My Year With Proust - Day 52

   "But while each of these attachments, each of these flirtations had been the realization, more or less complete, of a dream born of the sight of a face or a form which Swann had spontaneously, and without effort on his part, found charming, it was quite another matter when, one day at the theatre, he was introduced to Odette de Crecy, by an old friend of his own, who had spoken of her to him as a ravish creature with whom he might very possibly come to an understanding, but had made her out to be harder of conquest than she actually was, so as to appear to be conferring a special favour by the introduction.  She had struck Swann not, certainly, as being devoid of beauty, but as endowed with a style of beauty which left him indifferent, which aroused in him no desire, which gave him, indeed, a sort of physical repulsion; as one of those women of whom every man can name some, and each will name different examples, who are the converse of the type which our senses demand.  To give him any pleasure her profile, her skin too delicate, her cheekbones too prominent, her features too tightly drawn.  Her eyes were fine, but so large that they seemed to be bending beneath their own weight, strained the rest of her face and always made her appear unwell or in an ill humour."

Marcel Proust, Swann's Way, pp. 206-207

And Swann, and we, are finally introduced to Odette de Crecy, who will end up taking up so much of his life and so much of the novel.  It's not much of an introduction, and leaves the reader more than a bit mystified by Swann's fascination with her.  It's not as if he's not experienced, because the previous paragraph featured a rundown on his usual routine in garnering invitations to parties for his innumerable mistresses.  When I am in my cups, I will sometimes describe an actress as being hot in that way that only not hot girls are hot, and I actually mean that as a great compliment.  However, I don't even think this applies to our initial physical description of Odette.  Desire, like love, is a mystery, and if not a mystery, then something chemical.  You can walk into a room full of people of your same general intelligence and social-economic status and appearance, and you will instantly fall in love with one of them - or you may descend into abject lust over only one of them.  And what's interesting is that while that woman may not have fit your initial definition of beauty, you will often then re-calibrate your definition to fit her - that is until you fall out of love or lust with her, at which point you'll revert to your original setting.  Obviously, we'll be talking a lot more about Odette.

Oh, and I can't be the only one who thinks that Proust is making a Swan Lake pun by having a Swann fall in love with an Odette?