Just now, I remember that before I could read, my mom would read to me about “an old house in Paris that was covered with vines”. The story ended with “she turned out the light and closed the door and that’s all there is, there isn’t any more.”

And I read the same story, from the same book, to my son, and I still have the book.

I tried to write a blog about him, see whether you like it: https://stenote.blogspot.com/2016/07/an-interview-with-vincent.html

I read that too! It was fascinating. If you look around this blog at other articles I’ve mentioned that reference Proust or In Search of Lost Time, you’ll see that a lot of them are from the New Yorker. They almost always have at least one mention and sometimes several!

Bonne chance!

I love this, Jon! I have thrown your butterfly into the hat 🙂