A mere mention of Proust but an assessible essay on Joyce's Ulysses. Since Proust and Joyce are often mentioned in the same breath, read on:
Last night, more of Albertine, although we do not yet know her name. Maybe her last name. The narrator is giddy in love and scheming about ways to meet this woman. The description of the restaurant at Rivebelle (great name that) was interesting, and the summer is obviously winding down with darkness coming earlier, just like here in Foxborough. They dine late, when night has fallen. Good stuff.