There's probably only one writer who can rival Henry James for the stupendous length of his sentences. Meet Marcel Proust. He really likes cookies.

Like Kafka and Yeats, Proust was a retiring sort of fellow. He spent most of his life in bed (cozy!) suffering from maladies that might have been imaginary. It was as though he had to retreat from the world in order to internalize and re-create it.

Remembrance of Things Past

They say that you realize you're middle-aged when you know you'll never read Remembrance of Things Past. So do yourself a favor and read this seven-part semi-autobiographical work, which is famous for its lyrical descriptions and psychological realism. Not only will you have an awesome thing to talk about at parties; you'll also never be middle-aged. Right? That's how that works, right?

The book reflects scientific and philosophical theories about the nature of time and memory we still find significant and relevant, like Proust's insights into the way a taste or a smell can unfold a whole world of past experience.