Reading Gabriel Josipovici's The Lessons of Modernism and his The World and the Book, last night, I was reminded, yet again, what a matchless critic and writer he is. The first essay in The World and the Book is Proust: A Voice in Search of Itself. It's a superb paper which reminds us how "philosophical" and disruptive Proust's mammoth masterpiece actually is. And, crucially, how anti-novelistic. Lots of readers, who actually bother to read Proust, seem thrilled by its Edwardian grandeur and its scale and they miss its manifold subversions. Proust understands his own obsessions; he observes them and works through them within the body of the work. He recognises that the world within the pages of his book is not the world - despite the length of the work and some realist descriptions, the thrust of the work is anti-realist (there is nothing "natural" about Realism it is an invented, historically situated style): Proust is not attempting verisimilitude, he realises that truth is not mimesis.