I came across Marcel Proust's Swann's Way in a used bookstore a while ago.
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| Light reading? Not quite. |
Needless to say, I barely made it through the first three pages.
Go ahead. Cackle.
But in my defense...
I'm rather certain that those first four pages were merely one comma-infested, eternally drawn out, painstakingly gruesome but oh, so eloquently and beautifully crafted sentence; alas the kind that enthralls you with its salaciously masterful diction but ever so delicately steals your soul with every superfluous, wholeheartedly unnecessary display of punctuation.
Ha! Bring it, Marcy. Two can play this game.
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