I've read several articles and social media posts recently along the lines that if a book doesn't grab you after twenty or thirty pages then give it up. Your time is too precious to waste.
Which all seems fair enough. There's no point spending time struggling through a bad book.
But what if it's not a bad book? What if it's a book that others have recognised as fine book, maybe even a masterpiece? Why did you consider reading it in the first place?
In one of those articles, by Marianna Mazza in La Presse, she complained about a two-page description of the winter sun she came across in a book, how it really annoyed her, so she closed the book and abandoned it. So with that mindset the long-windedness of Marcel Proust would not be for her, evidently. But on the other hand, perhaps that's why persevering with a Proustian novel might be perfect for her. By opening her mind to a different sensibility she might gain a new appreciation for the viewpoints of others. She might even become a more patient person.
I suspect that Marianna Mazza is an advocate of inclusion and diversity in the world, for whom empathy for how others feels is an important value, and here's a way she could embrace that in a very personal way.
Alain de Botton wrote a clever book on this topic: How Proust Can Change Your Life.
One of his points is that Proust was quite deliberate in his style, as he wanted readers to slow down and really pay attention to the scene, and ultimately to the world around them. Botton, a philosopher, describes how habitual behaviour causes us to overlook the beauty around us, that we go through much of our lives on automatic pilot, and that there is much to be gained by focusing on the rich detail all around us.
The writer L.M. Sacassas is often very wise on these matters. Here he is on the difference between being a tourist through life, or a pilgrim:
The way of the tourist is to consume; the way of the pilgrim is to be consumed. To the tourist the journey is a means. The pilgrim understands that it is both a means and an end in itself. The tourist and the pilgrim experience time differently. For the former, time is the foe that gives consumption its urgency. For the latter, time is a gift in which the possibility of the journey is actualized. Or better, for the pilgrim time is already surrendered to the journey that, sooner or later, will come to its end. The tourist bends the place to the shape of the self. The pilgrim is bent to shape of the journey.
