Rating: 
Summary: Ambitious Yet Lifeless
Review: This book is a failure in its two major attempts: to entertain and to capture human thinking. Swann's Way is generally said to be written in the stream-of-consciousness technique. Having thus said that, I daresay it is a psychoanalytic error. Both important characters in this story (Swann and the narrator himself) think in a way that is entirely incredible. They take every little aspect of their uneventful lives and seem to put it under a microscope, leaving not a single detail of that aspect, that facet, undetected. They break it down to its indivisible remains. They're relentless; they peal away until there is nothing left. That is mainly why the book drags on so much. It seems as if Swann and the narrator (both of whom, it should forthwith be established, are boring as hell) are not average in any way. They are two psychologists who'd make Freud and Jung quiver to their very skeletons. Give me a break, I say. No one in real life thinks the way they do, taking pages upon endless pages in analyzing the minutiae, the most diminutive stuff that happens in their lives - stuff that in real-life goes totally ignored. Not being anything near a psychologist, I can easily tell that the characters in this story are faker than a toupee. At least Joyce, who is worlds more tedious than Proust at his worst, succeeded with near-perfect accuracy at transmitting man's consciousness from the brain to the paper. Proust, with his microscoped slides tightly clasped at the nucleus of his characters' brains, made a bad claim to the selfsame place Joyce later reached. Swann's Way, in this respect, is a dud; an exaggeration wrought by meticulosity. And then, of course, it must be remembered that it is also a work of fiction. But a deceptive work of fiction at that, for the first sentence promises a story that would never melt away into one's oblivion: "For a long time I would go to bed early." A simple sentence, so simple that it promises the reader that the story is filled with all possibilities. Anything may happen. But the reader soon learns that there are no possibilities, that the sense instilled into his mind by the first sentence is a false one. For in the end, nothing happens. Not that nothing is resolved, because that really doesn't matter - just that nothing happens. It's a long, boring cab-drive home. And those long sentences and long paragraphs that seem to make the pages cry, filled with those tremendous blocks of text - they are of no positive effect to the overall story, or any portion of it, for that matter. That is not to say that extensive writing like this is bad in literature, keeping in mind those few writers like Gabriel Garcia Marquez who made such wonderful use of his long stretches of paragraphs. Proust merely needed to trim his up, needed to remove all that bogus stream-of-consciousness. The story of M. Swann and his liaison with Mme Odette is so simple that any other writer would have taken up two hundred pages or less to tell it. But of course, now, there are the positives. To say that Swann's Way - with all its barren poetry - had no wonderful passages would be a perjury. A book of such longevity would as sure as hell-fire have a couple of things one would delight in reading. Early on in the story, for instance, the narrator describes the church towers, steeples, and belfries he sees overhead one day whilst walking home. The words he uses in conveying these sublime images into the reader's mind are so delicious the reader thereafter finds himself quickly turning the pages back to reread the passages in their entireties. Sometimes, Proust's words are like a Turkish Delight for the eyes. If the Moncrieff translation is this grand, one can only imagine how good the book is in its original language. Thus, for the tender sake of language, Swann's Way is a good book. There is a practice, an exercise into language in this book that, while not unprecedented, you seldom see in others. But all the rest is nothing more than a boring prose poem that serves as the overture to an epic that must surely be painstaking to finish.
Rating: 
Summary: Speak, memory!
Review: The first book of "In Search of Lost Time" consists of three independent but connected parts. The first one, "Combray", is a treatise on involuntary memory, triggered by Marcel's tasting of a pastry that automatically brings back memories of the old vacations at Combray, a fictionalized countryside town in France. The reader feels immediately identified with the character, since all of us have experienced the same. Sometimes, a scent, a face, a tune or a taste touches on an old, forgotten memory. The amazing thing here is that the taste of the pastry leads to one of the most daunting achievements in the history of literature: seven volumes of memories, of an undescribable beauty. This first part, as all the series (which is really one long novel) has an analytical, obssesive quality of extreme beauty. It is an homage to remembrances, to nostalgia and to the life that we recreate in our memory. The second part, "A love of Swann", is the most peculiar of the whole series. It is a step back in time, to tell a story that Marcel had heard in his family circle. Charles Swann, a wealthy Jewish banker and a friend of the family, fell once in love with a "cocotte" or courtisan, a vulgar woman who made him mad with an obsessive passion. The story, relevant to the subsequent development of events in the novel, is also a treaty on jealousy. It is an exasperating tale of passion, lust, betrayal and obsession, told in a straightforward and beautiful style. Its last line is brutally smashing. The third part, "Names of Lands: the Name" is perhaps the most poetic. It is another dissertation on the character's childhood memories, the evocations that the names of places bring about, and the first love, the daughter of Swann and the courtisan Odette de Crecy. Hundreds of books have been written about this magnum opus. It is art for the sake of art; the deepest treatise on memory and Time; literature of the highest sort; a pleasure in pure writing and reading. It is always useful to compare it to Joyce. While Joyce tries to capture the ever-running present, Proust's endeavour is to recapture that which is already gone: the Past. But the past, seems to say Proust, is not gone: it lives, in a disguised form, in our present memory. If you are a casual or lazy reader, read something else: this is reserved for true lovers of literature. And, I would say, for true lovers of themselves.
Rating: 
Summary: a victory of form over substance
Review: What a remarkable book! The characters are pathetic; their society is pathetic; their attitudes, motivations, interactions and miriad self-deceptions are hopelessly pathetic. Considering this, how can I possibly like the book? There are two reasons. First, the writing is often exquisite: the writer is clearly a master of this chaotic pathos. Second, in some undeniable way, this same pathos resonates with my personal experience. Readers who do not experience this resonance are not necessarily lacking. Rather, they may have had the good fortune of a more civilized society than the one Proust caricatures. For them, it is unlikely that the beauty of the language is sufficient to elevate the content beyond the pitiful fare that it is.
Rating:
Summary: It's All About the Language
Review: To be honest, I started reading this because I always felt that I should have and never got around to it, Proust being one of those "important" authors. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. Proust really seems to be about the beauty of language and description. The sentences and paragraphs are long but they flow beautifully and I appreciate an author who wants to say beautiful things as well as tell a story. Literature isn't all about plot. I'm sure something is lost in the translation but I really enjoyed this book.
Rating:
Summary: A bientot
Review: Curiosity first lead me to Proust. At first I didn't even now how his name was pronounced! But in my reading I had come across his name so many times I thought to myself "While I have this University Library at my disposal, I might as well check out some literary giants - Tolstoy, Cervantes, Thomas Mann, Shakespeare...and Proust" So here I am having just finished Swann's Way. It took me a week and I went straight through it, without ever feeling bored, on the contrary it was even exciting at times. At first I was bewildered by the looong sentences, then Proust's driving need for a goodnight kiss and how he could absolutely recreate insomnia on the page, and then I was caught up in the world of French Snobbery, of Courtesans, seaside holidays, maids and mass, love and jealousy, when, right at the point of most interest, from the whirlwind of the Champs Elysees to the Bois Boulogne, the novel finished with the words THE END (well, my edition did)and so now, like a soap opera addict, I'll have to tune into next time. One question, how old is Marcel (I call him that) meant to be when he meets Gilberte? I picture him at 7 or 8. Till next time
Rating:
Summary: wonderful
Review: This is just an incredible book.
Rating: 
Summary: art for art's sake
Review: As far as beautiful prose and art for art's sake, it doesn't get much better than Proust. Only Joyce, Genet, and Melville have so intoxicated me with their styles; which i would call carnivorously, brutally gorgeous - though Proust is somewhat more delicate and sentimental (however persuasive his sentiment), he is equally omnivorous. Before picking up Swann's Way i was reading Gide and conviced that his was the voice most suited to my taste; subjectively speaking, the "perfect" voice. Gide is pure, simple and strong. But here was Proust, who said in a gigantic, intimidating sentence what Gide said in a taut one - but Proust said it better. He elucidates. He doesn't just put it into words, he makes it flesh. I felt i was understanding not just intellectually but almost experientually. His prose is living and all encompassing; scientific but mystical, sentimental yet detatched; irrevocablly convincing. He impresses, almost singularly among artists, the reality of his genius. Still, it seems to be art for art's sake, and for my money, i'll take a Dostoyevski, with his "novel of ideas" anyday.
Rating:
Summary: Is it possible to become absorbed by an author's world?
Review: Less than a year ago I began Swann's Way and tossed it aside after less than a hundred pages, disgusted at young Marcel's mewing dependence on his mother's goodnight kiss. For some reason I picked the book up again a few months later and started back at the beginning. This time I overcame my disgust and proceeded to finish the book. And then I was hooked. Three months ago I finished all six, and two weeks ago I began Swann's Way again. This time I had different insights and different likes and dislikes. At random times I will have a Proustian insight. It is easy to loathe the writer and his affectations and neuroses, but having read his work, one cannot dismiss the depth of language and feeling.
Rating:
Summary: You think your sentences are long? Oh yeah?
Review: Writers are always wipping out their sentences, seeing whose is longer, in some type of testosterone-induced competition. This being said Proust (for all his flowery prose and sentimental yearnings) has to be the most virile and manly author; the man is capable of one long sentence, raising the awe and eyebrows of other writers. Are you looking for plot? Let's just say that the muffin the narrator begins eating in volume 1 doesn't get finished off until volume 2.... the rest is tangential, reminiscent, nostalgic. At times I had an allergic reaction to the syrupy prose that left me with a howling headache, but nevertheless the sublime achievments of this book outweigh such moments. However the Swann in Love section I found tedious and misplaced. I found myself editing and revising chunks of it. Although i think Proust is phenomenal at writing of the "ebb and tide of memory", i can only handle him in small doses, say have a volume every 10 years. Therefore, provided I live until the age of 174, I should be able to finish the whole of In Search of Lost Time.
Rating:
Summary: This Internal Dialogue of Stalled Thinking Is Irresistible
Review: All of us have self-talk, which is quite different from the way we converse with each other or write. Proust has captured self-talk in a delightful display of stream-of-consciousness writing that is unequaled in literature. You will find yourself remembering many of the same thoughts in your own self-talk. By focusing inward, Proust succeeds in portraying much of what is universal about all of humanity. Unlike Joyce, who employed the same technique, Proust is easy and delightful to follow. You will sense beauty in thought that will make you glad to be alive. It will also stimulate you to notice more about the world around you and your reactions to it. Do be aware that an internally-focused book does not have a lot of action and drama in it. On the other hand, neither does most of life. I think Proust has captured the essence of human life in a very valuable way. But if you like Dirk Pitt novels and little else, you would do well to avoid Swann's Way. The main drawback of self-talk is that we often build hurdles where there are none. We often talk ourselves out of things that we should pursue. As a result, our thinking stalls our ability to act. You will find lots of delicious examples of this in the hypochondria explored in this book. Although this book is rarely assigned in literature classes, almost everyone would benefit from reading it. You can best use it as a mirror to see yourself better. That should make for a tasty dish that is irresistible once tasted. Bon appetit!
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