1 :
吾輩は名無しである :
2012/10/17(水) 02:07:12.60 テキストをぽつぽつ読むだけのスレ。 煽り合い等を避けたいのでコテハンご遠慮ください。
Who hears Françoise's voice? Has she let her voice out to the world in reality?
It is him, but only the ebb and tide of his memory. In other words, there is no voice audible.
An act of intuition... To shed tears is the one in terms of involuntary associations.
Is it true?: The characters never existed except in the auther's mind...
It is not a description of the past. It is an evocation somehow. Think about the way in which the images were chosen.
Where do the gods exist in his refracted, or "prismatic" if you like, world? Are they dissolved in music and temples? Or they have just gone away to somewhere?
Past is not just past. It is fantasy.
This is the novel that a within-eavesdropper is writing in it.
このスレの趣旨は、何なんですか? Proust の "La Recherche du temps perdu" の英語訳を読むためのスレですか?
>>10 テキストをぽつぽつ読むだけのスレ。
But certain favourite roles are played by "us" so often before the public and rehearsed so carefully.
テキストを読むって、どのテキストのこと? もしプルーストなら、誰が英訳したもの? その英訳の第何章の第何部? それを明らかにしてくれないと、 英訳を持ってる俺でさえ、 参加できないじゃん。 それとも、一人だけで楽しむスレ?
気味が悪くってだれも近づいてこないw
>>12 Never mind.
>>13 You're absolutely right.
Anyway, you've got to remove the objects from the contengencies of time.
How?
Link them together by means of words.
占有と重複で削除依頼できるんじゃね
>>15 Maybe.
What if Englishness was omitted from this novel?
Tea as the sense of time, for examle. The taste of differenceness can be seen on the table of history, It is, of course, not for eating.
"Indeed," said the Duke, "'mentality,' you say. I must make a note of that and trot it out one of these days."
Style is the manner of an author.
Metaphorical imagery... But in a loose sense.
"And in historial, when he was concious and out of danger, and when they told him that his father was dead, he began to laugh..."
What does conversation mean? And what description? Think about why the sentences are so long.
"For a long time, I used to go to bed early." Why is that sentence the opening one?
It is the key to the theme. The centre of the novel is in a sensitive boy's room.
The author's metaphors are dreams.
A woman is conceived from some strain in the position of thigh.
The quest of the woman... That's why disappointment is one of the issues.
The problem is that all comes from his habits of sleeping and waking.
The process of deduction. Natural or not...
The body's memory... What is "room" then?
The threshold of time and forms... The unseen walls keep changing.
Then a canopy... Is it buoyancy or limit?
One of the elements of the novel is the various ways in which a person is seen by various eyes.
"Comparative"... Does it mean "otherness"?
Moonlight and shadow. Boy's imagination. A magnificient mechamism which makes mean objects into someone's dreams.
How about sound? Silence is not soundless. Imagine the movement of silence.
The author's metaphoric system bears a kind of everlasting fuel.
The close association of the visible and the heard. You have to listen carefully to shadow sound.
The condition of mind must be examined befoehand. Expectation? For what?
Beauty and authenticity. One rushed in, the other resulted.
How were they described in the text? Or how were they presented in the author's sense? The various layers and levels of sense in the author's metaphors should be issued.
"The portrait says: 'What I have loved, what has made me suffer, what I have never ceased to behold, is this.'"
It is no more than luminous wedge.
What is the artistic importance then?
A sort of shock. Be shocking.
It could be called to confusing sensation.
"Never mind. Waiter, some mullet for Madame and a risotto for me." A fresh and prolonged silence.
What is the meaning and emotion beyond words? Does the question go into the meaning of music? Or time itself?
First of all, it should be questioned if one’s memory could be the theme of fiction. Philosophy, Bergsonian account, of course, might be less meaningful in terms of narrative.
A feeling of elation and immortality always comes to the author in the manner of "sudden death." Is it a sort of counterbalancing act?
"and thus the beauty of life, an expression somehow devoid of meaning, a stage this side of art..."
It should be something more than memory. Then comes meaning.
Life turns itself.
For a long time,I went to bed early.
parforis
test
58 :
吾輩は名無しである :
2014/04/11(金) 18:35:16.84