Finally finished this, after (supposedly) slogging through it all of February. Probably my slowest reading month in years, but I just had a lot going on, wasn’t on the El very much (my prime reading time!!), and didn’t ever get the energy to pick anything else up so if I wasn’t in the mood for this, then I just didn’t read.

I liked that in this book Marcel stays an identifiable (and seemingly) same age the whole book (vs. book 2 when sometimes the narrative tone seemed to change ages/decades intermittently). He drives you nuts though (in every book) with his obsessions. He’s so consumed with people that he doesn’t even really like but yet is completely attracted to/consumed by. So focused on those slightly above him in society. Trying to find meaning in their (in reality meaningless) aristocratic mannerisms and customs. Finding fault while at the same time trying to emulate.

I’ve said similar things before — so yes I’m repeating myself — but I continue to think the reason these books have maintained their high profile for so many years is because Marcel represents that worst part of all of us. The neurotic, obsessive, self destructive part of us that we don’t show very many people, if any. Yet reading about it is quite fascinating.