Books like Remembrance of Things Past: Volume III - The Captive, The Fugitive, & Time Regained

Others have reviewed this work far more eloquently than I can, but I still wanted to put a few words into the ether:*** This a review of the entire book, not just this "chapter." And it is a "review" in the loosest possible terms: Consider this stream-of-consciousness rambling:***To avoid that night without a Dawn:In my life I had been like a painter climbing a road high above a lake, a view of which is denied to him by a curtain of rocks and trees. Suddenly through a gap in the curtain he sees the lake, its whole expanse is before him, he takes up his brushes. But already the night is at hand, the night ... which no dawn will follow.People, places, smells, feelings, memories: The swirling vortices of time that we try to cling to, fade and die, only to return in a person or place from which we have come.Do we end at the beginning or start with the end? How can a story begin without an ending or does it begin at all? The "ways" (Guermantes and Swann's) combine into a single point, a new life blooming out into a new future, while those who brought that life forward rot on their feet. The Narrator guides us through these threads, and though his prose is rich and layered, descriptive and deep, filled with ever-expanding descriptions of events, feelings, thoughts, and smells, we still feel as if we walk through a dream. To me, there was a constant fog pervasive over every dinner party, Balbec, Combray, the War, and all those involved; was it because the Narrator is never named (except in those snippets where the fourth wall breaks, and these I'm convinced, had Proust lived, would not be in the final cut)? And in the final chapter, the fog clears a little, letting us see new faces: Except they aren't new. They are people we know, but who have aged. Once unrecognizable strangers resolve into friends with whom we've dined only recently, but "recently" being many decades prior.It is thus that Time works its decay. It leaves us people in their places, places with their people, and bright memories that are in stark contrast to the dullness that remains.This has been a very personal journey, in which I often found myself looking in a mirror. When asked "what is that book about?" I often find it hard to offer a concise reply, because The Search is different for everyone, and has its own varying meanings for each reader. As such, I find it hard to write any sort of traditional review for anyone, apart from the feelings and memories that are invoked by this sprawling narrative.In order to properly answer the question, "what is this book about?" I must recall the madeleine scene and return the question with: Have you ever walked by a building and caught the whiff of some savory aroma; and had said aroma carry you back to your college days, wherein those memories flash vivid, bright, but only for a second (though you've re-lived four solid years in seconds)? Or, have you bitten into a Christmas cookie, and had childhood pass before your eyes: memories of being dandled on a long-dead relative's knee, the smell of the brandy on his breath, and the sounds of Bing Crosby playing in the background? Multiply this feeling by an entire lifetime, and you can begin to brush fingers against the skein of this intricate, masterful, multi-sided book.Reading The Search is an endeavor that engaged all my senses and spoke to deep memories within my heart; it was such a personal experience, that I hope I've given it enough justice with my rambling.