NOTE: This was an audiobook for me.

Marcel Proust's funny one liners are better than anything the MCU has ever done. Two of my favourites are:

Girl, that was stone cold. 

and:

Lol. Lmao, even.

Then again, Proust will also hit you with some pretty painful daggers like:

If you've ever felt like that, I know you drew a sharp breath in just then. 

Honestly, this book was a real undertaking. Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time is less a story and more a gigantic minecraft-seed-sized landscape—a vast, shifting terrain where memory and experience trip over one another. 

The plot, such as it is, only focuses on one guy, and his life. It begins in childhood and unspools through adolescence and adulthood, never quite linear, always folding back on itself like a road doubling its path through the hills. Proust describes the years as fugitives - which I think is particularly lovely imagery. It becomes dizzying, blurry, strange. It's exactly like how it feels to age. 

A boy grows up. He loves tea-soaked madeleines. He falls in love, often and unwisely (Girl, same). He moves through salons and parlors, observes the vanities of the aristocracy, and ends up being kind of a stuffy wanker himself every now and then. There are weird French bohemian parties, betrayals, affairs, lots of gayness, and sad deaths, but none of these are really that important. It's a strange read.  You're constantly thrown back to the main event: time—how it moves, how it slips through your grasp, and how it changes you.

Does it get old? No - but it does tinge on a little dreary once or twice. Sorry, Proust, I am human; my dopamine receptors have been ravaged and fried by The Despot Algorithm. That's kind of my way of saying I'm a little too lazy and brainrotted to call this a couldn't-put-down'er.
 
In any case. RIP Proust, you would have loved: