An obsessive looking over another obsessive is perfectly fine because those who fall into the world of Marcel Proust are also more likely obsessives. Over the last 12 months, I have felt close to an emotional sea with strong currents. To keep my head above the water, I went into a deep dive into Proust and his writings, including numerous YouTube programming devoted to the writer and reading books on Proust, and, of course, reading and thinking about his writing. I have been considering going into therapy due to my grief over my mom and Uncle’s death and two friends who passed away almost a year ago. I did go to a therapist, but it was over Zoom, and it seemed like I was watching a TV show instead of participating in my life. I gave that up and decided to focus on my mental health through reading. What other person could understand what I’m going through, and the answer is the ghost of Marcel Proust.
And since I never had a decent interaction with a spirit, I decided to jump into Proust’s prose for a sign of light at the end of the tunnel, or me, at the very bottom of my foot. Along with the Proust texts, I have read Monsieur Proust by Céleste Albaret, a told-to-ghost-writer book published in the 1970s. Of course, this is a remarkable document by Albaret on her boss or master, Marcel Proust. She was his maid/assistant while he stayed in his bedroom to work on In Search of Lost Time, all seven volumes of the damn book. And he would work on this book in the evening and dark morning hours; in the day, he was hopefully asleep. Or he was trying to sleep. Her occupation was to keep everything quiet around him and be a gatekeeper to control who could or couldn’t see him. This set my fantasies of having such a person like Céleste taking care of me. What is beautiful about their relationship is that Albaret kept the secrets secret, and even this memoir is the type that doesn’t tell.
So, the purpose of this book is to read between the words and note the schedule Proust daily while working on his masterpiece. She took care of his diet requests which were minimal at the very least, such as coffee made-to-order and in a specific manner of preparing the beverage. And the croissant that comes with the coffee. Proust survived his daily rituals, and everything had to be prepared exactly as he requested. One can imagine him being a demon to his worker, but alas, there is nothing but love between the Employee and her Employer.
The one part of the book that gave me pause is the ending. She details Proust’s death, reminding me of my mom and Uncle and their passing. I imagine that is the same for anyone caring for a family or loved one as they approach death. And I was startled to read that Proust encountered a figure in his room that wasn’t there for anyone else to see. My mom had that to a certain degree, where she heard voices coming out of the wall, but as far as I know, she didn’t see any vision. I was with her when she heard the conversation between two fellows. I asked her as she listened to them, and she didn’t recognize the voices; they were strangers to her. Perhaps people who used to live in our home, or ‘voices’ that pass through an area that only some can pick up. Proust’s vision was a woman dressed in black. He was bothered by her presence but not terribly alarmed, and my mom was more amused by her ‘company’ than anything else.
Monsieur Proust is very one-sided, but that is expected, considering all of this comes from one source, and she was the one that was there, helping and assisting Proust to the end. If not for Albaret’s voice, we may never have this presence of Proust because her story gives his life a physical appreciation for the man who wrote this fantastic novel. It makes me aware that recording or noting the people around you is essential; therefore, such a thing as keeping a journal is a record for you and a document for those who want to know one’s times. History (or Herstory/Therestory) is essential, and it doesn’t have to do with facts but more of how one felt at a specific time and place. In that sense, Monsieur Proust is a remarkable document and book.
Thanks Tosh. I believe I read this book years ago . . . Or another, about her and I believe her husband was a chauffeur? Anyhow thanks for all of your musings on life and death and how we try our best to come to terms with both.
Thanks Tosh. The main question for me is, Where are we right now?
It seemed easier to work that out with my husband there, we routinely explored this question but, bereft, it's a tricky business. I find taking notes is working. I found notes I didn't even remember that I made a year ago. Proust and his assistant were onto it, exquisitely of course...