?Slow--A Series of Works by Milan Kundera

Author: Milan Kundera
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2003-02-01
Features: Speed is a form of ecstasy, a gift bestowed by the technological revolution. The runner, unlike the motorcyclist, always remains aware of his own presence, constantly thinking of the blisters on his feet and his panting; when running, he feels his weight, his age, and becomes more conscious of himself and the passage of time than at any other time. When a person entrusts his speed capabilities to a machine, everything changes: from that moment on, the body is set aside, handed over to an invisible, non-materialized speed—a pure, tangible, and ecstatic speed. How did the joy of slowness disappear? Ah, where have the idlers of old gone? The heroes of folk songs and ballads, these wandering millers who spent nights outdoors, have they vanished? Have they disappeared along with country paths, grasslands, forest clearings, and nature? In the Czech language, there is a proverb used to describe their sweet leisure: they are the windows through which they gaze upon the benevolent God. Those who gaze upon the windows of the benevolent God will never grow weary; they are happy. In our world, leisure has degenerated into idleness, which is a different matter altogether. The idle person is a lost one, he is weary, and he is always searching for the action he lacks. Entomologists are strange, rough people: they had neglected that girl, despite her listening to them with the best intentions in the world, smiling when she was supposed to, and maintaining a serious demeanor when they were serious. Clearly, she did not recognize anyone here, and her diligent responses went unnoticed, concealing a soul that felt ignored. Vincent stood up from his desk, approached the group, and spoke to the girl inside. Soon, they detached themselves from the others and talked endlessly, a conversation that was easy to start and never seemed to end. Her name was Julie, a typist who had done some odd jobs for the director of the entomological institute; she had nothing to do in the afternoon and took this opportunity to come to this famous castle, spending the night among these people who both commanded her respect and piqued her curiosity, as she had never seen an entomologist before this day. Vincent felt good being with her; he didn’t need to raise his voice, but rather lowered it so no one else could hear. Then he took her hand and led her to a small table, where they could sit close to each other, his hand resting on hers.