Living the Past as a Metaphor: 
Writing and Re-writing the Past in 
Marcel Proust’s Time Regained and 
Its Translation into Estonian
Madli Kütt
Sõpruse pst. 10-69, 50703 Tartu, Estonia
madli.kytt@gmail.com
249
Primerjalna književnost (Ljubljana) 37.3 (2015)
Marcel Proust’s writing of the past is metaphorical. Instead of reminiscing about 
the moments of the past, Proust’s narrator experiences them again, in and through 
his present moment. The translation doubles the experience of writing by re-writing 
the narrator’s impressions in another language. The Estonian translation offers a 
particular angle by changing the focus from subject-object connection to the relations 
between the objects themselves. The article will discuss three views on how the Estonian 
translation transforms Proust’s metaphorical writing: the dynamics of memory spaces, 
the visuality of experiencing the past, and the involuntary aspect of these experiences.
Keywords: French literature / Proust, Marcel / literary translation / Estonian language / 
metaphors / involuntary memory / the past / subject-object relation
In Le Temps retrouvé, we find one of the famous explanations Proust 
gives of his credo on writing being built around the notion of metaphor. 
He starts by stating his position in distancing himself from a certain de-
scriptive, linear writing:
On peut faire se succéder indéfiniment dans une description les objets qui figu-
raient dans le lieu décrit, la vérité ne commencera qu’au moment où l’écrivain 
prendra deux objets différents, posera leur rapport, […] et les enfermera dans les 
anneaux nécessaires d’un beau style. (Proust, À la recherche du temps perdu IV 468)
To Proust, “un beau style” cannot be reached by an enumeration of de-
scriptions of (beautiful) objects, but rather through something that works 
in two-sided relations, that is, metaphorically. Using a metaphoric method, 
the writer can disclose a deeper meaning, or the “essence” of things: “en 
rapprochant une qualité commune à deux sensations, il dégagera leur es-
sence en les réunissant l’une et l’autre, pour les soustraire aux contingences 
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250
du temps, dans une métaphore” (IV 468). But metaphor in the Proustian 
sense is not merely a figure of style in writing – it is rather a whole way of 
interacting with the world: “Toute impression est double, à demi engainée 
dans l’objet, prolongée en nous-mêmes par une autre moitié que seuls 
nous pourrions connaître” (IV 470). It is a singular connection, a kind 
of a bridge – to use Alain de Lattre’s metaphor for metaphoric writing – 
with one end in the object and the other connected to the subject who 
perceives this object. In that respect, A. de Lattre points out that Proust’s 
writing is most of all about the bridge itself, rather than either one of its 
ends (73). His interest is in recognising connections and similarities where 
none are expected, and these accidental, seemingly illogical connections 
open the objects in their particularity, depth and reality – make them ac-
cessible for the subject, who can now cross the bridge. A metaphor thus 
opens a passage, a door that the narrator can step through and be in two 
moments at the same time: “on a frappé à toutes les portes qui ne donnent 
sur rien, et la seule par où on peut entrer et qu’on aurait cherchée en vain 
pendant cent ans, on y heurte sans le savoir et elle s’ouvre” (IV 445). That 
is how metaphorical writing makes the air seem purer and paradise-like 
when it is inhaled for the second time, and feel new precisely because it is 
inhaled for a second time:
[I]l nous fait tout à coup respirer un air nouveau, précisément parce que c’est un 
air qu’on a respiré autrefois, cet air plus pur que les poètes ont vainement essayé 
de faire régner dans le Paradis et qui ne pourrait donner cette sensation profonde 
de renouvellement que s’il avait été respiré déjà, car les vrais paradis sont les para-
dis qu’on a perdus. (IV 449)
The act of writing itself is often seen as this secondary layer of meta-
phorical perception. The scene with the steeples of Martinville from Du 
Côté de chez Swann (I 177–180) is a famous example of “how a metaphor-
like impression may be translated into a work of art” (Jaeck 100). The vi-
sion of the two steeples from a moving carriage, joined by a third one fur-
ther away, gives the young narrator a particular impression that he cannot 
immediately identify. It seems like something is hiding inside that vision 
but remains unreachable. After some time though, he recognises that this 
impression has reappeared in his mind in a verbal form which reveals the 
hidden meaning: “leurs surfaces […] comme si elles avaient été une sorte 
d’écorce, se déchirèrent, un peu de ce qui m’était caché en elles m’apparut, 
j’eus une pensée qui n’existait pas pour moi l’instant avant, qui se formula 
en mots dans ma tête” (I 178). He asks for a pencil and some paper and 
writes these words down, despite the rattling of the carriage, and feels that 
it has freed him from that which was hiding inside the vision of the stee-
Madli Kütt:     Living the Past as a Metaphor: Writing and Re-writing the Past in Marcel Proust’s …
251
ples and had captured his attention. Writing is thus a basic need in front of 
these impressions, it provides the necessary secondary level of discovering 
the depth of the objects, hidden under their visible surface.
As L. M. Jaeck notes, this scene illustrates how Proust’s writing is a 
translation of the writer’s experience of the world. “Le devoir et la tâche 
d’un écrivain sont ceux d’un traducteur”, Proust writes later in Le Temps 
retrouvé. (IV 469) Thus, if writing gives this highly valued possibility to ex-
perience an impression for the second time, to connect with it on a deeper 
level, then translating Proust’s text as re-writing adds another layer to this 
two-fold structure. With one notable distinction – the translator’s first 
experience is a text, a textual reality, and his writing is a testimony of this 
experience. The following analysis is going to concentrate on the question 
of how this layer of re-writing changes the metaphorical way of experienc-
ing the past in the case of Estonian translation of Le Temps retrouvé, done 
by the novelist and poet Tõnu Õnnepalu in 2004, whose own works also 
often deal with memories and reminiscence.
One of the moments where metaphoric writing comes forth in a most 
obvious way are the almost constant comparisons of impressions and im-
ages in Proust’s text. Laurent Mattiussi is one of many to point out that 
Proust’s writing, indeed rather poor in metaphors in the strict sense, uses 
more often the actual form of a comparison to have metaphoric processes 
work on a larger scale, as an underlying structure of the world, the thought 
and the narration (8). Comparison may even be a more suitable stylistic 
form for his purpose as it is more explicitly showing the relational nature 
that governs Proust’s fiction. Most of his descriptions follow the same 
logic of one image, sensation, experience reminding of another, which 
become present and united in the same moment, often in the same sen-
tence, but also stay apart, each keeping their individuality. The translation 
process, however, modifies these comparisons and so changes also the 
ways that the past is experienced and evoked.
One of the most apparent changes affected by the translation is the 
basis for the comparison. Such a change is present, for example, in the fol-
lowing description of aeroplanes seen in the night sky above Paris, which 
are compared to a vision of a mountain:
Avant l’heure où les thés d’après-midi finissaient, à la tombée du jour, dans le ciel 
encore clair, on voyait de loin de petites taches brunes qu’on eût pu prendre, dans 
le soir bleu, pour des moucherons, ou pour des oiseaux. Ainsi quand on voit de 
très loin une montagne, on pourrait croire que c’est un nuage. Mais on est ému 
parce qu’on sait que ce nuage est immense, à l’état solide, et résistant. Ainsi étais-
je ému parce que la tache brune dans le ciel d’été n’était ni un moucheron, ni un 
oiseau, mais un aéroplane monté par des hommes qui veillaient sur Paris. (IV 313)
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252
Sel kellaajal, kui õhtused teejoomised veel lõppenud polnud, võis loojangu eel 
alles heledas taevas näha väikesi pruune tähne, mida võinuks pidada sinises õhtus 
lendlevateks kihulasteks või lindudeks. Niisamuti võib väga kauge mägi tunduda 
pilvena. Kuid erutab just see, et sa tegelikult tead: see pilv on miski hiiglaslik, 
tahke ja tugev. Nii olin minagi erutatud sellest, et pruun tähn suvetaevas polnud ei 
kihulane ega lind, vaid aeroplaan, mille olid lendu tõstnud inimesed, kes valvasid - 
Pariisi üle. (Proust, Taasleitud aeg 59)
The comparison is based on the similarity of the point of view: both 
objects – aeroplanes and the mountain – are viewed from far away, which 
makes them seem like midges and birds, and a cloud, respectively. The 
common emotion which ties the images together comes from the differ-
ence between the viewer’s vision, deceived because of the distance, and 
his intellectual knowledge that the objects he sees are not really what they 
seem to be. The viewing from a distance is a central point in creating this 
comparison, and is thus repeated in both sentences (“on voyait de loin”, 
“on voit de très loin”). The comparison thus hinges on the relation be-
tween the subject and the objects, which is both an obstacle – a distance 
separating the subject from the objects and their truth – and a connection 
point, because it enables a connection between these two images, thus 
revealing their truth.
The translation of these two images goes through several changes 
which also alter the nature of this relation. The changes appear already 
in the first sentence, where a verb “lendlema” [to hover] has been added 
in association with the midges and birds, which gain thus a new activity – 
they are now hovering in the sky. However, there is no longer any mention 
of their distance from the viewer, as the adverb “de loin” is left out. In the 
second sentence, on the other hand, the translator omits the repetition of 
the activity of viewing and goes straight to describing the mountain itself: 
it is far away and thus seems like a cloud. The mountain now also takes the 
place of the grammatical subject of the sentence. The translator also omits 
the second verb related to the viewer subject – “on pourrait croire” [one 
might believe] – which in the French text gives the viewer the capacity of 
cognition, of belief, and thus the capacity of being deceived. This results in 
the viewer no longer focusing and only playing an implicit role.
Therefore, both the subject’s physical distance and his position as a 
viewer and perceiver have been affected by the translation process, which 
leads to changing the basis for the comparison between the two images. 
The comparison here does not stand upon the relation, expressed by the 
viewing distance that settles between the subject and the objects, but is 
transposed into the similarity of the objects themselves. The aeroplanes 
and the mountain are now compared on the basis that they are both simi-
lar to some airborne and hovering objects like midges, birds or clouds.
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253
This tendency in translation to concentrate more on the appearance of 
the objects is at work also in the following comparison, again related to 
aeroplanes:
[T]andis que sur le pont de la Concorde, autour de l’aéroplane menaçant et traqué, 
et comme si s’étaient reflétées dans les nuages les fontaines des Champs-Élysées, 
de la place de la Concorde et des Tuileries, les jets d’eau lumineux des projecteurs 
s’infléchissaient dans le ciel (IV 381).
[J]a samal ajal tõttasid Concorde’i sillalt selle korraga ähvardava ja tagaaetava len-
nuki ümber, justkui peegeldades pilvisse Concorde’i väljaku ja Champs-Élysées’ 
purskkaeve, prožektorikiired (Proust, Taasleitud aeg 138)
This time, the narrator describes a view of the searchlights in the night 
sky through a comparison with another image, that of the water from the 
fountains. One image reminds him of another because the light follows a 
similar movement as the water does – rising upwards at an angle, and falling 
down again. The images are given separately also on the grammatical level, 
as each image forms a phrase with a different verb and a different subject 
in connection to this verb (“les fontaines s’étaient reflétées” and “les jets d’eau 
lumineux des projecteurs s’infléchissaient”) (marked by M.K.). The connec-
tion point between the two phrases occurs in the use of the metaphor of “les 
jets d’eau” for the searchlights, which is a frequent synonym for fountains.
In Õnnepalu’s translation, the two images tend to merge, as it uses 
only one subject, “prožektorikiired” [searchlights], for the two verbs. This 
changes the subject-object relation, as the fountains give up their place 
as a subject and become an object of the verb. The searchlights now do 
two things, in sequence – they project their light towards the sky, and in 
so doing reflect the fountains onto the clouds (perhaps a little like a video 
projector would show an image on the screen). The relation between 
searchlights and fountains becomes less a comparison of two parallel en-
tities and more their combination into a single line. In other words, it is 
no longer a case of remembering one image through the other, but rather 
actually seeing two things happening in the same space-time. As there is 
no longer a comparison, the translation does not need the metaphor of 
“les jets d’eau” any more, and can leave it out.
Another scene with the searchlights shows yet a another angle of how 
the translation deals with subject-object relations. This time, the narrator 
is comparing two types of movement, again in the night sky above Paris, 
one of aeroplanes and the other of searchlights, but in this case we are 
more interested only in the second part of the “equation”. This second 
movement, that of the searchlights, evokes a stronger emotion because it 
is a sign of something invisible, hidden and unknown:
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254
[C]ependant que d’un mouvement plus lent, mais plus insidieux, plus alarmant, 
car ce regard faisait penser à l’objet invisible encore et peut-être déjà proche qu’il 
cherchait, les projecteurs se remuaient sans cesse (IV 338).
[S]ellal kui ühes teises liikumises, aeglasemas, kuid samas hiilivamas, kõhedamas 
– sest seda jälgides läks mõte millegi alles nähtamatu peale, mida see liikumine 
otsis ja mida ta võib-olla juba tabamas oli –, prožektorid muudkui tiirlesid (Proust, 
Taasleitud aeg 88).
The narrator feels that there is a danger out there, because the search-
lights seem to him like a questing gaze towards the night sky, suggesting 
that there is a search going on, even though the object of the search re-
mains out of sight. This image expresses the narrator's anxiety, namely, 
by the metaphor of the gaze used for the searchlights, which works as a 
filter distancing the narrator from the danger – it is somebody else’s gaze 
that he sees, somebody else’s activity that makes him anxious. At the same 
time, the metaphor functions also as a connection, because the suspense 
created by distancing the subject from the object makes the feeling of 
anxiety more intense than the actual encounter with the object might be.
This filter of the metaphor does not come across in the translation, 
however. Rather, the gaze is taken away from the searchlights, as the noun 
“ce regard” [this gaze] is translated into the verb “jälgima” [observe], which 
has a different subject that does not coincide with the French “ce regard”. 
Since the metaphor is removed, the translator can now focus directly on 
the object of the observation, which also becomes more concrete. It is no 
longer just something that is being looked for, and so does not remain 
merely in an uncertain position, close by (the place phrase “déjà proche” is 
left out), but is described instead as something soon to be captured, since 
the translator adds the phrase “mida ta võib-olla juba tabamas oli” [which 
it was probably going to catch soon]. The translation thus focuses more 
directly on the object and, by anticipating its capture, opens an opportu-
nity to retrieve the object from the darkness that is hiding it.
However, focusing on the objects rather than on relations may some-
times result in slightly absurd images where a quality of a phenomenon ma-
terialises and turns into a physical entity. This happens, for instance, in the 
following sentence, yet another comparison that Proust uses to describe 
As the city gets dark at night and the streetlights are turned off because of 
the black-out regulations, the streets start to resemble some countryside 
landscape. On this occasion, it happens by virtue of the moonlight, which 
has become strangely visible in the darkened city and is drawing sharp 
shadows of trees on the snow:
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Les silhouettes des arbres se reflétaient nettes et pures sur cette neige d’or bleuté, 
[…] elles étaient allongées à terre au pied de l’arbre lui-même, comme on les voit 
souvent dans la nature au soleil couchant quand celui-ci inonde et rend réfléchis-
santes les prairies où des arbres s’élèvent à intervalles réguliers. (IV 314)
Puude varjud joonistusid lume sinetaval kullal puhtalt ja selgelt, […] nad sirutusid 
välja mööda maad otse puu jalamilt, nagu neid tihti näeb looduses päikeseloojangu 
ajal, kui kollasest valgusest üleujutatud väljad muutuvad peegliteks, millest 
korrapäraste vahemaade järel kerkib puid. (Proust, Taasleitud aeg 61)
The effect of the moonlight on the snow is compared here with anoth-
er light effect, that of the setting sun on the fields, which makes them re-
flective, and thus prone to outline the shadows of the trees which grow on 
them. The translated text renders the adjective “réfléchissantes” [reflec-
tive] with the noun “peeglid” [mirrors], and gives a more concrete image, 
which now takes a more finite and at the same time a somewhat more 
surrealistic turn. The fields’ quality of mirroring the trees has changed the 
fields into actual mirrors. This objectivation brings on another change 
in that the relative pronoun of place “où” [where] is converted into the 
object relative pronoun “millest” [from which]. What this means is that 
the trees are no longer growing in the fields, but stem up from the mirrors 
which the fields have become.
But Õnnepalu’s translation not only makes the objects stand out more 
concretely and interact with each other; the same movement also causes 
the subject to fade to the background, or sometimes even disappear from 
the text entirely. As the above examples demonstrated, the translator may 
indeed place the object in the function of the grammatical subject of the 
sentence. In some cases, the deictics referring to the narrator’s person 
(malgré moi, près de moi, faire parvenir jusqu’à moi, etc.) may be left out com-
pletely. Tõnu Õnnepalu himself has expressed this tendency as part of 
the translation process, which for him entails a particular kind of meeting 
with oneself in which the self paradoxically disappears, or at least becomes 
unimportant (“Saateks” 64). His translation of Proust certainly confirms 
this point of view.
Such modifications of perspective also affect the ultimate goal of 
the metaphoric process – to go beyond the surface of things and access 
the – of which the three moments of revelation offer a perfect example. 
I have chosen to look more closely at the second one, because only in 
this case both “ends” of the experience – the original moment and its 
resurrection – are present in Le Temps retrouvé and can thus be analysed in 
Õnnepalu’s translation.
While travelling to Paris by train, the narrator sees several objects in 
the light of the setting sun, a row of trees in a countryside train station, 
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256
some windows, a pink house – generally considered as “beautiful sights” – 
but he realises that he is unable to appreciate their claimed beauty, because 
these objects remain closed to him.
C’était, je me le rappelle, à un arrêt du train en pleine campagne. Le soleil éclairait 
jusqu’à la moitié de leur tronc une ligne d’arbres qui suivait la voie du chemin de 
fer. Arbres, pensai-je, vous n’avez plus rien à me dire, mon cœur refroidi ne vous 
entend plus. (IV 433)
The trees have nothing to say to him, he cannot access their depth 
because the metaphor is not working. Anne Simon has explained that 
the metaphoric process does not activate here because the cause of the 
impression – the sun shining on the trees – is presented before the effect 
(124–125). There is indeed no surprise, no hidden image inside this image; 
they are a simple, fixed, monotonous continuity of background informa-
tion which his eyes are merely “registering”.
The translation, however, gives this picture some unexpected live-
liness. By translating the noun clause “un arrêt du train” with a verbal 
phrase “rong peatus” [the train stopped], and changing the location “en 
pleine campagne” to “kusagil keset lagedust” [somewhere in the middle 
of a clearing], Õnnepalu gives an impression that the train stops almost 
accidentally, somewhere where it should not be stopping (and using the 
term “clearing” supposes that there should probably also be no trees). 
This brings the picture out of the habitual background and makes it stand 
out as something different and unexpected, and thus already suggests a 
possibility for an access where the original text denied it. However, as we 
see in the second encounter with this image, this access will not become 
entirely usable.
During the Guermantes’ party, the narrator experiences three times 
an accidental opening of a “door”, one of which does indeed take him 
back to the same line of trees. This happens while waiting in the library 
for the concert, the narrator hears how a servant preparing the tea knocks 
a spoon against a plate. The sharp sound suddenly creates a connection 
between the two moments by reminding the narrator of another sound, 
that of a hammering against the train wheels. He now has two different 
elements to put together – a sound that he hears and a sound that he had 
forgotten – and an image appears from his memory, that of the row of 
trees by the railway. This is how the Proustian metaphor works: there is no 
linear, logical way of discovering what these trees mean to him, he cannot 
access their meaning at all when he first encounters them. He needs to 
meet them again, by way of merging the two sounds, for the door to open 
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so that for a moment, the narrator believes that he is in the train again, 
opening a bottle of beer in front of a row of trees:
[E]t je reconnus que ce qui me paraissait si agréable était la même rangée d’arbres 
que j’avais trouvée ennuyeuse à observer et à décrire, et devant laquelle, débouc-
hant la canette de bière que j’avais dans le wagon, je venais de croire un instant, 
dans une sorte d’étourdissement, que je me trouvais (IV 446-447).
[J]a ma sain aru, et see, mis mulle nii meeldiv tundus, oli seesama puuderivi, mida 
ma säärase tüdimusega olin vaadanud ja kirjeldanud ning mida ma nagu mingis 
hetkelises uimasuses end taas uskusin vaatlevat, parajasti lahti korkides sedasama 
õllepudelit, mis mul oli olnud vagunis (Proust, Taasleitud aeg 215)
His excitement comes not so much from the memory itself, but from 
the metaphor that happens to him – the relational nature of experiencing 
the world. To be able to access the meaning in its depth, he needs another 
sign, a counterpart, and this is what these two sounds create here. He can 
now enter through the door and be simultaneously in both moments.
This privilege does not quite fall upon the narrator in the Estonian 
translation. Instead of replicating the French spatial positioning “devant 
laquelle je me trouvais”, the translator rather uses a verb to indicate visual 
observing (“vaatlevat”). This suggests that the narrator can no longer actu-
ally go through the opening, but only look through it (as if it was really not 
a door, but only a window). However, it seems that by way of language 
magic, which translating undoubtedly is, he still manages to bring through 
this window his bottle of beer. The translator makes a series of changes 
here – altering the syntax, adding adverbs and modifying the temporal 
forms of the verb ‘to have’ – by the end of which we come to understand 
that the narrator remains in the Guermantes’ library, where he is now 
holding a bottle of beer, the very same bottle he had in the train. Here 
again, the weight falls upon the object perceived rather than the perceiving 
subject – it is the bottle of beer that travels through time, not the narrator 
himself. This picture shows as well how translation may change the direc-
tion of the process, and bring back something instead of taking someone 
into the past. On a more general level, it also suggests that the translator 
has a different relationship with the narrator of the text than the author 
does: he distances himself more from the character and is not able to 
follow him into his memories, but only observe them. The past itself has 
also changed its nature. Instead of a network of metaphoric impressions 
relating the subject to his past, the translated past rather forms a kind of a 
museum, a collection of memories of objects.
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258
BIBLIOGRAPHY
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Toronto Press, 1990.
Lattre, Alain de. La Doctrine de la réalité chez Proust. Vol. I. Paris: Librairie José Corti, 1979.
Mattiussi, Laurent. »Entre terre et ciel: Proust et le double jeu de la métaphore«. Métaphores 
et cultures : en mots et en images. Eds. Véronique Alexandre-Journeau, Violaine Anger, 
Forence Lautel-Ribstein, Laurent Mattiussi. Paris: L’Harmattan, 2012. 157–174. 
(L’univers esthétique). Web May 1, 2015. �https://hal-univ-lyon3.archives-ouvertes.
fr/hal-00903247v2>
Õnnepalu, Tõnu. “Saateks.” [Afterword.] Vikerkaar 7/8 (2003): 63–68.
Proust, Marcel. À la recherche du temps perdu. Vols. I-IV. Paris: Éditions Gallimard, 1987–
1989. (Coll. Pléiade).
– – –. Taasleitud aeg. [Le Temps retrouvé]. Trans. Tõnu Õnnepalu. Tallinn: Eesti Keele Sihtasutus, 
2004.
Simon, Anne. Proust ou le réel retrouvé. Le sensible et son expression dans À la recherche du temps 
perdu. Paris: Honoré Champion, 2011.
Živeti preteklost kot metafora: pisanje in 
ponovno pisanje preteklosti v Proustovem 
Znova najdenem času (Le Temps retrouvé) in 
njegovo prevajanje v estonščino
Ključne besede: francoska književnost / Proust, Marcel / literarno prevajanje / prevodi v 
estonščino / metaforika / nehoteni spomin / preteklost / razmerje subjekt-objekt
Proustovo pisanje preteklosti je metaforično. Spozna, da lahko oživi 
ali ponovno živi pretekle trenutke, vendar le, ko se to zgodi od znotraj, 
nehote in metaforično. To pomeni, da podobe preteklosti vzrastejo iz nje-
govega spomina preko čutne analogije, vonja, zvoka, igre svetlobe in senc 
v trenutku sedanjosti, ki ga nekaj druži z drugim, preteklim trenutkom. V 
pisanju ta dva trenutka postaneta en sam, simultano obstajata združena v 
metaforo. To osebi ne daje le možnosti, da ponovno doživlja preteklost, 
marveč tudi možnost, da uzre resnično vrednost teh trenutkov, ki v njihovi 
prvi pojavitvi ni bila zaznana. To je, po Proustu, naloga pisatelja in ume-
tnika – pisati preteklost tako, da nevidno postane vidno. Prevajalski pro-
ces podvaja izkušnjo pisanja. Razkriva relacijsko naravo metafor in včasih 
razkrije tudi tisto, kar v izvirnem pisanju ni tako očitno. Članek obravnava 
Madli Kütt:     Living the Past as a Metaphor: Writing and Re-writing the Past in Marcel Proust’s …
259
tri vidike, s katerih estonski prevod preoblikuje Proustovo metaforično 
pisanje: dinamiko spominskih prostorov, vizualnost izkušanja preteklosti 
in vidik nehotenosti te izkušnje. Prevod lahko v tem primeru razumemo 
kot povečevalno steklo, ki razkriva pomen teh treh vidikov v Proustovem 
pisanju preteklosti, obenem pa deluje kot ustvarjanje novega fikcijskega 
sveta, ki teži k vzpostavljanju svojih lastnih pravil glede dinamike, vizual-
nosti in nadzora.
Maj 2015