I was reading this book by Marcel Proust called "The Captive"...it was a book from my grandfather's book collection, I picked it up randomly and thought, hmm, Proust huh, I've heard of this guy, maybe it'll be good...I got 300 pages into it before I just had to stop. I don't like abandoning books after that much commitment but I just couldn't take it anymore. It was just a really weird book that felt completely directionless...I read a bit more about Proust's work on Wiki and apparently "The Captive" is just one "chapter" in a huge magnum opus that Proust wrote called "Remembrance of Things Past", all of which feature the same unnamed narrator and all of them seemingly devoid of any plot/narrative/story arc. Instead what you're treated to is the introspective stream-of-consciousness of some gay French dude from the late 19th/early 20th century...I mean he was a good writer, and some of his descriptions are next-level, I especially enjoyed the references to maritime themes and the seashore that he made in "The Captive", buuuut...I dunno, I just like my books to have an actual plot lol