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4.06 AVERAGE
4.06 AVERAGE
Helped me better understand what a contradiction it is to search in reality for memory's pictures, which could never have the charm that comes to them from memory itself and from not being perceived by the senses. The reality I had known no longer existed. That Mme Swann did not arrive exactly at the same moment was enough to make the avenue different. The places we have known do not belong solely to the world of space in which we situate them for our greater convenience. They were only a thin slice among contiguous impressions that formed our life at that time; the memory of a certain image is only regret for a certain moment; and houses, roads, avenues are as fleeting, alas, as the years.
This might be the only paragraph of vol. 1 which I happen to wholeheartedly agree with. The rest is still, without doubt, some of - if not - the best prose I've ever read. It's so obvious to me now seeing Nabokov's trademarks coming from this text; that moment in the garden of his childhood where time stands still and he presses pause on all its sounds. The rest of this is cherishing (rather than lamenting) the power of memory, how looking back on the past might be the only certain thing there is. The involuntary memory, of the sonata Swann forgot he knew the tune of, or of the taste of madeleine's which pulls back the curtain of Proust's entire childhood, each road and face and smell. This is also one of my favourite feelings in the world. It is raw catharsis when it happens. I just don't think all of a life should be dedicated to it. If anything, there's something really, really lonely about a man in his late thirties writing a 4,000-page account of how florid his boyhood gardens were. Maybe it's a shared loneliness, that I'm doing the same.
adventurous
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
hopeful
lighthearted
reflective
sad
slow-paced
challenging
emotional
funny
inspiring
mysterious
reflective
sad
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
reflective
slow-paced
I like the metaphysical introspections and in-depth character analysis, especially his deconstruction of an obsessed individual blinded by his idealism of a false love, which really is the nature of the "love" myth in general. Although told from the male perspective it's truly an ungendered experience that all of the obsessive kind of "love" is about. I frequently encounter people who are obsessively in love with unremarkable individuals who are neither attractive nor interesting, who don't even respect them, and psychologically it's a lot like how it is for Swann. As Swann says at the end of that chapter, these people waste years of their lives obsessing over someone they don't even like, who they aren't attracted to, and who isn't even their type. I do think some parts were lacking, however, and the character analyses could have gone deeper, but in order to do that Proust would've had to have been familiar with philosophy that wasn't yet available in his time.
Leste bare pensum, som var «Combray»
This review might change after I have read the whole series, but at the moment I am not sure what all the fuss is about. This book is famous for not being read, and also for being recommended by teachers to their students, who almost invariably do not read it. Which is hardly surprising since all volumes in the series combined produce a mammoth text.
There are interesting things about it. The author uses a stream of consciousness style, which is quite unusual. What is also unusual is the way he seems to insert himself into a story that must at least in part be pure fiction, and you do very much feel that he is writing about himself, since the authors stream of consciousness often carries him to the innermost thoughts of other people, the narrative flowing seamlessly from one characters stream of consciousness to another's. This created a dreamlike effect.
Unfortunately it is a rather boring dream. However, the book does serve as a window. People writing in their own time and place have created time capsules, time machines, that let you visit a different mind. Other than that there does not seem to be much reason to recommend this book to anybody.
There are interesting things about it. The author uses a stream of consciousness style, which is quite unusual. What is also unusual is the way he seems to insert himself into a story that must at least in part be pure fiction, and you do very much feel that he is writing about himself, since the authors stream of consciousness often carries him to the innermost thoughts of other people, the narrative flowing seamlessly from one characters stream of consciousness to another's. This created a dreamlike effect.
Unfortunately it is a rather boring dream. However, the book does serve as a window. People writing in their own time and place have created time capsules, time machines, that let you visit a different mind. Other than that there does not seem to be much reason to recommend this book to anybody.
Que difícil es comentar, explicar, lo que una obra como está puede generar en la mente del lector. Proust nos lleva de la pena del desamor, a la tristeza de la muerte, a la esperanza del olvido y al final a la aceptación de nuestros errores... no se si alguien mas ha podido escribir de esta forma. Aun falta un solo libro...
Only read the first part. All I can say is that I found it incredibly hard to concentrate on this text.
slow-paced
challenging
reflective