webcowgirl | Entries tagged with time regained

Well, only two years after I started, I've finished all of Remembrance of Things Past (better called In Search of Lost Time) as I reached the big "The End" on page 358 of Time Regained. He spent the last 15-20 pages talking about how he was afraid he'd die before he finished his life work, and I was feeling like I was cheering him on as he was trying to race against his own bad health to get to the finish line. "You can do it, Marcel! In fact, you did it! We're all here waiting for you -- just a few more steps!"

It's really been a great read - I can't say it's changed my life, but in many ways it's changed how I perceived thing, and not just because I get jokes about madeleines, insomnia,and cork-lined rooms. The best bit has been this appreciation of really intense moments of timelessness, when everything around me comes together and I feel both so alive and so entirely out of time, like the things that are happening to me have always happen and will continue to happen and I'm just experiencing a tiny, perfect, repeatable moment in the endless sea of Time. Skies will cloud over, spring flowers will fade and fall, even I will be gone one day, but a perfect day in spring, or autumn, or summer, or winter, they will all happen again and in experiencing one perfect instant of them I am, in effect, experiencing them all. I know this sounds like some pretty serious hippie shit, but it does happen to me and it's Proust that made me recognize them (plus my sum total of other life experiences all welling up at the same time).

Sadly I haven't had any moments like this recently - they happen when they happen (and require a full dose of Be Here Now, which is sometimes in short supply for me). Instead I'll mention the rest of my day, as boring in its minutiae as ever, but an ongoing accretion of Things That Make Me Me.

1. Today's lesson: be aware of when the time changes are going to happen and make sure you set your alarm clock properly if you're travelling on that day. If this had been the spring changeover, I would have been screwed this morning. Instead, I got up too early (and yet still barely made it to the airport on time, no thanks to the Time Out guides shit transpo maps and poor information about getting to the airport).

2. Yummy new food item: "Secreto Catalan" (I think), which is a cut of pork from the back of the pig's neck - very buttery and soft. Incorrectly named food item: "Ensalada Fantasia," as my fantasies never involve a food item covered with thin slices of raw salmon. Yuck.

3. The flamenco concert was a lot of fun. El Capullo de Jerez was J's favorite of the evening, and likely mine (the other singer being Remedios Amaya, video of the two of them performing here, only when the egotistical "El Farruco," a dancer who was reminding me of a cross between Liberace and Michael Jackson, got his 10 year old son out there to cut the rug with him, I was so stupendously moved by his skill at such a young age (plus the whole "mini-me" thing going on, I kept laughing) that I stood up and cheered - with the rest of the Barcelonans. That said, listening to Capullo de Jerez singing these old songs with this backdrop of these creepy Art Nouveau maidens coming out of the walls behind him in the Palau de Musica was really something - it's like the ghosts were listening to him perform.

We brought home three bottles of booze, two bottles of cider, three bottles of wine, two new handpainted earthenware bowls for serving food in, and three packages of tea, so it was a pretty good haul for a weekend, and it was a nice and fairly relaxing time. We got in early (noon) and I've managed to not just get home but also get up the street to meet

wechsler's sister (husband and baby too). Now I'm roasting up a chicken and I am hungry! There may have been a time change but my stomach thinks it's time to eat now. At least the cat is happy to have us home again.

If you ignore the food poisoning, there's one great thing I can say about the last week and a half: I have been sleeping like a rock. Actually, I even slept great in Italy, probably because I was walking myself to a state of exhaustion daily, but there was only one day when I spent my night worrying about us not getting somewhere on time and lost sleep because of this. So every day I've felt in good shape in regards to my sleep level - a nice change from normal.

I've also been drinking a lot of red wine during this period of time. I wonder if there's a connection?

Proust is at page 309 - in good shape for me to complete the book(s) before the end of the month, I think. I just finished a section about a famous actress (sort of a Sarah Bernhardt) having a tea party that no one could bother to attend because they were off to see The Next Big Thing. The actress herself is dying and working herself into a quicker grave to take care of her daughter, who doesn't appreciate it. The whole thing seemed like a kind of death watch for the entire social order he's documented in his series of books, and I found it kind of funny to read, almost as much as reading about the granny who took the deaths of any of her aquaintances as being sort of a win for her. "Hah! Outlives old Solange after all. That'll show her!"

For fun I've been reading Stross' The Jennifer Morgue (at home, a gift from

topbit) and Fforde's The Fourth Bear (at the gym), where the lead character has just bought a horrible car from Dorian Grey - it has a portrait of itself in the trunk. Stross is into heavy James Bond paralleling right now, so I'll probably recommend this to J when I'm done.

I'm curious - what do you think? Should Congress have passed the bailout or not passed it? Is it a good thing for the world economy? Is it just guaranteeing the demise of America as a superpower - er, either the passing of the bill or the non-passing?

Is it just staving off the inevitable?

What do you think?

In other news, I want new tea balls (I like the 1 1/2 inch size ball only, and they're hard to find), and I had to rebook Uffizi tickets (the first place was going to have us there in the morning after I'd specifically requested the afternoon). I'm a bit worried that there's something to do for the trip that I've forgotten (combo ticket for Colosseum and Palatine Hill?) I also stayed up late finishing my latest Charlaine Harris mystery (A Bone to Pick), and I did correctly guess the murderer! It was a fun book to read. Now I'm going to crack down on the Proust (I'm at page 255 of Time Regained, in the middle of a long and unflattering discussion of aging) - I have just more than a hundred pages to go and I want to have this finished by the end of the month. Oddly, I think I just might be done by Friday ...

I had this bizarre insight on Monday that Time Regained is kind of like Proust's version of the Phantom Menace. You kind of know how it's all going to end (ooh, is he going to become a writer?) and (so far) everything seems really anticlimactic. All of his best moments have already happened and he's already said his goodbyes (in The Fugitive, the last book he actually wrote). It's very much, "Well, I suppose we have to get through this bit in order for the "real" story to happen" - only PM was a total piece of poo and this isn't THAT bad. It's just ... not as good as what preceded it.

I have also seen the height of Proust's writing powers already, in the increasingly better-written novels that were done after Time Regained was written (I think these are three books, the ones all about Albertine - it's a bit of a shock to go back to mid-career Proust after reading the end of career stuff), and, to me, the actual climax of the series was in the last book, when the narrator goes to Venice, the thing that's been his dream since early, early in the book, when his health and nervous temperament kept him from travelling. So now, he's back in Paris, and, to me, nothing seems the same. Everyone's older, time has marched on ... and while I've enjoyed listening to Proust go on about writing and the value of art (and the value of life to art), I just feel like I'm spending a really long time watching someone slowly expire on a stage while finishing their death arie. At any rate, I'm at page 234 of Finding Time Again, and I've got 124 pages left. My goal is to finish the book in October, meaning it will have taken me two years to have finished it (post on buying it here, post on starting it here). That seems reasonable enough to me, though I really had no idea what I was getting into when I started.

Proust: I'm at page 204 of Time Regained. He's been on a long rant about the value of art, which I think will ultimately lead to him beginning to write his novel. Last night I was reading a bit that, I'm pretty sure, said if you didn't try to express the impressions of the art you've seen/heard/watched, you hadn't actually accomplished anything by experiencing it. I liked that.

Heart: 163/92 this morning, horrid, horrid. I expect the stress at work yesterday kicked it up. (Really, I don't just avoid unpleasant people and situations because I'm a wimp; it seems to negatively affect my health.)

It's kind of sunny outside and it looks like a nice day to do things. I've actually got a vacation day today to spend with my houseguest, but I may not actually be needed. I'll find out pretty soon. I'm awfully down so if today isn't going to work out, I'll probably go back to work - I'm not in good shape for staying at home, especially since the building's water is off today while they replace some pipes.

I'm at page 182 of Time Regained. The narrator is trying to work out a certain feeling of timelessness and figure out what it components are. It's interesting - I feel this book really shows a less mature writing style than The Fugitive, which, sequentially, was written after this one (and was also the last thing he wrote). He's talking about remembering things he wrote about in the last novel, but the way he wrote about experiencing them was so much better than his description of remembering them.

I get the feeling I'm holding off finishing the book because I don't want to be done with it. My two co-readers,

nhw and

emmarytz, have already finished (though

emmarytz skipped a few pages, if I'm not mistaken). If middle age is realizing you're never going to read Remembrance, is finishing it the mark of middle age? Or maybe I've just been seriously distracted by my other books. Accelerando has been fantastic, and the Charlaine Harris mysteries are great.

I am going to write a long quote from How Proust Can Change Your Life, but it's going to keep my day from starting if I type for half an hour, and as I've already been up for a good hour I need to make up my mind about what I'm going to do and do it. But really - what a Proustian conundrum to be in! I can't do things if I write, and if I write I can't do things, so I'm paralyzed with indecision. This would of course imply the correct next move is to go back to bed.

Dammit, I forgot to bring my phone with me today. This is what I get for looking at pictures on it this morning instead of, say, dropping it in my bag.

rosamicula, we're still on for the concert this afternoon (1 PM, Cadogan Hall, Jordi Savall).

spikeylady, I have my suit and am ready to swim this evening - it's at 7:15 now, right? I'll plan to be at yours no later than 6:50. Both of you, I'll email you my work number so you can contact me as I don't have your phone numbers or anything to confirm stuff.

In a pretense of content, I'll say that I finished my Jo Clayton book (The Snares of Ibex) this morning and got back to Proust, where I'm at page 77 and the narrator has just run into Mr. Charlus on the streets of wartime Paris, where (he suspects) Mr. Charlus is out cruising. It's so bizarre to think of gay guys cruising in the Edwardian era, but I suppose it happened. With luck I may update my theater blog with my review of West Side Story - somehow the weekend slipped away and I wound up spending almost no time at all on the computer. Who'da thunk it?

Man, I can barely cross my legs after yesterday, and even walking is a bit of an effort.

That said, Time Regained is at page 39. The narrator has spent a bit of time talking about World War I, which is really odd given that the entire rest of the novel (all six books) has seemed nearly removed from history other than the Dreyfus affair (which was only really dealt with insofar as it made it difficult to create a invite list to a party). The discussion is focused on what people are wearing and what people are talking about at parties, however, so it still fits in with the rest of the novel, except insofar as it's now got such a particular date associated with the events that are being described that it's like someone has used a pushpin to attach the novel to a history chart.

I dreamed last night that

shadowdaddy had misread the terms of our lease and decided we were moving. I came home and all sorts of our old friends (i.e.

sallysimpleton and others) were putting things into boxes and the living room was already two thirds cleared out. I had to shoo everyone away and explain to J that we still had two months before we had to move, and since we had to pay rent during this time, we might as well stay. I was sad about leaving our place, though - where could we move that would allow me so much time to daydream? That said, I'm irritated about another £70 rise in our rent and wonder if we should look at a different apartment. A one bedroom would make a LOT of difference in our monthly rent output.

LATER: I was chatting with

silkyraven yesterday about American culture, specifically the "pot luck" (versus having dinner parties), and I mentioned how people at really big events were a bit competitive about who would have their food finished first. What I forgot to mention was the parallel track of entering your food to be judged in the county fair. I used to do this, and brought home many ribbons for my cookies (and sometimes for my cakes) in my division. I'd do it again if I could. At any rate, fun article about this in the New York Times today (in Marquette, Michigan, of all places, long time home of

shadowdaddy's younger uncle) - read it! "In judging the fair’s baked goods over the last decade, she has demonstrated almost supernatural abilities, as if she can detect margarine in your banana bread by sight." Oh yeah!

So far I've written on the white board, eaten a ham and cheese croissant, talked to

tonyawinter about her visit, and ordered some fudge from Anna Lena's in Long Beach, Washington, which is apparently closing down. I've also written up a slightly fuller review of Pygmalion at the Old Vic.

Tonight is drinks after work - a taking it easy kind of evening. I probably need these now and then.

Hey, Proust readers, if you're at Time Regained (pages 15-23), can you answer this question for me (or discuss it with me)? ( Cut for spoilers for those who like Proust - no one else would care anyway! )

I realize that almost nobody cares, but I'm excited to report I finished The Prisoner, the first half of the tome I've been lugging around since February. I feel that the 384 pages this represents seems quite pathetic, but this book has just not captured me the way the other ones have (though it picked up midway as a couple conspired to socially destroy another character in the book). It's odd to think that he wrote it so late in his life, and that The Fugitive (the other half), should, in fact, represent the pinnacle of his writing. On the other hand, I'm really looking forward to Time Regained now, since it should mark a return to the writing I've enjoyed and will have a complete lack of Albertine in it. (I guess I'll miss Albertine, truth be told, but I rejoice in the thought of never hearing the narrator speak of her again - in another 350 pages or so.)

I've been up packing long enough to get punchy, so it's time to go to bed. I'll be heading to the airport around 10 AM tomorrow.

LATER: I just figured out how to take the bus from the airport to my hotel, and now feel public transportation 133t.