis Circensesas a literary accountability group. If I say publicly that I am reading the book then I'll have to continue. If this works then I'll use this method to get through Tolstoy's War and Peace and Thomas Mann's Magic Mountain.

So wish me luck. I have started book one, Du Cote De Chez Swann, or Swann's Way.