Dear Marcel, I finished Time Regained – the final volume of your In Search of Lost Time. And with it, I’ve come to the end of your masterpiece. I read it for the past three years, and now that it’s finished, I feel a bit lost. A feeling of emptiness embraces me. I step onto the balcony of my bedroom and stare at the sea. In its turquoise colour, and in the clear pale-blue sky, I search for my lost time, just like you did all those years ago.
I see the returning fishing boats at a distance, and in them, I see the tiny spots in the sea as I walk on the shore, hand in hand with my grandfather. The returning fishing boats are blinking on the horizon like dazzling stars at night. We wait patiently while they materialize in their true magnificent form, triumphant in their acquired treasure. The strong salty breeze nauseates me momentarily. “You’ll never get used to it”, I hear my grandmother says with her ever sympathetic face. And now, pondering on your philosophical musings, I understand the significance of these reminiscences. They are the imprints of a lost time, regained through my memory. In your almost reverent description of how the taste of a madeleine dipped in tea evoked the chain of sensations (which laid the foundation for your masterpiece), I see a seven-year-old who sat at the table in the pantry of her grandmother, waiting patiently to be served with the freshly baked butter cookies and milk. I still feel the pure delight of the little girl who ate them one by one after dipping each in her milk in the manner she was taught. The pure and innocent sensations and observations of a child always provide the most valuable material for an artist.
Your explanation that lost time can be regained through memory fascinates me. Time is intangible and one can only capture the impressions it produces. These impressions are deposited in our minds and can be evoked through our memories. However, you perceive the dangers of this proposition. Memories give us the illusion that time is fixed. But it’s not so. Time moves on, changing everything it touches. We foolishly believe that time is fixed because memories can always bring us past lost times. But in reality, time overrides these memories. And that’s why the places we’ve visited, people we’ve known before will not be the same again to us. Time has wrought changes while we’ve been clinging to our illusive memory. In your masterpiece, Marcel, time is the protagonist. It’s his story; you’re only occupying his space.
And finally, I’d like to say your insightful philosophical musings are greatly valuable to me as a writer. When I started reading your Swann’s Way for the first time, I had no idea that it would profoundly influence my writing. You, along with Virginia and Italo Calvino, changed my writing from a caterpillar to a butterfly. And I’m grateful to you for that. While these reflections play in my mind, I stare at the sea; my heart fills with a deeper sense of gratitude. At the same time, the realization that now I must part with your seven-volume masterpiece which served as an instructor to me for the past three years fills me with melancholy. It’s not a permanent separation of course; I have them all secured in my Kindle. But even though I might go through their pages once again in search of lost time, can it truly be regained? Wouldn’t time prevent me from evoking the same sensations? I won’t be the same person I am now. We grow. Age catches up. Nothing will stay the same, for as you so wisely say, time effaces everything.
Rating: 4/5
