For me, Proust's seven-volume novel, Remembrance of Things Past, indisputably remainsthe most unique artistic achievement of the twentieth century. It is a rare masterpiece ofmodern imagination-it equals Dostoevsky in fathoming the depths of evil, is comparablewith Tolstoy in its all-encompassing range of human passions of love and jealousy and amost brilliant portrayal of grief, passing time and decay. Remembrance of Things Past isalmost Shakespearean in its capacity to capture the psychological mystery of multipleselves which an individual carries within himself.