Because though this volume is heavy on childhood reminiscence – the famous madeleine aide-memoire is in this book, as is a sizeable chunk of time dedicated to describing how a young Marcel can’t fall asleep – it sets out the main themes of the novel, namely memory and happiness. Who has the wherewithal or the time to read something that’s as long as it is, which essentially amounts to a weak dandy’s recounting of his life? Like Ulysses, its reputation precedes it, and honestly, were it not for forced pandemic lockdown, I’m pretty sure my copy would still be sitting on the shelf. The thing about In Search of Lost Time is that it’s one of those books which intimidates. But it’s also kind of perfect reading – escapism – for when you need a break from what’s going on outside.
It is, demonstrably, an indulgent fugue written by a mama’s boy with a fixation on minutiae and madeleines.
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