Swann's Way, Marcel Proust (France, 1913) ****

This novel is the first part of his larger work, Remembrance of Things Past, now widely regarded as one of the greatest achievements in world literature. It takes place mostly within the mind of a man whose memories of childhood have been most vividly evoked by his tasting madeleine cookies dipped in tea. As a child, he was shy and precocious, spending most of his time in the company of adults. The events he recalls are set amid the fashionable society of turn-of-the-century France. His family's travels and acquaintances provide the situations which he details and ponders, searching always for the meaning of things. He is especially enchanted by the theater and actors of that time and place, and also by certain philosophers and composers of music (which would now be called classical). M. Swann is a long time friend of his father and a highly regarded bachelor in this circle of acquaintances.

Much of the novel describes Swann's troubling courtship with a woman who, it turns out, is bestowing her favors on other gentlemen (and has quite a history of doing so) and has no deep feelings for Swann. He eventually discovers her deceit and rationalizes away his earlier love for her, although he later visits with some prostitutes in an attempt to understand her better

The real joy in this novel, however, is not Swann's story or the stories of other characters remembered from childhood. You'll enjoy most Proust's descriptive use of language and the way he details the inner thought processes involved as he and his characters struggle to find meaning in their existence. Thanks to Proust's meticulous descriptions, you'll discover that the thought processes in the minds of these people from this very different time and place are not so different from your own.

I found that it took me a while to 'come back' to the present time and place after putting down this book. It's reminiscent of the way I often feel when leaving the Old Globe Theater at the close of a Shakespearean play. My mind continues to think in an Elizabethan dialect for some hours following, and I have to take care not to speak as such. I believe that is the magic of all good writing...to transport the reader to wherever and whenever with such realism that it is almost a shock when one 'returns'.