This book was such a joy to read, I was genuinely sorry to see it end. And of course, it doesn't really end; it just goes on into the Guermantes Way. Rarely does one come across a novel that seems so completely pleasing and visionary in its effects upon the reader. Apart from the general relief one feels in seeing the author finally emerge from his prolonged sojourn in the shadow of his mother, there is also the vicarious pleasure derived from experiencing a long-ago summer at the mythical sea-side resort of Balbec, in the shadow of young women in the flower of youth. You feel as if you are truly there with him, walking the promenade, gazing out to sea, hearing the sea-gulls cry, feeling the sand between your toes, and being nineteen again and living carelessly.

Two great characters emerge from this novel who will exercise a profound influence on the young narrator as he matures in future volumes. The first is Robert de Saint-Loup, a dashing young soldier-playboy, whom Marcel clearly adores as a soul mate of sorts. This gives the reader pause; for considering how close the two young men become they manage to still consider themselves straight! Never mind, however, for we eventually learn that Saint-Loup is indeed bisexual, as are so many of the characters in this novel. Secondly we meet the playful, flirty Albertine whom Marcel decides is the one girl in the little band of jeunes filles whom he most wants as his female sexual conquest. Unfortunately, he does not have the capability of relating to her except in the most self-absorbed of ways.

Upon finishing WITHIN A BUDDING GROVE, the reader will have been introduced to virtually all the major characters in IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME. Most importantly for later volumes, we meet and get to know Albertine, Robert de Saint-Loup, the painter Elstir, the diplomat Norpois, and Madame de Villeparasis, as well as a deepened acquaintance with such characters as Gilberte Swann, Madame Swann, and the extravagantly bizarre Baron de Charlus.

Proust's extraordinary genius is evident on every page of this amazing book. One could point to any of a few dozen moments to illustrate this. What is amazing to me about Proust is how he can take an amazingly everyday event, and build it to proportions as great as any battle scene in WAR AND PEACE. For instance, at the end of "Madame Swann at Home," the narrator recounts the times he would wait at the Arc de Triomphe to take a walk with Madame Swann and her entourage. The ensuing eight or nine pages, which merely recount the group walking through Paris, become as majestic and epic as any scene in Homer or Virgil or Tolstoy. No scene would seem to contain less potential for greatness, yet Proust is able to make it something truly unique and beautiful. Or, to take another incident, have there been many incidents in literature as filled with passion and emotion and suspense as the Narrator's first attempt to kiss Albertine? In a mere two pages, Proust is about to pack a surreal amount of dramatic (and comic) action.

Although famous for containing at least part of both of the narrator's great love affairs, I find this novel even more fascinating for the extraordinary detailing of the myriad of social and class distinctions to be found in the seemingly infinitely varied French society. The great theme throughout the book, even when not specifically mentioned, is snobbism, and Proust owns the subject of snobbery as Homer owns that of war. Proust reveals snobbery primarily proceeding from those slightly lower on the social ladder. Ironically, he reveals those at the top guilty not of snobbery but of insolence and disdain, while not even his servant Françoise is innocent of being a snob. The tensions in the novel become particularly acute given the changes that were taking place in French society at the time. This theme is not restricted to this novel alone. It featured in SWANN'S WAY, especially in the attitudes of the Verdurin "faithful" and will be a major theme of ensuing volumes, especially THE GUERMANTES WAY.

The section of the novel recounting his getting to know Elstir contains perhaps my favorite passage in all of Proust, where Elstir, upon the narrator's learning something unflattering of Elstir's past, tells him that no one has not done things that they would not love to expunge, but that no one ought to despise this, because this is the only way one can truly become wise. "We do not receive wisdom, we must discover it for ourselves, after a journey through the wilderness which no one can else can make for us, which no one can spare, us, for our wisdom is the point of view from which we come at last to regard the world." This is not merely the opinion of Proust's character: it could stand as the central meaning of the novel as a whole.

Volume 3 of 12 of proust's Remembrance of things past is another great example of beautiful literature. In this volume Proust's leaves the innocence of boyhood and ventures forth towards young adulthood. His relationship with young Gilberte grows and eventually he falls in love with the pretty thing. Alas however there are problems and the narrator must face the fact that Gilberte will never be the one for him. All the while Proust's writes of Madame Swann the much talked about woman with a shady past. Though the mother of Gilberte the narrator paints her as a vision of beauty and grace. He is captivated by her as well and in one charming passage describes in great detail a spring coat she is wearing on one of her walks where in it he finds treasures and scents like no other. the reader can feel the coat as it is being described such a writer is Proust. this volume ends with Proust arriving at Balbec with his grandmother and observing the Hypocrisy around him. It is quite comical for no one is spared and each class at that time viewed the other with suspicion and disdain. I was quite disappointed when the last CD was through but I have already ordered volume 4. Naxos has done an excellent job in bringing to life Proust's masterpiece and I can't wait to listen to all 12 volumes. I will savor them however ordering one every so often just to excite my anticipation a bit more. this book contains 3 CDs and includes musical breaks between the reading.

Let's face it, if you've made it through the first two volumes, then, in the words of Van Morrison, it's too late to stop now. There will be those parts where you want to wring Marcel's neck (both the author's and the protagonist's), but then, you already know that. No one sees the way that Proust sees.

In this volume Proust's narrator at last penetrates to the salon of Mme de Guermantes, the apex of Parisian society. If you've read Swann's Way and Within a Budding Grove, then you realize that this achievement is far more exciting than any summary can convey. Here Proust also develops the narrator's friendships with Saint-Loup and Albertine, presents us with one of the most beautifully written death scenes in Western literature, dissects the salon culture, and introduces an unforgettable ...mentor. This may sound irrelevant to life in the 2000s, but, as always, Proust's artistry captures the timeless human reality running through the daily details.

"In search of lost time" continues with Marcel's return to Paris after vacation in Balbec, to the new family house. The neighbor is the Duchess of Guermantes with whom Marcel falls in love in a platonic and purely imaginary way. He gets desperate to be admitted into the Duchess's social circle, and so he takes advantage of his new friednship with Saint-Loup, who belongs in that circle. Marcel goes to visit him at the town where he's in military service, and on his return, he is admitted to the salon of the Marquise de Villeparisis, a first step to his goal. What follows is a treatise, a bittersweet one, on the aristocratic world of Paris, in times of the scandal provoked by the Dreyfus Affair. Proust admirably portraits the hypocrisy, hollowness and cruelty of the aristocratic world, as well as the main character's affection for his grandmother, his friendship with Saint-Loup, the spiritual desolation of the age, and his disenchantment with aristocrats. So continues the greatest saga of memory and emotions, one of the best books ever written.

I bought this 3-disk set because, frankly, I couldn't imagine how anyone could pull off a reading of Proust's verbose and complex style. I was more than pleasantly surprised: Neville Jason does a fantastic job. His voice is polished and not overly dramatic; his phrasing shows a real understanding of both Proust's meaning and how best to convey orally his long sentences with all their long interpolations. The abridgment (which, according to the liner notes, was also done by Mr. Jason) is very sensitive to the original and retained far more of it than I thought was possible in a three-hour set. Period music is included, briefly and effectively, in the background. Since "Swann in Love" is more-or-less a self-contained novella within the great Recherche, this audio book would be an excellent way to get one's feet wet with Proust. My only caveat is that, Proust being, to say the least, a dense writer, this is not the kind of audio book that one can fully comprehend while doing something else. Just put your feet up and listen.

This is must reading (or gazing) for any serious student of Proust's IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME. Photographer Paul Nadar was a photographer for whom at one time or another virtually every member of Proust's social set and family sat for at one point or another. The value of this volume for someone reading Proust is twofold: allowing one to see high quality photographic reproductions of many of the actual models for Proust's characters, and providing a vivid picture of the way these people dressed, how they wore their hair, some of their cultural preoccupations, and what their favored accessories were.

I am not a fan of any method of reading Proust that degenerates into a study of Proust's life, that is more concerned with figuring out who the "real" Odette or Albertine or Saint-Loup was. The "real" Odette was a fictional creation by a literary genius of the first rank, and she cannot be found in any of these photographs. Not even in gazing at a photography of Robert de Montesquiou do we see Baron de Charlus, despite our knowledge that he was Proust's most important model for Charlus. But looking at these photographs breaks down the distance between Proust's world and our own. Odette may be based on several real life models, but it is helpful to know what the women that Proust knew looked like in forming our own mental picture of Odette or Gilberte or Oriane or Saint-Loup. I also find it much easier to imagine visually Proust's world after seeing precisely how those members of his social set dressed.

The book also has a great deal to teach about portrait photography in late 19th and early 20th century Paris, at least in an upper class studio. The range of photographs is fascinating, not merely in the posed photos with the subjects dressed in their finest clothes, but in the ones where various individuals appeared "in costume." This includes not merely a series of marvelous photographs of Sarah Bernhardt dressed as various characters, but men and especially women appearing in amateur theatricals. One section features a many of the more celebrated individuals of the time whom Proust either met or loosely based some of his characters on, such as Bernhardt (La Berma), Anatole France (Bergotte), Faure (Vinteuil, though only musically), and Claude Monet (one of several models for Elstir).

Physically, the book resembles a well-produced art book, with a cloth binding, high quality paper, and the highest quality reproductions. It is easily the most attractive book on Proust I have in my rather large collection of Proust titles. Not just a great book on Proust, but a beautiful one as well.

This is a must for any fan of Proust--you get to see not only what the originals for his most memorable characters (the Ducehsse de Guermantes, Swann, Charlus, Mme. verdurin) looked like, but also the interior of one of the great fin-de-siecle chateaus where one couple (the Prince and Princess Radziwell) lived. The Nadar photographs are sharp, startling and magnificent. I've wanted a book like this for years.

Modern Library's Volume V deals with the relationship between Marcel and Albertine. It is a complex, psychological relationship to say the least. In the Captive, Albertine lives with Marcel in his apartment in Paris and in The Fugitive one wonders who is, in fact, more captive -- Albertine or Marcel. It would seem to be Albertine for whom Marcel possesses an obsessive love and concurrent fear of her sapphic penchant. But it is also Marcel who will sacrifice experience if he makes a commitment to her. Who is more free, the captive or the fugitive? Proust raises questions about how to serve best the artist's quest for beauty. In fact, how does one really ever "capture" the beauty of life in art or music or literature? Even in a masterpiece, is it not beauty the fugitive that usually dwells just beyond one's capture? Or like Vinteuil's septet or the music of Wagner or the painting of Rembrandt, is the best for which one can hope of fugitive beauty only a brief fleeting experience? Are the vast tracts of time spent to understand the beauty and meaning of life worth it? As a writer does he not habitually surrender life in order to capture it? Or is the pursuit of the capture of the beauty of life in fact where one realizes its most sublime value? One sees in Proust toward the end of The Fugitive a member of society who respects it but chooses by reasons of health not to position himself so visibly within it. Despite his family name and vast but dwindling fortune inherited from his beloved grandmother, he seems to become somewhat ultimately disenchanted with the intricacies of Faubourg-St. Germain society to which he devotes so much of his writing. He recognises society's shallow obsession with materialism and rampant snobbery but his own place in society is captured by its complex history and tacit rules and Marcel is inescapably a captive of his own culture. When Albertine is lost to him toward the end of the volume, as in the prior volumes, the story line's serial intrigue advances most. Characters from prior volumes reappear, reminiscent of Balzac, whom Proust adored, but like him they change,too, and usually for the worse over time. The great tapestry of the characters of Proust -- Albertine, Gilberte, Swann, Brichot, Bloch, Charlus, Morel, Saint-Loup -- ultimately surprise and usually disappoint him. As to nagging questions about Proust's own orientation, "Personally I found it absolutely immaterial from a moral standpoint whether one took one's pleasure with a man or a woman, and only too natural and human that one should take it where one could find it." I found myself wishing that Proust had written more about Bloch and Saint-Loup and Gilberte, and less about Albertine. But she was, like his work, the one obsession, the endeavor of which understanding he could never escape and never quite marry -- she was his beauty and his art. She was the breath of life itself from his pen and from his experience of life as seen through the eyes of a true genius.

The Albertine episodes make more sense if we assume this is a homosexual ralationship. Albertine's independence, and her being allowed to live in a young man's apartment, and other aspects of her social life do not seem likely for a young woman in the nineteen hundreds. Marcel's (and incidentally this is the only volume where he refers to himself as Marcel) suspicions then become the gay lover's fears that his lover prefers heterosexuality. Albertine is the only female in the Recherche who never gets married.
Apart from these external clues there is quality about the the affection Marcel feels that suggests a gay rather than a straight relationship.
This volume marks a turning point in the narrator's fascination with the aristocracy. From here on disenchantment sets in, and the references to homosexuality become almost homophobic.

This volume contains parts five and six of Proust's huge novel; additionally, these two parts represent the first posthumous releases from A la Recherche du Temps Perdu. If there was any doubt in my mind that these parts, published without the author's oversight, could not continue the excellence of the preceding parts, this fear was quickly dispelled. The Captive and The Fugitive contain some of the most beautiful of Proust's prose, as well as insights into Parisian society, art and the inner thoughts of the narrator not contained elsewhere in the novel.

The Captive, originally published in 1923, tells the story of Marcel and Albertine, now kept by the narrator in his Paris home. This co-habitation is not based on love, nor even lust, but on the obsessive jealousy of Marcel based on his almost psycopathic fear of Albertine's lesbian proclivities. By this point in the novel, Marcel has removed himself from society and is content to remain for the most part in his room. Albertine, living in an adjoining room, is allowed out of the house only with a chaperon and to destinations decided in advance by Marcel. It is the ironic twist that Proust puts on the idea of imprisonment that forms the backbone of this part of the novel. Not only is Albertine kept prisoner by Marcel, but Marcel is no less the prisoner of his own obsession.

It can arguably be stated that each of the parts of the novel corresponds to one of the senses. If this is the case, the Captive surely corresponds to the sense of hearing. It is while listening to Vinteuil's septet that Marcel realizes that art is more than the mechanical manipulation of ideas by color, words or music. Just as Vinteuil has created a complex musical form out of the "catchy" phrase so admired by Swann and Mme Verdurin's little group, Marcel awakens to the limitless possibilities of artistic expression. This epiphanic moment awakens in the narrator a desire to commit himself to the life of a writer. In order to accomplish this wish, he decides that he must end his affair with Albertine. Marcel's decision to part with Albertine on his own terms is thwarted when he learns that it is she who has made the final break and has left his apartment.

Thus begins The Fugitive (originally translated by C.K. Scott Moncrieff, with a freight train full of poetic license, as The Sweet Cheat Gone). The Fugitive represents the most introspective part of a very introspective novel, and in it Proust's zeal for self-examination is pursued with un-relentless fervor as layer upon layer of the author's persona in exposed to the reader.

Marcel's world is turned up side down when he learns that Albertine has died in a riding accident. His obsession, so debilitating when his mistress was alive, continues unabated after her death and the narrator continues with his scrutiny of Albertine's private life as if she was still alive. He finally realizes that obsession cannot be eliminated by death and that relief can only come with the passsing of time and the ensuing state of oblivion. Although Albertine's memory has not been totally erased, the torment that she has caused Marcel diminishes greatly and he is able to resume his life and work.

However, it is a different world into which Marcel emerges after his long period of grief. Just as Marcel's personal life was changed by a freak accident, the social life in which he has emersed himself is going through social changes just as fundamental. The old aristocracy, becoming more and more deperate for cash, is falling prey to the easy lure of mariages of convenience in which aristocratic titles are exchanged for hefty dowries. His two friends, Gilberte Swann and Robert de Saint-Loup, are married to each other thus accomplishing what Charles Swann could never do - have his daughter received by the Duchess de Guermantes. Even more revolutionary, a simple seamstress (Jupien's niece) marries into the aristocracy forever destroying any romantic impressions that Marcel might still hold of the Guermantes and Meseglise Ways. Clearly Marcel's world is changing, but it is the change in his friend, Robert de Saint-Loup, that causes him the greatest pain as he realizes that even friendships are all too often broken by the passage of time.

Some have accused Proust of being "long-winded." However, he suffered acutely from shortness of breath but not shortness of breadth. Proust preferred to work on a large canvas. Having read the first four volumes of "In Search of Lost Time," I am even more convinced that Proust is a literary talent of the highest order. He is a writer of immense sensibility in the true sense of the word. His perception and memory and intelligence permeate his writing. Like Balzac, whom he admired, Proust focused his sensibility upon high society in Paris in his heyday. He continually discoursed about the the manners of the circles in which he moved and sheds light, as did Balzac, on the complexities of the strata and protocol and behavior of his social peers. One is able to get a close look at this realm in which he was considered a literary luminary and rightly so, after winning France's greatest literary prize at such an early age. Like Balzac he built his volumes in a "serial" fashion by ending each in dramatic fashion: the characters reappear from volume to volume. And one learns about their health, their misfortunes, their affairs often through the hearsay of other characters, as it happens in real life. Despite the despicable ways that the characters often treat each other, Proust speaks within the tapestry of the "human comedy" as the humble voice of reason. "When you reach my age you will see that society is a paltry thing, and you will be sorry that you put so much importance to these trifles," a judge observes. But for Proust society was his life and his legacy is partly at least the light that he sheds upon his own human comedy. The beauty of the language is breathtaking --the language is utterly lyrical and once one surrenders to the pulse and flow of his long sentence syntax, one finds the transforming genius of his art. I am eager to begin Volume 5 -- the man is a bonafide genius. He deals with sensitive subjects in good taste and with sage discretion -- Proust communicates with his readers as he probably did in society: honestly, articulately and with the best of all manners. He didn't live long enough to read the publication of half the volumes of his greatest masterpiece: Volume 4 was the last he lived to see published. What an absolute pity!

In this, the fourth volume of Proust's "In Search of Lost Time" (a.k.a. "Remembrance of Things Past"), the narrator is suddenly exposed to a new level of worldly knowledge, a knowledge that the previous volumes foreshadowed but never openly discussed. The volume begins at the apex of society, more or less where the previous volume ends (i.e., a reception at one of the fashionable Guermantes). We are then taken on a somewhat bumpy ride down from that peak, to the lesser salon of the Verdurins (previously seen through Swann's eyes in vol. 1) and the narrator's less-than-admirable conduct toward Albertine. Along the way, as the narrator becomes more of an actor in, and less of an observer of, the world, Proust's style likewise becomes, at times, more traditionally novelistic. Yet it retains the unique insight, precision, and vitality that make reading Proust a life-changing experience.

This book is rich with some of the most fascinating observations on love in general and homosexual love specifically. The flower metaphor at the starting of the book is particularly clever. Proust has more of a sense of humour than usual in this volume. Around the middle of the book this is especially evident; there is more sarcasm, irony, and wit throughout than in other volumes. I found myself highlighting many passages as I was reading, and oftentimes just one sentence of Proust's work is enough material to write a whole book on! His observations are so loaded and so true that they can be stretched out a long way before they've been used up. I find myself constantly in awe while reading In Search Of Lost Time; Proust was so gifted in so many ways that it's a privilege to read his writings! I can't think of anyone besides Shakespeare who comes close to Proust in his understanding of all apsects of human nature.

The greatness of this book in my belief is not anything having to do with the title. The French title In Search of Lost Time refers to Marcel's endeavor to recapture a lost past. Strictly speaking all great fiction does this. Proust's memory does prove important but it is not his theory of perfectly recapturing the past which makes for a sumptuous read but his effort to do so which is quite a different thing. Proust reimagines things in a way they could not possibly have occurred. He imagines a thing in the way a child dreams a thing. The fact is that a child usually finds his imaginings are far better than anything the world suggests. Proust chose to believe differently and thats fine with me because what he imagines his past to have been like is something I believe no one has ever lived. To my ears his theory of recapturing time is just a necessary illusion for creating great fiction. And he does that. The first book of this multi volume set is the story of Swanns love affair with Odette told in such a way that we all know that this is a modern fiction writer who is writing a modern piece of fiction with as much self consciousness as Manet had when he painted Luncheon on the Grass. Later in this grand and intricately woven set of novellas we find Marcel at the Opera. And we find him enjoying this Opera in the way only a Flaubertian student of fiction enjoys fiction. Don't be fooled but don't miss the pleasures afforded in time spent here. This was the decadent era after all and authors were given free reign to invent. He writes like a Prince. Of that you need no proof of lineage. Buy this because nothing else like it exists. It is a document, though forged by a romanticist, of turn of the century France. Everything here is superbly written and entirely fake. Why do people write fiction? To make things right in the second draft.

30 years ago in my 20's I read Proust, over the period of a year. It has influenced my whole life, particularly his portrayals of friendship changes over time. It gave me a way of looking at life different from my crisis-ridden, "it's all over" point of view. Proust's book is about almost everything, because it is about his whole life. At his worst a very neurotic parvenu, at his best a deeply compassionate writer. And funny! Proust is a writer who lets his frailties show along with his greatness: unlike Tolstoy or St. Exupery, whose writing shows all their wisdom and little of their frailities. Proust is especially knowledgeable about jealousy. It you are not interested in thorough examination of a feeling, in pages, you won't like this. Interesting theories of art, literature, music. If you want to know where I'm coming from,

This book is unlike anything I have ever read. Proust's basic premise is that we do not fully appreciate an experience when it happens because we are hampered and distracted at the time by the experience itself. It is only when we remember and relive an event that we are truly able to extract the most from it and thus, in remembrance, experience it more vividly than we ever could at the time it happened. So Proust, a sickly asthmatic ex-socialite locked in a cork lined room, remembers and relives his entire life, and the seven volumes of Remembrance are the result. And his remembered and relived life is rich indeed, perhaps unsurprisingly, even more so than his actual life was. This is total recall with enhancement.

But the book is much more than that. It is paragraph after paragraph and page after page of the most perfect prose and Proust the perfectionist is also the funniest and wickedest writer that ever lived. His characters: the pompous bores, self righteous clergymen, overrated diplomats and talentless but currently fashionable artists, the dandies, hypocrites, proud servants and relentless social climbers are all stripped bare by his subtle observations and unbelievably brilliant dialogue. And then there are his justifiably famous descriptions; of landscape, flowers, gardens, and of course, insomnia. All drawn so beautifully that you can almost see and taste and smell and feel everything he writes about. Indeed it's enough to make you want to curl up in a cork lined room and spend the rest of your life living vicariously through Proust's remembrances.

Good writing alters your perceptions and the better the writing the more lasting the affect. Proust, with his incredibly detailed analyses of love and desire, self delusion and human emotion will change the way you think for ever. Remembrance of Things Past is better than therapy. There's just one small problem: the sheer volume of writing and the weight of the thing. But do not despair, even if you never finish all seven volumes, and few ! have, you will at least have some idea of the monumental scale of this masterpiece, and if you are very determined there is, supposedly, a support group to give you any encouragement you might need to complete the task. Once you have completed the books of course, you can impress others forever. And if you need even further challenges you can read the entire thing in French and that should keep you busy for a while. So while you may never climb Mount Everest, and might not even make the summit of this book, I would still urge everybody to try to read at least a little of Remembrance of Things Past.

My review is based only on the Proust chapter; I bought the book because "errancy" is an important element in my work on Proust. In general, this chapter is a disaster, but to her credit, Lamos does a good job articulating some aspects of error, and some of her comments on the narrating/narrated "I" opposition are worth rereading. First, Lamos NEVER cites from the French text! She only works with a translation (Montrcrieff/Kilmartin). No credible scholar would make claims about a text based on its translation. Provide translations for an English speaking audience, surely, but if you are basing your interpretation on what Proust wrote, then you must address the exact words he used, and Proust wrote in French. Second, Lamos succumbs to multi-culti/queer theory newspeak: "This exchange of places between the desiring reader and the desiring text...is analogous to the relation between penetrator and penetrated in the economy of sodomy" (180); the hero's nocturnal wanderings in Venice are "an allegory of anal sex" (187) [certainly some reference, any reference to the words Proust actually uses is called for here...but no]; "The body of the text, originally the enclosure of the self and the site of masturbatory pleasure, is fantasized as the body of the other, penetrated and mastered by a desire that circulates according to the economy of sodomy" (190); "The hero's first mistake is to get to the bottom of Albertine, whose illegibility is a paradigm for the errancy of all texts" (191) [that's right, "all" texts]; referring to Proust's preface to his translation of Ruskin, "Combining his Sodomic and Gomorrahan aesthetics, Proust imagines that this hymenal 'mist which our eager eyes would like to pierce is the last word of the painter's art'" (193); "The structural opposition between the narrating and narrated 'I' parallels another well-worn, dubious distinction: the phallus and the penis" (198); "The ambiguous factual/fictive status of the text is thus directly linked to the enigma of lesbianism....by posing female same-sex desire as an occult mystery, Proust fictionalizes fact and factualizes fiction, making it impossible to account for one in terms of the other" (199); "Above all, the novel incites the desire to expose the hero's-and Proust's-homosexuality" (215). Above all? Above all! Lamos' goals are commendable: to show the "errancies" or heterogeneous elements in texts that appear monolithic and coherent. But the outcome is embarrassing and laughable. Her ideas are malformed compared to Sedgwick's, and even though her syntax might be less complex than that of "Epistemology of the Closet," her writing in general is poor. She does not develop ideas or make transitions between paragraphs. It's as if she had a collection of loose notes and ideas that she's intent on including, even if they make little sense as a whole. This book has been well-reviewed here at Amazon. For me it was a total waste of [money]. If you do really want to read it, I suggest you look for it at the library of your local university.

Despite having only read the sections of this book that deal with Proust, I feel comfortable saying that Colleen Lamos makes excellent use of wonderful insights in her work. Concentrating on volumes of Proust that other critics consider "digressions," she is able to address important epistemological issues that cannot be ignored in any true reading of Proust. If you liked Sedgwick, you'll love Lamos--her ideas are just as good, and her writing infinitely more readable.

Colleen Lamos' text is wonderfully insightful. I have only had the opportunity to read the sections dealing with Marcel Proust, but their quality can only point to how wonderful the rest of the book must be. Any lover of the works of these three authors will benefit tremedously from Dr. Lamos' work.