At long last, I have completed Proust’s magnum opus. His final work in the series shows once more why Proust was a master in taking the mundane and explaining it in a profound manner; specifically, Proust’s work on the issue of Time-Memory makes him a dazzling, if difficult writer; one who is deeply consequential, and worth paying attention to. Its cast of characters, its analysis of writing and art, its discussion on life and its changeability, as well as the changeability of those who are part of our lives, all add up to an epic and monumental achievement.
Having finished the entire series, I suppose that it is somewhat difficult for me to consider myself an avid Proust fan. His writing is too relentlessly interior for me to count him as a favorite author; I am more of a Shakespeare/Melville fan, myself, and re-reading Moby Dick is positively thrilling. But I don’t discount the possibility that a future re-reading of Proust may find me in a position to appreciate him more. And I should stress that I appreciate him now; all that he has achieved with the writing and publication of the In Search of Lost Time series makes him one of the most profound authors who ever lived, and definitely worth placing on one’s must-read list.