As the semester winds down toward the end, and reflections surface more frequently in relation to the self-evaluation, I feel one of my last journal entries should focus on my experience with Proust this semester. I remember reading the introduction by Kilmartin feeling skeptical, and that I wouldn’t face any issues in reading this massive collection. The way he addressed Proust in a personal manner made me feel a little off-put, and I also began to be scared I’d be reading countless biblical-resembling psalm messages. After reading the first few hundred pages I felt similar to my 12 your old self rifling through War and Peace-absolutely confused by all the names, places, and style of writing. I read Tolstoy’s masterpiece 10 years later, and thoroughly enjoyed it, so I tried to keep in mind that Proust was something like Philosophy-you have to suck at it for a while in order to suck a little less at interpreting it.

One of my most vivid recollections of the earlier readings were the scenes of Cottard, and laughing in my hallway as I put his awkward figure toward someone I knew in real life. Another was when I was basking in the sun, reading Proust and noticing the cherry tree in my front yard losing its pink, milky white leaves. There was a certain appreciation in those seconds in trying to absorb the beauty of a moment which I think would have escaped me without Proust-perhaps I would have been playing guitar or drinking prosecco. As the weeks progressed, I began to manage my time better, realizing 30 pages generally took about an hour, which helped subside last minute reading. But, last minute reading was important to me because remembering over 200 pages is like trying to remember the entire Lord of the Rings series scene by scene.

I can’t tell which week it was, but the realization of Proust’s intention of how he creates each character, as impressions rather than creations, mixed with my newfound knowledge of the history and context this series takes place, struck me with awe in how genius writing this actually is. Putting aside all the beautiful philosophical and theoretical parts, I’ve felt myself drawn into an examination of my past, and examining my own self sense of importance slowly deteriorating. Of course this is not a fully life altering experience, and I plan on working through the whole text in the future, but it is a piece of literature well worth attempting in one’s life if they ever wish to take on an introverted examination of self identity.

The biggest impression I’ve gotten from this series is authorship, followed closely by identity and time (obviously), and there’s a certain inspiration in wanting to write that you get when reading this-the pressure to show the world your genius dissipates and you become more interested in sharing sensations. Anyway, these are just a few rumbling ideas I’ve been having of Proust, and my expectations at the beginning of the quarter were definitely unmet, but I’m happier with the reality.