Dare I say that I didn’t like this as much as the previous entries? The prose is still inebriating and masterful as ever, but the characters floating around the narrator were significantly less likeable and even less interesting to a certain extent.

The narrator himself completely disappears from the narrative, a bystander with little to no input in the conversations before him, eagerly absorbing every moment, every movement, while secretly passing judgment, which we are privy to thanks to our privileged position. 

But still, there is something about the aristocratic salons that is so repulsive. Everyone is so shallow and rude. They think they are so exceptional due to their illustrious lineage, but they out themselves as extremely close minded. The Duchess Oriane des Guermates is elevated as the woman who captures Marcel’s attention in this book, thanks to her charm and mysterious humour at first. His endeavours to enter her salon and be recognised by her are as successful as they seem futile to me, because she is rather unremarkable, no matter how many hundred pages he spends talking about her. The Duke her husband is equally rather crass, and this narrative fully exposes his ignorance and arrogance. They are in everything the polar opposite of what Swann was, and his sad return at the very end was very welcome, as it exposed their irreconcilable differences and elevate him even further as an exceptional being.

The central part of the novel revolves around the Dreyfus affair. It becomes a central topic of conversation in the salons, splitting Parisian society seemingly in half. Although Marcel never bothers to inform the reader as to what exactly is in contention (aka you need to do your own research if you’re not already aware), it provides a poignant depiction of shifting (or perhaps simply emerging) attitudes towards jewish people, which is obviously a very salient topic for Proust. It’s practically an expose in my opinion, as later reflected in the words of Swann. It’s an indictment of French high society at the time, which has perhaps been swept under the rug, but that with impressive foresight Proust was able to capture and denounce. It also shows how the young narrator is influenced by these opinions, uttered by rather important personalities of his time, as he is initiated into the world.

All in all, this reads like a satire of high society, beautifully written of course. But at the same time, I won’t lie and say it doesn’t drag at over 600 pages. Hoping for more in the next instalments.