In Search of Lost Time

I have read the beginning of Proust's book about five times and really enjoyed it although I think it would be fair to say that it is slow moving. The normal translation of the title in English is: Remembrance of Things Past. This, it turns out, is a pretty inaccurate translation but is rather beautiful. The translation I now have has given a more faithful version of the title: In Search of Lost Time. I actually prefer this title. It suits the theme of the book much better, it's nearer my own heart as a concern, and it has it's own beauty.

I have done two strands of autobiography before on this blog: (a) Mum's records, and (b) Dance. It's sort of my thing really. If I were to start a third I think I would start it here, with this photo of my Gran.