"Now, this attitude on my father's part may be felt to require a few words of explanation, inasmuch as some of us, no doubt, remember a Cottard of distinct mediocrity and a Swan by whom modesty and discretion, in all his social relations, were carried to the utmost refinement of delicacy. But in his case what had happened was that, to the original 'young Swann' and also to the Swann of the Jockey Club, our old friend had added a new personality (which was not to be his last), that of Odette's husband. Adapting to the humble ambitions of that lady the instinct, the desire, the industry which had had always had, he had laboriously constructed for himself, a long way beneath the old, a new position more appropriate to the companion who was to share it with him. In this new position he revealed himself a different man. Since (while continuing to meet his own personal friends as himself, not wishing to impose Odette on them unless they expressly asked to be introduced to her) it was a second life that he had begun to lead, in common with his wife, among a new set of people . . ."
Marcel Proust, Within a Budding Grove, p. 465
We have now moved on to Within a Budding Grove, the second volume of Remembrance of Things Past. First, a little housekeeping. Since I was moving into the second volume I've gone ahead and switched over the Vintage boxed set of Remembrance of Things Past, which features the same classic C.K. Scott Moncrieff translation (with modifications from Terence Kilmartin). I had been reading the Barnes & Noble trade copy of Swann's Way. The point being that the page numbers will be slightly different, and I'm just enough of a nerd (and historian) to go back soon, as I've previously mentioned, and change the page numbers on my posts (as well as reproduce my comments on the Vintage edition). That said, I can't wait too long because I've promised my B&N copy of Swann's Way to my student Taylor Post, who is one of the few people to read this blog and who actually likes to meet to discuss Proust. Anyway, volume I in the Vintage set contains Swann's Way and Within a Budding Grove, and is thus thick enough to stop most small arms fire.
As Proust tells us, Swann has added a new personality, that of Odette's husband, which he describes in section one, "Madame Swann at Home." I had read the first two volumes years ago so this was not a surprise, although it's still funny/sad/tragicomic when you reflect back on all of his suffering at the end of Swann's Way and especially his decisions to have not more to do with her (as we all do, repeatedly). In this instance Swann "revealed himself a different man," although one has to wonder if the key word in that sentence is "revealed," which is very different than being a different man. It seems to me that all of us add new personalities along the way, but is this one of those instances where the tired old metaphor of a snake shedding its skin is actually appropriate; in the end, even with the new skin, it's still the same snake. He talks more about this in the next few paragraphs so I won't go into this question too far yet.
Before I go, and I'm afraid it's going to be for most of the next two weeks (I'm heading out to Zanzibar tomorrow with 19 students, and in the process of getting them all ready to go I somehow managed to forget that I'm going on the trip as well, and I'm magnificently unprepared), I wanted to make a quick comment about writing in books. I always tell my students that if they don't write in their books then they don't love them, although very few of them, at that tender age, love books, yet. I was wondering why I didn't remember more of Swann's Way and Within a Budding Grove when I read them years ago (and, well, the years ago part definitely plays a role here), and I think it's because they were library copies and thus I didn't write all over them. I've talked before of the Indian concept of rasa, where you become one with the art, and, at least for me, so much of that relates to writing notes for myself, and for the author, oddly, all over the book. In this instance the process of reading Proust, writing notes (which probably explains, partially, why I want to go back and replicate my notes in the new version of Swann's Way - and because I'm a nut) and then writing about it on the blog, will not only help me understand Proust on a whole deeper level, but also make it an essential part of my own memory.
Oh, and one truly last thing. If there are not any more posts on this blog then you can assume that I haven't made it back from Zanzibar. That said, I would prefer that I made it back from Zanzibar, and not just to ruminate more fully, although still clumsily, on Proust. Obviously, my main goal is to, in addition to giving my students an amazing educational experience, get all of them back safe and sound. The other day one of my students told me that her father, who is not a fan of this trip, wanted her to pass along the message that if something happened to her he was coming for me. I told her, essentially, fair enough and understandable, but also keep in mind that if something happened to her it already would have happened to me, because it would have had to go through me to get to her; I'm the disposable one here. So, my comment is made with the obvious disclaimer that my main job is to look after my students and get them back to Champlain College healthy (if they can actually listen to my constant reminders to take their malaria medicine), wealthy (well, that's going to take a short term hit, either from souvenir purchases or luggage charges, or both) and especially wise (although I'll settle for merely marginally wiser). Now, having said that, if for some reason the blood clot shakes loose on the plane or a particularly vicious and radioactively empowered flying fox carries me away or swimming with dolphins turns into fleeing from sharks or a popobawa turns his insidious attention my way - and let's not even bring up the long-delayed witch gun incident from west Africa (how did I get so many enemies?) - and I don't make it back, then a couple quick thoughts. First off, I'm a huge believer in saying what needs to be said, which means I'm usually the embarrassing person who pours out their emotions on leaving - there are few things worse than what is not said. Every time I talk to my best friend David I tell him I love him, which we, as men, tend to do a poor job of doing. And when we had finally safely delivered the students last year on the Jordan trip, and were heading home, I turned to my friend Cyndi and said, "you do know how much I love you, right?" Yeah, I'm that guy. So, to anyone who has actually read this blog over the years - who has, at least indirectly, played a role in my life - thank you. Sincerely, thank you. It's very kind of you to take time out to read my words and to share my thoughts, even if you didn't agree with them. Secondly, if I don't come back it's OK, it's really OK - again, I want to come back, but don't fret about me and what might have been. I mean, hell, Zanzibar would be a sweet place to haunt; even those sad, dispassionate angels from Wim Wenders' Wings of Desire would smile as they hung around the bar at the Livingstone House. More importantly, I'm solid, personally and professionally and spiritually. As Lester says at the end of American Beauty, "I'm great."
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