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120 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2009
‘—McLuhan refers to an interesting experiment which seems to provide a physiological basis, so to speak, for Proust’s experience of the madeleine. The stimulation of brain tissue during surgery revives many memories, and these are saturated with special scents and smells which structure them into units and thus form a scaffold for early experiences.Scent is steeped in history, so to speak. It is filled with stories, with narrative images.’
‘The narration gives time a scent. Point-time, by contrast, is a time without scent. Time begins to emit a scent when it gains duration; when it is given a narrative or deep tension; when it gains depth and breadth, even space. Time loses its scent when it is divested of all deep structure or sense, when it is atomized or when it flattens out, thins out or shortens. If it detaches entirely from the anchoring which holds, even inhibits [verhält], it, then it becomes devoid of all support [haltlos]. Taken out of its mount [Halterung], so to speak, it rushes off [stürzt fort]. Acceleration—is not a primary process which subsequently leads to various changes within the lifeworld, but a symptom, a secondary process, that is, a consequence of time having lost its hold and having been atomized, its being without any inhibiting gravitation. Time rushes off [stürzt fort], even in a precipitous haste [überstürzt sich], in order to compensate for an essential lack of being.’
‘Tellingly, Proust’s À la recherche du temps perdue begins by saying ‘Longtemps, je me suis couché de bonne heure’ (For a long time I would go to bed early). In the English translation, the expression ‘bonne heure’ disappears altogether. These are far-reaching words on time and happiness (bonheur). The bonne heure, the good time, is the counter-image to bad infinity, to empty and therefore bad duration in which no sleep is possible. Torn time [Zeitriß], the radical discontinuity of time which does not allow for remembrance, leads to a torturous sleeplessness. The first passages of Proust’s novel, by contrast, present a gladdening experience of continuity, the mise en scène of an effortless hovering between sleeping, dreaming and awakening again, amidst a fluid medium made up of images belonging to memory and perception, a free to-and-fro between the past and present, between solid order and playful confusion. There is no tearing of time that would throw the protagonist into an empty duration.’