As regular readers know, I have been grappling with the first volume of Remembrance of Things Past, and while I have actually enjoyed being carried away on Proust's great sea of words, I have at times been near to drowning. But, to stick with my labored metaphor, a lifeboat has just arrived in the shape of the Proust Society, which meets at the Center for Fiction at the Mercantile Library in midtown Manhattan -- just a few blocks from my office! Two "group reads" have just begin -- one a sort of "speed-read" lasting just ten months, and the other a four-year cycle in which the work is discussed in greater depth. (This all makes me feel better about the snail-like pace of my own reading of Swann's Way . . . !) I will be attending the November meeting of the latter group.
God, I love New York.