Swann's Way by Marcel Proust
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

“But it was also by the force of inertia; there was in his soul that want of adaptability which can be seen in the bodies of certain people who, when the moment comes to avoid a collision, to snatch their clothes out of reach of a flame, or to perform any other such necessary movement, take their time (as the saying is), begin by remaining for a moment in their original position, as though seeking to find in it a starting-point, a source of strength and motion.”

The unflinching pursuance of mind, en route the labyrinthine alleys of memory, arouse an ardor to regain that which is far and lost. Thence seeketh the eyes, those moments which necessitate one to remain in one’s original position. Those moments, which engender vigor to let clear the aisle for the memories to ascend, ensnare and leave you mesmerized. How fortunate it is to find those moments in the most exquisite and enticing prose to have ever been written! A delicacy, for the famished soul to behold and savor!

Those exigent moments, hence brought forth by the reading of this work, seized the present and rendered those lovely ones, hidden in the recesses of heart. A stroll with the narrator turned the steeple into an old building, madeline into a sweet dish entwining the warmth of the lovely soul by whom it was prepared and 'that corner at the street' into a long lost point in past which still possesses me as a child. Lovely moments, all of them, more so because they are gone and are never to return except in memories.

“Somewhere in one of the tall trees, making a stage in its height, an invisible bird, desperately attempting to make the day seem shorter, was exploring with a long, continuous note the solitude that pressed it on every side, but it received at once so unanimous an answer, so powerful a repercussion of silence and of immobility that, one would have said, it had arrested for all eternity the moment which it had been trying to make pass more quickly.”

These beautiful lines inspire a motive to seek solitude and hence, plunge deep into thoughts, explore and contemplate on what is imperative to existence. Living everyday or letting life happen? Somewhere a midst the chaos, the madness of everyday life, the moments which mean the most to us, are unconsciously ignored and forgotten. It is these moments which we keep looking for and searching for long after they are gone. And then in a desperate attempt to evade the remorse, we sadly end up in the state of more acute awareness of the loss.

Proust, is not only aware of such moments, but he lets them linger on…in life…..in memories.…in writing…so that seekers like us can look upon them in amazement and in return be rewarded with the pleasure of going through the ones we have long lost…

The dearth of words on my part purport the extent, to which my heart is exhilarated and wishes to remain still some time longer in those moments. Let me linger on some more……


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