Customer Reviews

The Year of Reading Proust: A Memoir in Real Time

5 star:		(5)
4 star:		(0)
3 star:		(1)
2 star:		(5)
1 star:		(6)

 

 

Too bad I couldn't rate this 0 stars because 1 star in one too many. This book is essentially and "hey, look at me and the people I know and the circles I have access to." She misses the whole meaning of Proust. She and everything she stands for is what he mocks.

Not all is lost because this book (if one can call it that) gives me hope that I can get a book published one of these days

To me, above and beyond all else, Phyllis Rose's sparkling memoir shows us how certain books come into our lives at certain times--almost as if the books find us, we don't find them. In her narrative, Proust is used as a conceit, allowing her to delve into memory while also telling us about her days, as ordinary, or at times, as extraordinary as they may be. It is not a full-scale memoir ("my birth to present, etc"), but an accounting of a year from her life (we learn that it is actually two years condensed). Memories, we must remember, are always fragmented, uncertain, contradictory; Rose's narrative structure makes this point well. The book reads more like a narrativized version of diary entries, and indeed, at the end of the memoir, Rose comes to the realization that she is, when all is said and done, a diarist and woman of letters, as opposed to, say, a novelist. It is this very strength that makes her book so enjoyable. She is a five-star scholar who is not afraid to be candid in her remarks, or in the use of an almost street-wise colloquial tongue. Her tone and style are completely unpretentious, unapologetic (a revelation in our culture of complaint), and at times, laught-out-loud funny. She does not discuss or reminisce on her years as a teacher, and this one finds refreshing: an academic who readily admits that the life of the body is equally as important (perhaps more so) as the life of the mind; an intellectual who is equally as passionate about material culture, whether antiquities, sports cars, houses, travel, gossip and dinner parties, as the writing life; a feminist who can balance her own forms of activism with trips to her Madison Avenue hairdresser and Saks Fifth Avenue. Readers from the NYC metro area will particularily enjoy her memoir, as it is the landscape of her memory, and the cultural base for her sense of humor. A bibliophile at heart, Rose shows us how good readers make the fictions they read their own, and bring to bear on their own subjectivity lessons learned from the marvelous, difficult, and rewarding world of reading.

After a promising opening chapter, this book proved to be a great disappointment, especially after Parallel Lives -- lots of Proustian detail but to very little point. It's confessional in tone (particularly with reference to the circumstances surrounding her second marriage) but without the insight necessary to make the confession of much interest to anyone else -- as a result, parts of it read like a literary gossip column. Also, as earlier reviewers noted, sloppy spelling and grammatical errors (in my edition anyway) are annoying. I found two points particularly grating -- her comparison of the emergence of the Beatles to the Passion of Christ (both are "transcendent") and her habit of referring to her literary pals as Annie D. and Bob S. It's apparent who they are from the text so why the coy references? It does seem as if this good writer has run out of steam -- I wish this book had really been about reading Proust. I think I would have enjoyed Rose on that subject.

Ms Rose is without a doubt a talented writer, but her work here is tediously self-indulgent and trite and sheds very little light on Proust, or indeed on his effect on her. Give it a miss and read the master! I don't think I'll be visiting Ms Rose's other work anytime soon...

There are characters in Proust that are so cartoonishly shallow, vain, parochial, and lacking in self-knowledge that one laughs in spite of thinking no such person could exist in real life.

Phyllis Rose proves that such people do exist.

Of course it is possible that her book is a satiric fiction disguised as autobiography. If so, it is not funny enough. (Learn from Proust!) If this really is an autobiography, it is surprising that an author would allow publication of something that makes her look so ridiculous.

I didn't know this book existed. I was heading across thefloor of a real (not virtual) bookstore, on my way to the Proustsection. I had finally decided I should try and read Proust. Probably because I finally went to Paris for the first time a few months ago and because a friend lent me a book called "Le Divorce," which also reminded me I should read some Proust. On my way to Proust, I passed "The Oprah Table" (which I always check, because this bookstore puts both the book club selections and other things that might be of interest). Lo and behold, there on that table is a book called "The Year of Reading Proust...." I picked it up -- it felt wonderful (important, if you're going to spend intimate times holding a dead tree of knowledge). I looked at page one of her introduction, wherein Ms. Rose expresses her fondness for Cornelia Otis Skinner and "Our Hearts Were Young and Gay." Since that had been one of my favorite books as a pre-teen, she hooked me in right then and there.

I have since completed the reading. I can understand how some of the consumer reviewers were not pleased, based on what they were expecting. I didn't know what to expect, and feel like I made a new friend. I also feel like I now know just enough of what Proust is and isn't and what to expect, that I can start volume one (which I picked up next on that same day).

I learned so much about the writing process, the creative process in general, and when to "let it go," that I hope some day I can thank Ms. Rose in person for her contribution to the furthering of my life. I don't know what you've learned from this "review," as it's not very customary, but if you buy this book, you could get a great time with a new friend -- not to mention an 11-page list of her important books to read (some from authors mentioned in the book, some not), which is a great thing to have next time you don't know what you should read next.

I bought a copy of this book recently without recalling that Rose was the author of a Josephine Baker bio that I had very much enjoyed some years ago. What a disappointment Rose's "Year of" was, and all the more so after I realized she had also penned the Baker bio. I found much of "Year of" to be self-indulgent and repetitive and of little import. I also feel that I know virtually nothing more about Proust after having read Rose's book... This book was a major disappointment on many levels. One possible exception to that was Rose's exploration of the mother-daughter relationship.... The upshot is that I was glad that I had bought the book at used-book rates. Even though I'm something of a packrat, I unhesitatingly gave this book away after finishing it.

I was so excited to purchase and read this book. I loved Rose's critical biography of Virginia Woolf and now her clarity and insights would be extended to her own life and to Proust. What a disappointment. Rose's candor is amazing, because it reveals a rather shallow and self-satisfied woman. Her use of Proust is quite minimal and superficial. I found no relationship between her life and writing and that of Proust's. Read Proust instead!

I cannot add to what earlier reviewers have said: "tediously self-indulgent";"trite";"sheds very little light on Proust";"too bad I couldn't rate this 0 stars because 1 star is one too many";"She misses the whole meaning of Proust. She and everything she stands for is what Proust mocks"; and,"I loved Rose's critical biography of Virginia Woolf and now (I expected) her clarity and insights would be extended to her own life and to Proust. What a disappointment. Rose's candor is amazing, because it reveals a rather shallow and self-satisfied woman. Her use of Proust is quite minimal and superficial." Her use of Proust consists mostly of a Proustian quote at beginning of each chapter, most of which don't seem all that relevant.

Am I glad I bought "A Year of Reading Proust"? Yes. (at a discount price) Would I pick it up again? Yes. Will I read it again? Possibly, looking for something I missed. The best part of the book: her 12 page-list of recommended reading. Much of the list appears to be self-promotion, but it provides insight to what successful authors recommend.

Phyllis Rose introduces the reader to Proust. Because of this book I was inspired to start reading In Search Of Lost Time and possibly I will not stop for at least a year, if ever. Phyllis Rose encourages and inspires the reader to have their own personal and rewarding remembrance of things past and to recognise that the mighty and the modest share in what it is to be human. .