Losing Time

Ye gods.

I'm starting The Guermantes Way, the third volume of Marcel Proust's In Search of Lost Time. I've been able to suffer through read one volume of this per year. Thing is, I kind of hate it. So far, nothing happens. Okay, the language is beautiful and the metaphors are inventive, I do like that part, but I just don't get this book. I don't find any of the characters very relatable, and some of them are so annoying that I just want to throw the book at the wall. There are some thoughts on the nature of time and memory that are interesting, but that's about it.

Why am I reading it then?

To learn something, I guess? Classics are classics for a reason, mostly. And this is one of my husband's favourite books. He's read the whole thing two or three times and is now starting to read it in the original French. (Quite a tall order on four years of night classes on the language.)

819 pages.

Guess I'd better get started.