Our next Book Club book is Proust's In Search of Lost Time or, to be all French about it, À la recherche du temps perdu. As a keen - and somewhat longwinded diarist myself (I think I have about 120 full diaries at last count), I've kind of always meant to read Proust, but never quite got round to it.
So Book Club is going properly intellectual on me. Far gone are the days of The DaVinci Code and The Time Traveler's Wife. Last read was a God-awful J M Coetzee novel... we seem to have gone terribly "worthy". Maybe I should nominate some Shakespeare and get my own back. Though I think the ultimate has already been achieved when we had to read Kafka's The Trial. Jesus Christ, I think I would rather gouge out my eyes with a dirty teaspoon than read anything by him ever again.
Last Book Club was memorable as a (male) Book Club member accused me of talking about breasts a lot. I don't. He said I did, and referenced the fact that I'd previously said my own breasts were much larger than Keira Knightley's breasts, and that I was quite obsessed by how she had no tits at all. This is disturbing:
a) I have no memory of this conversation
b) This is not really an appropriate topic of conversation for a work-based Book Club
c) It is true that I do get obsessed by Keira Knightley's (lack of ) breasts, so seems a feasible comment. Chances are I did actually say this.
I don't know if Proust will have tits or not. The novel, that is, not the author. I doubt he had man boobs, but you never know. Perhaps he covers this in his later work. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, I shall try to refrain from referencing breasts at any further book clubs.