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118 pages, Paperback
First published January 12, 1995
"The degree of slowness is directionally proportional to the intensity of memory. The degree of speed is directionally proportional to the intensity of forgetting."
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
鈥淣othing in this novel stays a secret exclusive to two persons; everyone seems to live inside an enormous resonating seashell where every whispered word reverberates, swells, into multiple and unending echoes.鈥�Holding aloft this premise, Kundera draws four parallel nights of sensuality and lust, where, four stories come together to explore (and explode) the boundaries of pleasure, fidelity, esteem and memory. The story opens with the author visiting a chateau for a vacation with his wife; the very same place where a night of heavenly, yet teasingly prolonged, copulation had breathed two centuries ago. Cut to the present time and it also turns out to be same venue for a disparaged, yet appealing young man鈥檚 tumultuous one-night stand, which after a beautiful beginning, disintegrates into an impaled story, unworthy of a mention. It also serves as the culmination point for two ex-lovers, who despite their angst and derision, fall prey to the savours of seduction.
鈥淭here is a secret bond between slowness and memory, between speed and forgetting.鈥�By deliberately slowing down the marvellous consummation of a passionate night, what Madam de T and the Chevalier achieve in 18th century, is easily lost by Vincent, whose quickened advances pushes away Julie much before their adventure begins. So, you have got to slow down, if a luscious night is on your mind. Kundera says that is.