Jacob’s Comments (group member since Nov 14, 2014)

Jacob’s comments from the One Year In Search of Lost Time ~ 2015 group.

Generally speaking, I don't feel beholden to address translation questions while reading a book. I’m perfectly content to read Davis’s Proust or Moncrieff’s Proust as works in their own right. I appreciate that other people are interested in the scholarly questions surrounding translations—and good thing since they’re the ones who give us our translations—but my interests as a reader lie elsewhere. That said, the question’s been raised, and it’s gnawing at me.

My French isn’t great, but I can offer the following comments. Yes, “on” can be translated as “one” and without a broader context—say, in a single sentence or a dictionary—then “one” is the default translation. “On” is an indefinite pronoun which is why “one” is its closest equivalent, but in context it is frequently much more defined. Often the best, most accurate translation is “we” or “they” or “you.” In ambiguous cases “one” might be the safe bet, but that doesn’t make it the best translation. In the cases we’ve quoted above the translators have all agreed that “one” is not the best translation for “on.” Take the following case, the first appearance of “you” about five pages into The Way by Swann’s:

Mais j'avais revu tantôt l'une, tantôt l'autre, des chambres que j'avais habitées dans ma vie, et je finissais par me les rappeler toutes dans les longues rêveries qui suivaient mon réveil; chambres d'hiver où quand on est couché, on se blottit la tête dans un nid qu'on se tresse avec les choses les plus disparates…qu'on finit par cimenter ensemble selon la technique des oiseaux en s'y appuyant indéfiniment; où, par un temps glacial le plaisir qu'on goûte est de se sentir séparé du dehors…

Here’s Davis’s translation:

But I had seen sometimes one, sometimes another, of the bedrooms I had inhabited in my life, and in the end I would recall them all in the long reveries that followed my waking: winter bedrooms in which, as soon as you are in bed, you bury your head in a nest that you weave of the most disparate things…that you end by cementing together using the birds’ technique of pressing down on it indefinitely; where in icy weather the pleasure you enjoy is the feeling that you are separated from the outdoors…

In each case Moncrieff translated “on” as “I” rather than “you.” Either way, the narrator is referring to himself. I prefer the Davis translation because with “you” he not only refers to himself but also addresses himself. This adds a narrative dimension that is lost in Moncrieff’s translation. I think Davis chose “you” over “I” because Proust explicitly chose “on” and not “je.” Up until this point, every self-reference used “je.” So why “you” instead of “one?” Partly because it is almost always awkwardly formal to use “one” when the referent is definite. But also, like I’ve argued, “you” brings out the fact that the narrator is talking to himself, not as an abstract object of memory (as “one” would imply) but as someone intimately involved in the act of remembering and narrating (as, of course, he is).

The second case of “you” was translated from “vous” so no controversy there. I wonder if the use of “vous” indicates that the addressee is the implied reader rather than the narrator himself. I’ll have to compare as we keep reading. Here it is in French: “…elle ne l'évoque pas à la façon d'un air de musique humaine, qui, entendu par hasard à la belle saison, vous la rappelle ensuite…” And in Davis again: “…this music does not evoke summer in the same way as a melody of human music, which, when you happen to hear it during the warm season, afterwards reminds you of it…” I have a reason for liking the idea that this “you” is a self-reference but that’s because I think that this sentence is an instance of foreshadowing. If you’ve read Proust before and want to know what I’m claiming it foreshadows: (view spoiler)[I think the music he’s talking about is the sonata by Vinteuil. (hide spoiler)] I’ll have to read more to see if the narrator’s later uses of “vous” bears out this interpretation.

Obviously, the original quote that Teresa posted is something different. He used “vous” throughout but he was speaking to the lovely Sunday afternoons he remembers from Combray. I'll say it again, I love this sentence.

Simon, you’ve already addressed the last passage. Here it is again:

I could not put down the novel I was reading by him [Bergotte], but thought I was interested only in the subject, as in that first period of love when you go to meet a woman every day at some gathering, some entertainment, thinking you are drawn to it by its pleasures.

I’m really glad you brought this up because it’s forcing me to nuance my interpretation. I missed this during my first search but it’s significant that “on” is used throughout this paragraph. Davis first translates it as “one” but then in the second sentence (quoted above) switches to “you.” (Moncrieff begins with “one” and switches to “we” in the second sentence.) The first sentence is profoundly significant for reading “on” in the paragraph: “In the first few days, like a melody one will become infatuated with but that one cannot yet make out, what I was to love so much in his style was not apparent to me.” Davis is aware of the fact that this paragraph entails more than generalized musings about the musical and romantic experiences of a hypothetical person. Throughout the paragraph “je” and “on” are closely linked. It seems that “on” replaces “je” when some distance is needed. Our place in the narrative requires this distance. As before, they are the same person but the narrator is taking different perspectives on himself. This is what I mean by narrative distance: the “I” is present (the narrator’s voice), the “one” and the “you” are foreshadows. This might seems like a stretch, but I think it’s a legitimate interpretation. I anticipate that further reading will back me up. If you think I’m full of it and you want to hear my simple justification I’ll post what I think he's foreshadowing under a spoiler tag. (view spoiler)[The melody he’s talking about is Vinteuil’s sonata. The woman is Albertine at Balbec. (hide spoiler)]

Whether I’m right or not, my thanks to Teresa and Simon for getting me more engaged in Proust then I’ve ever been.

I found this observation so startling that I had to run a search in my ereader. I found only a few other instances of note. The first takes place only five pages into the novel and each "you" is a younger version of himself. The paragraph begins: "These revolving, confused evocations never lasted for more than a few seconds...", and it's about the confusion he sometimes experiences upon waking. I only found one other time when he addresses "you" before the instance you quoted:

...this music does not evoke summer in the same way as a melody of human music, which, when you happen to hear it during the warm season, afterwards reminds you of it (118/480 in Penguin epub).

Shortly after the quote you gave us we have another "you" that seems important:

I could not put down the novel I was reading by him [Bergotte], but thought I was interested only in the subject, as in that first period of love when you go to meet a woman every day at some gathering, some entertainment, thinking you are drawn to it by its pleasures (128/480 in Penguin epub).

I find this so startling because in every instance the narrator seems to be addressing himself. I agree that this is something we need to keep in mind. I'm going to watch for each address of "you" so I can see how it becomes relevant to the story (or, in the case of the older narrator, how it already is relevant).

Last week I had mentioned that I'm interested in the ambiguity of the young narrator's age. This quote helps to demostrate that ambiguity:

For at one time she [Aunt Léonie] had liked that estate very much, and too, Swann's visits had been the last she had received, when she had already closed her door to everyone else.

Earlier in the volume the narrator had spent some time describing the dynamics of Aunt Léonie's visits which it seems have now ceased. The change show us that the narrator has aged without telling us how much time has passed. I suspect I'll continue to return to this particular theme. The reason is that it gives us a peculiar representation of time and memory. I'm fascinated by how the narrator gives us so much sensual detail without describing his own physical characteristics or name. In the same way, I'm fascinated by how much detailed memory the narrator relates without a clearly defined sequence and without any indication of how much time passes between individual episodes. He somehow gets away with it because there's hardly any division in the narrative, a memory flows into a reflection which flows into another memory. Everything happens so fluidly that we hardly seem aware of any change. And what happens? We realize one day that Aunt Léonie's visits are in the past and the young boy we're following is a little bit older.

We saw something similar in last week's reading: "for a number of years now I had not gone into my Uncle Adolphe's room, since he no longer came to Combray" (107/480 in Penguin epub). The 'now' is striking. There's a narrative present here, but it doesn't last. The next eight pages are occupied with a flashback to the time before 'now' when his uncle did stay in Combray. In the pages that follow, the narrative 'now' slowly becomes the past.

There are a few quotes that have jumped out at me so far. The first two are important because they give us some clue regarding the name of volume 1 and - I know, let's not get ahead of ourselves - volume 3. Because 2/7 of the novel receive their names from the following lines, I think it bears remembering as we continue to read.

For in the environs of Combray there were two 'ways' which one could go for a walk, in such opposite directions that in fact we left our house by different doors when we wanted to go one way or the other: the Méséglise-la-Vineuse way, which we also called the way by Swann's because we passed in front of M. Swann's estate when we went in the direction, and the Guermantes way.

Soon followed by:

And that demarcation was made even more absolute because our habit of never going both ways on the same day, in a single walk, but one time the Méséglise way, one time the Guermantes way, shut them off, so to speak, far apart form one another, unknowable by one another, in the sealed and uncommunicating vessels of different afternoons.

Of course with these translations, if you pick one, you pick either three or eight! In that case, why not eleven?

Thanks, Jonathan. I appreciate the suggestions you made in the introduction thread too. Great pointers. I have a hard time reading Proust slowly but it's a necessity and bears remembering. I'll check out the above links. I'm going to try to use MKE more, especially in the first volumes like you said. Oddly enough, I really like how the Prendergast translations treat dialogue. Confusing, yes, but I love how porous the narrative and dialogue becomes. One thing that's always bothered me about dialogue in fiction is the way it's presented as if it's an accurate representation of events that are remembered after the fact. Maybe I'm too influenced by the standards of journalism and academics in which a quote must be exact. The way Proust softened the distinction between narrative and dialogue seems a more accurate representation of my memory. He appears to admit that the dialogue is just as constructed as the narrative. In Proust, the distinction between the two begins to disappear. This reminds me of the other great modernists although I find Proust's prose style to be much more fluid and refined, but I shouldn't get into that.

One of the oddities I've recognized so far is that despite the fact that the narrator is not in any hurry to get where he's going, he doesn't take the time to give us his name, a description of himself - not even his age(s) - or a physical descriptions of others around him. This is complicated by the fact that we have two voices, as Marcelita pointed out last week, narrating the story. I'm most interested in the young narrator. We can only postulate on his age based on the way he acts and the way others treat him. Simon says 10, and that seems like a good starting point. But even in the first quarter we have an indeterminate length of time and various episodes all experienced by a young narrator. Except the young narrator is not necessarily always exactly the same age. This is one more instance of Proust's narrative skill. Somehow the narrator seems to be genuinely 10-13 (well, that's my guess). I don't mean that he's one age in that range, but all of these ages at various points in the older narrator's reflections. Not only is this brilliant narrative technique, it's also a penetrating representation of our memory. Certainly, we like our systematic, detailed historical chronologies with dates and ages. They're neat and orderly, but they're not the same thing as memory. Proust gives us the memories of an older narrator who's recalling the experiences of younger versions of himself. This is how we remember, and our remembered chronology is mixed up and messy.

The quote from MKE is quite different and, I have to admit, I like it a lot more.

Teresa, that's a beautiful quote. It throws me back into my own "Combray" and causes some emotion to well up inside me. Proust you devil, what are you doing to me?

Haha, Simon your view of landscapes, real and imagined, makes me laugh. You remind me of a good friend who loves video games. When he starts talking about video games I teasingly say, "you know it's not real, right?" Of course he and I both agree that the imagined worlds we live in are absolutely real, they're just not physical. My experience of fiction is somewhat different from yours, however. The most sublime landscapes, my deepest experiences, are physical, but my everyday life is entirely discontinuous with those experiences. Reading is one way to bring the rare sublimity of life into my everyday experience. Writing is one way to relive the most remarkable moments and places from my life, even if in radically different terms.

I'd like to follow up on the text you put in bold. There's a deeper layer involved here. Not only is the narrator experiencing a landscape more deeply through a book, but he's also narrating this in the context of the less vivid world of Combray, which of course we're reading. Apparently he wasn't impressed with Combray as a young boy or even as a grown man, narrating from a distance. But the fact that he narrates it to us implies, by his own reflection on books, that it derives a depth it never had in his original experience or even in his memory. The act of narrating itself, and reading what has been narrated, is what imbues his banal experience with value. I never noticed this while reading it, but your comment brought this out.

I find the multiple voices and the way they flow from one to the other remarkable. Actually, the fluid way Proust flows through ideas, reflections, and descriptions baffles me. I get to the end of a sentence and I don't know how it began but somehow I know exactly what I've read. The same happens with his paragraphs. They don't encapsulate discreet ideas; they somehow let one idea or image flow into another. He does this without rupturing the continuity of his prose. Remarkable.

I would like to remind everyone that we will only discuss the text up to the week's reading goal. Reflections on the narrative as a whole or Proust's project will become relevant as we proceed through the text but they're not appropriate yet. The simple rule is: only write it if you can explain it with the text we've read in this group.

Of course, some of us have already read it so if you'd like to add something that comes from a prior reading - either yours or someone else's, either a comment or a link - just be sure to mark it as a spoiler. My thanks to those who have used this technique. To hide a spoiler write <*spoiler>This text is hidden until you click on the words 'view spoiler'. <*/spoiler> but without the *.

In that vein, I think we can agree that there is not yet any reason (we'll have to wait to see if there is reason at all) to believe that the narrator is named Marcel.

Our reading ends, "...put to flight by the pale sign traced above the curtains by the raised finger of the dawn" (p. 264 in MKE 1992; ~42.9%). This is the end of Part I: Combray.

This is a great idea, Simon. It seems a natural extension of Proust's psychological analysis to reflect on the psychology of our reading experiences. Not only do I love flowing prose, I love data too!

I also really liked the introductions but echo Simon's sentiment about the synopsis. Translators and editors should distinguish forewords from afterwords. (I read prefaces after the book to avoid the problem but I lose a lot of interesting information that I could have used before reading it.) I'm trying to read some of the MKE translation in conjunction with Davis's but I like Davis so much I have a hard time giving it up. I have a Davis ebook so maybe when I buy paper I'll get the MKE.

I'm interested to see what people think about the other volumes in the Prendergast edition, since they're translated by other people, and how well they fit with the Davis.

Our reading ends, "...with a secret languor invisible to the lady, a love-smitten eye in a face of ice" (p. 176; ~28.6%).

Ben and Simon have rightly pointed out that some people will like to discuss the text as they read it and not wait for the next week. Accordingly, our first and current selection from Swann's Way is open for discussion. Remember, on this thread anything up to the following quote is open for discussion.

Swann's Way through the paragraph that ends, "...even in the most melancholy of circumstances, to rub together with an air of enterprise, celebration and success" (p. 88 in Moncrieff & Kilmartin 1992; ~14.3%).

I appreciate the suggestions. That seems like a good idea. I'll make sure that the discussion thread for each week is up before we start reading it, that way we can discuss while we read. Also, I'll move this conversation to the general folder and start a fresh thread for Swann's Way.

I've changed the settings so anyone can add books to a bookshelf. I've already added those mentioned above.

I changed it to the 11th so that each week will have a Sunday and Saturday as bookends. That seems to provide more flexibility. Yes, my thought was that we start discussing on the 11th. This is partly because then everyone will know that discussions open up on Sunday each week (no need to constantly check on the group for early arrivals to the conversation), and because I'll have a firm deadline to add the thread.

Agreed, Marcelita. We all know that in this novel a spoiler isn't going to ruin the suspense of a cliffhanger, but there's a lot more going on then plot. The first time we read something we're living the story with the characters. Any subsequent readings are more like a vivid memory of that first, fresh experience. That's certainly important which is why I think if you're going to genuinely read ISoLT it's an 8000 page commitment. You have to read it twice. But I wouldn't give up the novelty and discovery of a first reading for anything.

Of course, if your interest is more academic and you don't want to read it twice, secondary sources would be a fine help.

Welcome Marcelita and Renato. I'll not deny that I was a little intimidated when I first glanced at Marcelita's list of favorite books and discovered that most are by or about Proust. I'm glad that there's such breadth of familiarity with ISoLT, from 'innocent' to expert.