If there is a labyrinth and a sphere, Proust's memory as the minatory, then this book is genius. A flight out of that space and time. Icarus here is returned: precise, violent, and passionate. Alive. Geoff Waite German Studies and Comparative Literature, Cornell University: Scott Hartstein's Adagia is a novel in that it is not a novel. Therein lies its novelty. It is a kaleidoscope, whose reflections in both senses shimmer about a plot, to be sure, but a plot that plays second fiddle to the author's impressive erudition and his digressions into cultural, literary, religious, philosophical, musical, linguistic byways of all kinds and dimensions. These beckon the often challenged reader to follow along, unsure where he is eventually being led by the author the work's real protagonist and wondering through what lush landscapes he will be able to return. Adagia will impress and astound many readers, perplex some, even intimidate infuriate? others. But it will not leave many indifferent. Norm Shapiro Professor of Romance Languages and LIteratures, Wesleyan University Writer in residence Adams House Harvard University: The birth of a book is like the birth of a child Joyce discovered this analogy when he composed the "Oxen of the Sun" episode of Ulysses. So did Proust as he toiled, spinning the huge amniotic web of his great Oeuvre. In a different key, Adagia makes us retrace similar steps: its tangled tale surveys the long history of the European novel while creating a music that echoes in us deeply and exhilaratingly. Jean-Michel Rabaté Vartan Gregorian Chair in the Humanities, University of Pennsylvannia Co-founder and senior curator of Slought foundation.