Of course
you should read Proust. You tell me you’ve already read Balzac, George Eliot, Tolstoy,
James. You have a taste for good fiction. You understand its demands and
rewards. Pay no attention to those who lament the length of Proust’s book. It’s
no longer than it needs to be. Don’t worry about “endurance.” Calibrate your rhythms
to his. Proust is a first-rate host, ever thoughtful and gracious. He will make
you feel at home and even make you laugh.
The passage
at the top is from the two-volume Holmes-Laski
Letters, edited by Mark DeWolfe Howe and published by Harvard University
Press in 1953. Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. is writing to Harold Laski on
Sept. 29, 1929. Holmes was then eighty-eight; Laski, thirty-six. Reading it quickly
I misunderstood the reference to “fertilizer.” I took that at first to mean manure
– in the vernacular, bullshit. He means a book’s pedagogical content,
its broccoli quotient: Is it good for you? That’s no way to gauge a book’s worth.
Rather, does it give you pleasure? Earlier in the letter collection, Holmes
describes his mixed reaction to Proust, saying he is “out jamesing H. James in
his rotation of nuances.” For some of us, that’s a positive quality.
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