“I did not understand half the words the lady said, but my fear that there was some question concealed in them which it would have been impolite of me not to answer made me keep on listening to them with close attention, and this made me very tired.” (80). 

This quote humorously sums up my experience with reading this book. Upon reading this line, I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder, half-expecting Proust to be eyeing me, as he had conjured a line so eerily reflective of my own struggles with his work. From start to finish, particularly in the beginning, my notes were filled with “huh,” “look this up,” “re-read,” etc. I perpetually found myself playing catch-up with Proust’s ideas and scenes. Then, just as I’d get into the rhythm, Proust would abruptly shift into an entirely different situation. Aligning with this quote, worry would set in as I realized that merely scanning the words wouldn’t cut it—I had to truly understand the book. I needed to grasp the storyline, the themes, the concealed nuances alike to how the narrator needed to find the questions concealed. Then, after all 191 pages, I too feel thoroughly exhausted.

With that off my chest, I want to delve into some aspects of the book that I did enjoy and what made my reading more manageable. After watching the lecture and conversation, my confidence increased. Major themes like memory and time became guiding pillars, providing support when confusion overwhelmed me. Whenever I felt lost, I turned to these themes, analyzing each passage through their lenses. 

Something that caught my eyes was the extensive discussion of light. Whether emanating from a lamp, the sun, or the moon, illumination was a recurring theme (7, 65, 136). I wasn’t sure what to make of this, but when considering the overarching theme of memory, I realized it could connect to that. In a literal sense, light lets us see what’s in front of us. Metaphorically, memory allows us to see our past. I believe the consistency of light in the book aligns with the theme of memory. In this context, the Madeline acts as a lamp or the sun, serving as the device through which Proust illuminates his past (47). Throughout the book each time light was mentioned, I noticed that it seemed to bring light to new experiences, settings, and characters– just how memories bring our attention to the old. After considering the light in this way, I found myself on a sort of a scavenger hunt for words mentioning illumination or brightness, so that I could further my theory. This made my reading far more enjoyable!

I’m curious about your interpretations of Proust’s use of light in this text. Did his descriptions of a “black sun” (66) or “a wave of blue light” (181) prompt you to ponder a deeper meaning, as they did for me?

(Unrelated, but the character Léonie reminded me of a song called “Leonie” by Frankie Cosmos!)