Time Regained , the final volume of In Search of Lost Time , begins in the bleak and uncertain years of World War I. Years later, after the war’s end, Proust’s narrator returns to Paris and reflects on time, reality, jealousy, artistic creation, and the raw material of literature—his past life. This Modern Library edition also includes the indispensable Guide to Proust , compiled by Terence Kilmartin and revised by Joanna Kilmartin.
For this authoritative English-language edition, D. J. Enright has revised the late Terence Kilmartin’s acclaimed reworking of C. K. Scott Moncrieff’s translation to take into account the new definitive French editions of Á la recherché du temps perdu (the final volume of these new editions was published by the Bibliothèque de la Pléiade in 1989).
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最好的一部 诚心诚意地给五星 最后的几页就不说了 一开头的那几段就是一边流眼泪一边想拍桌子叫好
评分Time regained, and I finally regained my time. It ends with acrophobia. Arrested by vertiginous terror, the narrator makes a promise, or an ultimatum to write a project that would necessarily fail. Conditioned by time’s mercy, any writing about time is infinitely inadequate; or, does such inadequacy structurally constitute human condition?
评分Time regained, and I finally regained my time. It ends with acrophobia. Arrested by vertiginous terror, the narrator makes a promise, or an ultimatum to write a project that would necessarily fail. Conditioned by time’s mercy, any writing about time is infinitely inadequate; or, does such inadequacy structurally constitute human condition?
评分Time regained, and I finally regained my time. It ends with acrophobia. Arrested by vertiginous terror, the narrator makes a promise, or an ultimatum to write a project that would necessarily fail. Conditioned by time’s mercy, any writing about time is infinitely inadequate; or, does such inadequacy structurally constitute human condition?
评分Time regained, and I finally regained my time. It ends with acrophobia. Arrested by vertiginous terror, the narrator makes a promise, or an ultimatum to write a project that would necessarily fail. Conditioned by time’s mercy, any writing about time is infinitely inadequate; or, does such inadequacy structurally constitute human condition?
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