Reading this was one of the most wonderful experiences in my life, like diving into another, euphoric world. ( )

How does one review Marcel Proust?
Does one review the Parthenon or the Pyramids? -- the Taj Mahal?
What about the Grand Canyon, Great Wall of China, or Niagara Falls?
Can one credibly critique an Albert Einstein, Beethoven, or Vincent Van Gogh?
What's that you say? did I hear you correctly? you declared, "No!"?
Well, maybe it's just me; I'm certainly naive, but I didn't think so. ( )

Nothing is better than this. ( )

This is supposed to be one of the masterpieces of literature. This may be true, but I did not enjoy it. The narrators longwinded introspective descriptions of his childhood may seem to be very psychological acute, but I found them tedious. I couldn't help thinking that his exploration of memory was insightful while longing for an ordinary textbook of cognitive psychology. After half the book (volume one), I quit with the good feeling of having "done Proust". ( )

adorable ( )