I am still plowing through the Verdurin's dinner party at Raspelier, the country place high on the bluffs overlooking the Atlantic not too far from Balbec. So far I've gleaned the menu partially consists of a) bouillabaise, b) a fish and c) a strawberry concoction for dessert. Mme. Verdurin is as always, vain and cunning and cruel as is her mate. They haven't changed much since they savaged Swann.
A comic moment was when the hostess mentioned Elstir's wife-to-be was a common "streetwalker" and Elstir, the painter, fell out of favor. Odette, of course, was a courtesan whose favor they shamelessly curried at the expense of poor Swann. Ah, the irony.
We are reading and blogging Proust in Foxborough, and here is a gentleman who reads Proust on trains, maybe even in Arkansas, a state not normally on my radar, and one I do not associate with Proust.
Take a look for yourself. Reading Proust on Trains
I see the blogger has used the same photo of Proust that I have. Hmmmm. Must put Proust and blogging on the back burner for some Christmas cookies. More anon.