Around 1905, after the death of his beloved mother, Proust began to move away from the world more and more. After breaking up the family home - he had lost his father a few years before - he moved to Boulevard Haussmann, rented a large apartment, crowded all the furniture together, and settled himself in one room, which he ordered to send a stopper for silence, but he never managed to do it to cover the cork with wallpaper.
The furniture was covered with dust, the bed and the floor with papers, when Proust, more and more detached from everything that was not his work, began to write frantically. Since then, if he appeared in the world, it was usually to check some detail of his work, get the necessary information. His illness was making progress, he was in a hurry.
Always shivering from the cold, in a heavy fur, overgrown, old cherub sometimes appeared like a ghost at some aristocratic ball, whose participants did not know that they might be posing for the immortal image at the moment. His loved ones knew that he was writing, but nobody knew what, nobody was interested in it too much.
Proust imposed this rare and demanding fortitude discipline not to start printing until he finished the whole. He wrote seven or eight years before putting a line under the last paragraph of the last volume. And then a new difficulty began. Who dares to publish six volumes of Mr.
Proust, unknown and worse than unknown, because he is discredited by his global connections? Intellectual and brave Nouvelle Revue Française returns him the script (as it turned out later, without reading): what to expect from others! They don't want Proust at Mercure de France; bookseller Fasquelle says that Mr Proust's song "is too different from what the audience is used to reading"; others sell a wealthy amateur of mockery.
Proust was indeed - especially after his father's death - a man more than wealthy and could easily publish his work at his own expense; but friends advised him against it as something that depreciated the book and the author.
Finally, the resigned Proust finds a publisher who decides to - give the company as long as the author covers the costs. In 1913, the first part of The Search for Lost Time appears, under the ungrateful title Towards Swanna. Critics, apart from one Souday article, remain deeply silent, while the loud enthusiasm of some of Proust's friends makes others more reluctant.
But time also mixes up in social life. Proust's work is - on a limited, but brilliantly exploited section - the history of many eras; covers more than half a century. Reaching deep into the past through Swanna love and youth, Proust brings his novel to recent years, extracting how much wealth from repeatedly transforming forms, customs, ways of thinking, speaking and feeling.
Nobody, like Proust, could recreate the subtle smell of the past, give away, using the properties of the language itself, subsequent eras that often meet at one table.
There are two dominant elements in Prater's thoroughly materialized concept of the world: art and love. Art has its fanatic in Proust, for which it is the only reality of existence, and not figuratively, literally. "La petite phrase" of the Vinteuila sonata is a leitmotiv  not only of Swanna love, but also of the whole work of Proust, whose musicality affects us at times with an amazing power of suggestion.
As for love, " Swanna Love" itself - contained in the first part of the song - would be enough for an example of how much Proust could renew this seemingly worn-out topic. How many paradoxical discoveries are summarized in Swanna final exclamation! Love in various shades saturates and further volumes, but as Proust advances in his work, he is more and more absorbed by the issue symbolized in the title of the central part: Sodom and Gomorrah - homoeroticism.
It seems that this motif, marked in the first editorial of the Search for Lost Time, has grown immensely in the final editorial, which is the result of taking this song back to the workshop.
Was there a breakthrough in the war years, weakening the inviolability of various taboos, or a greater detachment of Proust from the world and the growing need for ruthless truth, or maybe in Proust himself - as in his hero Saint-Loup - a significant evolution in this respect, it is difficult here settle.
This part of Proust's biography has so far been based on oral tradition; rarely there are written documents that, as they multiply, under the previously known face of the writer may unveil another, the more tragic Proust. I can't resist the impression that the scene between Miss Vinteuil and her friend has a desperately personal touch.
In some parts of the song you feel like gender transpositions, even at the cost of the probability of the situation. Homoeroticism in all shades takes so much space in Proust's work that it may have seemed almost a monograph of inversion, which is undoubtedly very false; nonetheless, the fact is that it is the first and very deep study of the phenomenon, which before Proust was barely to touch.
Proust was aware of the moral impudence that was part of his work. "When Charlus appears, everyone will turn away from me," he wrote in a letter to a friend. But when Charlus arrived, Proust was already dead.
His fears did not come true; no one will probably see in this part of Proust's work anything other than the courage and depth of the thinker, the researcher of the disease, the more tragic if reliability makes him draw himself into the circle of observation.
by : https://www.bdjs.in/