Proust arrives before the reader carrying a certain amount of baggage. There are also one or two prejudices. And I, too, had my preconceived notions about him.

I initially thought his prose was highly experimental, given that it is an important modernist work. (In fact, it's not as experimental as I thought; it's closer in style to George Eliot, Bronte's Villette, and Dostoevsky than to Virginia Woolf.) Consequently, I believed it would be difficult to read, and I'd even come across the advice to read only 10 pages a day. (However, it's not actually that hard, and personally, I wouldn't want to spend that much time in his obsessive mind.) I thought his prose was overly flowery and overwritten. (It's not really flowery, but his sentences can be meandering.) And I thought he was writing about nothing and that it was all very boring. (Well, it's not entirely true that it's about nothing, but let's put a pin in that for now.)

I was anticipating a struggle through overly ornate and purple prose, and I was prepared to be annoyed by it. But to my surprise, in the first 150 pages, I discovered an astute observer of human nature, precision in his prose, and even lightness and humor.

My enjoyment, however, was uneven. On one hand, the book shone when he was being introspective, musing about memory, exploring how we humans experience the world, even when reading novels, and observing his relatives and servants. That's where he truly shines. In those first 150 pages.

For what other lifetime was he reserving the moment when he would at last say seriously what he thought of things, formulate opinions that he did not have to put between quotation marks..

thus our heart changes, in life, and it is the worst pain; but we know it only through reading, through our imagination: in reality it changes, as certain phenomena of nature occurs, slowly enough so that, even if we are able to observe successfully each of it’s different states, we are still spared the actual sensation of change

It is the same with our past. It is a waste of effort for us to try to summon it, all the exertions of our intelligence are useless. The past is hidden outside the realm of our intelligence and beyond its reach, in some material object (in the sensation that this material object would give us) which we do not suspect. It depends on chance whether we encounter this object before we die, or do not encounter it.

And here he directly addresses us, the readers. I found it quite amusing.

when by chance I happened to encounter in one of his books a thought that I had already had myself, my heart would swell as though a god had declared legitimate and beautiful

Now let's return to that pin. The scope of this book, with its themes of connecting sadism, domination, possession, and calling it "love", he keeps circling around them and repeating the same thoughts over and over again. And it was interesting the first five times he mentioned them. But not so much on the hundredth mention.

I loved her, I was sorry I had not had the time or the inspiration to insult her, hurt her, and force her to remember me. I thought her so beautiful that I wished I could retrace my steps and shout at her with a shrug of my shoulders: 'I think you're ugly, I think you're grotesque, I loathe you! '

Then again:

just as what I needed so that I could go to sleep happy, with that untroubled peace which no mistress has been able to give me since that time because one doubts them even at the moment one believes in them, and can never possess their hearts as I received in a kiss my mother's heart, complete, without the reservation of an afterthought, without the residue of an intention that was not for me

Then he illustrated it once more with Swann’s story. At least he is self-aware, though:

Then, too, he belonged to that category of intelligent men who have lived idle lives and who seek a consolation and perhaps an excuse in the idea that this idleness offers their intelligence objects just as worthy of interest as art or scholarship could offer, that 'Life' contains situations more interesting, more novelistic than any novel. So he declared, at least and easily convinced even the sharpest of his friends

I really did not enjoy the celebrated Swann in love novella within this novel. It started out interesting but then it陷入了无休止的内省循环，不断重复关于“爱”的相同五个观察结果。

I just found it all so repetitive, and we still have 5 more volumes, each around 600 pages long, left. I read pages about beautiful flowers, the beauty of the church, the beauty of the rain, and those were enjoyable. But not so much Swann’s obsessive analyzing and reanalyzing for pages and pages of the nature of his obsession with Odette. It was just the same thoughts over and over again. Then there was some Princess talking with some Dutchess about something for pages and pages long (I don't know what, I mentally checked out during it). There was just too little substance. The life he describes is so drowsy and lethargic. But perhaps there will be something new and interesting in the next volumes.

By the way, does my review sound repetitive?

In conclusion: I liked the first 150 pages very much, but didn't like anything else. I guess I'm cautiously optimistic about the continuation of the story.

'Swann's Way' was the first Proust novel I picked up during my high school years. From the very first pages, I was filled with an intense curiosity and realized that this book in my hands was vastly different from everything I had read until then and of a much higher caliber. I tried to keep going. As time passed and my mind developed along with me, 'Swann's Way' became one of the first books I read multiple times. This morning, when I woke up, I went to the corner where my books that I haven't separated from for years are kept and took 'Swann's Way', feeling a need to read it a bit. (Yesterday I read 'The Master and Margarita' for a long time. I think it's the influence of that. Although I really like Russian literature, it sometimes makes me feel the need to take a break.) Then I saw that I hadn't made a comment here and wanted to say a few words.

Reading 'In Search of Lost Time' is a unique adventure in itself. It requires the reader to be completely focused at one time, and this is very difficult. I have finished it once and now I am reading the series for the second time. This time, slowly, savoring. I am in the midst of 'The Captive' and there is always something I notice: I feel an endless pleasure while reading. I see that the feelings that I know are passing through my mind but that I can't define in some way are poured into writing by Proust with the meticulousness of a scientist. As if Proust can look into the souls, pasts, futures, and feelings of his characters with his eyes. He can see all the abstract things in a concrete way. Every kind of human weakness, desire, feeling, thought, idea; with its tiniest details and, in my opinion, with the volume that it is truly lived in life, it takes its place.

The theme of 'memories' is also particularly interesting. Powerful triggers such as music, smell, and trauma can take us on a kind of journey in our past. This is a psychological thing anyway. And I think that this is also at the root of classic melancholy. Especially since the 20th century, I think that these kinds of mental processes that modern humans experience stem from the longing for what is lost. A whole bunch of things like death, love, longing, jealousy, their relationships with each other, create a kind of hallucinatory situation. A kind of human and natural simulation. I don't think we can mostly follow this working simulation and that we are aware of it. I see 'In Search of Lost Time' as proof that Proust's awareness is stronger than ours and that he has a talent that we don't have to be able to put this into writing.

I often hear that many readers find the sentences in 'Swann's Way' extremely long and complex. I would recommend them to be patient. Because no other volume of 'In Search of Lost Time' has sentences of that kind in a way that requires continuity. Also, this is partly the work of Roza Hakmen. The translator is not just a tool here but takes a place as a powerful artist like the author. We must not overlook her. Because when we look at Roza Hakmen's other translations, we can see the emphasis that reminds us of 'In Search of Lost Time'. Especially in Javier Marias' 'The Face Tomorrow' series.

My favorite parts are the second part of 'Swann's Way', 'Swann's Love', the fourth volume 'Sodom and Gomorrah', the sixth volume 'Albertine Disappeared', and the last volume 'Time Regained'. I think the hardest part is 'The Guermantes Way'. The only times I really felt distant from Proust were especially in the second half of 'The Guermantes Way'.

If you can't enjoy Proust, there can be many reasons for this. But I don't think that something like Proust writing badly is one of them.

Happy reading to everyone!

10/10

My initial encounter with Proust's sentences vividly recalled my previous experiences with Henry James'.

Both of them construct sentences that are not only long, filled with multiple clauses and asides, but also require immediate rereading upon first encounter to trace back to their origins. However, the second reading is always smooth.

Unlike James, where the psychological insights might seem paradoxical and even difficult to understand, Proust's insights are presented in a more accessible way, often eliciting a nod of recognition from the reader.

Just as a sculptor is said to uncover what already exists within a block of unformed marble, Proust has managed to put into words the feelings and knowledge that a sympathetic reader already has, yet he does so with fresh and vivid imagery.

Admittedly, there were a few instances when I felt fatigued by the repetitiveness of Swann's obsessiveness, and the same was true for a couple of short passages in the narrator's bookends. Nevertheless, each time my weariness was short-lived, and I was soon drawn back into the flowing current of the story.

The closing section of the novel beautifully unified the entire work into a cohesive whole.

*

My personal aside: I googled every work of art mentioned, and I am certain that I will never view a Botticelli female in the same way again, as Proust's descriptions have forever changed my perception.

I am now eagerly anticipating the next volume.

The first volume of "Recherche," often read independently of the rest. Hence, doubtless, that "Du côté de chez Swann" contains some of the most famous scenes in Proust's work: the initial insomnia, the evening kiss in Combray, the little madeleine dipped in a cup of linden tea and involuntary memory, the duo Aunt Léonie/ Françoise, the tombstones of Saint-Hilaire church, the reading of Bergotte, the opposite paths (the Swann side/ the Guermantes side), the first encounter with Gilberte, the "Gomorrah" Mlle Vinteuil, the Martinville steeples at dusk, the Vinteuil sonata, the seduction scene among the cattleyas between Swann and Odette, the worldly manners at the Verdurins' (halfway between "Les Précieuses Ridicules" and George Grosz), the jealousy scenes, the games on the Champs-Élysées with Gilberte.

The famous long fluid sentences, the descriptions of microscopic events, which string together propositions and adjectives over entire paragraphs, are also there, often precious, somewhat pompous, but truly, they are read almost effortlessly and give the whole an impression of continuous flow, punctuated here and there by very short sentences (e.g. : "Dead forever? It was possible."). There is something musical in Proust's prose, rhythmic games, omnipresent assonances — although sometimes a little forced (the "headless and stubborn" tree on the last page?).

There is also, in this novel, a very clear pictorial ambition (the gradations of white, pink and rainbow that announce the first encounter with Gilberte with black and blue eyes). Doubtless this play on words, these melodies and syncopations of the phrasing, these colors and lights form a set of synesthesias and push Baudelaire's project to the point where it becomes a "total work of art." Note, incidentally, that Proust, when describing reality, constantly refers to the arts (painting, sculpture, architecture, music, theater), in this closer to Flaubert or Sacher-Masoch. To the point, of course, that everything that happens to the young protagonist as to Swann is constantly filtered not only through memory and dream, but also and especially through the history of the arts.

Nevertheless, the overall structure and economy of this first volume leaves me a little thoughtful, especially the presence of this large interlude on the relationship between Swann and Odette ("Un amour de Swann") in the middle of the narrator's childhood memories. This lack of unity and narrative continuity doubtless recalls the nested stories of "The Arabian Nights" and "Don Quixote," or even "L’apologie de Raimond Sebond" in the middle of "The Complete Essays." It also suggests that this nouvelle about Swann is like a small picture of love and jealousy, set in a much larger framework and which serves as its central thematic cell or resonator box. Hence, of course, that it may seem curious, or even rather unwise, to read this first volume of "Recherche" as a separate and autonomous novel. To be continued, then.

> Next volume: "À l'ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs"

NB: read with the group "Marcel Proust, \\"La Recherche\\"". A big thank you to its other contributors.

OVERTURE

For a long time, I had the habit of reading really bad books. I've mentioned this before, but it serves as a reminder to me of just how bad "bad" can be and how incredibly good it feels to read good books. It's damn good! I owe my knowledge of all those great books entirely to Goodreads. So, as far as I was concerned, the last quarter of 2012 was all about reading Infinite Jest, about David Foster Wallace, and about reading and loving him. However, there was another name that was making the rounds in this happening corner of our beloved Goodreads - Proust. Proust what? Yes! My level of ignorance was so astonishing that I started my questions with "what" instead of "who". A quick glance at the reviews gave me a fair idea that Proust was someone I should have read a long time ago. But the right place, right time, and all that jazz made me join the Proust Group (a great group), and that's what I did - I started reading.

SLEEPVILLE

So, this is what it felt like. When almost all your friends highly praise a book, but when you finally get around to reading it, you can't understand what all the fuss is about, and the emotion you experience is something close to envy, envying the fact that you can't appreciate something as much as others do. Proust basically put me to sleep. The brilliance of his prose is so obvious that one can't ignore it even if they try deliberately, but I had a hard time getting myself interested in what he was saying. Each turn of the page was usually accompanied by a long, eye-watering yawn, leaving me embarrassed by my own insensitivity. I was bored, restless, and freaked out at the idea of reading more than 600 pages of something I wasn't exactly beginning to "love". I started reading all the negative reviews (Paul Bryant never disappoints) to find some comfort in them. I laughed at the "cookie" jokes too. And the biggest problem was that I wasn't looking for any motivation to read it. I found the group too intimidating with so much information around that I gave up the idea of even going through any of the ongoing discussions. But then again, I'm a lousy group reader anyway. However, there was no question of abandoning this book because, as I mentioned, the writing is just to die for. I briefly considered postponing it for a future read, but I was waiting for someone to fall in love.

GARIMA IN LOVE (?)

But sometimes, motivation is found in the most unlikely circumstances and when you least expect it. One lazy weekend, a movie, and a quote:

Dwayne: I wish I could just sleep until I was eighteen and skip all this crap - high school and everything - just skip it.
Frank: You know Marcel Proust?
Dwayne: He's the guy you teach.
Frank: Yeah. French writer. Total loser. Never had a real job. Unrequited love affairs. Gay. Spent 20 years writing a book almost no one reads. But he's also probably the greatest writer since Shakespeare. Anyway, he uh… he gets down to the end of his life, and he looks back and decides that all those years he suffered, those were the best years of his life, 'cause they made him who he was. All those years he was happy? You know, total waste. Didn't learn a thing. So, if you sleep until you're 18… Ah, think of the suffering you're gonna miss. I mean high school? High school - those are your prime suffering years. You don't get better suffering than that.

A change in perspective followed next, and this was at a time when I was about to begin the "Swann in Love" part. Among all the adjectives at my disposal, I chose Serendipity because what else could it be? These small sentimental things do happen because they matter, and soon I found that Proust was finally speaking to me. He was using my language, about which I cared deeply. I felt for him because he gave voice to the emotions I had experienced myself. It was so easy to say that this man could be nothing else but a writer. And I was finally in love too. I marked quote after beautiful quote, but I'm not including any of them here because this is more like a whining article for most of it than a proper review. Proper and awesome reviews are written by Kalliope, Aubrey, Fionnuala, Sven, Ian, and many others. So here's the deal I've made with myself: To carefully read this volume again before moving on to other volumes, to appreciate the beauty not only of the words but also what they signify, and to have a nice French vacation in Proust Land. I won't give sleep much of a chance and will instead spend my time on literary sightseeing. And then, I'll post a review that this book truly deserves.

The pursuit of the mind, unwavering and resolute, as it traverses the convoluted paths of memory, kindles a fierce ardor within. This ardor compels one to seek and regain that which has been long lost and lies far away.

As we read this profound work, those moments are brought forth, moments that demand us to remain in our original stance. These moments, like a gentle breeze, infuse vigor and clear the path for memories to ascend. They captivate us, leaving us spellbound and entranced.

How incredibly fortunate we are to encounter such moments within the most exquisitely written prose! It is a delicacy, a treat for the famished soul to behold and relish.

The reading of this work seizes the present and uncovers those lovely moments hidden deep within the recesses of our hearts. A simple stroll with the narrator transforms the steeple into an ancient building, the madeline into a sweet dish that embodies the warmth of the lovely soul who prepared it, and 'that corner at the street' into a long-forgotten point in the past that still holds us captive as if we were children.

All these moments are truly lovely, made even more so by the fact that they have passed and will never return, except in our memories.

The beautiful lines quoted earlier inspire us to seek solitude, to plunge deep into our thoughts, and to explore and contemplate what is essential to our existence. Are we truly living each day, or are we merely allowing life to happen to us?

In the chaos and madness of everyday life, those moments that mean the most to us are often unconsciously overlooked and forgotten. It is these very moments that we search for long after they have gone. And in a desperate attempt to avoid the remorse, we often find ourselves in a state of even more acute awareness of the loss.

Proust, however, is not only aware of such moments but allows them to linger on in life, in memories, and in his writing. This way, seekers like us can gaze upon them in wonder and be rewarded with the pleasure of reliving the ones we have long lost.

My inability to find the right words to express myself speaks volumes about the extent to which my heart is filled with joy and wishes to remain in those moments for just a little while longer. Let me continue to linger and soak in their beauty.

I have to take a moment to mention how beautiful and important this book seems to me. It has charm, elegance, frivolity, beauty, sweetness, sadness, everything. It is essential and hard to get out of my head. I stop reading it for the day and I carry with me images, phrases, incredible things that are written there, and that萦绕 me all day. I read the first three books of "In Search of Lost Time", but so much time has passed since I read them, so: What excitement to read it as if it were the first time.

Well, now I have finished it, and with a bit of nostalgia and a desire to read it a lot, for the musicality it has to remain integrated into my days. For those images, of his childhood, his memories, his sadness, to remain echoing long after having read it. I don't know if it is considered a difficult book, at times I found myself rereading entire paragraphs, but it was rather because there was such a concentration of beautiful images that I didn't want to miss anything. If remembering is so beautiful, I want to remember my entire life, to see if my own nostalgias give some poetry to my memories.

Swann and his Odette really drove me to despair at times. But the abandonment of Swann to his own life is so beautiful that I liked something about it, and the portrayal of society in Paris is impeccable. The memory of his aunt, the life of his family, his close ones, everything is so beautiful and memorable that it is hard for me to stop writing this praise to the beauty of Proust. What excitement to read it, I recommend it so much, I want to read it always.

“Will it reach the surface of my limpid consciousness - this memory, this old moment which the attraction of an identical moment has come so far to summon, to move, to raise up from my very depths? I don’t know. Now I no longer feel anything, it has stopped, gone back down perhaps; who knows if it will ever rise up from its darkness again?”

Swann’s Way is an exquisitely-written book that delves deep into the realm of past memories and reminiscences. The two main storylines in the book offer a captivating exploration. The first follows the narrator’s childhood memories, painting a vivid picture of a sensitive, observant child who is a passionate lover of nature, books, and architecture. His memories are described with such beauty and detail that one can easily envision the scenes.

The second storyline, that of Swann and Odette, presents a truly complex and messed-up relationship. Swann is an intriguing character, especially in the way he compares women to art pieces, never truly seeing them for who they are.

To me, this book serves as a powerful reminder that a novel doesn’t require an extraordinary storyline to be a masterpiece. Despite the lack of remarkable events, it is one of the best books I have ever read.

The language in this book is simply sublime and demands to be savored. I found myself reading at a much slower pace than usual, often re-reading passages to fully appreciate the nuances. Proust’s use of language is truly unique, as demonstrated by his lyrical description of asparagus.

Proust also provides an interesting, and at times scandalous and amusing, portrayal of French society. Characters like Monsieur Bloch add a touch of humor with their eccentricities.

If the remaining six volumes of this series are anything like this one, I am in for a real treat. I highly recommend this book to anyone who appreciates beautiful writing and a deep exploration of the human psyche.

I’m on a life raft, adrift in a vast sea of words. I’m pulled into swirling tidal pools, where I observe the rich and vibrant forms that spawn like phantasmagoric aliens. These forms once seemed mundane, but only because no one had observed them so closely before. I’m then pulled deep down by the undertow, where I note the hilarious mating habits in-situ of the foolish Parrot Fish. After that, I’m pulled out across hyaline waters that sparkle like blue diamonds, to drift peacefully in the doldrums. But then, I’m abruptly dashed over great cataclysms of horror and despair.

I’m a fool, a madman, an obsessive-compulsive. I’m as fragile as a porcelain flower, a mother whose son was taken from her before it could breast-feed. I’m a laser, a microscope, a telescope, a catalog, a representation of the inner life of an artist much deeper than any Portrait of. I am going Swann’s Way.

If one were a close observer of both (in)humanity and other (in)organic states, with an addiction to documenting one’s thoughts, one might spend a lifetime writing a never-ending story. This would be an inevitable (and eternally recurring in its inevitability because words can never capture the entirety of reality) failed attempt to capture all of life in a mad swoop. Much of literature (if not all) is an attempt to capture at least some corner of this life, whether it be outer or inner. But for Proust, that corner bursts out tesseract to encompass the very existence of a man from childhood until elderhood through the prism of memory. And not just anyone’s memory, but clearly the memory of an autistic savant who can conjure up the texture of a grain of sand in the crease of the toe of a boot worn on a particular day.

The unfurling of these thoughts is as delicate as the dance of a sea anemone in a gentle undersea breeze, yet it can also be as brutal as a breeze that rips the limbs off the anemone and taunts you with the inner juices dripping from the dismembered tentacle. At times, I couldn’t take this torture, the agony and horror of Swann’s idiotic, naïve love. And perhaps, even more so, the horror of seeing my own reflection in Swann’s way. Knowing how he ends up, even if not knowing how he gets to that ending (because I haven’t yet read the subsequent books of In Search of Lost Time), makes it all the more painful. Thank Proust for the slapstick hypochondria of Auntie Leonie and the aristocratic wit and folly that brighten the murder of love.

Softly flowing linguistic slitherings mingle with crisp literary devices, even mundane ones like cliffhangers. There are also profoundly philosophical musings that achieve near Zen-states of enlightenment, and an unparalleled grasp of language. All of this induces me to declare Swann’s Way to be the work of a schizophrenic witch, and the greatest work of literature ever written. And this is only book one. But nothing I’ve ever read compares to it. Which isn’t to say I haven’t received a greater degree of pleasure from other works, but pleasure is not the only measure of success. In fact, as Buddhism would ask you to consider, pleasure is ephemeral and disappointing. One doesn’t read Proust for “fun.” One reads Proust to become lost, amazed, and weakened, to learn, struggle, and grow, and, in the end, to admire what it is possible to create with dedication, passion, and skill.

On a final mundane note, I do highly recommend this edition. Although I haven’t read the Moncrieff version, based on the quality of Lydia Davis’ gorgeous translation and the notes in the preface regarding the errors and personal emendations made by Moncrieff to Proust’s writing, I would hazard that this is a superior version. Welcome to a peculiar world.

**"Pre-Purchase or the Unfamiliar Stranger"**

When the book "Crime and Punishment" was 18,000 tomans, I was a student and didn't buy it because I said it was expensive. But at the end of this year, I bought the book for 48,000 tomans! Although it has become even more expensive now; the gap between the first crime and the second crime is filled with a "time" that I call "the lost time". And now I have been looking for the lost time for a long time.

**"After Purchase"**
It doesn't matter if you know "searching", it doesn't matter if you bought its course or borrowed it from the library, and it doesn't even matter if you have read this seven-volume book. Because all these things are easy and accessible. What is difficult is to go deep into this novel and understand its angles. This review of yours shows how much you have been able to penetrate its depths.
Mahdi Sohabi's review is an excellent introduction, written in 50 pages about the Persian translation of this book. Dariush Shayegan's review is of the book "The Magic Lantern of Time" and Alain de Botton's review is of the book "How Proust Can Change Your Life".

This book, as Proust introduces it, is a fictional-philosophical book, and the author has been in the process of "reaching the essence of things" and has been very successful in this regard. The longest novel in the history of literature, in search of lost time, has two dimensions. One is the fictional dimension and the other is the philosophical dimension. The fictional dimension actually has the function of the bead of praise, and the philosophical dimension has the function of the grains of praise. Both must be received together because neither the bead is beautiful by itself nor the grain. But when they are combined, they create a new thing with a new application.

This book is full of Proust's judgments and interpretations of the world, criticism of art, and the qualities of human states. His judgments are readable, but his artistic criticisms, such as the ability to be scientific and measurable in the laboratory, do not have. They cannot be refuted, although many of Proust's psychological interpretations are boldly considered heretical. Because modern psychology now knows that the spiritual and mental qualities of humans have specific causes.

**"Love only appears according to our own rules, it is an investment of imagination that we invest in a person with a certain face."|Maurice Barrès**
The topic that attracted attention in the first volume of this novel was the authenticity of the feeling called love. Love is a pleasurable process for humans. Both because it causes chemical changes in the brain and because for a while, albeit short, we feel safe and get rid of anxiety. But why (at first) instead of falling in love with someone, we don't fall in love with a friend, neighbor, or colleague of someone is worth examining.
Imagine if all women or all men had the same face, it would be difficult for us to find our love. Or if we had to find our love only from the face (something like an album) before we could see and hear someone's behavior and speech, what chaos would come. Although common sense says, "When we take a woman's heart into our heart, we should ask ourselves: Who are her surroundings? What has her life been like? All the happiness of life is based on this." But our soul and our unconscious conscience reject all these shoulds when we see a familiar face or behavior in someone, and love or hatred towards him appears in us, which is the result of the comparison that the unconscious conscience makes with the bank of information that has been collected during life.
Since the personality of each person is formed in his childhood, the role of men and women in a relationship has two general states. The man has the role of father or son in the relationship. The woman has the role of mother or daughter in the relationship. Or the man is the son and the woman is the mother. Or the man is the father and the woman is the daughter. Now, if this relationship is to be formed at the age of sixteen, it will be formed at the age of fifty. Of course, I mean relationships in which both parties feel satisfied with the relationship, not just any relationship. If in a relationship, a girl who has learned the role of mother and a boy who has learned the role of father are forced to live together, they will not have a successful relationship.

**"About the First Volume: The Side of the Swann House"**
This book consists of three parts. The first part is about the author's childhood, the second part is about the author's first love experiences, and the third part is about the author's love adventures in youth. And if we look at it with a psychological lens, everything fits together. That is, they have a causal relationship.
In the first part, the side of the Swann House, which is about the narrator's childhood, he talks about the pains and discomforts that he suffers from the continuous coldness of his mother, and one of his greatest regrets is that his mother kisses him before going to bed. A kiss that his mother often deprives him of. His father is also a man who has been busy with himself and has not had much affection for his son. As a result, the personality of this child is burdened in such a way that in the second part, the part of puberty and love relationships, the narrator falls in love with an unnamed and heartless woman, and he has to constantly strive and struggle to attract the attention and love of that woman, and the interesting thing is that the narrator also enjoys this effort and tricks.
The love pattern that is described in the third part of the book is about an unfaithful girl and similar to the woman that was talked about in the second part of the book. And the first volume comes to an end.
Something that seemed interesting to me in a comparative study was that in the novels "Crime and Punishment" and also "The Catcher in the Rye", the heroes of the story tried to attract the attention of unnamed women. It seems that this feature is common in Proust, Dostoyevsky, and Salinger, and it seems that they have had similar childhoods. Although we know fewer writers or artists who have survived their childhood intact.
Reading the first volume in search of lost time was interesting for me and was very enjoyable. The course of the novel was such that attention had to be constantly attached to the novel. It was like a thick syrup that had to be written a little and tasted, and it couldn't be drunk like water in one breath. Proust wrote this book in bed, in a room whose walls he had covered with soundproof tiles. In a state of isolation. Reading it also requires such an environment!

Reading a book for the first time is an extraordinary and thrilling adventure, filled with a plethora of emotions and sensations.

You're elated because of the joy of embarking on another journey, nervous due to your expectations, and curious because of the reviews you've read or things you've heard about the story. It's akin to going on a first date, where everything is new and exciting. If the book (or the person) proves to be truly interesting, you can't wait to discover more and more.

Once the initial excitement subsides and the euphoria fades, and you've become familiar with the story and are serious about your and its intentions, it's time to determine whether you can envision a long-term commitment. This commitment isn't about obligations or compromises, but rather an alignment of expectations, a convergence of desires, and a sense of companionship.

If the answer is yes, then it's time to re-read the book. You already know the story, the characters, and what it has given you so far, but you sense that there's still more to absorb and learn. This was precisely my feeling when I decided to re-read Swann's Way. I wanted to deepen my experience with it and needed to go through it all again.

Re-encountering the characters for a second time allowed me to notice certain traits that I might have overlooked during my first read. Just like when you meet someone and aren't always sure if they'll be a significant part of your life, you might not give them the attention they deserve. Now, after getting to know and care for them, re-reading their first words and the first descriptions of them felt like opening an old photo album and seeing how much younger and different your friends were.

Du côté de chez Swann was first published in 1913, with Proust footing the bill after it was rejected by leading editors who had been offered the longhand manuscript.

Upon the release of this first volume of the Recherche, Marcel Proust was lauded for his remarkable effort, which I would argue was more of an accomplishment. However, his work was also criticized for lacking structure. Another aspect that I greatly appreciated during my second reading of Swann's Way was noticing how there are no loose ends in Proust's narrative and how everything comes together, but only after reading the entire work. Sections that I didn't fully understand the first time around now seemed clear to me as essential parts of the story, contributing to the overall coherence and brilliance of the work.

The general themes of the book are introduced in the first part, with the masterful opening pages about the confusion between sleeping, dreaming, and being awake. This section serves as a perfect introduction to the marvelous world that we're about to enter, outside of time. Besides its significance to the continuation of the story, what I loved most about these first pages was how Proust was able to capture such a simple and relatable moment, like falling asleep, and put it into words with such skill and precision.

In addition to being a beautiful overture and a writing lesson, this passage also functions as a powerful metaphor for everything that's yet to come. Just as the drowsy narrator gets lost in time and space, trying to find himself, he will continue to do so throughout most of the narrative of his life. The confusion of this seemingly ordinary moment also parallels the work itself, raising questions about its genre and the identity of the narrator.

During one of the nights when the narrator is reminiscing about his past in bed, a memorable scene comes to him: the goodnight kiss drama that will have a profound impact on his life and identity. In this renowned episode, Proust introduces us to the narrator's personality, his nervousness, and his delicate and susceptible nature. We witness an important discovery he makes about himself, which leads to a paralyzing fear that will shape his future.

The celebrated madeleine episode is another highlight of the book. The taste of a madeleine dipped in tea triggers a flood of memories, allowing the narrator to relive a lost time. While this is perhaps the most well-known part of Proust's work, it's important to remember that it's just one small detail in a much larger and more complex narrative. There's still so much more to explore and appreciate in the first volume of this seven-volume masterpiece.

With all of his memories awakened by the taste of the madeleine, the narrator then takes us on a journey through his enchanting childhood in the town of Combray. This section is filled with warmth and magic, and even though my own childhood memories are different, I could still feel a connection to the story and immerse myself in the narrator's world.

The next chapter, Un Amour de Swann, is an in-depth analysis of love and all of its accompanying emotions. Proust examines every aspect of this complex feeling, from its beginnings to its eventual decline. The realistic portrayal of the relationship between Charles Swann and Odette de Crécy is both poignant and relatable, showing how love can change and evolve over time.

After shifting back in time again, we come to the final chapter, Place-Names: The Name. In this section, the narrator takes us on a tour of his past and future, from his infatuation with Gilberte to his reflections on the passage of time. This chapter provides a fascinating glimpse into the narrator's mind and his evolving views on love and life.

Despite the seemingly vast differences between the narrator and ourselves, his maxims and reflections are surprisingly universal and relatable. Proust's writing has a way of making us recognize something of ourselves in his words, even though we may have lived completely different lives.

I had expected this re-read to be a slow and deliberate process, but the fluidity of the text and my familiarity with the themes, characters, and places ended up speeding things along. Even so, I made sure to re-read my favorite passages multiple times and highlight all of my favorite quotes. After reading Swann's Way for a second time, I know that I can't stop here. I'm determined to continue with a full re-read of the entire À la recherche du temps perdu.

There's also a film adaptation of Un Amour de Swann from 1984, directed by Volker Schlöndorff and starring Jeremy Irons and Alain Delon. While it borrows elements from other volumes of the book, it doesn't quite live up to the expectations set by the written work.

Rating: I'm overjoyed that Proust was able to finance the publication of this volume, which has since become a classic masterpiece of literature. For its magnificence and the countless hours of enjoyment it has provided me, I give Swann's Way a well-deserved 5 stars.

-------

For my re-reading experience of the entire À la recherche du temps perdu:

Vol 1. Swann's Way: ★★★★★ review

Vol 2. In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower: ★★★★★ review

Vol 3. The Guermantes Way: review

Vol 4. Sodom and Gomorrah: review

Vol 5. La Prisonnière (The Captive): review

Vol 6. Albertine disparue (The Fugivite): review

Vol 7. Time Regained: review

Marcel Proust's life was a tale of the struggle between destruction and creation. One side was on the verge of ruining, while the other was meticulously constructing word by word. Literature in the style of Proust never reaches an end; he was constantly in the process of writing. Therefore, the word "end" did not exist in his dictionary. Literature and life were intertwined, and the former was more important than the latter. Thus, the end of literature meant the end of life. In the spring of 1922, he told his servant, "Finally, last night I wrote the word 'end'... Now I can die."

From the preface of the book "Against Custom" by Proust

The first volume of "In Search of Lost Time" has come to an end, and now I am reading the second volume. At the same time, I am also reading "Against Custom" by Proust.

To be honest, I was very afraid of reading this book and resisted it for several years. I know that maybe some of you are like me, but the truth is that it is not at all terrifying or difficult to read. By no means. I am glad that I finally started it. It just requires a little bit of patience for the details, to the extent that, for example, Proust wrote about the plot of a suspicion and betrayal over a hundred pages! There is also a summary of the same volume in the appendices, which I think is excellent.

I think everyone has some acquaintance with the content of the book. The book is about the sufferings, pains, illnesses, and family relationships of Marcel Proust, written piece by piece and strand by strand. Now, reading about these sufferings and misfortunes may be tiresome for some and comforting and effective for others.

I believe that anyone who is truly a book lover can start reading this book at any time and enjoy it. I do not agree with specifying an age range for reading this book. (For example, that you should read the book when you are over forty years old! Because reading this book can happen at any time.) And I also do not believe that if someone does not like this book, does not read it, or abandons it halfway, they have no understanding of literature. In my opinion, these words are pretentious, and everyone can have their own worldview from the world of books and literature, and we should be careful not to introduce fanaticism into the realm of reading.