Paperback, 444 pages

English language

Published Nov. 29, 2004 by Penguin Classics.

ISBN:
978-0-14-243796-4
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OCLC Number:
58600745

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4 stars (9 reviews)

Marcel Proust's In Search of Lost Time is one of the most entertaining reading experiences in any language and arguably the finest novel of the twentieth century. But since its original prewar translation there has been no completely new version in English. Now, Penguin brings Proust's masterpiece to new audiences throughout the world, beginning with Lydia Davis's internationally acclaimed translation of the first volume, Swann's Way.

Swann's Way is one of the preeminent novels of childhood: a sensitive boy's impressions of his family and neighbors, all brought dazzlingly back to life years later by the taste of a madeleine. It also enfolds the short novel "Swann in Love," an incomparable study of sexual jealousy that becomes a crucial part of the vast, unfolding structure of In Search of Lost Time. The first volume of the work that established Proust as one of the finest voices of the modern …

41 editions

Review of "Swann's Way (In Search of Lost Time, #1)" on 'Goodreads'

3 stars

Revisiting an author I avoided when I studied French at university, I was surprised that Proust's writing was more accessible than I had feared. Not that it immediately grabs you: the vast sentences with their minute analysis of characters' motives ("Nooo, not another subclause - my puny intellect can't cope!") engages you only slowly. Don't look for a page-turning twist-driven plot here. What you get is a sort of beautifully-written, melancholy and contemplative retrospective set in fin de siecle France and driven by the big themes of love and memory.

Review of "Swann's way." on 'Goodreads'

5 stars

The last time I read this was in the early 1980s and so it is with a nearly empty set of preconceptions that I am returning to it now to begin this centennial Year of Reading Proust. I do remember the sensation of the words just washing over me, not being quite sure what they were describing (now I can see that the book has virtually no plot and just enough action to keep the prose stirred up a little), and no clear impression of where the rest of the series would go, except certainly later in the life of the Narrator. Proust writes as if he can divide up perception into its constituent atoms and chart the way their paths evolve over time, assembling these bits into a portrait fixed at a particular time and place only if it suits his purposes of depicting a certain character or spotlighting …

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