‘Combray’ by Marcel Proust gave me a headache

I admit that I still have some pages to go because I unfortunately got bombarded with heavy readings from other classes as well. However, so far, I can already tell that this isn’t my favourite read. To put it short before I elaborate, it’s a tedious read because I feel like I’m just reading run-on sentences with vocabulary that isn’t used as often today. Now I don’t mind being challenged by unfamiliar territory of writing (or vocabulary) and was in fact something I said I’m looking forward to in this course, but I think that Proust’s style just isn’t my preferred style to read.

I appreciate how extremely descriptive his writing is because I think that the ability to paint a picture in yours and others’ minds using simply words is a wonderful but difficult ability. In fact, sometimes it impresses me so much that I find myself wondering how one is capable of doing that —especially to the extent that Proust did it. A few quotes that I find showcase this are: “I would turn to and fro between the prayer-desk and the stamped velvet armchairs […] while the fire, baking like a pie the appetising smells with which the air of the room, was thickly clotted, which the dewy and sunny freshness of the morning had already ‘raised’ and started to ‘set,’ puffed them and glazed them and fluted them and swelled them into an invisible though not impalpable country cake, an immense puff-pastry,” and “the rich vitality with which the name of Delaunay would suddenly be furnished, to enable it to slip down to fourth, would stimulate and fertilise my brain with a sense of bradding and blossoming life.”. However, these are only two quotes and I definitely highlighted more. What impresses me about those lines is that you never know where he’s going to go with his words.

While I find that there’s some good to this, there’s also some bad. His detailed descriptions cause him to write by starting with one thought then going off his train of thought to add more and suddenly going back to where he started. Something I can compare it to is if one were to use an em dash in the middle of their sentence and its thought goes on for too long. This makes me feel easily lost at times and similar to what a lot of my classmates said, it feels like a never-ending stream of consciousness where its events are hard to track. I sometimes was even desperate enough to start reading out loud to myself just to get through certain passages.

Despite its lengthy sentences, again, I definitely think that Proust has a unique way of writing and that it allows for a special vulnerability and forms an intimacy with readers. I find that reminiscing and the feeling of nostalgia is such a rejuvenating experience, as well as a universal one, so that many can at least relate to that aspect of this text. I also find it interesting how Proust’s never-ending stream of thoughts does occasionally give me a headache but that it also makes it hard to stop reading.

My discussion question: Since the way this text is written seems to be a challenge for many of us, do we think that there are any differences in the writing or in how we interpret it due to the act of translating the text? Would it be an easier read in its original language?