Seize Chasing Lost Time: The Life Of C.K. Scott Moncrieff: Soldier, Spy And Translator Drafted By Jean Findlay Offered As Audio Books

revealing, full of secrets, Essential reading for any English speaking Proustian, Not only does this biography give us insight into the man who gifted the English speaking world Proust, but also reveals what a fascinating and complex man Moncrieff was.
I highly recommend this book, When researching which Proust translation to read I came across a New Yorker article about this book, and my interest was piqued, Especially by this sentence: “It occasionally makes one wish that the old form of the brief life would come back into fashion Moncrieff was an interesting man who led an exceptional life, but he was not that interesting nor that exceptional”.
As it turns out, that statement is pretty accurate! Moncrieff, apart from being a translator, was also a soldier during the first World War and a spy in fascist Italy, and it turns out he slept with a friend of E.
M. Forster and one of his closest friends was Vyvyan Holland, the son of Oscar Wilde, So there were many threads of other interests of mine coming together, and you do get a sense of the time and his life, but it really goes into a lot of detail sometimes.
You can tell at those moments that a family member is writing it Findley is Moncrieffs greatgreat niece, I also found the bits where she talks about his sexuality a but awkward partly that probably stems from the fact that she only found out that he was indeed sexually active only after finishing most of the book, partly it is a straight person writing about queerness.
The final two pages especially made me cringe I can see what she was trying to do but no,

What I liked about it and reading biographies in general is realizing how for most of human life is really is just about living it and it is kind of basic And thats not a bad thing.


Reading this definitely made me excited for June, which is when I will start with In Search of Lost Time, An excellent book about a fascinating person, He loved literature from childhood and dedicated his life to writing, reviewing, translating, He fought in the Great War and managed to keep a positive attitude while seeing many friends die, The men who served under him were impressed by his leadership abilities and his sense of honor, He was a spy after the war, He was committed to his family never married and had no children of his own, but was involved with the extended family and helped them financially, He was gay in a time that was far more repressive than today and knew what it was to have to hide aspects of his nature, but he found a way to be true to himself.
The book really showed him as a multidimensional person, not just a translator of others' work, Made me wish I'd known him,
Looking forward to reading some of his translations of Pirandello and the Chanson de Roland, Won't read his Proust or Stendhal because I can read the originals, As a passionate reader of Proust, I anticipated the translator's biography for several months my long wait was not to be a disappointment, I found it impossible to put the book down once it arrived, Were it not for the exigencies of life, I would surely have finished it on one sitting, The work is beautifully written, at times poignant, charming, amusing and very entertaining, The research is superb and it is never dull at any point, from a charming childhood, to harrowing times in the trenches of the Great War and on to several love affairs in Italy.

To all of my fellow readers of the C, K. Scott Moncrieff translation of Proust's great work which, many of his contemporaries claimed was a work of genius in and of itself:this lovely biography is for you, Wow, I enjoyed this book so much as I was learning about someone who was a friend/contemporary of Noel Coward, Marcel Proust and many other of the literary of the day.
. . and I had never heard of him, What an amazing and dedicated life he led! The history really came alive and the narrator was "invisible" to me as I got lost in the story of his incrediible life! I'd always imagined Scott Moncrieff as a fusty old professorial type alone in his study, Proust in one hand and his French/English dictionary in the other.
Then I encountered his formal portrait where he is a depicted as, dare I say, a cute young guy dressed in the uniform of the King's Own Scottish Borderers, in which is served as a decorated officer during the Great War.


It turns out that Charlie was quite the "goer", He relished the comradeship of the troops in the trenches and had no doubts as to the nobility and higher purpose of the British mission in the war, He left the service with a severe wound in his leg and went to live a somewhat itinerant life in Italy where his work as a translator of Proust, Pirandello, Abelard and Stendhal served as a useful cover for spying on the Italian fascists who had designs on the Middle East.
He became a close friend of the circle of Wilde admirers, most notably Robbie Ross and Wilde's son Vyvyan Holland with whom he shared ribald limericks and sexual badinage.
Jean Findlay, who is Charlie's grand niece, tells in her introduction, of discovering his correspondence with Holland late in her research and revising her earlier opinion that he was an ascetic during his post war years.
She suggests that the oesophageal cancer that killed him at agecould be linked to oral sex, I think that his preferred daytime diet of black coffee and wine might have led to his rapid decline, I hasten to assure readers that there is much in this biography to interest Proustians and anyone interested in the art of translation, I am fond of the CKSM / Kilmartin edition and am pleased that Findlay acknowledges those who celebrate sitelinkRemembrance of Things Past: Volume I Swann's Way amp Within a Budding Grove as translated by Scott Moncrieff as a masterpiece in its own right not an exact literal one, but one imbued with much poetry.
Jean Findlay studied theatre in Krakow, Poland, memoir ethnic national "In all, Scott Moncrieff was a remarkable figure, He was a man of great talent and humility, devoting himself to a role that is often viewed as of secondary importance in the literary world, Yet without him, or with a less talented translator, it is likely that Proust would not have had the effect he did on modern literature, The story of great literature is more than just that of genius itself, For every Johnson, there must be a Boswell, For Proust, it was Charles Kenneth Scott Moncrieff, "

Micah Mattix reviews: sitelink theamericanconservative. co I came to this book by hearing Jean Findlay speak on NPR, and by reading a review in "The New Yorker," which I subscribe to, I must say that I was not daunted that my Library did not have it, I live in Tennessee, and the copy that I read came through interlibrary loan from Florida, Nevertheless, as soon as I received it, I was faithful to it, and in turn it was faithful to me, in the way of sharing this wonderful story of a Soldier, Spy, and above all, one of the Best Translators of the twentieth century and all time.


Most people don't know Proust or have never read him, to this I am all but too resigned, I cannot understand the lack of interest in such circles, but am familiar with it notwithstanding, For those who may not know, he wrote "Remembrance of Things Past, " The interesting fact is that the title itself was actually appropriated from Shakespeare himself by none other than C, K. Scott Moncrieff, or as he was known to his family and everyone else, Charles, I believe the actual iambic pentameter went, "I summon up remembrance of things past, "

Known also as "In Search of Lost Time" thus the title "Chasing Lost Time", the book can only be found in multiple volumes, as it is,million words long, making it perhaps the world's longest read, Besides its length, it is known for its quality and content, which at the time was shocking to England, perhaps less so to France, and certainly shocking to Americans.
But all of that is much due to the homosexuality that is explored, and is really a product of the times, and not really a lingering phenomenon except amongst the world's most 'uptight' homophobes.


As we follow Charles' life from boyhood, we see an intelligent young man become a translator not only of French, but also of Old English and Italian, who could do things like translate "The Song of Roland"th century text by preserving its poetic meter, which is not only incredibly daring but amazingly difficult, and which also he did impeccably well.
He also translated Works by Stendhal and Pirandello who if you are not sure of, you should look them up yourself, This is not the sum total of his life's work, You might have seen him on the front lines during World War I, chivalrously protecting his men, detecting the Germans' whereabouts, and killing them according to plan, He was very brave and was left with a permanent limp as a result of his courageous fighting and leadership,

After this, Charles made money not only as translator, but as one of the Crown's spies, engaged chiefly in ferreting out Italian secrets under the iron hand of Mussolini.
He was never compromised and turned out tons of details from the Italians, turning them over to his superiors, He did this by day, and by his spare time he would burn the midnight oil translating literature, Well, I can say "read this book" but if you read this far, maybe you already are, I certainly hope so. Incredibly absorbing, five! An amazing dive into the life of a brilliant man who until now I only knew as Proust's translator, This biography was a wonderful insight into a whole generation of literati that lived or didn't through the Great War and the seriousness with which they approached literature and art.
I feel pathetically underread after seeing how aggressively Scott Moncrieff read I felt the same reading about Churchill I have less patience now than I did before of people who tell me they have no time to read.
The Double Life of Proust Translator C, K. Scott Moncrieff
Prousts English translator was also a spy, according to a new biography, Chasing Lost Time

sitelink wsj. com/articles/thedoubl While Charles was a good writer, I fear Jean Findlay is not, An entertaining life, fascinating, funny and emotional, is dragged down by a boring style, The first third, very engaging, but then it just dragged, and by the last quarter, man, I was struggling, Sad really, I love CKs story, just wish it could have been presented better, Even after reading all of Proust's À la recherche du temps perdu in both the Modern Library and Penguin editions, it never occurred to me to wonder much about C.
K. Scott Moncrieff, the first translator of Proust's long novel into English, until I came across an admiring review of this book in the sitelinkEconomist, There's no telling when this book will be published in the US, so I ordered it from the UK without regret,

Moncrieff was a man of many parts, all more or less delightful: not only the "soldier, spy and translator" of the subtitle, but "a generous family man, a promiscuous homosexual and a converted Catholic" as well a phrase I just copied from sitelinkSam Taylor's review.
And he's lucky to have as his first biographer Jean Findlay, his greatgreatniece, a distant recipient of his generosity, a gift she fully repays, She presents Moncrieff with all his foibles, which is also to say, with all his charm,

Moncrieff was one of those publicschooleducated corps of gallant young men who marched off to the fields of Flanders full of Homer and high spirits, He was, for a time, close friends with Robert Graves and Wilfred Owen et al, Like them, he was also homosexual although Graves eventually said goodbye to all that, There's something astonishing about this mix of men, who even in the most horrific circumstances were able to transmute their experience into poetry,

Many letters from the Great War are about carnage and stinking trenches and lice and disease, but, although he experienced all of these, Charles wrote chiefly about friendships and flowers, and about the beauty of the French countryside and the idiosyncrasies of the French and Flemish people, especially at places where he was billeted.

Yet, even from the trenches and the hospitals where he ended up, missing part of his leg, he produced unsparing criticism of the war poets:

He suggested that war played a trick on English poets, distorting their perspective, confusing their roles and exiling their muses.
He maintained that real poets did not improve through war, if anything they deteriorated, He attacked the emotion war inspired in poetry, its demolition of idealism, its degradation of human hope, Poetry was for him about truth and beauty and preserving these as shields for the human heart,

This "poetic bubble" protected him the rest of his short life from despair, In his letters from Italy where he'd gone to live in the Twenties, one senses his delight in life even as he suffers bouts of trench fevor and his body is slowly eaten away by stomach cancer.


His encounter with Proust doesn't happen until halfway through the book, and it's an interesting story in itself, surprising practical and unromantic, Yet it's also clear from the translation that he "got" Proust before anyone else, These days his version is dismissed as too "dressy" starting with his Shakespearean title in place of the more prosaic "in search of lost time, " The biography details his failed efforts to get Proust's opinion before the translation was published, And indeed, Proust was appalled, but when he read the translation of Swann's Way at the very end of his life, he was full of praise, F. Scott Fitzgerald called the translation "a masterpiece in itself" and Conrad preferred it to the original, Moreover, Moncrieff completed almost the translation while he also translated a small library of other literature, including Stendhal and Pirandello, and within the space of time it took team of translators to complete the newer Penguin translation.


In Findlay's words,

The new Penguin translation is more literal, but Charles's version goes through the sieve of his soul it involes his history, his education, and his experience of the trenches.

For me, there's also the matter of pure charm that is especially important in the first volume, in which Marcel recounts the tale of his childhood visits to Combray and the tortured passion of Charles Swann.
The Lydia Davis translation is generally hailed as superior, yet for me it misses the Moncrieff sensibility that captured me on my first reading, For example, the scene in which when Marcel has been sent to bed so that the family could entertain Swann in their country garden:

But tonight, before the dinner bell had sounded, my grandfather said with unconscious cruelty, "The little man looks tired he'd better go up to bed.
Besides, we're dining late tonight, "

Marcel is in agony and convinces Françoise, his aunt's servant, to deliver a note to his mother,

At once my anxiety subsided it was now no longer until tomorrow that I had lost my mother, for my little line was going to annoy her, no doubt, and doubly so because this contrivance would make me ridiculous in Swann's eyes but was going all the same to admit me, invisibly and by stealth, into the same room as herself, was going to whisper from me into her ear for that forbidden and unfriendly diningroom, where but a moment ago the ice itselfwith burned nuts in itand the fingerbowls seemed to me to be concealing pleasures that were mischievous and of a mortal sadness because Mamma was tasting of them and I was far away, had opened its doors to me and, like a ripe fruit which bursts through its skin, was going to pour out into my intoxicated heart the gushing sweetness of Mamma's attention while she was reading what I had written.
Now I was no longer separated from her the barriers were down an exquisite thread was binding us, Besides, that was not all, for surely Mamma would come,

Those burnt nuts served with the ices seem to me the emblem of that lost summer evening, In the Davis translation it is indeed less flowery:

where, just a moment before, even the ice cream the granité and the rinsing bowls seemed to me to contain pleasures that were noxious and mortally sad because Mama was enjoying them so far away from me

Even with the granité, the magic is missing.


In the end it's a matter of taste, Findlay's biography has enriched my own appreciation for the man behind the words, In the middle of the book, there's a short passage detailing Moncrieff's visit with the poetry editor Edward Marsh,

It was an intimate dinner, after which Charles no longer called him Mr Marsh but addressed his letters to 'Dearest Eddie', Marsh showed him his famous art collection byhe had brought together the nucleus of what became one of the most valuable collections of modern work in private hands.
It covered every inch of the wall space in his apartments atRaymond Buildings, Surrounded by colourful paintings, they had a lively and literary conversation, and Charles left ata, m.

That final sentence is as perfect a description of ordinary happiness as any I know, .