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hrlukz's review
4.0
4.5
In many ways this is a near perfect book. It is funny, thoroughly readable, profound enough to make you stop and think, but not so appallingly overbearing in its insights that you become overwhelmed by its majesty and feel you haven’t taken much out of it. Given to me by a dear friend, whom I know will enjoy reading it when she gets the chance. Proust’s and De Botton’s ideas are almost as wise as hers. Cheers Aatqa!!
In many ways this is a near perfect book. It is funny, thoroughly readable, profound enough to make you stop and think, but not so appallingly overbearing in its insights that you become overwhelmed by its majesty and feel you haven’t taken much out of it. Given to me by a dear friend, whom I know will enjoy reading it when she gets the chance. Proust’s and De Botton’s ideas are almost as wise as hers. Cheers Aatqa!!
richard_f's review against another edition
4.0
Smart, surprisingly insightful, and opens to a greater appreciation of Proust.
arshias's review
4.0
Picked this up at my local library - I hope to someday read In Search of Lost Time but in case I don't break any of my limbs I am glad to have stumbled upon de Botton's well-written and whimsical primer on Proust's writings, life, and philosophy.
"We are all in the habit of giving to what we feel a form of expression which differs so much from, and which we nevertheless after a little time take to be, reality itself."
"The reason why life may be judged to be trivial although at certain moments it seems to us so beautiful is that we form our judgement, ordinarily, not on the evidence of life itself but of those quite different images which preserve nothing of life - and therefore we judge it disparagingly."
"There is no better way of coming to be aware of what one feels oneself than by trying to recreate in oneself what a master has felt... we would like him to provide us with answers when all he is able to do is provide us with desires."
"We are all in the habit of giving to what we feel a form of expression which differs so much from, and which we nevertheless after a little time take to be, reality itself."
"The reason why life may be judged to be trivial although at certain moments it seems to us so beautiful is that we form our judgement, ordinarily, not on the evidence of life itself but of those quite different images which preserve nothing of life - and therefore we judge it disparagingly."
"There is no better way of coming to be aware of what one feels oneself than by trying to recreate in oneself what a master has felt... we would like him to provide us with answers when all he is able to do is provide us with desires."
jimbus's review against another edition
3.0
In the city where I live, there are multiple charity shops, many of which I frequent. One of them keeps a basket outside filled with books, and one can purchase a book for forty pence or three for a pound. I always browse this basket, because it is filled with ratty paperbacks, that get rattier and rattier as they spend their lives in a metal basket being shuffled and reshuffled, and I love, love, love fucked up old paperbacks. So imagine my (surprise/joy/apprehension/fear/loathing/curiosity) when I was last pawing through the basket, only to see, poking out somewhere near the bottom, a book with a picture of Marcel Proust on the cover. At first (surprised) to see Proust peering at me from the depths of a bargain bin, I quickly realised that it was a copy of this book, by Alain de Botton. Its pages had curled in to each other, but it looked reasonable, and forty pence to sate a curiosity is a much cheaper price than I'd normally pay.
I do not, would not, and have not read self-help books. I do read literary criticism. This book is both, kind of, and the aforementioned curiosity I felt was with regards to Proust rather than de Botton, who I am sure is a fine fellow personally, but has always struck me as a particularly platitudinous career advisor more than anything else.
So, what does the career advisor (a fine and honourable profession, I might add, when done with care, tact and enthusiasm) have to say with regards to Proust? Largely, that Proust was often sad and in ill-health, as we often are, being mere mortals, and that reading Proust may be a way for us to “read ourselves” (what does that mean?), and to see ourselves and the world through the eyes of another. This is nothing new to anyone who has studied or thought about literature (or life) past a secondary school level, and Proust's formulations of his own thought, which are quoted at some length in this volume, tend to ring truer, and stick faster, than de Botton's own re-formulations and explications. All the same, it was a quick, enjoyable read, and it went down easy, though I would venture to say I will remember Proust's words, before de Botton's.
But then, what did I expect? Proust is Proust and de Botton is de Botton, and de Botton's intention is to help us read Proust. For this purpose, I am beyond certain that there are better books (if I knew about them I would tell you what they were) about Proust. And then, of course, you could just bloody read Proust, couldn't you?
Two examples of de Botton's own inventiveness stand out in my memory, one underlining a point in a mixed triumph, and the other attempting a coup that falls far short.
The first example finds de Botton quoting the longest Proustian sentence. It snakes and circles around and across the page. It did make me laugh, something that I cannot talk myself out of. I do wish, however, that I could just have read the sentence without having to twist the book around around. I can get behind messing with the reader's expectations, but this was a bit much, as fun as it was.
The other example is the closing sentence, which jolts back the curtain and shows you de Botton, the man behind the magic, hedging his own bet against eternity. Was he attempting to latch his name to a better one, twinning his work with Proust's? Was he just trying to have some fun? Was he proving a point?
“Even the finest books deserve to be thrown aside.”
I read this, closed the book, and threw it, not so hard as to damage it, but hard enough that I hoped de Botton felt it.
I do not, would not, and have not read self-help books. I do read literary criticism. This book is both, kind of, and the aforementioned curiosity I felt was with regards to Proust rather than de Botton, who I am sure is a fine fellow personally, but has always struck me as a particularly platitudinous career advisor more than anything else.
So, what does the career advisor (a fine and honourable profession, I might add, when done with care, tact and enthusiasm) have to say with regards to Proust? Largely, that Proust was often sad and in ill-health, as we often are, being mere mortals, and that reading Proust may be a way for us to “read ourselves” (what does that mean?), and to see ourselves and the world through the eyes of another. This is nothing new to anyone who has studied or thought about literature (or life) past a secondary school level, and Proust's formulations of his own thought, which are quoted at some length in this volume, tend to ring truer, and stick faster, than de Botton's own re-formulations and explications. All the same, it was a quick, enjoyable read, and it went down easy, though I would venture to say I will remember Proust's words, before de Botton's.
But then, what did I expect? Proust is Proust and de Botton is de Botton, and de Botton's intention is to help us read Proust. For this purpose, I am beyond certain that there are better books (if I knew about them I would tell you what they were) about Proust. And then, of course, you could just bloody read Proust, couldn't you?
Two examples of de Botton's own inventiveness stand out in my memory, one underlining a point in a mixed triumph, and the other attempting a coup that falls far short.
The first example finds de Botton quoting the longest Proustian sentence. It snakes and circles around and across the page. It did make me laugh, something that I cannot talk myself out of. I do wish, however, that I could just have read the sentence without having to twist the book around around. I can get behind messing with the reader's expectations, but this was a bit much, as fun as it was.
The other example is the closing sentence, which jolts back the curtain and shows you de Botton, the man behind the magic, hedging his own bet against eternity. Was he attempting to latch his name to a better one, twinning his work with Proust's? Was he just trying to have some fun? Was he proving a point?
“Even the finest books deserve to be thrown aside.”
I read this, closed the book, and threw it, not so hard as to damage it, but hard enough that I hoped de Botton felt it.
ella_kasten's review
3.0
looking back I should have picked some beach read fiction while leaving new mexico and starting grad school, but I didn’t. also should have read proust. so it goes.
balletbookworm's review
4.0
A very insightful book - I would have "got" more of de Botton's references if I had actually read Proust's In Search of Lost Time. Which I am working to remedy and then I will need to come back and read this book again!
felo's review
5.0
A cheeky treatise on things one may consider obvious, prosaic or cliché. But the ways Botton (and Proust) leads us to the final points are as winding as amusing, so the truisms of the last sentences become the revelations. Then, you have nothing left but to grin to yourself. How clever.
ps. After first few pages I thought I didn't need to read Proust anymore, while after finishing the book I'm desperate to read "In Search of Lost Time", even if it is going to take up the rest of my life :)
ps. After first few pages I thought I didn't need to read Proust anymore, while after finishing the book I'm desperate to read "In Search of Lost Time", even if it is going to take up the rest of my life :)
hagbard_celine's review
4.0
I am becoming quite a fan of the author, who sounds like Carl Sagan writing about feelings instead of physics.
Will this be the book that gets me to read Proust?
Will this be the book that gets me to read Proust?
pitosalas's review
I couldnt get into this book. It meandered. I guess what I learned is that I shouldn't read Proust itself either. I am sure it's my failing.
I dumped it at around page 100.
I dumped it at around page 100.