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emberology 's review for:
Swann's Way
by Marcel Proust
Sometimes you really wan't to like a book, but it's not always successful no matter how hard you try. Maybe with this one I tried too hard, because I had certain expectations. There's not really a plot in here, but this is a kind of a collection of memories and of characters who more or less show up in them. The lack of a plot wasn't a problem, especially when Proust could probably be able to describe taking a dump beautifully, but in the end this was too easy to put down and too hard to pick up again. I did understand, that like recollections are usually sprawling, this was meant to imitate that. In practice though reading was way too heavy. Although at times beautiful scenes and Proust's use of words made me sigh from delight, but mostly it was tough to read his ramblings. Not to say ramblings can't work, just look at Tropic of Cancer (1934). Long sentences are also ok, as long they are understandable, and not the kind you have to read all over again just to figure out what the author is trying to say.
My favourite scene was (in addition to that legendary madeleine scene) when Proust described a childhood reading session in the garden. It was straight from my own childhood. During the summer I used to read in our garden so focused, that I didn't realise the day getting darker. The transitions between different memories were also executed well and naturally, as if the words were flowing from one place into another. As a whole though the novel was in need of editing, because now this is just way too long. I also kind of felt that while there's nothing wrong with Proust's writing talent, he just had some problems in constructing a whole novel. Like he didn't know what he was doing, but was trying feverishly to write all his ideas down. At least I have my limits with stream of consciousness.
I'm going to take a look at the second installment, but if that feels as sticky as this one I'll give up with the whole series. There's far too many books out there for me to torture myself with an uninteresting series. There's still hope, though. At least what I've gathered, this was a sort of introduction to the whole series, so as a whole the story hasn't properly begun yet. Or at least I hope that there will be at least a some kind of glimpse of a point.
Despite my negativity this still deserves three stars, for Proust's writing and for the potential for good stuff later on. So, for the most arrogant Proust fans whose comments I've seen here on Goodreads: stop being pretentious and eloquent jackasses. Not all classics are liked by everyone. To each his own.
My favourite scene was (in addition to that legendary madeleine scene) when Proust described a childhood reading session in the garden. It was straight from my own childhood. During the summer I used to read in our garden so focused, that I didn't realise the day getting darker. The transitions between different memories were also executed well and naturally, as if the words were flowing from one place into another. As a whole though the novel was in need of editing, because now this is just way too long. I also kind of felt that while there's nothing wrong with Proust's writing talent, he just had some problems in constructing a whole novel. Like he didn't know what he was doing, but was trying feverishly to write all his ideas down. At least I have my limits with stream of consciousness.
I'm going to take a look at the second installment, but if that feels as sticky as this one I'll give up with the whole series. There's far too many books out there for me to torture myself with an uninteresting series. There's still hope, though. At least what I've gathered, this was a sort of introduction to the whole series, so as a whole the story hasn't properly begun yet. Or at least I hope that there will be at least a some kind of glimpse of a point.
Despite my negativity this still deserves three stars, for Proust's writing and for the potential for good stuff later on. So, for the most arrogant Proust fans whose comments I've seen here on Goodreads: stop being pretentious and eloquent jackasses. Not all classics are liked by everyone. To each his own.