5 iconic covers for parts of Remembrance of Things Past through various Publishers

Marcel Proust – Swann’s Way (Part One of Remembrance of Things Past)

Marcel Proust’s masterpiece Remembrance of Things Past, or In Search of Lost Time, is renowned for both its size (3500 pages) and it’s seemingly effortless prose. I began part one, entitled Swann’s Way, this week with very little information about the author, and indeed the novel itself, and was pleasantly surprised from the first page. The vocabulary is exquisite and the prose itself is perhaps the most diligent and fastidious I have ever encountered, in the sense that it is difficult but ever-so rewarding.

Within the first one hundred pages the reader is encapsulated and in awe with the novel. The ‘episode of the Madeleine’, a sequence that I read unaware of its salient notoriety, was quite frankly astonishing. So astonishing in fact, that upon reading these two or three pages, I had made several notes, destroyed the page with ink, and quickly told one or two interested literary partisans about this rather brief passage.

This may seem slightly hyperbolic, but it really is marvellous. And while I am evidently drawing particular attention to these few pages, I certainly have no criticisms of the rest of the book, as it follows, more or less, in the same fashion.

What is so wonderful about the book is that the plot is noticeably ordinary. There is little action, very few likeable characters and the technique of ‘involuntary memory’ which is employed, doesn’t offer the reader intense emotion or collective tragedy, but this in itself is irrelevant. In fact, all this stands as a testament to the beauty of Proust’s work. From an outside perspective, to describe what the book is about, all 500 pages of this first part, would surely defer readers, as very little actually happens, but this certainly should not be the case. Proust is a superb author, and the mildness and vapidity of the text actually complements the brilliant writing.  It is slow, and at times difficult, but all this serves to highlight the sheer virtuosity of Proust’s work.It is exceptionally colourful and descriptive, and for such a seemingly ordinary storyline it has a way of truly encapsulating its readership.

This book is quite distinctive. If anything, it reminds me slightly of Nikolai Gogol’s Dead Souls, the comparison being that Gogol’s plot was seemingly ordinary yet still truly captivating, only Proust’s work is missing the element of intrigue that was so evident in Gogol’s magnum opus. These comparisons are small, Proust's work is undoubtedly unique.

After 500 pretty laborious pages, I have bought the second part of this 7 part classic, and quite look forward to reading it in due course. I would advise anyone to read this book; it is, quite simply, remarkable.

Literature Adaptations

Hollywood producers are increasingly adapting works of literature. Producing films from literature can be a way of bringing some of the best stories ever told into the visual world, and while they can be riveting upon fruition, I think there are some book adaptations that ratify the wide-spread contention that some books are quite simply unadaptable.

For example, two books that I quite adore, Kerouac's On the Road and Don DeLillo's Cosmopolis, premiered at Cannes film festival over the last week on the big screen. Both these films were done by rather artistic, creative and esteemed directors, giving them every chance of success. However, these are books that I would deem unadaptable, and are certainly not meant for an adaptation that veers towards entertaining the inevitable demographics which, unfortunately, they will ultimately seek.

Both films have a twilight star in main roles, and both have been, according to early reviews, and their trailers, diluted to suit a wide reaching audience. If both films are not successful, as early reviews also indicate, I believe it is not because of shortcomings in their scripts or failure from the reputable directors and writers who took part in these projects, but rather due to the fact that certain books are simply not meant for the big screen. They can't be diluted or glamorized because this in itself defeats their point.

When I heard these two books were becoming films I was slightly bemused, I am not against the idea of adapting classic or contemporary works of literature, my problem is that certain novels shouldn't be adapted (including the aforementioned two), and it seems these films may very well amplify my contention. 

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

The previous post was about the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (from herein referred to as Zen) which I was told, somewhat misguidedly, was a brilliant read, enmeshing philosophy and literature in equal measure. This post is about a book that, once again, I was advised to read. I must start by explaining that my first advisor, who told me to read Zen, was far less reputable than the second, and this therefore bestowed upon me a measure of incredulity before I had even embarked upon Zen.

My incredulity, as shown in the previous post, was reasonable and eventually validated, as the book didn’t even meet my cynically low expectations. The book at the heart of this post, The Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy, is, in my opinion, Zen’s antithesis. Whereas Zen managed to be worse than my already low expectations, Hitchhiker’s managed to surpass my already high expectations.

Some examples of why literature is so wonderful are contained in the above paragraphs. The fact that I have read two books that are very important to two friends of mine, one which I loved, one which I reviled (the books, not the friends), illustrates the vast array of peoples tastes, and how one can be moved by a novel that another companion may find abhorrent. The fact that one can read a book that another abhors, and then one can simply delve into a book one finds as encapsulating, and fantastical as I found Hitchhiker’s, shows how personable, and joyous the experience of literature can be.

Furthermore, it shows that literature is crazed and capricious, unpredictable, fascinating, boring and just about every other adjective. It demonstrates how even a book that one finds terrible has an important role; it could be seen as preparation for a book like Hitchhikers, dare I say fate. Perhaps this is slightly too romantic.

Nonetheless, Hitchhiker’s was a completely different experience from Zen. It has exquisite comedic elements embroiled in a plot that is quite moving. Douglas Adam has the mind of a child, an extremely refined and intelligent child, and this is what is so wonderful, it brings you into his innate mindset, a framework that produces some of the most flamboyant, marvellous sequences to ever grace a page.

Each character, from the depressed ‘paranoid android’ Marvin, to the eccentric president of the galaxy, Zaphod Beetlebrox, is endlessly entertaining and bring a charm and charisma so whimsical and absurd that they would be impossible to dislike. The story, while fanciful and bizarre, does contain elements of verisimilitude through the exploits and personality of protagonist Arthur Dent.

He’s lost his earth, his friends and most importantly, his house and is stranded in a galaxy that makes so little sense. And while he is, at times, understandably plaintive, he also marvels at the delights of his new life, a life as different and unbelievable as one could imagine in the wildest of one’s imagination.

The book entails the energy that is rarely found in literature, a vast, fast-paced vacuum of intelligence expressed in the most sardonic way. It is a book that one should not take too seriously while paradoxically reading it with the utmost reverence.

In the prologue, Russell T. Davies, who is responsible for the revival of Doctor Who, amongst other things, explains that the beauty of Hitchhiker’s is that it is a book everyone should pass around and share, both physically and mentally. And I thoroughly agree, this is the book that your friends must read, this is the book that will have them reporting back with such a zeal and enthusiasm, one that can only be matched by your own.

This isn’t Beckett or Joyce, this isn’t an epic novel, this isn’t the book that ostentatious hipsters will tell their friends to read, simply because they understood it after they had searched meretriciousness through its Wikipedia pages.


No, this is better, this is a funny and awe-inspiring book, it is something that you can enjoy without the pressure of not enjoying it, you can read this novel without feeling inadequate or inferior, there is no real challenge, there are no obstacles, this book is the reason people wrote fiction in the first place, for their enjoyment and for the enjoyment of their readers.