Proust Vacationed in Normandy

Proust spent summers in Normandy in a town he called "Balbec" but he really stayed in Trouville or Cabourg.  Like many writers, Proust kept the names of big cities like Paris or Venice in his novel, but he changed the names of smaller towns like Cabourg to imagined names.  The same with Combray.  The imagined places become as real to us as Proust's Paris.  Here is a lovely picture of Cabourg, and you can almost see Proust strolling on the boardwalk before luncheon is served in the dining room. I don't see the young ladies on their bicycles, do you?  Proust loved them all.  Such a lovely image.


The Beach at Cabourg

Sleeping With Proust - Or Not

Last night, tired after returning from a literary soiree, I headed to bed early, and discovered my trusty Kindle was still downstairs, as was the book we bought at the party.  And this week's New Yorker.  Grrrr.


Good old Proust was still on the nightstand, with its (perhaps) mouse-nibbled cover.  I remembered that I had left off at the Verdurin's dinner party at Raspelier, over-looking the coast and not far from Balbec where Proust often spent part of the summer.  This is Cities of the Plain.


Charlus prefers strawberry juice to  orangeade, both homemade by Madame Verdurin's esteemed cook, no doubt.  By the way he makes his choice, the narrator notes the Baron's preference for men over woman and speculates that he's a woman in a man's body.  Wow!  Was Proust ever ahead of his time!   Transgender stuff.  The Baron goes on to make a fool of Madame Verdurin, not a terribly difficult thing to do.  She's such a fraud and a social climber and manipulative to the max, one of these great characters that we love to hate.  I nodded off after a half-dozen pages, which I would have done with even the most hair-raising thriller, so don't blame Proust.  Tired is tired.  And I like it ever so much.   I am tempted to get Proust on the Kindle, too.  


If you are a Proust scholar (I am not, alas)  or  take an interest in literary studies, I have the monograph for you. http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/new_literary_history/summary/v042/42.1.lurz.html

Back in the day, when I had perhaps ambitions to be a scholar, I would have dived into this.   At least Proust and I are in synch in that it is summer in Balbec and summer in Foxborough, although the rains and cool weather are more spring-like.  The calendar says summer.  Now do I want Orangeade or Strawberry Juice?  Hmmmm. 


Odette, the Other One

Become Proust for a Week

This article tells you how to make the Proust tour of Normandy.  Had to admit I was practically drooling, mostly thinking of the oysters, but also the Proustian ambiance in every corner.  Imagine the grande  promenade and the sea views and examining (don't touch!) the tapestries  and driving a convertible and staying in the beloved hotels.  They're not even THAT pricey.  I am practically swooning as my imagination plays out a week like this.


Live Life of Proust for a Week  


Of course, you probably will need a stylish new wardrobe, but no Galliano, please.  Poor man.  It must have been the strain.  Silk and linen and organic  cottons will do, and if jeans, only the skinniest, priciest ones.  Good luggage, natch, maybe some vintage leather Hartmans.  Of course you have a doorman to carry, so wheels not necessary.   Some big wonderful sun glasses, and an old-fashioned wicker picnic hamper with all the accroutements.   How lovely to imagine.  I am just about ready to book my flight.

Vintage Leather Harmann luggage

And we absolutely must visit Elstir's studio.  Oh, alas, he's imaginary but a visit to Giverney will  be a good substitute.


Pack your (vintage) suitcase with some new duds and let's get out of here.  Mais oui!

Wine, Bread, Pate and fruit, n'est pas?

Odette, swooning