Why Would Anyone Want to Read This Zine?

Why Would Anyone Want to Read This Zine?


There is, out there in the reading public, a plentitude of Proust nuts. Those happily afflicted ones might buy this just because it says "Proust" on the cover, and because the name would lead them to suspect the contents of being intellectually agreeable. But for every Proustitute there are a thousand other fans of serious literature who shrug him off as unreadable, long-winded or intimidating, a prissy purveyor of purple prose, the butt of literary jokes. In some ways, this publication is targeted towards this latter group, the ones who haven't yet made it past page ten, or haven't even tried.

Proust is an author for humanists, individuals who have sprung beyond the half-perspectives of feminism and male chauvinism, the ones who recognize that all humans are in this cultural cuinsinart together. Getting past the romanticized glorifications of the Goddess and Iron John and the separatist politics of sexual persuasion, the humanist wants to know what men and women are really like, so we can realistically evolve some solutions. Proust microscopically dissescts human interaction, emotion and habitual behavior, calling members of both sexes on their flaws, fears, pecadillos and bugaboos. No one escapes scrutiny; we are all equally exposed.

How many times, in the last few years, have I heard someone utter some truth about human nature, and found myself saying in agreement, "Proust said that!" Many of the converts to Proust gave up their resistance to reading him after they realized how much their viewpoints coincided; I am hoping that this publication will convince a few more of the uninitiated to give it a go, while reviving the remembrance, among initiates, of things read.

Proust may be a serious writer, but his black humor, deep and subtle, keeps us laughing at the agonies of love; if we can only transfer this amusement to our own lives, they bode far better. As the trend of the modern world continues away from marriage-for-life and towards serial monogamy, Proust's words about the succession of loves suddenly make sense to a great many people. It is not surprising to learn that there are huge Proust revivals going on in France, Germany and Russsia (and here in San Francisco); Proust's witty evisceration of humanity speaks with relentless, if occasionally unsavory, directness about how things really are in the world of human emotion, and we have arrived at the time when we'd better figure that out, or else.

But now it's not necessary to read through all those volumes in order to glean the most stirring and insightful gems of Proust, although we heartily reccommend it. The option is to read this zine instead.


vision@well.com