The Way We Read Then

“I haven’t gone back to Proust since and remember almost nothing of his cast of characters; friends, neighbours, lovers, or the constantshuttle of small events as they unfolded, but I remember being entirely held, and surprised by how held I was…. I could never hope to recreate that reading experience again. The structure of my life would not allow it. But more profoundly, neither would my powers of concentration. My brain has changed, and I do not read like that any more. It felt like a pure luxury, that book. Irrecoverable.”
 — This is ostensibly about Proust, but it’s really about something much more poignant.