01/23/24

Nadja – not a love story

Nadja by André Breton.

 

Surrealism as a form of art is one of the most intriguing concepts ever. I have seen surrealist films like Charlie Kaufman’s, art pieces like Salvador Dali, but never really dove into the world of surrealism in literature (Does Haruki Murakami count?). Looking more into it, I just now discovered that Breton was one of the founding fathers of surrealism and a major figure of the movement. So, it was my first time reading something that would be really defined as ‘surrealist’.

I wouldn’t say I enjoyed the entirety of the reading, especially the first part. I was anticipating for the introduction of Nadja, so I barely got through the first chapter of rambling about french artists and writers, the theater and whatnot. Perhaps with a second read, when I come back with an increased proficiency in handling complex texts, maybe then I would be able to appreciate it. Also, I chose and read the book with the impression that it was a poetic romance story, with obsession as an element. This was not a love story, but a written portrayal of obsession and self-knowledge. It certainly did not feel like a novel either, but a journal. I found it intriguing, the way Breton jumped from one story to another, like a collection of diary entries with random stories and thoughts and ideas.

Nadja was indeed an interesting character. As every other student has said, I too thought about the ‘manic pixie dream girl’ trope while reading the novel. The way the protagonist diminishes a mentally ill woman into an abstract idea, a vision, a hollow concept, almost a ghost, felt like those movies where the depressed male main character gets infatuated by a quirky girl (who, in most cases is, mentally ill), then as they learn more about the girl and get the hint of an idea that the person is indeed, a real person with real life problems, then their illusions are shattered and they stop getting interested. Moreover, the fact that he did not visit Nadja during her stay at the sanitarium further strengthened my perspective that this is not a love story, but a one about obsession. He was not in love with Nadja, but obsessed with the idea of her, romanticizing her symptoms of mental illness and screams of help into poetic expressions. However, in the last part of the book, Breton starts writing about another character addressed in second-person, which was about Suzanne Muzard. Despite the real life events of her ending their short-lived affair to keep her marriage, the last part felt like it was written with love, in contrast with the main body about Nadja.

As he says: (proving that Nadja was just an enigma for him)

“I know is that this substitution of persons stops with you, because nothing can be substituted for you, and because for me it was for all eternity that this succession of terrible or charming enigmas was to come to an end at your feet.
You are not an enigma for me.”

I also really enjoyed the incorporation of photographs to help us not imagine but really immerse ourselves into the world, see through the lens of the character. It felt almost ironic that a work so surreal in nature could stem from a real life event.

My question is:

What do you think of Breton as a person after reading the novel? Is he an unpleasant character?

01/16/24

On ‘Combray’

Swann’s Way by Marcel Proust.

The first chapter of the book, ‘Combray’, felt like those long dreams that seem to never end, especially with the way it was written. The never-ending, lengthy sentences felt difficult to read but I liked that aspect because it felt like it was spoken by a person hit with a wave of nostalgia, as if they were trying to describe their memories as detailed as possible. With the way Proust described the intricacies of the protagonist’s, or perhaps his, childhood bedroom with beautiful metaphors, it helped me imagine the atmosphere and travel down the memory lane with him.

Personally, the part that was hardest to read started with Swann coming in as a guest. For some reason, my mind kept wandering, daydreams kept rushing in and it took a long time for me to go through that part. Maybe it was the many mentions of important french figures during the dinner conversations. Even when the notes explained who they were, I still felt a bit in the dark not knowing much about the french history or politics in the 1800s(?). But after that, I found the descriptions of how the protagonist longed for his mother’s kisses very interesting. As much as I want to say it felt like the boy had some sort of Oedipus complex, I understand the childish longing of their parent’s affection and warmth. It felt like the boy was just an anxious child with a big attachment to his mother. However, the comparison of his relationship with his mom with other people in romantic relationships felt the weirdest for me.

Speaking of comparisons, I really liked the various uses of metaphors the author used, almost in every sentence. The author had a unique, artistic way with words; despite their complexity, the descriptions were written beautifully. I feel like it complemented the dream-like feeling of the whole chapter, like the protagonist was trying to remember a childhood memory in between his sleep. And of course, we cannot forget the remarkable part of the madeleine dipped in tea. I think we all have something that could give us that feeling of immense happiness related to a forgotten memory, may it be a certain smell or taste. As the author said,

“But, when nothing subsists of an old past, after the death of people, after the destruction of things, alone, frailer but more enduring, more immaterial, more persistent, more faithful, smell and taste still remain for a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, upon the ruins of all the rest, bearing without giving way, on their almost impalpable droplet, the immense edifice of memory.”

I am someone who spends more time looking back at the past, thinking about my memories and feeling nostalgic than I live in the present, so I feel like I really resonated with the author in that part. Something about eating something from your childhood or that sudden familiar scent that you cannot describe but swear was related to some part of your life, is just so dear yet painful to me, very bittersweet. I liked when the protagonist tried to eat more from it to get the same feeling of euphoria but couldn’t, it’s like forgetting more and more about your memories and how their ‘freshness’ is lost every time we think about it.

My question is: Regarding the madeleine dipped in tea; have you ever had an instance like this, when a seemingly random scent or taste had brought you sudden waves of nostalgia or happiness?