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Marcel Proust was born in Auteuil in 1871. In his twenties he became a conspicuous society figure, frequenting the most fashionable Paris salons of the day. After 1889, however, his suffering from chronic asthma, the death of his parents and his growing disillustionment with humanity caused him to lead an increasingly retired life. He slept by day and worked by night, writing letters and devoting himself to the completion of A la recherche du temps perdu. He died in 1922 before publication of the last three volumes of his great life's work.
People think they don't need to bother with Proust. They know about the madeleine, they know it's about remembering the past, they know that not much happens and they know it's 3000 pages long. People speak about getting to the end of it in the same way as they talk of climbing Everest or running the marathon - but this is all wrong. It's not hard to read and gathers you up in its momentum. It is also horribly funny, heartbreaking, beautifully observed and intelligent with a clarity that makes you feel intelligent as well. (Kirkus UK)
