And even before my mind, hesitating on the thresholds of times and shapes, had identified the house by reassembling the circumstances, it—my body—would recall the kind of bed in each one, the location of the doors, the angle at which the light came in through the windows, the existence of a hallway, along with the thought I had had as I fell asleep and that I had recovered upon waking. Something went wrong. Your recently viewed items and featured recommendations, Select the department you want to search in. Translation C. K. Scott Moncrieff (1922) Lydia Davis (2002) The Scott Moncrieff version is the first translation of Swann’s Way into a language other than French. À la place, notre système tient compte de facteurs tels que l'ancienneté d'un commentaire et si le commentateur a acheté l'article sur Amazon. Livraison accélérée gratuite sur des millions d’articles, et bien plus. But I had seen sometimes one, sometimes another, of the bedrooms I had inhabited in my life, and in the end I would recall them all in the long reveries that followed my waking: winter bedrooms in which, as soon as you are in bed, you bury your head in a nest braided of the most disparate things: a corner of the pillow, the top of the covers, a bit of shawl, the side of the bed and an issue of the Débats roses,1 which you end by cementing together using the birds’ technique of pressing down on it indefinitely; where in icy weather the pleasure you enjoy is the feeling that you are separated from the outdoors (like the sea swallow which makes its nest deep in an underground passage in the warmth of the earth) and where, since the fire is kept burning all night in the fireplace, you sleep in a great cloak of warm, smoky air, shot with the glimmers from the logs breaking into flame again, a sort of immaterial alcove, a warm cave dug out of the heart of the room itself, a zone of heat with shifting thermal contours, aerated by drafts which cool your face and come from the corners, from the parts close to the window or far from the hearth, and which have grown cold again: summer bedrooms where you delight in becoming one with the soft night, where the moonlight leaning against the half-open shutters casts its enchanted ladder to the foot of the bed, where you sleep almost in the open air, like a titmouse rocked by the breeze on the tip of a ray of light; sometimes the Louis XVI bedroom, so cheerful that even on the first night I had not been too unhappy there and where the slender columns that lightly supported the ceiling stood aside with such grace to show and reserve the place where the bed was; at other times, the small bedroom with the very high ceiling, hollowed out in the form of a pyramid two stories high and partly paneled in mahogany, where from the first second I had been mentally poisoned by the unfamiliar odor of the vetiver, convinced of the hostility of the violet curtains and the insolent indifference of the clock chattering loudly as though I were not there; where a strange and pitiless quadrangular cheval glass, barring obliquely one of the corners of the room, carved from deep inside the soft fullness of my usual field of vision a site for itself which I had not expected; where my mind, struggling for hours to dislodge itself, to stretch upward so as to assume the exact shape of the room and succeed in filling its gigantic funnel to the very top, had suffered many hard nights, while I lay stretched out in my bed, my eyes lifted, my ear anxious, my nostril restive, my heart pounding, until habit had changed the color of the curtains, silenced the clock, taught pity to the cruel oblique mirror, concealed, if not driven out completely, the smell of the vetiver and appreciably diminished the apparent height of the ceiling. (16 of 30 readers found this comment helpful). Its memory, the memory of its ribs, its knees, its shoulders, offered in succession several of the rooms where it had slept, while around it the invisible walls, changing place according to the shape of the imagined room, spun through the shadows. Please try again. SWANN'S WAY By Marcel Proust. After viewing product detail pages, look here to find an easy way to navigate back to pages you are interested in. Vous écoutez un extrait de l'édition audio Audible. If you've read it elsewhere, I apologise. Top subscription boxes – right to your door, © 1996-2020, Amazon.com, Inc. or its affiliates. In Search of Lost Time: Swann's Way: A Graphic Novel, Marcel Proust's Search for Lost Time: A Reader's Guide to The Remembrance of Things Past. Swann's Way: In Search of Lost Time, Vol. The book ends with "The places we have known do not belong solely to the world of space in which we situate them for our greater convenience. These revolving, confused evocations never lasted for more than a few seconds; often, in my brief uncertainty about where I was, I did not distinguish the various suppositions of which it was composed any better than we isolate, when we see a horse run, the successive positions shown to us by a kinetoscope. Read full review. Unable to add item to List. Why not do something you always told yourself you would? For me, one down, 6 more volumes to go, but I will take time to enjoy them , s..l..o..w..l..y. II: Within a Budding Grove (Modern Library Classics) (v. 2), In Search of Lost Time (Everyman's Library Classics), Introduction to the Philosophy of History: with selections from The Philosophy of Right (Hackett Classics), Sodom and Gomorrah: In Search of Lost Time, Volume 4 (Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition), Being and Time: A Revised Edition of the Stambaugh Translation (SUNY series in Contemporary Continental Philosophy), The Prisoner: In Search of Lost Time, Volume 5 (Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition), The Lady With No Face: A Lifetime Search For Love, The Travels of Sir John Mandeville (Penguin Classics), Kindergarten Common Core Workbook: Worksheets, Nosotras, la Cocina y el COVID: Cotorreando cocinamos mejor! Golo would stop for a moment to listen sadly to the patter read out loud by my great-aunt, which he seemed to understand perfectly, modifying his posture, with a meekness that did not exclude a certain majesty, to conform to the directions of the text; then he moved off at the same jerky pace. You will thank yourself, and experience something near bliss when you enter the moment through the door of the madeleine. Little by little the memory of her would fade, I had forgotten the girl of my dream. Find all the books, read about the author, and more. There are three qualities to comment upon: the complete novel, the translation, and the kindle specifics. I would strike a match to look at my watch. 1 (Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition), Swann's Way: In Search of Lost Time, Volume One, Swann's Way - In Search Of Lost Time, Volume I, In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower: In Search of Lost Time, Vol. Unable to add item to List. Now, Penguin Classics brings Proust’s masterpiece to new audiences throughout the world, beginning with Lydia Davis’s internationally acclaimed translation of the first volume, Swann’s Way.