I feel a tad guilty whenever I spot Proust’s masterpiece in French on my dining table, for I touch it hardly at all. Although the bulky book is perched on top of a tall pile of books by my side, it rarely gets the attention it undoubtedly deserves. As I predicted as soon as I got it, it would take me years to plough through it (“Proust Forever,” July 3, 2012). I just checked, and my bookmark is stuck between the sixteenth and seventeenth page. There are about two-thousand and four-hundred pages to go. At this deplorable pace, I would need close to eighty years to get to the last page. If I lived to be ninety, as was the case with both of my parents, I would reach just beyond the seven-hundredth page. Yes, I made a few quick calculations on the back of an envelope. And I wanted this book so badly! Proust for ever and ever, indeed.

Addendum I (March 23, 2013)

After a long winter in Zagreb, and only a few days before my return to Motovun, my bookmark has moved quite some way. I just checked, and it is lodged between pages three-hundred and seventy-eight and three-hundred and seventy-nine. I have made handsome progress in three months. At this formidable rate, I would need no more than five more winters to finish the book. Hooray! The only problem with my jubilation is that I now feel kind of sorry for good old Proust. Once nearly impassable, his book now strikes me as way too short to be a real challenge for an intrepid reader such as myself.

Addendum II (May 17, 2015)

Not to worry, though. I do not remember exactly why, but I did not take Proust’s masterpiece to Zagreb last winter. The bookmark is now lodged between pages seven-hundred and eight and seven-hundred and nine. Even though I am moving ahead at an appreciable rate, many more years of reading one of my favorite books are in store. At this leisurely rate, I would need about seven years to finish it. Just to be on the safe side, I would guess that no less than ten years would be needed for this formidable task. In other words, I will finish it just in time for my eightieth birthday. What a lovely prospect!

Addendum III (June 4, 2016)

I just checked one of my favorite books, which is always within reach on my dining table, and I found the bookmark between pages seven-hundred and twenty-four and seven-hundred and twenty-five. According to the last addendum, this amounts to sixteen pages read in a bit more than a year. Wow! A quick calculation on the back of another envelope tells me that I would need one-hundred and five years to finish reading the book at this rate. Ouch! Chances are that I will never finish reading it, indeed. Having turned seventy a couple of months ago, though, I find this prospect rather comforting. Hey, Proust will be right next to me on my deathbed!

Addendum IV (May 2, 2020)

As it turned out, I finished reading Proust’s masterpiece earlier this year (“Four Years Ahead of Time,” January 19, 2020). And I was quite happy to reach the last page, I must admit. What is more, I am rather unlikely to touch it ever again. Although I am far from disappointed with the whole book, its seventh and last part strikes me as no less than irksome. Finding lost time after a grueling search is a bad joke at best. At any rate, the book is out of my way by now. Turning to the last lines of the previous addendum, the only book that will be right next to me on my deathbed will surely be my own. Residua for ever and ever, and no kidding. Well in advance, this prospect makes me quite happy. Actually, jubilant.