I had hoped that this book would link Proust to the author's life, preferably with extrapolations applicable to everyone's (or at least : my) life. This was true for perhaps the first couple of chapters, but then it seemed that the author had exhausted her analysis of Proust and moved over to pretty straightforward memoir. This included repeated stories of the health troubles of her octogenarian mother, allusions to winters spent in Key West, with lots of entertaining, and some stories of her first and second marriage. There is nothing wrong with this, of course, except that on many pages I searched in vain for something beyond straight narrative. I just wasn't all that interested in the pure memoir part - I just didn't think Phyllis Rose's life was all that interesting. I did pick up a few hints about next books to read, but much of this came close to gossip about her more famous writer friends and guests (Annie Dillard, Salman Rushdie, Robert Stone, Alison Lurie). The first chapters, where she analyzes her response to Proust, were the most interesting. So I did not finish this book - I lost the motivation.