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4.06 AVERAGE
4.06 AVERAGE
challenging
inspiring
reflective
slow-paced
Il est certain que ce livre n’est pas un classique pour rien et que la matière y étant contenu vaut le détour ; néanmoins je suis également certaine qu’en temps que premier tome de La Recherche, il n’est pas et ne pouvait pas être parfait. Il est cependant essentiel à la compréhension de La Recherche du temps perdu.
La deuxième partie est sûrement celle que j’ai le plus apprécié, mais au fur et mesure de l’évolution de la relation de nos deux personnages j’ai senti que cette partie devait se terminer tout comme leur relation.
Les première et troisième partie sont très bien mais pas les plus divertissantes, néanmoins elles sont les plus intéressantes “philosophiquement”, le livre dans son entièreté l’étant réellement.
La deuxième partie est sûrement celle que j’ai le plus apprécié, mais au fur et mesure de l’évolution de la relation de nos deux personnages j’ai senti que cette partie devait se terminer tout comme leur relation.
Les première et troisième partie sont très bien mais pas les plus divertissantes, néanmoins elles sont les plus intéressantes “philosophiquement”, le livre dans son entièreté l’étant réellement.
"A 'real' person, profoundly as we may sympathise with him, is in a great measure perceptible only through our senses, that is to say, he remains opaque, offers a dead weight which our sensibilities have not the strength to lift. If some misfortune comes to him, it is only in one small section of the complete idea we have of him that we are capable of feeling any emotion; indeed it is only in one small section of the complete idea he has of himself that he is capable of feeling any emotion either."
"why, then, for the space of an hour he [the novelist] sets free within us all the joys and sorrows in the world, a few of which, only, we should have to spend years of our actual life in getting to know, and the keenest, the most intense of which would never have been revealed to us because the slow course of their development stops our perception of them."
"And these dreams reminded me that, since I wished, some day, to become a writer, it was high time to decide what sort of books I was going to write. But as soon as I asked myself the question, and tried to discover some subjects to which I could impart a philosophical significance of infinite value, my mind would stop like a clock, I would see before me vacuity, nothing, would feel either that I was wholly devoid of talent, or that, perhaps, a malady of the brain was hindering its development."
"People who enjoyed 'picking-up' things, who admired poetry, despised sordid calculations of profit and loss, and nourished ideals of honour and love, she placed in a class by themselves, superior to the rest of humanity. There was no need actually to have those tastes, provided one talked enough about them; when a man had told her at dinner that he loved to wander about and get his hands all covered with dust in the old furniture shops, that he would never be really appreciated in this commercial age, since he was not concerned about the things that interested it, and that he belonged to another generation altogether, she would come home saying: 'Why, he's an adorable creature; so sensitive! I had no idea,' and she would conceive for him a strong and sudden friendship."
"But when she had set off for Dreux or Pierrefonds--alas, without allowing him to appear there, as though by accident, at her side, for as she said, that would 'create a dreadful impression,'--he would plunge into the most intoxicating romance in the lover's library, the railway timetable, from which he learned the ways of joining her there in the afternoon, in the evening, even in the morning."
"Even from the simplest, the most realistic point of view, the countries for which we long occupy, at any given moment, a far larger place in our true life than the country in which we may happen to be."
"when one is in love one has no love left for anyone"
"why, then, for the space of an hour he [the novelist] sets free within us all the joys and sorrows in the world, a few of which, only, we should have to spend years of our actual life in getting to know, and the keenest, the most intense of which would never have been revealed to us because the slow course of their development stops our perception of them."
"And these dreams reminded me that, since I wished, some day, to become a writer, it was high time to decide what sort of books I was going to write. But as soon as I asked myself the question, and tried to discover some subjects to which I could impart a philosophical significance of infinite value, my mind would stop like a clock, I would see before me vacuity, nothing, would feel either that I was wholly devoid of talent, or that, perhaps, a malady of the brain was hindering its development."
"People who enjoyed 'picking-up' things, who admired poetry, despised sordid calculations of profit and loss, and nourished ideals of honour and love, she placed in a class by themselves, superior to the rest of humanity. There was no need actually to have those tastes, provided one talked enough about them; when a man had told her at dinner that he loved to wander about and get his hands all covered with dust in the old furniture shops, that he would never be really appreciated in this commercial age, since he was not concerned about the things that interested it, and that he belonged to another generation altogether, she would come home saying: 'Why, he's an adorable creature; so sensitive! I had no idea,' and she would conceive for him a strong and sudden friendship."
"But when she had set off for Dreux or Pierrefonds--alas, without allowing him to appear there, as though by accident, at her side, for as she said, that would 'create a dreadful impression,'--he would plunge into the most intoxicating romance in the lover's library, the railway timetable, from which he learned the ways of joining her there in the afternoon, in the evening, even in the morning."
"Even from the simplest, the most realistic point of view, the countries for which we long occupy, at any given moment, a far larger place in our true life than the country in which we may happen to be."
"when one is in love one has no love left for anyone"
there is a reason this book is a classic. it may be dense and long, and really not much happens, but every description nails it. if you have ever been jealous of someone in a relationship or enjoyed walking in spring, or thought about something, proust will speak to you.
I read this book slowly, and in small portions at a time. At times the richness of Proust's prose and its meandering made my concentration lag. But then there are the passages of descriptive beauty that also contain razor-sharp insight into human interactions and philosophical depth. I don't know if I've ever read such poetic and powerful writing about the way memories, emotions, and external objects play off one another in the human mind. Overall, it's quite a book and I look forward to reading further volumes of _In Search of Lost Time_.
Great book, just a lot of Old-fashioned language and dense text in this edition.
This book was always going to be swimming against my tastes. It's about a type of people I don't like, set in a place I don't care about, set in a time period I actively hate. Add the fact that this is very much a, 'nothing happens', book and basically only the subtext and the actual word to word writing could have saved it for me. The fact that this gets 2 stars and is therefore 'OK', is a testament to the high quality of the text itself. I just unfortunately have no interest in any of the characters or setting or anything that happened.
Para entrenar la paciencia o para deleitarse practicándola. Necesito reflexionarlo durante un tiempo.
“El recordar una determinada imagen no es sino echar de menos un determinado instante, y las casas, los caminos, los paseos, desgraciadamente son tan fugitivos como los años.”
¡Ya sólo me quedan seis!
“El recordar una determinada imagen no es sino echar de menos un determinado instante, y las casas, los caminos, los paseos, desgraciadamente son tan fugitivos como los años.”
¡Ya sólo me quedan seis!
My old review from last year:
I really wanted to enjoy this book more than I did. Granted there are passages of beauty throughout, with some of the most vivid descriptions of memory I've ever seen. However, this is all tied up in a love story between two completely unlikable people; Swann and Odette. It's hard for me to fully recommend this one since nearly every instance of their courtship had me rolling me eyes and saying "good lord, get over yourselves already." I plan on continuing this series, but I'm hoping that future entries aren't as concentrated on unlikable leads as this one was.
/2015
I re-read this book as another attempt to kick-start Proust's entire Lost Time series, and while I still can't stomach anyone in this book, the beauty of the language stood out this time. This tends to happen on a re-reading when I'm no longer concerning myself with plot. I was able to let the prose wash over me, and there are a number of brilliant, probing insights scattered throughout. Also, Swann is such a repulsive man that him that I couldn't feel too bad for Odette treating him the way she did. Anyhow, reading this again I'm going to bump it up to four stars and recommend it to everyone. I'm more enthusiastic about getting into the series now than I was last year.
I really wanted to enjoy this book more than I did. Granted there are passages of beauty throughout, with some of the most vivid descriptions of memory I've ever seen. However, this is all tied up in a love story between two completely unlikable people; Swann and Odette. It's hard for me to fully recommend this one since nearly every instance of their courtship had me rolling me eyes and saying "good lord, get over yourselves already." I plan on continuing this series, but I'm hoping that future entries aren't as concentrated on unlikable leads as this one was.
/2015
I re-read this book as another attempt to kick-start Proust's entire Lost Time series, and while I still can't stomach anyone in this book, the beauty of the language stood out this time. This tends to happen on a re-reading when I'm no longer concerning myself with plot. I was able to let the prose wash over me, and there are a number of brilliant, probing insights scattered throughout. Also, Swann is such a repulsive man that him that I couldn't feel too bad for Odette treating him the way she did. Anyhow, reading this again I'm going to bump it up to four stars and recommend it to everyone. I'm more enthusiastic about getting into the series now than I was last year.
Sometimes wordy, but when this book clicks, it is lyrical magic. There seem to be only two types of men in this story: those who are stiff and snobbish and those who are perpetually in love for no good reason with women who are incapable of truly returning their affection. I could have done with less of the backstory. I feel that the philosophy of memory being inextricable from the present is truly magic.