Some writers are divinely inspired to the extent that they can afford to take on topics that lesser hacks would recoil from with fear and loathing. Alain de Botton is a dazzling example of this elite group, who wears his learning as lightly as Christie Brinkley wears her lingerie. The author has recently published, "How Proust can change your Life," which is not just a masterpiece of literary criticism but also contains chapters provocatively titled, "How to Suffer Successfully." Most philosophers have diligently applied themselves, like Americans, to the pursuit of happiness as if it were prey and they the hunter, when far greater wisdom would seem to lie in pursuing ways to be properly and productively unhappy. Given the stubborn universal prevalence of misery, the development of a sensible, workmanlike approach to it must surely take precedence over any utopian quest for happiness.
Marcel Proust, the unlikely hero of de Botton's book, suffered from a variety of ailments which included insomnia, asthma, digestive problems, unconventional lusts and desires, dating problems…I could go on but unless you have a short attention span, I'm sure you get the picture? The Proustian approach to life recommends a better grip on reality. Our pain may spring from an abscess or bitterness at being left off an invitation list and while identifying the reasons for our agony may not ease our discomfort, it lays the foundations for our recovery. "Griefs,at the moment when they change into ideas, lose some of their power to injure our heart."
Naturally this is far easier said than done and is a purely theorotical(sic) approach, as my uncle Kuttu would have said; I once had the temerity to correct his pronunciation, whereupon he snapped, "I said theorotical and that's exactly what I meant, geddit?" Unfortunately suffering often fails to alchemize into ideas and instead of taking the high road to a learning curve we oftenwallow in misery and self-doubt. How often have we encountered "bad sufferers" who may have been jilted or tarred and feathered and who react peevishly by resorting to a variety of defence mechanisms which entail arrogance and delusion, cruelty and callousness, spite and rage." Far too often, truth be told.
Proust challenged the established wisdom of exalting friendship by pointing out that an intimate conversation among close friends is not the best forum to express our darkest desires or tell them exactly what is on our minds. Only a bookmaker would offer odds on the chances of retaining one's best friendshould one disapprove of his new fiancée or carelessly Whatsapp his beer-fuelled rendition of Bolare while on holiday in Goa. Further, only an imbecile would resort to the unvarnished truth at a christening ceremony because of the unusual intensity of people's attachment to the fruit of their loins. The demands of conversation are as taxing as playing tennis with Federer: one has to come up with a good return of serve and hold one's nerve in long rallies. To carry the analogy further, we may carelessly assume that our chosen topic is as fascinating to our listeners as it is to us: anyone who has been on the receiving end of a golfing anecdote or a casino experience will know precisely the kind of torture to which I allude. If you are given to peppering your conversations with a "perhaps", a "maybe" or a "don't you think" you are likely to be hugely popular as opposed to the know-it-all who starts sentences with an "always" or "never" or an "As I was saying".And lest I leave you with the impression that Proust took himself too seriously, the reality is quite the opposite. Here are his views on literature: "To make reading into a discipline is to give too large a role to what is only an incitement. Reading is on the threshold of spiritual life; it can introduce us to it, it does not constitute it." Or to put it another way: even the finest books deserve to be thrown aside.
