Rereading a treasured and beloved book is a somewhat risky undertaking. It doesn't always work the second time around. I found that out trying to reread many books (Durrell's Alexandria Quartet immediately comes to mind). But after 35 years, I did a reread of Marcel Proust's epic 7-volume work Remembrance of Things Past (as it was titled in the 1920s translation by Scott Moncrieff). I was particularly interested in doing it because I felt I had put enough time between my first and second readings to view it with new eyes. The first time I read it, I was a 20 year old undergrad in San Francisco in the early '70s. The level of nostalgia the book conjures up is massive. Now, reread as a mid-50s world citizen, I was fearful that I would ruin the sweet memory of those days, when I would discuss the books with my close friends over espresso in neighborhhood Sunset-district cafes long before the word or concept of Starbucks was invented.I was also excited about the new translation, edited by Christopher Prendergast.
In short, I found that I loved my rereading very much. It was like getting together with a long-lost friend, surely a metaphor for our Facebook-shrunken world. I found the new translation excellent and was swept up, as I was the first time, in the sheer beauty of the book. This time, most of my reading was done holding onto a strap while riding the subway in Singapore, rather than lying in the sun streaming in from the bay window in my rental Victorian flat. The fact that the books still had the same transportative power attests to the greatness of everyone's favorite recluse writer, Mr. Marcel Proust.
Click here for a review of the new translation of Proust's work from Penguin: http://www.penguinclassics.co.uk/nf/shared/WebDisplay/0,,175609_1_10,00.html
In short, I found that I loved my rereading very much. It was like getting together with a long-lost friend, surely a metaphor for our Facebook-shrunken world. I found the new translation excellent and was swept up, as I was the first time, in the sheer beauty of the book. This time, most of my reading was done holding onto a strap while riding the subway in Singapore, rather than lying in the sun streaming in from the bay window in my rental Victorian flat. The fact that the books still had the same transportative power attests to the greatness of everyone's favorite recluse writer, Mr. Marcel Proust.
Click here for a review of the new translation of Proust's work from Penguin: http://www.penguinclassics.co.uk/nf/shared/WebDisplay/0,,175609_1_10,00.html
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