I'm Done For!

I've tried to read Marcel Proust's sprawling masterpiece, In Search of Lost Time / Remembrance of Things Past four times now. I've read part one, Swann's Way, one and a half times, about half of part two, and then gave up rapidly the first time I read it at about 35 pages into part one. This time is going to be different. I hope.

I dropped out of college four years ago this December for a multitude of reasons. Upon leaving university, I decided I wouldn't let my mind atrophy. It was in my best interest, I decided, to attempt to read as many classics and Western "masterpieces" as I could. I handled easy ones first- Wuthering Heights, 1984, Huck Finn, and so on. The things you were assigned to read as a teenager but inevitably underappreciated, if you read them at all. Eventually, though, I reached a point where I had encountered references to Proust's work numerous times, but had no idea what exactly they meant.

Thus began attempt one, which I segued from by reading the entirety of Vladimir Nabokov's literary output in about a year and a half. I now realize that, in that time, I could have read Proust's expansive novel multiple times over. It was not, however, until last night that I realized just how many times it could have been. At just over 3,000 pages, Proust's work would require a fairly minimal daily investment, I realized. A mere 100 pages per day. I'm a fairly quick reader, and when I reflected upon how much time I spent...say...staring at drumsets or guitars on the internet, or perhaps slaying dragons on xbox, it dawned on me that I could, instead, invest my time in a way that would have a more real return.

By the way, the amount of time I spend daily, on average, between those mentioned pursuits added up to about five hours daily.

Seriously. Five. Hours.

My few run-ins with Proust had already, in the case where I read up through about half of part two, changed how I looked at my world (much more than, for example, killing that dragon last night in my attempts to save Tamriel). I saw details in new depth and clarity, and appreciated what my memory was really doing in my life (Joe: "memory palace" never meant more to me than it did while reading Proust that time).

So, today I began my hundred-page-a-day journey into another man's memory palace. It's possible that I won't be able to finish it all in 30 days, but I do best with goals and deadlines. As it is, I've already come to see how much of my time I've spent on autopilot the past few months. Er...years.

As I progress, I'm sure to find more truths and possibilities that, without the careful, attentive lens Proust gives to the simplest details, I would have otherwise taken entirely for granted. Consider my posts your speedpass to these same experiences. Because, let's face it, not everybody's going to want to read 100 pages or more a day of some shut-in's moment-by-moment replay of a life spent thinking too damn much.

Maybe it'll keep me from thinking too damn much, though. And if nothing else, I'll owe Marcel for that.