The Memoirs of Ernest A. Forssgren: Proust's Swedish Valet Book

I enjoyed it in parts. My only problem is his constant reassertion of his devoted love, and how it contradicts his depiction of Madeleine. I still believe he was in love with her, but he doesn't provide enough examples to trust him. His portrait of her, at least defined here (I haven't read anything else of his), is of someone constantly whining and repugnant. One of the best parts of this thing occurs in his journal, when he references a letter she wrote him:

"Oh, if only you were invulnerable, I should not tremble. But you are vulnerable, and you know it, and I know it."

That is lovely; there is not enough of that. It's a very imbalanced memoir of love. I'd still recommend it, though. There is certainly a lot to enjoy.