I am somehow to my last In Search of Lost Time
review. I'm not sure how this has happened, as it doesn't seem like almost a year ago that I was first ordering Swann's Way
and reading the first few pages. I was reading about sleep, falling asleep, and reading about mint tea before violent episodes of flu. Now, almost a year later, I have a set of creased, abused, fallen down from bus seats, fallen out of hands onto driveways editions of Proust, some of which with the marked dates of where the readings for each Proust 2013 week ended.
I’ve brought In Search of Lost Time
along with me to all sorts of places, and it’s been an adventure when people ask what I’m reading and I say Proust. I was very interesting at parties for a while.
From the churches of Combray and the tea and madeleines to the unrecognizable faces of past friends, the journey the Narrator goes on is an incredible one. He grows up, falls in and out of love, different types of love, and writes almost page long sentences because Proust is an amazing literary mind and his translators have preserved his distinct style.
It was a year long commitment to read In Search of Last Time
and this upcoming Sunday when I’m not sitting down with the Proust reading of the week I’m reminisce about reading times past.