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A Night at the Majestic
One May night in 1922, in a grand hotel in Paris, five of the greatest artists of the 20th century sat down to supper. It would be the only time that novelists Joyce and Proust, the young painter Picasso, choreographer Diaghilev and the composer Stravinsky were in a room together. Each of these exponents of early twentieth-century modernism was at the peak of his creative powers, and of all of them, Proust was enjoying the most spectacular success. Yet within six months he would be dead.
A Night at the Majestic evokes the luxury and glamour of early-twentieth century Paris, the intellectual achievement of the modernist movement and the gossip, intrigue and scandal of aristocratic France.
A Night at the Majestic evokes the luxury and glamour of early-twentieth century Paris, the intellectual achievement of the modernist movement and the gossip, intrigue and scandal of aristocratic France.
358 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2006
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Displaying 1 - 29 of 29 reviews
August 7, 2024
Paris, 1922, a midnight supper party was held at the Majestic (now the
Raphael) by UK art collectors Sydney & Violet Schiff to salute Modernism and the Ballets Russes. It was the only time in history that Stravinsky, Diaghilev, Picasso, Joyce and Proust ever shared a table. The party went on until dawn with players coming and going while sipping champagne, nibbling caviar and forking sole Waleska (with a slight cheese flavor) or noisettes of lamb. The event was the climax of Proust's appearances as he died a few months later.
Author Davenport-Hines (who condenses with great style) leaves the party early and engages in "Proustitis," which suits me fine as all sorts of details are presented: his favorite diet at the time was ice-cream and chilled beer sent to him by the Ritz. There are cameos by diplomat Sir Charles Mendl (seen onscreen as a US secret agent in Hitchcock's 'Notorious'), art critic Clive Bell and the Princesse Edmonde de Polignac, who was born Winaretta Singer of Yonkers. (She always behaved with discretion, we're advised). If you ever wondered what the club Le Boeuf sur le Toit was like (a manifesto by Picabia on one wall, photographs by Man Ray; Chanel, Cocteau, Misia Sert and Gide at tables while someone sang, 'Yes, We Have No Bananas'), you'll find it here.
Recent reread: I forgot to mention author amusingly discusses Proust's fond excursions into wayward habits and habitats like a male brothel. "I've been reading Proust," he quotes Lady Beveridge, "and I was so outraged, Leslie." (Lady B, sit next to me and shut up).
A memorable image: Proust dining alone at the Ritz in evening dress and eating asparagus - by hand, of course - without removing his white gloves. That was long ago, Another World.
-------------
The UK edition is titled "A Night at the Majestic." US is more
accurate: "Proust at the Majestic."
Raphael) by UK art collectors Sydney & Violet Schiff to salute Modernism and the Ballets Russes. It was the only time in history that Stravinsky, Diaghilev, Picasso, Joyce and Proust ever shared a table. The party went on until dawn with players coming and going while sipping champagne, nibbling caviar and forking sole Waleska (with a slight cheese flavor) or noisettes of lamb. The event was the climax of Proust's appearances as he died a few months later.
Author Davenport-Hines (who condenses with great style) leaves the party early and engages in "Proustitis," which suits me fine as all sorts of details are presented: his favorite diet at the time was ice-cream and chilled beer sent to him by the Ritz. There are cameos by diplomat Sir Charles Mendl (seen onscreen as a US secret agent in Hitchcock's 'Notorious'), art critic Clive Bell and the Princesse Edmonde de Polignac, who was born Winaretta Singer of Yonkers. (She always behaved with discretion, we're advised). If you ever wondered what the club Le Boeuf sur le Toit was like (a manifesto by Picabia on one wall, photographs by Man Ray; Chanel, Cocteau, Misia Sert and Gide at tables while someone sang, 'Yes, We Have No Bananas'), you'll find it here.
Recent reread: I forgot to mention author amusingly discusses Proust's fond excursions into wayward habits and habitats like a male brothel. "I've been reading Proust," he quotes Lady Beveridge, "and I was so outraged, Leslie." (Lady B, sit next to me and shut up).
A memorable image: Proust dining alone at the Ritz in evening dress and eating asparagus - by hand, of course - without removing his white gloves. That was long ago, Another World.
-------------
The UK edition is titled "A Night at the Majestic." US is more
accurate: "Proust at the Majestic."
August 7, 2022
2022 update
Came across this book, and flicking through it decided it looked quite interesting! So then I checked here and discovered my disappointing 2 star review.
Decided to give this book another chance, and reread it slowly in between other books. I did enjoy it more this time (hence the 4 stars) but I still think the long chapter about Sydney and Violet Schiff ("Rich Amateurs") does detract from a Proust-centred narrative.
{original 2 star review}
There is a lot of information here, an abundance of detail and ultimately it is quite boring. Certainly one learns more about the Schiffs —a wealthy couple who socialized, mostly— than is really necessary.
And I agree with other reviewers here who consider the title and the framing of this book to be misleading, and even in retrospect preposterous. Surely it's a bit much to claim that Proust's book "changed Paris." But perhaps a more candid title such as "Proust's Last Few Months" would not attract readers.
Full confession: I was overly excited having stumbled upon this book, because of the subject matter. Whenever a youngster such as myself becomes highly stimulated, there is bound to unfold a subsequent falling, or let down, if indeed not a complete tantrum. Yet I harnessed my growing maturity, and managed to compose myself into a tepid ennui. Such was this book.
Came across this book, and flicking through it decided it looked quite interesting! So then I checked here and discovered my disappointing 2 star review.
Decided to give this book another chance, and reread it slowly in between other books. I did enjoy it more this time (hence the 4 stars) but I still think the long chapter about Sydney and Violet Schiff ("Rich Amateurs") does detract from a Proust-centred narrative.
{original 2 star review}
There is a lot of information here, an abundance of detail and ultimately it is quite boring. Certainly one learns more about the Schiffs —a wealthy couple who socialized, mostly— than is really necessary.
And I agree with other reviewers here who consider the title and the framing of this book to be misleading, and even in retrospect preposterous. Surely it's a bit much to claim that Proust's book "changed Paris." But perhaps a more candid title such as "Proust's Last Few Months" would not attract readers.
Full confession: I was overly excited having stumbled upon this book, because of the subject matter. Whenever a youngster such as myself becomes highly stimulated, there is bound to unfold a subsequent falling, or let down, if indeed not a complete tantrum. Yet I harnessed my growing maturity, and managed to compose myself into a tepid ennui. Such was this book.
June 2, 2025
This was quite the disappointment.
I had expected some sort of investigation into modernist art. Instead, the book is nothing more than a collection of anecdotes about Marcel Proust and his contemporary admirers. As a Proust buff, I like a good anecdote as much as the next person and I do not mind learning more about seemingly insignificant details, but this book lacks genuine insights into the works of the subjects discussed.
A pity as it could have been so much more.
I had expected some sort of investigation into modernist art. Instead, the book is nothing more than a collection of anecdotes about Marcel Proust and his contemporary admirers. As a Proust buff, I like a good anecdote as much as the next person and I do not mind learning more about seemingly insignificant details, but this book lacks genuine insights into the works of the subjects discussed.
A pity as it could have been so much more.
March 9, 2021
This was a real letdown. Promising docu-fiction that presents a meeting between Proust, Joyce, Stravinsky and Picasso in Paris. But what a meager story, really boring.
October 22, 2015
A tale of three books, one disappointing, one unnecessary, one good. The pretense of structuring the action around the one night that Joyce and Proust met must have been a great launching point for Davenport-Hines, but despite the interesting personalities at the party in question (Diaghilev! Picasso!), nothing much happens and the action devolves into senseless name-dropping (at one point, he compares the big night to a meeting between Joan Collins and Schwarzenegger). It's a shame, because a section on the party hosts later in the book is strongly researched and illuminating. The unnecessary comes in the form of analysis of Proust's novel, which others have done better and without this unnecessary frame. Finally, the sixty or so pages of background into the reception of SODOM and GOMORRAH are genuinely fascinating. As it adds up, this is for fanatics only.
October 12, 2012
Interesting overview of Proust's life and particularly the impact on it of writing his novel. The night referred to in the title is despatched, albeit comprehensively, in the first chapter, after which Davenport-Hines settles for more straightforward biography with occasional call-outs to other modernist tropes and individuals. Proust's various compatriots, rivals and hangers-on are covered in detail. He is particularly strong on exploring the implications and social effects of Proust's homosexuality and his treatment of that, at the time, taboo subject in his work.
This is a good companion piece to de Botton's Proust book (which itself gets a mention in the endpiece, wherein the author reveals how Proust changed his own life), and an enjoyable, gossipy read for anyone who wishes to revisit the Belle Epoque.
This is a good companion piece to de Botton's Proust book (which itself gets a mention in the endpiece, wherein the author reveals how Proust changed his own life), and an enjoyable, gossipy read for anyone who wishes to revisit the Belle Epoque.
December 12, 2024
This is a biography of Marcel Proust, but it only covers his last few years. Its starting point is a certain event at the Majestic Hotel in Paris in the summer of 1922, less than six months before his death, where Diaghilev (founder of Ballet Russe), Stravinskij, James Joyce, Picasso and Proust were gathered in the same room. Apparently, it was a somewhat underwhelming event as for instance, Joyce, his usual grumpy self, seems to have sat quietly staring at his hands.
The research that has gone into this book is quite overwhelming. The author has read thousands of letters, essays, biographies, etc. to assemble this puzzle that is Proust's last few years on this earth. There are so many memorable quotes and asides, like this one: "Proust's enthusiasm for George Eliot's novels partly rested on her attention to mundane routines, which she made significant or illuminating." This seems quite obvious once you learn about it! Proust loved these details and his books are full of them – he was an astutely keen observer of, well, everything!
Here is another quote about the way he wrote. Violet Hunt (British writer upon, in 1918, finding a copy of Swann's Way (in French) at the library: "This author backed his sentences in and out of garages like a first-class motorist." And another, this from E.M. Forster: "A sentence begins quite simply, then it undulates and expands, parentheses intervene like quick-set hedges, the flowers of comparison bloom, and three fields off, like a wounded partridge, crouches the principal verb (...)." Isn't it wonderful when one excellent writer loves another?
Only after reading this have I grasped just how huge his influence was in cultured circles everywhere, not least in Paris. The description of his death and of all the people who came throughout the night and the next day to pay their respect and then of his funeral, where the procession from Rue Hamelin to Père Lachaise cut off traffic throughout Paris. And really, EVERYBODY was there. And, one must note, at this point, only half of "À la recherche du temps perdu" had been published.
(Try to picture-Google: Man Ray portrait Marcel Proust, then choose the met museum link)
The author name drops like mad in the style of – Marcel Proust. We briefly meet a stream of dukes, princesses, diplomats, painters, and writers whose paths in one way or another cross that of Proust.
So far, I've made it to volume 9 of the novel, but paused my reading to read this. I'm happy that I did, think I'll get a lot more out of the rest of the books knowing what I now know.
The research that has gone into this book is quite overwhelming. The author has read thousands of letters, essays, biographies, etc. to assemble this puzzle that is Proust's last few years on this earth. There are so many memorable quotes and asides, like this one: "Proust's enthusiasm for George Eliot's novels partly rested on her attention to mundane routines, which she made significant or illuminating." This seems quite obvious once you learn about it! Proust loved these details and his books are full of them – he was an astutely keen observer of, well, everything!
Here is another quote about the way he wrote. Violet Hunt (British writer upon, in 1918, finding a copy of Swann's Way (in French) at the library: "This author backed his sentences in and out of garages like a first-class motorist." And another, this from E.M. Forster: "A sentence begins quite simply, then it undulates and expands, parentheses intervene like quick-set hedges, the flowers of comparison bloom, and three fields off, like a wounded partridge, crouches the principal verb (...)." Isn't it wonderful when one excellent writer loves another?
Only after reading this have I grasped just how huge his influence was in cultured circles everywhere, not least in Paris. The description of his death and of all the people who came throughout the night and the next day to pay their respect and then of his funeral, where the procession from Rue Hamelin to Père Lachaise cut off traffic throughout Paris. And really, EVERYBODY was there. And, one must note, at this point, only half of "À la recherche du temps perdu" had been published.
(Try to picture-Google: Man Ray portrait Marcel Proust, then choose the met museum link)
The author name drops like mad in the style of – Marcel Proust. We briefly meet a stream of dukes, princesses, diplomats, painters, and writers whose paths in one way or another cross that of Proust.
So far, I've made it to volume 9 of the novel, but paused my reading to read this. I'm happy that I did, think I'll get a lot more out of the rest of the books knowing what I now know.
June 20, 2008
A very interesting book that takes as its focus one of the last dinners that Proust attended before his death. Guests included James Joyce, Picasso, Stravinsky, and other luminaries. Quite the gathering. I will say that this is the book that provided fundamental insights that have formed my understanding of Proust and his work. Quite a straightforward insight - that the title should be translated- Redeeming Lost Time - in the sense of finding something of value in the trivial pursuits of a lifetime and the decades devoted to cultivating extraordinarily superficial and pointless human beings, irrespective of their wealth and status. One uses the experience to make art, and without that use, the years and decades remain truly lost.
May 24, 2011
I called it a day after about 1/3 of this book. It really felt like the author found the interesting historical footnote of a party that Picasso, Joyce, and Proust were all at the same party. And then he sold the book proposal. And then realized that there really wasn't enough here for a book. And realized he still had a contract for a book, so compiled some very basic and previously-known biographical facts about Proust and the other guests, then strung them along in chronological order.
There was no beating heart to this book. And for a book about Proust, that's offensive. Fie on you, sir! For shame!
There was no beating heart to this book. And for a book about Proust, that's offensive. Fie on you, sir! For shame!
December 21, 2020
I learned a great deal about Proust in this book. It starts with a dinner party in 1922, where a number of luminaries of the early 20th art world were present (Diaghilev, Picasso, James Joyce, Proust). If the generous hosts of the party, Sydney and Violet Schiff, had hoped that this would lead to some kind of wonderful cross-pollination, they would be disappointed. Joyce and Proust exchanged only polite banalities, and in any event, Proust would survive the party by just 6 months.
The night at the Majestic hotel is thus no more than a starting point for the examination of Proust's last years. Apart from the details about his increasing reclusiveness, strange self-doctoring regimes and frantic work pace, the book also focuses on the anxiety that Proust felt about the publication of Sodome et Gomorrhe. This is because his themes of homosexuality/bisexuality/gender fluidity (which are by no means identical with our current understanding) had not been so clearly articulated in the first books of the series. The opening scene of Sodome et Gomorrhe was inevitably going to cause a scandal (and so it proved to be).
I had not really appreciated how the readers of the early volumes, which appeared before WWI, might have thought that Charles Swann was the protagonist of the entire book, and that the sudden revelation of the Baron de Charlus' complicated sexuality might have come as a shock.
At the same time, the book confirmed (once more) that my sensibility is very different from Proust's. The exalted emotions, the anticipation (always better than reality), the jealousy and possessiveness that spoil every relationship, the heightened sensitivity to art, the obsessive scrutiny of social position... all things that are so foreign to me that I can read Proust only in very small doses.
Still, an informative book that I read with pleasure.
The night at the Majestic hotel is thus no more than a starting point for the examination of Proust's last years. Apart from the details about his increasing reclusiveness, strange self-doctoring regimes and frantic work pace, the book also focuses on the anxiety that Proust felt about the publication of Sodome et Gomorrhe. This is because his themes of homosexuality/bisexuality/gender fluidity (which are by no means identical with our current understanding) had not been so clearly articulated in the first books of the series. The opening scene of Sodome et Gomorrhe was inevitably going to cause a scandal (and so it proved to be).
I had not really appreciated how the readers of the early volumes, which appeared before WWI, might have thought that Charles Swann was the protagonist of the entire book, and that the sudden revelation of the Baron de Charlus' complicated sexuality might have come as a shock.
At the same time, the book confirmed (once more) that my sensibility is very different from Proust's. The exalted emotions, the anticipation (always better than reality), the jealousy and possessiveness that spoil every relationship, the heightened sensitivity to art, the obsessive scrutiny of social position... all things that are so foreign to me that I can read Proust only in very small doses.
Still, an informative book that I read with pleasure.
August 5, 2024
Imagine Marcel Proust, Igor Stravinsky, Pablo Picasso, James Joyce and Serge Diaghilev having a supper party around the same table in Paris in 1922. I found the idea of a novel depicting this splendid and enticing. My expectations on the book ”A Night at the Majestic. Proust & the Great Modernist Party of 1922” were high. I expected plenty of lively and witty discussions, intertwined with various conflicts among the participants. To my disappointment I soon found that the book would not meet my expectations. Of a total of more than 300 pages only the first chapter of 49 pages lived up to the title of the book and even that was not as brilliant as I had expected. The remaining eight chapters focus solely on Marcel Proust and his “À la recherche du temps perdu”.
The sources the author has used are meticulously reported at the end of the book followed by a detailed index of the characters appearing in the book. My first reaction to this was positive. I thought that the author had succeeded in compiling a fluent text from his sources. It soon turned out, however, that this book is more of an academic paper than a work of belles-lettres. The author should not have cited other sources so much. He should have used much more of his artistic freedom to make this into agreeable reading. As it is, it is not an academic work either. It is more an over psychologized rendition of Proust and his life and work.
The book has its merits in depicting the coming-about of Temps Perdu. It is six years since I read all the books of Temps Perdu and not having made any notes at that time, I am not sure how well this work even depicts the creation of Temps Perdu and the nature of the work. It certainly does not dive deep into the creative process. It is over-psychologized and focuses on, inter alia, homosexuality, high society gossiping, name-dropping.
The sources the author has used are meticulously reported at the end of the book followed by a detailed index of the characters appearing in the book. My first reaction to this was positive. I thought that the author had succeeded in compiling a fluent text from his sources. It soon turned out, however, that this book is more of an academic paper than a work of belles-lettres. The author should not have cited other sources so much. He should have used much more of his artistic freedom to make this into agreeable reading. As it is, it is not an academic work either. It is more an over psychologized rendition of Proust and his life and work.
The book has its merits in depicting the coming-about of Temps Perdu. It is six years since I read all the books of Temps Perdu and not having made any notes at that time, I am not sure how well this work even depicts the creation of Temps Perdu and the nature of the work. It certainly does not dive deep into the creative process. It is over-psychologized and focuses on, inter alia, homosexuality, high society gossiping, name-dropping.
August 4, 2024
The title is misleading. However, that is actually a good thing. The title was in fact the reason I bought this book. And it was so much more than just a high society banquet.
We get to delve into, what for me at least is, a wonderful and lively Paris of the 1920’s. A period in combination with the Belle Epoque that I can’t romanticise enough.
In the end this is a book about Marcel Proust. Not the Majestic.
It delves into the life of the author, private letters and behind the scenes drama with the pretentious Schiffs, twisting and turning it’s way into the project that was A la recherce du Temps Perdu.
The book is intelligently and eloquently written, not in a typical non-fiction way, but rather with an elegant touch and feel that suits its character as a portrait of the 1920’s and the great Proust.
Recommended read for Proustians across the planet.
4,5/5
We get to delve into, what for me at least is, a wonderful and lively Paris of the 1920’s. A period in combination with the Belle Epoque that I can’t romanticise enough.
In the end this is a book about Marcel Proust. Not the Majestic.
It delves into the life of the author, private letters and behind the scenes drama with the pretentious Schiffs, twisting and turning it’s way into the project that was A la recherce du Temps Perdu.
The book is intelligently and eloquently written, not in a typical non-fiction way, but rather with an elegant touch and feel that suits its character as a portrait of the 1920’s and the great Proust.
Recommended read for Proustians across the planet.
4,5/5
July 28, 2023
Had its moments. Obvious padding in certain chapters, along with the writer's speculations about Proust's motivations for writing this or that part of his work. He's at his best on solid ground. Prose gets occasionally purple. An entertaining reading experience in summoning up not just a great writer but his time.
January 27, 2025
This book is really insightful---once you get past the first chapter which is the only one that applies to the title. I thoroughly enjoyed reading about reactions to Proust as he published each volume and the focus on the last six months of his life. I just finished Monsieur Proust by Celeste Albaret and have found reading the two books back to back fascinating.
May 5, 2018
Title is misleading. Book is really all about Proust. As I'm into Proust, I found it interesting and informative.
September 12, 2018
Picasso, Stravinsky, Proust, Joyce and Diaghilev go to dinner one night . . .
August 17, 2020
This is an inciteful little book. It's a quick read. I loved it.
July 4, 2023
An interesting introduction to Proust and a fascinating look at post WW I Paris. Dense reading buut worth your time if you're interested in turn of the twentieth century literature.
October 12, 2024
The novel attempts to encapsulate the final months of Marcel Proust's life, focusing specifically on his visit to the Majestic Hotel in Paris during a dinner hosted by Violet and Sydney Schiff. This gathering coincides with the controversial publication of Proust's fourth volume, Sodom & Gomorrah, which stirred significant debate across various social classes due to its candid exploration of sexuality.
One might anticipate that the gathering would spark lively discussions and conflicts among the guests, showcasing the vibrant intellectual milieu of the time. However, this dynamic is disappointingly limited to the first chapter, leaving the reader yearning for more engaging dialogue and interaction throughout the rest of the book.
The title and overall framing can be misleading. It feels less like an exploration of a pivotal event at the Majestic and more like a tailored biography, pieced together from existing biographical facts. This gives the impression that the author struggled to find sufficient material to develop the narrative into a standalone work, resulting in a chronological assemblage rather than a cohesive story.
A significant portion of the book is dedicated to Proust's relationship with the Schiffs, which detracts from the Proust-centered narrative. This focus can lead to a portrayal of Proust that is less than flattering, simplifying him within the context of his interactions rather than illuminating his complexities as a writer and individual.
Moreover, the writing often feels rushed, lacking the necessary breathing room to fully engage with the nuances of Proust's world. There are moments of insight, but certain chapters contain obvious padding, along with a lot of speculation regarding relationships and general motivations that may detract from the narrative's authenticity. While name-dropping can enrich the context, here it occasionally veers into excess, creating a sense of disorientation without adequate explanation of the connections between the figures mentioned.
In summary, while the novel holds potential in its subject matter, it ultimately falls short of delivering a deeply immersive experience of Proust's last months. Readers seeking a profound exploration of his life and the surrounding culture may find themselves disappointed by the execution.
One might anticipate that the gathering would spark lively discussions and conflicts among the guests, showcasing the vibrant intellectual milieu of the time. However, this dynamic is disappointingly limited to the first chapter, leaving the reader yearning for more engaging dialogue and interaction throughout the rest of the book.
The title and overall framing can be misleading. It feels less like an exploration of a pivotal event at the Majestic and more like a tailored biography, pieced together from existing biographical facts. This gives the impression that the author struggled to find sufficient material to develop the narrative into a standalone work, resulting in a chronological assemblage rather than a cohesive story.
A significant portion of the book is dedicated to Proust's relationship with the Schiffs, which detracts from the Proust-centered narrative. This focus can lead to a portrayal of Proust that is less than flattering, simplifying him within the context of his interactions rather than illuminating his complexities as a writer and individual.
Moreover, the writing often feels rushed, lacking the necessary breathing room to fully engage with the nuances of Proust's world. There are moments of insight, but certain chapters contain obvious padding, along with a lot of speculation regarding relationships and general motivations that may detract from the narrative's authenticity. While name-dropping can enrich the context, here it occasionally veers into excess, creating a sense of disorientation without adequate explanation of the connections between the figures mentioned.
In summary, while the novel holds potential in its subject matter, it ultimately falls short of delivering a deeply immersive experience of Proust's last months. Readers seeking a profound exploration of his life and the surrounding culture may find themselves disappointed by the execution.
August 27, 2019
The end of Proust at the end of an Epoque Paris and France. I want to spend more time reading Proust and about his life in future years. There's a gap that needs filling. He was certainly engaged with society, even from his asthmatic's cork lined bedroom.
On a May evening in 1922, the English arts lovers Violet and Sydney Schiff convened a grand dinner at the Majestic Hotel in Paris, following the premiere of a Stravinsky ballet. In addition to guests of honor Stravinsky and Diaghilev, the dinner was attended by Picasso, James Joyce, and finally, arriving around 2:30 in the morning, one more artist at the peak of his fame: Marcel Proust. Sodom and Gomorrah, the fourth and most shocking volume of Proust's monumental work In Search of Lost Time, had just appeared, transfixing readers with its finely detailed observations on themes of Jewishness and anti-Semitism, the interplay across social classes, and all manner of sexual expression. The book's eccentric, ailing author had become a celebrity to French and English-language readers alike, and his presence at the dinner was all the more unusual since Proust rarely went out. In fact, he would be dead only six months later.
Acclaimed historian and biographer Davenport-Hines takes the dinner at the Majestic as the leaping-off point for an examination of Proust's last days, and the enormous reaction his novel garnered from its first years of publication. Using accounts by Proust's contemporaries, including other modernist stars, Proust's dazzled readers, and wealthy patrons such as the Schiffs, Davenport-Hines illuminates the Paris of the author's last days.
On a May evening in 1922, the English arts lovers Violet and Sydney Schiff convened a grand dinner at the Majestic Hotel in Paris, following the premiere of a Stravinsky ballet. In addition to guests of honor Stravinsky and Diaghilev, the dinner was attended by Picasso, James Joyce, and finally, arriving around 2:30 in the morning, one more artist at the peak of his fame: Marcel Proust. Sodom and Gomorrah, the fourth and most shocking volume of Proust's monumental work In Search of Lost Time, had just appeared, transfixing readers with its finely detailed observations on themes of Jewishness and anti-Semitism, the interplay across social classes, and all manner of sexual expression. The book's eccentric, ailing author had become a celebrity to French and English-language readers alike, and his presence at the dinner was all the more unusual since Proust rarely went out. In fact, he would be dead only six months later.
Acclaimed historian and biographer Davenport-Hines takes the dinner at the Majestic as the leaping-off point for an examination of Proust's last days, and the enormous reaction his novel garnered from its first years of publication. Using accounts by Proust's contemporaries, including other modernist stars, Proust's dazzled readers, and wealthy patrons such as the Schiffs, Davenport-Hines illuminates the Paris of the author's last days.
October 26, 2015
A short biography of Proust, concentrating on his final few years. At the start, it seems to want to be about the famously inconsequential meeting of Proust and Joyce, but Joyce quickly slips out of sight and the focus shifts to Proust's relationship with the hosts at the meeting at the Majestic, Sydney and Violet Schiff. (Sydney created the generally disregarded and discarded translation of Time Regained after Scott Moncrieff's death).
August 15, 2012
This is without doubt a useful and interesting book for any fan of Proust's, but the endless name-dropping becomes overwhelming after a while, and there doesn't seem to be any real heart to the book. I certainly learnt a lot, and I felt it was a good introduction to Proust, but somehow it failed to engage me. Pity.
August 25, 2008
Gets a bit bogged down in name dropping lists of who attended dinners where and when in Paris in the 1920s. You have to plough through all that to reach the moment you are waiting for - the encounter of Joyce and Proust. It's a long wait.
August 8, 2014
Provided me with many new insights into Proust. I will now have to re-read Proust yet again, discover new pleasures and nuances missed on earlier, younger, readings. I found Davenport's death chapter, i.e. the last chapter, poignant, superb. It's all in the little patch of yellow wall.
October 13, 2025
Odd but fascinating book which I loved but many hated. As I didn't review at the time I read it I refer you to a review in the UK Guardian newspaper at the time it was published:
https://www.theguardian.com/books/200...
https://www.theguardian.com/books/200...
May 21, 2009
Boring old farts, except they weren't even old!
April 27, 2010
Interesting as far as it goes but a slight anti climax given the material and times.
February 12, 2013
There is a boatload of names in this book. A snapshot of Paris society in the early 20th century, involving so far. Very daunting but incredibly informative.
May 29, 2016
Light, pleasant read about Proust. Lacks robust organization and borders on being a collection of random anecdotes, but D-H is such a fantastic writer it's hard to fault the book.
Displaying 1 - 29 of 29 reviews