The Fury that Proust Provokes: The Fugitive: Volume VI of In Search of Lost Time

I don't even know what to say at this point.

This isn't a book review as much as it is an emotional check in

The more I read of this novel, the better I understand every little strand and string and realize that it's quite genius what Proust has done.

The absolute fury that is running through me right now though is another story.

THIS guy...THIS friggin guy... and we end volume VI with Gilberte's admission? Like... what? (You had to be there and I'd rather drink a cup of cut glass than spoil a novel for you, so you gotta read it to get it).

Walks to remember. Inspired by Proust

Proust's words wind up jumping into my memory. Reading him is a slow savoring process, and now I find myself turning the pages like a kid eating Halloween candy. Then, I go back and reread what I just made it through and it sinks in...

He is a jealous, neurotic, obsessive, manipulative self-centered asshole. Ahhh... That was cathartic.

Just when I thought there would be some pain for our narrator to experience and rightfully so... Proust does THIS to me? What? Why why oh why! And the revelations that this volume produces is better than watching Maury Povich tell someone, "You are not the father". 

Anyone who convinces you there is no drama to be found in the classics hasn't read Hardy or Proust or Austen.

I am so beyond excited to be moving on to Time Regained. I won't regain any of my time this year that I spent reading this work, and I'm glad that it took as long as it did.

I will let the pain and anguish from the twist in The Fugitive settle into me, and go straight into the next volume. I know that I'm baking myself a pie to celebrate finishing this novel.

Onwards and upwards my slow reading friends.