Proust's Sodom and Gomorrah might explore homosexuality in early twentieth century France, but it does so using two quite unsuitable models. The first is M. de Charlus, but, as I have made mention before, he is a tiresome character, demanding and creepy. In the beginning of the volume, Charlus is spied upon while having a careless "encounter" with a shopkeeper, though he quickly asks this shopkeeper to help him score some more young men! His character is only more refined when he falls in love with a young violinist named Morel, a character no more charming than Charlus. Morel resents his own background, his dad once having worked for the narrator's uncle, and tolerates Charlus' attentions for the status and money he gets in turn. He is cruel to Charlus and enjoys using the latter's love (/obsession) to humiliate him in front of others, knowing Charlus will never abandon him. Though it seems Morel is aware of Charlus' true intentions, he does not give the Baron the physical satisfaction he so desires. This is something Charlus is willing to accept so long as he can keep Morel around. There is a strange scene indeed where, driven to extreme jealousy, Charlus, who has otherwise tried to keep the young musician around him at all times, attempts to spy on Morel in a brothel. His endeavor is ultimately unsuccessful, but the whole episode demonstrates the intensity of Charlus' will to get what he wants, his persevering, demanding character, and it is slightly unfair of Proust to choose such a horrid character to, by-and-large, represent all homosexuals.
Then there is Albertine. Once the narrator's own object of adoration, then nothing more than a physical release, the narrator finds himself once again in love with Albertine in Sodom and Gomorrah. And, as revealed in my last post, she is also a member of "the race" of M. de Charlus. Though this was only a suspicion of the narrator's at first, the novel closes with Albertine unknowingly admitting to this preference. In Swann's Way, the first volume, there is a funny scene where the narrator, on his walk home, spies a young woman not only engaging in some lesbian activity, but slightly sadistic activity, at that. Albertine admits to being friends with these girls, in fact being extremely close to them, unaware that the narrator already knows about these women's lifestyle. The narrator, previously willing to let Albertine go for good, upon hearing her confession is filled with jealousy and falls right back desperately in love with her. The volume closes with this and with the narrator deciding to marry her, as the only way to secure Albertine for himself. Though Albertine is not a nasty character by any means, especially when compared to the Baron de Charlus, she is not portrayed too kindly in the pages. She is depicted as slightly loose in her sexuality, and the narrator is frequently afraid of past or possible future affairs Albertine might be a part of.
The last few pages, full of Albertine and the narrator's drama, present a much more lighthearted, almost funny break after what got to be unbearable recollections and analyses of Charlus and Morel's relationship amidst the "intelligent" Verdurin clan. I took a week long break from reading, the book got so boring at this point; there was a character who, throughout the second half of the novel, would go through towns upon towns, explaining place-name etymologies. This section reminded me of being back reading Swann's Way for the first time, when the Verdurins were beyond my patience. Also, some repetitiveness at the very end is something worth mentioning--it got rather annoying!
Anyways, I'm all done with it. Yesterday, I started Kurt Vonnegut's Sirens of Titan and am about to finish it. I'm trying to delay the end, so I started writing this instead! It's complex, heavy, sad, hilarious, random, overwhelming. It's science-fiction, anti-war, satire, and post-modern at its best. I'm glad I've read the little I have of Vonnegut beforehand, like Slaugtherhouse-five, where I first learned about the planet Tralfamador, and Harrison Burgeron. The conceptualization, in the latter, of a "completely equal" society where people have weights and handicaps to establish full equality was something I'll always remember from the short story and quickly recognized in the novel. The antennas that function as one such handicap (creating pain and discomfort in the minds of the intelligent) appear in The Sirens as a means of controlling captured men who now make up a Martian army. Even the destroying of memory appears in both the story and the novel, though the former deals with the destorying of short-term and the latter long-term memory.
There are a lot of things to be said about this short novel. Every word is chosen with care, every paragraph a work of art. And behind it all is Kurt Vonnegut and what seems to be serious pain, but also a lot of love. I hope to write more about The Sirans of Titan, perhaps discuss its parody of religion and its challenges to free will. For now, I'm going to enjoy the ending.
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