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goinghome
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Proust is easy. Long, beautiful, mellifluous sentences in a voice that gradually becomes as welcome and comforting as an old friend. I was intimidated by its reputation but found it marvelously welcoming. When I started the novel seemed long, but now I wish he'd written 30 volumes. The Modern Library translation is a good one, semi-endorsed by Nabokov (the best one can hope for from such a fastidious reader). I recommend jumping in with both feet.
Thanks, Worm. I'll wade in soon, once I cross the choppy ocean that is The Satanic Verses, by Salman Rushdie!
We've seen this a few times, I'm sure, but in certain cases, like an old friend, there's joy in repetition:
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