from the desk of wilma's butler

Ms. Lydia Davis's translation of Marcel Proust's Swann's Way. up to page 187; enjoy Mr. Proust's humor, though the gentility gleeks of Wilma at her warts.

a favorite massage:

"a rower who, having let go of his oars, had lain flat on his back, his head down, in the bottom of his boat, and allowing it to drift, seeing only the sky gliding slowly above him, bore on his face a foretaste of happiness and peace."


I seize Proust in his apartment, having let go of life's business, allowing his mind to drift, seeing only the past gliding slowly within him.

I sire of the artistocratic leisure pleasure of walking past our narrator's aunt's vassal's gardens.

Oh, that's Wilma calling. She needs her path troweled. I do wish she'd hire a maid for those sports of ass.