The American Scholar has an interesting new article about the fiftieth anniversary of Lawrence Durrell’s Alexandria Quartet. Durrell has always been one of the very few 20th century novelists whose work I have always appreciated. Certainly he has his weaknesses—he doesn’t know Alexandria the way Joyce knew Dublin or Proust knew Paris, he wastes too much energy playing the antiquated Victorian game of épater le bourgeois (yawn), and by the last volume of his saga it’s obvious that he has run of ideas about what to do with his characters. But his prose is rich and luminous, his poetry is is first rate, and his ideas make you think. I also find much to admire in his use of the four primal elements as the underlying metaphysic of the series. Justine is the fire novel, the saga of passion and spirit, Balthazar is a thoughtful intellectualization of everything that has gone before, Mountolive gives us seasonal cycles and the rhythms of the earth, and Clea shows us both death and rebirth through the power of water. Fire, air, earth, water—Empedocles would have approved. The Quartet mesmerizing has its flaws, but compared to the nothingness of most post-modern fiction, it can be very rewarding.
I have just finished reading The Guermantes Way (1925) by Marcel Proust. That is to say, I have just finished listening to it. I discovered the wonders of speech synthesis technologies, also known as text-to-speech (TTS) software several years ago (a guide to various TTS software is at Master New Media). There are lots of companies around these days which produce audio books, but most people don’t realize how easy it is to turn any electronic text you possess into your own private audio book. You can download the Moncrieff translation of Remembrance of Things Past at the University of Adelaide, and then all it takes is a little time and patience to turn all the texts into mp3 files. You can also create mp3 files from other public domain authors whose works are online, such as—for example—Ernest Dowson or Arthur Machen. No one is ever going to make audio books from the works of authors like these, but who cares about that—you can do it yourself. For a long time now I have been listening to 20-30 minutes of Proust each morning as I drive to work, and it helps me survive the day.
This is the second time I am making my way through Remembrance of Things Past. I never got around to reading all seven of Proust’s volumes until I was in my forties, which I now consider one of the major mistakes of my life. Proust opened my eyes to the mysteries of time and memory, the need for self-examination, the importance of the imagination, the necessity of aesthetic perception, the glories of nature, the intricacies of the human soul, and—most important—the spiritual vision in all great art. (And if only I had discovered all this when I was younger!) I’ve learned that Proust’s masterwork is even more intricate and brilliant the second time you experience it. Like all supreme works of art you always find something new and wonderful every time you go back to it. As far as I’m concerned, Proust was second only to Shakespeare in his ability to create vivid characters, memorable dialogue, and absorbing situations.
The Guermantes Way is one of Proust’s most satirical volumes. It concerns the adventures of Proust’s narrator in Parisian high society, an in-group composed of superficial bores and titled idiots, all of whom occupy their useless lives with never-ending social events. But all the characters come across as living and breathing human beings, and you can really discover what goes on inside their heads. Their petty maneuverings can also be quite humorous—one thing I never expected when I decided to tackle Proust was that some passages would be so funny that I would end up shaking with laughter.
Onward to The Cities of the Plain…
Last Saturday I went to see the Symbols of Power: Napoleon and the Art of the Empire Style, 1800-1815 exhibit at the St. Louis Art Museum. It is an impressive exhibit. These days my aesthetics are usually focused on the kind of rustic simplicity which can be found in Japanese wabi sabi, but I’ve always been impressed with the studied delicacy and elegance of the French Empire style. It is meant to dazzle you, to be sure, but there is a lightness to it, an airiness, and a sense of genuine refinement. Perhaps because it was based on classic Grecian lines and forms. Or, perhaps, due to the exquisite taste of the gentle and incomparable Josephine.
I was not disappointed with the exhibit. There were dozens of superb objects to be seen: furniture, porcelain, textiles, silverware, paintings, jewelry, clocks. Of course most of the objects were meant to dazzle you with their magnificence, as befitted His Majesty the Emperor. The compelling portrait of Napoleon by Ingres was a centerpiece of the collection, and it definitely conveys the energy of Napoleon’s formidable personality. But it was the smaller objects in this exhibition which attracted me the most. There was a superlative Sèvres tea set:
Both the teapot and the teacups were tiny—the cups were only about half the size of the kind of teacups we see today. One sip of tea in a cup like this would have gone a long way. But that is perhaps the best way to drink tea—tiny sip by tiny sip, and savored as intensely as possible, from the most delicate porcelain you can find.
I was also impressed with the clothes—there were several marvelous examples of delicate and clingy Empire style gowns. These dresses looked about as beautiful and as comfortable as clothing can be. You can only wonder why the style died out, since women would not experience such freedom in their clothes for another hundred years.
It was surprising to see how many natural motifs were used as decoration: you could see swans, bees, eagles, chimeras, winged lions, butterflies, and roses. The most fascinating pieces had swan motifs, which were apparently a favorite of Josephine and other cultivated ladies. Swans, with their connotations of grace, beauty, femininity, and tranquility, were a perfect symbol for the Empress. There was one magnificent mahogany boat-shaped bed, decorated with gilded swans. What sort of dreams would have come, sleeping in a bed decorated with swans?
Here you will find a record of the literary, aesthetic, and philosophical adventures of an overworked and underpaid secretary living in a small Midwestern town.
