Originally Posted by
chrisvia
But before then I had long experienced these snatches of memories, seemingly randomly popping into my mind. Then I started to notice patterns, or triggers. For example, the smell of a bonfire would call up memories of the previous October when I had had a very pleasant time with friends around a campfire. Little did I know, the master painter of this phenomenon had produced his magnum opus based on what would come to be termed Proustian, or voluntary, memory.
Most artists have this longing for the innocence and excitement of youth (see Rilke's "Imaginary Career," for example), and who doesn't enjoy getting momentarily swept away by their most precious memories of a time when they didn't have the responsibilities of adulthood crushing down on their backs (slight allusion to Miller's comments about the world breaking men's backs, from Tropic of Cancer)? Well, Proust takes it all a step further, giving us the iconic lime blossom event as a trigger for a wellspring of memories, deftly stitched together across 6 volumes, all of which are packed with a tapestry of rich detail-intense sentences.