A review by mxd
The Year of Reading Proust: A Memoir in Real by Phyllis Rose
2.0
This little book, so much of it made me roll my eyes hard enough to give me a few headaches. If I can't even put up with the flowery real-time thoughts of Phyllis, Proust has no chance. I am, once again, wondering if there's a part of my brain missing where the ability to appreciate good things is kept (I've seen some pretty positive reviews for this), because this book, to me, seems even too self-indulgent for a memoir, and those things are meant to be ALL ABOUT ME.
Phyllis is quite the character though. There are some really interesting bits regarding her first marriage, her horrible experience giving birth, her relationship with a gay friend, but I just couldn't warm to this author who seems to see the world from inside a shiny little bubble of privilege. I just couldn't relate to her. There was very little about the actual experience of a year of reading Proust, but to be fair there didn't really have to be because this is primarily the author's own attempt at Proustian naval-gazing.
Phyllis is quite the character though. There are some really interesting bits regarding her first marriage, her horrible experience giving birth, her relationship with a gay friend, but I just couldn't warm to this author who seems to see the world from inside a shiny little bubble of privilege. I just couldn't relate to her. There was very little about the actual experience of a year of reading Proust, but to be fair there didn't really have to be because this is primarily the author's own attempt at Proustian naval-gazing.