Swann's Way (1913)

if not for my ADHD medication, i'd have daydreamed while reading this whole book. none the less, i got through it. if not for the fact that it's a classic and on so many reading lists, i'd have put it down before the first fifty pages. ( )

I give this two stars instead of one because the rich prose and intertwined structure show that this is Literature-with-a-capital-L.

That being said, I did not enjoy the book. The characters were narrow minded and judgmental. Their lives were artificial. There was little that appealed and some that appalled.

On the appalled side of things, one of the key themes of the book was unhealthy relationships that arise when women are idealized to the point where the abstractions completely replace the human underneath. This similar reduction of women to nothing more than an image in mens' minds showed up in two separate passages condemning lesbians (at length, but to be fair Proust does everything at length).

Another element I did not like was the presentation of various key relationships. Parallel structure was used to show similar dynamics between the narrator and his mother, the titular character and a courtesan, and the narrator and the daughter of the former couple. Even though noteworthy from a literary sense, the very clear and intentional parallels between a relationship between children and a sexual relationship between two adults were rather off-putting for me.

I don't condemn the book. I think that if the theme of men obsessing over their idealizations of women is attractive (and the reader doesn't mind lavish descriptions), then this could be an amazing read. Personally, I found nothing generative there. ( )

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It took me sometime to understand this book, at least halfway through part 2. Once I realised the purpose was not a narrative but rather a stream of consciousness, one person's experiences and remembrances I really began to enjoy it. So much so that I think I should read it again to properly appreciate it. ( )

All at once both spectacular and a slog which I suppose would make perfect sense to Proust. A sensuous florid exploration of memory, love, jealousy, desire, melancholy and the gyrations of the mind. There were descriptions of scenes that almost took your breath away, they were so novel and correct. ( )