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The power of words...

I posted in here earlier about my reading crime novels and how I so enjoyed getting to know the main characters and how their creators made them seem so real. Reading the final few chapters when all the weird stuff finally comes together, the bad guys get caught and good triumphs over evil, for me, is so uplifting.

I just started reading A TALE FOR THE TIME BEING by RUTH OZEKI and, although I've barely scratched the surface, it's affecting me in such a way that is difficult to describe.

I suppose all writers, especially wannabes like me, dream of writing something that stands the test of time, touches people through generations. Some profound statement, the realization of something so obvious and yet voiced in such a way as to astound as though, up to that point, the whole of humanity had been bumbling around with their heads up their arses. Everyone suddenly wondering why THEY hadn't thought of that. Like some kind of epiphany.

In her writings, of what I've read so far, she mentions a book by PROUST, the title is in French but I think it translates as " in search of lost time. " Is there such a book? I suppose there MUST be. Anyway, I have, for so long now, wanted to communicate, commit my thoughts and experiences to paper, but what thoughts? What experiences? There's nothing to tell. OZEKI would have us believe that that is how she sees herself and yes, I suppose, her life/time/being DOES seem quite ordinary and yet I'm interested, happy to "walk with/accompany her through her writings and I want to know her, or rather " of " her, what she sees, what she feels, HOW she feels.

Trouble is, she's taking me from a feel good mood to one of self-analysis introspection. Why don't I have those words and such powers of composition? All I can do is read appreciate and admire.

It's all in the words isn't it. That's what separates the writers from the wannabes.

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À la recherche du temps perdu (In Search of Lost Time; earlier rendered as Remembrance of Things Past), published in seven parts between 1913 and 1927.
involuntary memory
seven volumes, childhood recollections/experiences
1992 revised translation
per der wiki

;)
 
In Search of Lost Time is a book about the ins and outs of French middle/upper class life in the late 1800's. I've tried to read it a couple of times, as it is one of the classics, but it's really not for me. I've never managed to get more than half way through.

If you think nothing much is happening in your life, read this book, it'll make your days feel full of excitement.

Proust was a lifelong hypochondriac who used to write to his mother, whenever he was away, detailing his medical conditions, including his bowel movements! Never worth comparing your life to anybody else's. They'll have their own s**t :)
 
Oh dear, well thanks for the comments guys. Might just look out for it but I'm not so keen now.
 

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dither
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