Alain de Botton, <How Proust Can Change Your Life>
Had I been given a chance to pay homage better to one of the most celebrated writers from the last century than Alain de Botton, then I would delightfully live up to the daily routine that very much resembles Proust’s. On the upcoming Friday dawns the centennial of Marcel Proust’s death. There has been a lot going around in the art world, especially in the publishing industry, to commemorate it. One instance comes from my country, South Korea, where new Korean translation of the gloriously famed yet fathomably daunting In Search of Lost Time is finally fulfilled after a decade. As a perseverant - ashamed to call myself ardent - reader of the novel, I had been wondering for a while how I should pay my tribute to the author. It would have been the best, and needlessly to discuss further, to simply finish the novel of which length effortlessly exceeds three thousand pages, but as I confessed, the literary impetus within me sometimes go idle, then revives abruptly. In other words, I am not even near the ending; it is only two out of seven parts that I read. The wide discontinuities between the periods when each book was tried even aggravates the situation. Perhaps I should not do anything except merely sharing some instagram posts or news articles on the day. However, it seemed too unjust and frothy to both me and Proust to indulge the passive, evermore dependent mode of appreciation. Genuinely besotted or not, I have already devoted my adolescence to the readership of Proust. Hence, I had to do something, and How Proust Can Change Your Life by de Botton was timely spotted from the bookshelf in my room.
Alain de Botton, himself also a keen discoverer-follower of the Proustian insights, imparts nine invaluable lessons that he learned from the greatest twentieth-century writer in the francophone culture. The distinctive style of de Botton’s writing substantiates an important quality that can also be found from his subject: utilising every corner of one’s memory to the maximum extent. The years he spent at Cambridge as a history student never went wasted. The contents, for instance, that “Dr [Adrien] Proust had devoted himself to improving standards of public sanitation / [a]fter pursuing brilliant medical studies [and] culminating in a thesis on The Different Forms of Softening of the Brain,” might have become marred over time, but the clever sense of collecting significant pieces of evidence from seemingly trivial primary sources that sporadically exist, ranging from a letter by Proust’s friend to a memoir of his maid, then amalgamating them in an orderly, yet very unexpected manner, which is quintessentially the method of history as a discipline, emanates everywhere throughout the essays (10). The biggest impression that hit me over and over again was that de Botton not only reconstructs the biography of Proust vivaciously but also has assimilated and appropriated the Parisian’s tone. Perhaps I am making an excuse for my own, having not been able to skim through the text due to frequent difficulties in comprehending the intricately-structured sentences. Wherever the idea originated, witty sarcasms and ultramodern applications of the teachings cracked me up and eventually encouraged me to continue reading. Someone might expect more sombre writings on Proust, given a list of men who so much delved into In Search of Lost Time that they even published books on it - books on a book (how metaphysical!). Notwithstanding the concern, de Botton incorporates numerous minuscule details from various sources and his personal stories to the comparatively well-known plot of the novel and facts about the fragile - both mentally and physically - writer. Consequently, he proclaims to the world of his rightful title, “pioneer and master of the keep-fit self-help manual” (13).
Let’s go over some of the nine lessons, with remarks from me.
1. How to love life today
De Botton begins the course with an encompassing theme: how to love life today. Each word in this extremely succinct phrase meant a lot to Proust, and obviously, to his readers too. The interrogative pronoun, “how,” that marks the very first step into the literary duality prognosticates the interrogative attitude that defined Proust. Instead of asking what to love in your life, de Botton contends that Proust underlined how to love every moment in which we dwell. This idea resonates throughout the essays with its culmination in the seventh lesson, “How to Open Your Eyes.” The next word, “to love,” can be said to function as a metonymy for Proust’s mentality, with little bit of exaggeration. In a questionnaire asking one’s aspiration and fear of life, Proust answered ‘to be loved’ and ‘not to be loved.’ Of course, in this case, love is directed towards people, but still it would be the best word to describe what Proust has always aimed to attain and retain. Finally, it is the last part, “life today,” where de Botton focuses in the first chapter. Here comes another interesting fact about Proust: that he was an enthusiastic subscriber of the early twentieth-century newspapers asking celebrities of the time of their opinion on random questions, such as
“An American scientist announces that the world will end, or at least that such a huge part of the continent will be destroyed, and in such a sudden way, that death will be the certain fate of hundreds of millions of people. If this prediction were confirmed, what do you think would be its effects on people between the time when they acquired the aforementioned certainty and the moment of cataclysm? Finally, as far as you’re concerned, what would you do in this last hour?” (2-3)
Many others sent back dull replies, and Proust’s was not an exception at least for the second question. However, it was his elaboration on the first subject that diverged and eventually intrigued de Botton. He said life of which all the joy “made invisible by our laziness which, certain of a future, delays [it] incessantly,” “would suddenly seem wonderful to us if we were threatened to die” (4-5). Thus, rather than complaining about the current life itself, we must endeavour to adjust our perspective to the satisfactory level. This does not imply that one should lead a lenient, small life. Instead, we must hone how to appreciate the intrinsic values of things that surround us, and this goal becomes evident only when we realise the imminence of an end, namely, death. Then, how shall we learn what to prioritise within the limited spectrum of time and space, asks de Botton. Almost at the same time, he gives out the answer, which also addresses the novel which speaks a journey to unveil “the causes behind the dissipation and loss of time” (8).
2. How to read for yourself
Proust never had a proper job. He once tried to work in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs as his parents had wished, but soon withdrew from it following the realisation of the inevitable separation from his mother, or maman, the vocation would cause. Then, he also considered solicitor, stockbroker, assistant at the Louvre, and lastly, an unpaid librarian in Marseille. Unfortunately, our delicate socialite and yet-to-be author found almost every possibility too tough for his character. It is quite a surprise to learn that Proust’s parents, the internationally acclaimed father and exorbitantly rich mother, did not put much pressure upon their eldest son. The father, Dr Adrien Proust, was especially famous for not merely his precise, dexterous surgical competence but prolificity as well. His life draws a stark contrast with that of the son; Marcel forever spent his time either in a Parisian saloon or at a banquet except for the last decade when he locked himself up inside a bedroom and rarely stepped outside. Although the total length of the novel far exceeds four thousand pages in English alone, In Search of Lost Time was the only product of decent quality by Marcel. Nonetheless, de Botton elevates Proust to the same significance as the father Proust by recognising the common ground between the son and the father: that both [took] “the art of making people feel better … very seriously indeed” (10).
Since both his father and brother were acclaimed doctors who received legion d’Honneur for medicine, it seems natural to ask the therapeutic effect of literature. De Botton knew this, or at least he suddenly conceived the idea after making much fun of Adrien Proust’s Elements of Hygiene - the sarcastic tone indeed made me laught out loud. One might guess escapism, but de Botton denies it by directly quoting Proust, who disparage certain kinds of novels that allow general audience to ride in an illusory getaway car. But, it was Celéste, Proust’s maid after Mm Proust’s death, that provided the readers with the most important information: “[In Search of Lost Time] is not designed to be read from one [train] station to the next” (19). Of course, it is NOT. Marcel’s younger brother, Robert, who was also granted legion d’honneur for medicine like their father, once commented on the novel that people would only be able to finish it when their legs are broken, thus cannot do anything else but stay in bed for long, long hours. Furthermore, I do not believe that the length plays solo in frustrating the potential readers. In fact, as Charles Arrowsmith suggests, Proust’s circumlocatory expressions become understandable once one gets used to it (Arrowsmith). The biggest obstacle to at least avoid relinquishing originates from the depth of comprehension Proust requires of us to find the true beauty of his novel. Ignorant of it, I as a middle-schooler suffered a great deal.
Yet, Proust himself proposes one way to overcome the burden and navigate ourselves to the right path of reading through “his approach to looking at paintings” (19). De Botton reveals the approach by citing Lucien Daudet’s analysis on his close friend’s habit “of trying to match the figures depicted on canvases with people he knew from his own life” when looking at paintings (19). In fact, de Botton terms such a method the ‘Marquies de Lau phenomenon (MLP)’ and lists three psychological benefits from it. Therefore, Marcel Proust could claim a seat in the house that so much valued the task of curing people. I have never personally applied the Proustian perspective, thus have not experienced the exact MLP as well. It seems especially implausible to pursue the MLP these days as most modern paintings tend not to contain any specific figures at all. In lieu of faces or objects, lines, planes, and shapes are arranged in a seemingly irregular fashion. However, as I grew more fond of those abstruse contemporary arts, I also developed a habit of applying my mental state at the time onto an artwork. The primary focus when critiquing an art had been on the authorship; even though I always enjoyed visiting galleries, I had to feel prepared, adequately educated about artists and the context. As soon as the initial direction of artistic experience was subverted, from artist-to-me to artist-and-me, there was procreated the pure passion, the unutterable epiphany. Proust knew this way before as he noted:
“In reality, every reader is, while he is reading, the reader of his own self. The writer’s work is merely a kind of optical instrument which he offers to the reader to enable him to discern what, without this book, he would perhaps never have experienced in himself. And the recognition by the reader in his own self of what the book says is the proof of its veracity.” (25)
3. How to take your time | 5. How to express your emotions | 7. How to open your eyes
There are two ways of writing that every author in the world ultimately (and inadvertently) resembles. First, the Hemingway: short but concise. Most novelists of our time would prefer this method, and especially to college counselors, Hemingway epitomises the impeccable style which every student needs to demonstrate in their Common-app essays. The other might be named the Proustian writing, which is essentially l-o-n-g, thus complex. It has always been such an enigma to me why In Search of Lost Time has been hailed as the novel of novels and the product of consummate literary genius, given numerous times of scorn and contempt for the Proustian writing at school. However, thanks to de Botton, I realised why it is condoning, even worthy to continue my challenge upon the book. I do not intend to disregard the Hemingway’s, but as a writer of relatively verbose style, I had to restrain myself a lot despite the solid preference to Proust. Now I know the peer pressure on me arose from the environment in which everything had to be done fast. Not only me but also others - friends, teachers, parents, and college admission offices - have been obliged to write, read, and even think fast. On the contrary, Proust, as an heir of gargantuan wealth and unremunerative dilettante, had never missed a chance to squander time. De Botton, through the third lesson, advises evermore busy people to wisely take our time by taking enough time.
Alain de Botton again starts the lesson with an interesting anecdote. Proust, who read newspaper every morning with breakfast - de Botton also lists the items on the table, was one day astonished at an article, which fits tiny rectangle on the printed Le Figaro but reports a horrendous murder case involving his acquaintance, Henri van Blarenberghe, and writes a five-page reponse to the incident, of course including imaginary reconstruction of the matricide. Hereby De Botton illustrates Proust’s firm belief that every appropriate word must be employed in order to convey what one has conceived innermost and perceived outermost. It is doubtless that Proust found relying solely on newspapers to attain insights “abominable” and newspaper itself transforming all the shocking, un believable, yet individual events “into a morning threat, blending wonderfully, in particularly exciting and tonic way, with the recommended ingestion of a few slips of cafe au lait” (37). Proust contends that even though, or because human experience is vulnerable to abbreviation, one must attend to the details and preserve what is true to onself, not the factual statements. How to achieve this? It’s simple. Just take your time! Alain de Botton brings up another instance where Proust met the British ambassador to France at the time. On whatever things the ambassador told him, Proust beseeched for more and more details, exclaiming “N’allez pas trop vite!” (48). Once one takes time to observe in and out of himself, and to place the impression in the right words, then his eyes are open to the incessantly changing, thus intrinsically new world. That is, albeit de Botton has separated the insight into three chapters - lesson 3, 5, and 7, to Proust, they were held together as the oneness.
The fifth and seventh lessons feature an artist symbolic of each moral, respectively. In the fifth lesson about how to express emotions, de Botton reveals that Proust abhorred the clichéd, hackneyed expressions, such as ‘il pleut des cordes (it’s raining cats and dogs)’. Subsequently, he contrasts Proust’s original description of the moon with a simple yet dull expression of the same subject, “the moon that shines discreetly,” by Proust’s friend, Gabriel de la Rouchefoucauld (99). Since we all know how unique Proust can be at delineating, I omit the citation. Anyways, Proust, who thought “we are obliged to create our own language … because there are dimensions to ourselves absent from clichés, which require us to flout etiquette in order to convey with greater accuracy the distinctive timbre of our thought,” seems to have found his company among the impressionists: Claude Monet (104-105). Not merely how Proust writes, but the way in which characters of In Search of Lost Time behave and Monet’s revolutionary artistic practice coincide in the aspects of expressive liberality and authenticity. The suffering beneath successful work of art, namely the passage of time spent in torment, trying “to restore to our sight a distorted or neglected aspect of reality,” provides a solution to the ongoing discourse on why a forgery cannot outshine the original.
We owe another lesson to one more painter who also possessed the genius to awaken us: Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin. Honestly speaking, I could not understand why Chardin’s still-life paintings have been admired so much by many high-profile figures, including Proust. However, after going through the previous lessons, it now seems evident that Proust was a big fan of Chardin. There would be no other novel that better and more painstakingly describes daily sceneries, such as the streets, a park, a theatre, and domestic objects than In Search of Lost Time. And, it was Chardin who first recognised the beauty within the ordinariness. The moment in which you experience the necessity to visit a museum instead of viewing a masterpiece by internet arrives as soon as you peer into every corner of the painting. The very first impression would definitely be derived from the holistic view - the composition, balance, and so on. After the ‘whoa’ phase, you unconsciously blurt out “ahhh” at the details - for example, “to the light on the end of a spoon, the fibrous softness of a tablecloth, the velvety skin of a peach or the pinkish tones of an old man’s skin” (152). To Proust, within these small things exist the genuine splendour of life, and “the greatness of works of art has nothing to do with the apparent quality of their subject matter, and everything to do with the subsequent treatment of that matter” (43).
There are lot more to discuss in de Botton’s joyful amalgam of Proust’s biography and writings. He also discloses the Proustian secret to suffer successfully and to be happy in love, but since I have no stamina left to continue on, I would leave the unmentioned parts to others who have already read or are planning to read How Proust Can Change Your Life. Nonetheless, let me point out one very significant Proustian value. Despite the French intellectual tradition of prioritising reason over senses, the literary genius suavely whispers to us to listen to what our body says. The bodily experience, full of pain and suffering, which often lead us to a cacophony of every unfavourable thing, will eventually teach us far better than letters. Hence, here comes de Botton’s last lesson: put down a book and live it!
P.S. My friend sent me a postcard with the Vermeer painting, which was Proust's favourite, on its cover. He also thankfully copied the commentary provided by gallery Mauritshuis on View of Delf, which says: "French novelist Marcel Proust considered this the most beautiful painting in the world, because of its colours and the calm atmosphere." Not trying to contravene the explanation, Proust seems to have favoured it because Vermeer masterfully captured all the small perceivable details, especially the reflections of the Delft skyline on the river that gracefully erase the line between land and water, integrating everything into a coherent, continuous perception of miscellaneous sources of love.
Citations
- Arrowsmith, Charles. "Proust's death, 100 years ago, was an ending but not the end." Washington Post, 17 Nov. 2022, https://www.washingtonpost.com/books/2022/11/17/marcel-proust-century/. Accessed 19 Nov. 2022.