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nataalia_sanchez's review against another edition
challenging
reflective
relaxing
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
mcgreig's review against another edition
4.0
Enjoyed this and it contains many pearls of wisdom or beautifully phrased passages, although it never reaches the heights of Swann's Way.
almarviz's review against another edition
3.0
a great book for when you need emotional comfort after a breakup. not a great book if you can’t stand unnecessarily long descriptions (as i do)
blueyorkie's review against another edition
5.0
Here's the pleasure of rediscovering Marcel Proust's particular style, analyzing feelings, rupture, oblivion, and the passage of time.
jakebittle's review against another edition
Again, better than I remembered, except the Venice section...
omnibozo22's review against another edition
3.0
Little shit Marcel drives his girlfriend (he does finally admit to unspecified carnal activities with her) Albertine away with his paranoid distrust of her. On my way to finishing the last volume, which, so far, is mostly about The Great War.
dream_mmdi's review against another edition
5.0
عاح!
جزعِ پست روحم!
فقط بدونیدنخوندن " در جستجوی زمان از دست رفته " مصداق (خَسِرَ الدُّنْیا وَالاْآخِرَةَ ذلِک هُوَ الْخُسْرَانُ الْمُبِینُ) عه
بقیه رو قبلا گفتم یا بعدا خواهم گفت :))))))
جزعِ پست روحم!
فقط بدونیدنخوندن " در جستجوی زمان از دست رفته " مصداق (خَسِرَ الدُّنْیا وَالاْآخِرَةَ ذلِک هُوَ الْخُسْرَانُ الْمُبِینُ) عه
بقیه رو قبلا گفتم یا بعدا خواهم گفت :))))))
moncoinlecture's review against another edition
4.0
4,5
Adoré cette partie d l'histoire... Et je suis fan des phrases interminables!
Adoré cette partie d l'histoire... Et je suis fan des phrases interminables!
darwin8u's review against another edition
5.0
“I could no longer desire physically without feeling a need for her, without suffering from her absence.”
― Marcel Proust, The Fugitive
I start reading Proust and it feels like I've submerged into a slow-moving prose river. The water is clean, with gradual bends, but sometimes filled with small boiling eddies, swirls, and reverses. Time and memory move in one direction, but the current of Proustian memory contains an involuntary universe of vortexes and wakes. We fall in and out of love. Our memory of our love becomes bent and refracted as we move away from those we once loved.
Seriously, every time I read Proust I finish thinking he could write a whole novel about one small spot on a random river. An exposed rock or boulder that cuts the flow of the river into two halves could occupy 100 pages as Proust described the nuance of the water around and against the rock. He would obviously need to describe the varying temperature of the water and the way the light moves through the textured leaves of the green forest's canopy. How evening's light danced its crepuscular silhouettes against the reflections of dusk on the churning ripples of a slowly moving river.
That being said: I'm really glad that Albertine's gone. It all sorta reminds me of that Saturday Night Live skit with Eddie Murphy as Mr. Robinson: 'I'm so glad the Bitch (Albertine) is gone.' Yes, neighbor, I really do think Eddie Murphy's Mr. Robinson was the late 20th Century's answer to Marcel Proust's early 20th century question of what exactly happens when a man lays next to a woman and gives her 20 francs.
― Marcel Proust, The Fugitive
I start reading Proust and it feels like I've submerged into a slow-moving prose river. The water is clean, with gradual bends, but sometimes filled with small boiling eddies, swirls, and reverses. Time and memory move in one direction, but the current of Proustian memory contains an involuntary universe of vortexes and wakes. We fall in and out of love. Our memory of our love becomes bent and refracted as we move away from those we once loved.
Seriously, every time I read Proust I finish thinking he could write a whole novel about one small spot on a random river. An exposed rock or boulder that cuts the flow of the river into two halves could occupy 100 pages as Proust described the nuance of the water around and against the rock. He would obviously need to describe the varying temperature of the water and the way the light moves through the textured leaves of the green forest's canopy. How evening's light danced its crepuscular silhouettes against the reflections of dusk on the churning ripples of a slowly moving river.
That being said: