Now that I've gotten the excuses out of the way, I'd like to reflect a little on something I came across while reading today:
"No doubt to every man the life of every other extends along shadowy paths of which he has no inkling. Lying, though it is so often deceptive and is the basis of all conversation, conceals less thoroughly a feeling of hostility, or of self-interest, or a visit which one wants to appear not to have paid, or a short-lived escapade with a mistress which one is anxious to keep from one's wife, than a good reputation covers up-to the extent of not letting its existence be guessed-sexual depravity." (Proust, 203)
There's rather a lot to consider in that passage. I'm going to give you a second to chew and swallow.
First off, the first line is fascinating and quite true. Much like I discussed in my last post, the mystery of the three dimensional-ness of the lives of others is remarkable. But, I spent plenty of time blabbering my way through that already, so onto that next section.
Proust remarks that lying "is the basis of all conversation," which has a rather telling implication in regards to Proust's understanding of the world. Much like later in this chapter where Proust remarks upon the reality of hidden homosexuality, Proust is basing much of his views on social interactions of all kinds on the assumption that most people are almost always being dishonest with either themselves or those they are involved with. Especially, he seems preoccupied with the realities of closeted homosexuality. His obsession with dishonesty, in both sexuality and in conversation, is touched upon throughout all the books, though has grown more frequent in mention as the books have gone on.
The power of his observations regarding dishonesty has left me in a troublesome place regarding his narrative: how much of what he has said so far has been a lie to me, his reader? Then again, how much would it matter if it had been true, if the narrative has had its intended effect? Something to ponder...
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