A friend of mine recommended this to me over 20 years ago. J Barry is an excellent philosopher, a champion of Arendt and Merleau-Ponty, yet his thoughts on literature have often went awry to my own tastes. This may have been the most static exercise by Balzac which I have encountered. That isn't a dig at the maestro, just an observation. The Quest concerns an obsession, which inflicts immeasurable harm on a family. One thinks of Balzac's Wild Ass' Skin but I was drawn to compare it to Mary Shelley. Both alternate the pursuit with the proprietary bliss of the gentry. Those damned ideas spoil it all. The premise is established early and then unfolds to an expected meter. Barristers aren't portrayed well, which is an appreciable edge to the Balzac milieu. The hypocrisies of funerals and mourning are displayed, though I found the exercise less convincing here than in, say, Cousin Pons.
I read this in airports and flying across the Atlantic. It wouldn't be a bad entry to La Comédie humaine, but unfortunately remains largely a curiosity, not a triumph. 2.5 stars.