GEORGIA WALTON, School of English, University of Leeds
Upon a surprise encounter with his own article published in La Figaro, the narrator of Marcel Proust’s À la recherche du temps perdu (1913-1927) considers the transmission of meaning from author to reader:
Although I was well aware that many people who read this article would find it detestable, at the moment of reading it the meaning that each word conveyed to me seemed to be printed on the paper, and I could not believe that every other reader on opening his eyes would not see directly the images that I saw, assuming – with the same naïvety as those who believe that it is the actual speech they have uttered which passes along the telephone wires – that the author’s thought is directly perceived by the reader, my mind was rewriting my article while reading it.
This passage pre-emptively dramatizes Paul de Man’s claim in Allegories of Reading (1979) that ‘the distinction between author and reader is one of the false distinctions that reading makes evident;’ here Proust’s narrator, Marcel, is both author and reader. The mental ‘rewriting’ of the text that Marcel engages in as he reads his own article allows him to imagine that complete meaning resides within the material form of the printed paper. This epiphany is swiftly followed by imaginary accounts of other characters’ responses to the article and, as Marcel tells us a page later, ‘in them it finds completion.’ Marcel goes on to emphasise that the failure to comprehend the ‘author’s thought’ lies in the reader’s inability to understand rather than in the potential for open interpretation within the text itself and thus again pre-empts de Man who says that, ‘by reading the text as we did we were only trying to come closer to being as rigorous a reader as the author had to be in order to write the sentence in the first place.’ By collapsing the ‘distinction between author and reader,’ Proust narrates the very theory of reading that de Man proposes in his introduction and chapter on the Recherche; that the text develops a unification between signifier and signified, though that this remains, ultimately, in a precarious state. Proust thus establishes a readerly practice which relies on the belief that words operate a transmission of complete meaning from author to reader, yet it is a meaning held in fine balance which necessitates what Manuel Asensi calls ‘perennial interrogation.’ What emerges in Proust then – and accords with de Man – is a theory of language that sees the text as signifying absolutely, but that the absolute which it presents is by nature multifarious and inconclusive.
The rigorous interpretive labour that de Man and Proust both demand of readers of the Recherche is concurrent with the idea of ‘creative reading’ that the founder of the Transcendentalist movement, Ralph Waldo Emerson, posited in his address entitled ‘The American Scholar’ (1837):
There is then creative reading as well as creative writing. When the mind is braced by labour and invention, the page of whatever book we read becomes luminous with manifold allusion. Every sentence is doubly significant, and the sense of the author is as broad as the world.
As in the Proust passage, for Emerson reading is a process of deducing authorly intention – or rather, decoding the specific meaning which the text designates – though Emerson also finds that language is ‘doubly significant’ so that full meaning remains elusive. This approach to reading insists upon an awareness of the specificity of linguistic production that the text offers but equally maintains that meaning, whilst being particular, is also fugitive. Though critics have previously seen Proust as a reader of Emerson, the latter has frequently been written off as an early, overly moralistic, influence whom Proust shirks in his mature work. This interpretation is typical of reductive attitudes towards nineteenth-century writing that stem from the periodisation of the Victorian and Modernist eras; the influence of the nineteenth-century writer is regularly seen as a naïve element of early work that must be overcome in order for the twentieth-century writer to complete their truly Modernist magnum opus. However, twenty first-century reappraisals of Emerson’s work have shifted the view of him as an austere yet idealistic thinker; Branka Arsić and Cary Wolfe explain in the introduction to their collection, The Other Emerson (2010) that Emerson should be read as ‘materialist and sensualist rather than idealist, empiricist rather than rationalist.’ This ‘sensualist’ and ‘empiricist’ Emerson chimes more resonantly with the Proust of the Recherche.
There have been some recent studies that attempt to fully realise the continued influence of Emerson in the Recherche. In his book Proust in America (2007), Michael Murphy pays considerable attention to the methodology of reading that Proust outlines in Sur la lecture (1905) and cites references Proust makes to Emerson in his letters and in the early and posthumously published Jean Santeuil (1955). In a recent article Kate Stanley argues that Marcel is schooled by Emersonian ideas in a perceptive apprenticeship which leads to the discovery of his ‘writerly vocation.’ Both Murphy and Stanley suggest that Emerson’s theory of ‘creative reading’ emerges in Proust. I shall build upon this scholarly work and link the theories of reading and language found in the work of Emerson and Proust with their treatment of the material world; just as they advocate an attention to the specificity of text, Proust and Emerson insist upon engagement with the peculiarity of material sensation. Both writers suggest that transcendent experience is the result of a particularity within language and sensory experience that requires an engaged reader – of text or material – to access it. By delineating Emerson’s theory of figurative language and identifying its influence on the Recherche, I will show how Proust’s narrator attempts to discover a unity between language and world, but ultimately finds that this unity is always in a precarious state.
The most fundamental facet of Transcendentalism is the belief that spiritual experience is accessed through natural world; Emerson’s work expounds the importance of sensory experience and primarily advocates a form of radical empiricism. In his famous essay ‘Nature’ (1836), which became the founding doctrine of Transcendentalism, Emerson maintains that all words are ‘emblematic’ and delineates a direct progression from ‘natural facts’ or natural objects, to language:
Every word which is used to express a moral or intellectual fact, if traced to its root, is found to be borrowed from some material appearance. Right originally means straight; wrong means twisted. Spirit primarily means wind; transgression, the crossing of a line; supercilious the raising of the eye-brow.
This theory of etymologic derivation renders an essential relationship between object and word; as Paul Grimstad states, in Emersonian terms, ‘writing is first an extension of the corporeality of nature.’ Thus, language is shown to have a specific material quality. In the Recherche, Proust attempts to maintain a relationship between signifier and signified by way of this Emersonian insistence on the materiality of language. The attempt to find confluence between language and sensory perception is one of the key motivations of Proust’s text; this is shown most acutely in the novel’s treatment of names. For Marcel, names have extraordinary imaginative power and open whole worlds of sensory delight to him; for example, he fixates on the names of Balbec and the Guermantes. Furthermore, Proust’s characters regularly fetishise the pronouns of their beloveds; Charlus lingers over Morel’s name, ‘letting his voice dwell in passing upon something that concerned Morel, in touching him, if not with his hand, with words that seem to be tactile.’ As Matthew Del Nevo states, Proust ‘retrieves the truth of the real presence of words and names in particular.’ The most striking instance of this is when Marcel meets Gilberte for the first time:
And already that charm with which the incense of her name had imbued that place under the pink hawthorns where it has been heard by her and by me together, was beginning to reach to overlay, to perfume everything that came near it, her grandparents, whom my own had the ineffable happiness of knowing, the sublime profession of stockbroker, the harrowing neighbourhood of the Champs-Élyssés where she lived in Paris.
Here, Gilberte’s name takes on sensory qualities of colour and smell so that sensory experience is linked irrevocably with expression. For Proust, just as for Emerson, there is a ‘radical correspondence between visible things and human thoughts.’ However, as Roland Barthes states in his essay, ‘Proust and Names,’ ‘[a]s Sign, the proper name offers itself to an exploration, a decipherment,’ it is ‘voluminous’ and ‘always pregnant with a dense texture of meaning.’ It is not merely sensory information that the name holds but also ‘charm.’ This term ‘charm’ is an important one for both Emerson and Proust; Emerson says ‘that which is inevitable in the work has a higher charm than individual talent can ever give.’ Thus, ‘the work,’ which will here mean the literary work, gestures towards a ‘higher’ meaning. For both writers then, ‘charm’ refers to essence; as something immaterial yet individualised by the sign. The ‘charm’ that Marcel finds within the very name of Gilberte functions as the indefinable essence of the beloved, denoted but not entirely contained by the name. Proust’s metaphor of ‘perfume’ consolidates this; it is a materially produced entity, but one ultimately ephemeral and elusive. For Proust, names function as language in its purest form, referring to a specific, but equally gesturing towards a proliferation of significations. The sensory presence that Proust attributes to names develops Emerson’s insistence upon the fundamental connection between materiality and language, though recognises the fugitive nature of the meaning that language connotes.
This ability for language to signify beyond its capacity is also found, for Emerson, in the natural world. After asserting the relationship between words and world, Emerson goes on to claim that objects also refer to something which transcends their material form:
But this origin of all words that convey a spiritual import, – so conspicuous a fact in the history of language, – is our least debt to nature. It is not only words that are emblematic; it is things which are emblematic. Every natural fact is the symbol of some spiritual fact. Every appearance of nature corresponds to some state of the mind, and that state of the mind can only be described by presenting that natural appearance as a picture.
Here, the self is formed through its interaction with the material world. The ‘spiritual import’ found in nature is ultimately produced in the mind. Thus, what Emerson describes here is a process of interpretation, whereby the viewer reads the symbols of nature and thus perceives some transcendent quality within it. Murphy states that, ‘the truths of Proust’s memoiré involuntaire as with Emerson’s transcendentalism do not exist above material and cultural experience, rather they reside within them.’ Emerson’s Transcendentalism bears a striking similarity to Proust’s famous accounts of involuntary memory. For Proust, the past is relived upon a surprise encounter with particular sensory perception. Whether it be the taste of a madeleine steeped in tea, the chink of cutlery on a plate, or the texture of a napkin on the lip, the transcendent access to the self across time is found within the material world. After the first and most famous instance of this, that of the madeleine, Marcel tells us:
I feel there is much to be said for the Celtic belief that the souls of those whom we have lost are held captive in some inferior being, in an animal, in a plant, in some inanimate object, and thus effectively lost to us until the day (which to many never comes) when we happen to pass by the tree or to obtain possession of the object which forms their prison. They start and tremble, they call us by our name, and as soon as we have recognised their voice the spell is broken.
Proust here articulates a sensitivity to the material world that allows one to perceive a spiritual element – in this case the souls of dead relatives – within it. Miguel de Beistegui writes that in Proust there is ‘the feeling of being in the world as being in the midst of an ordered and rational reality’ and there is the ‘realization of the natural world within the spiritual one.’ What de Beistegui highlights is the specific nature of this sensation in both Emerson and Proust, there is a perceivable order which calls the spirituality forth. As Emerson states, ‘we are assisted by natural objects in the expression of particular meanings.’ Thus, both writers insist that sensitivity to the peculiarity of experience in the material world can be a method for accessing the transcendent or spiritual. For Proust, unlike Emerson, this is a secular spirituality; both find moments of clarity in peculiar sensory experience which provokes an awareness of the transcendent element of the world.
The closing statement in Emerson’s chapter on language in ‘Nature’ reads, ‘that which was unconscious truth, becomes, when interpreted and defined in an object, a part of the domain of knowledge.’ The interpretation of language, and the material as mediated through language, places the essence or ‘unconscious truth’ within the epistemological grasp of the reader. Here I would like to reemphasise my earlier point about creative reading; Murphy insists that Proust deviates from Ruskin, and sees the relationship between reader and writer in both Proust and Emerson as one of ‘kindred spirit[s].’ So, the reader is again placed on a level with the author and interprets the specific materiality of the text in order to perceive an untranslatable essence or, in Emerson’s terms, a ‘higher charm.’ As Gilles Deleuze has shown, during the course of the Recherche, Marcel undergoes an apprenticeship to signs; he learns to decode the signs of society just as the ‘creative reader’ learns to decode the signs of the text. Murphy connects the practice of reading with the obsessive sexual relationships in the Recherche: ‘books are more trustworthy than friendship, the pleasures of the text more accessible than those of the sexual, the word more physically present than the body.’ The lover loves by reading the signs emitted by the beloved: as Deleuze states, in the Recherche, ‘love is born from and nourished on silent interpretation.’ Thus, the interpretative process that one goes through in trying to understand a text is mirrored by that in which they individualise the object of their affection. However, decoding the object of one’s affection proves more difficult than translating the essence of a text; as Malcom Bowie attests, ‘Albertine is a nebula’ and her unreadability torments Marcel. In a latent attempt to demystify Albertine, Marcel transforms her body into a legible sign:
In the dim light the bedclothes bulged a semicircle. It had to be Albertine, lying in a curve, sleeping with her head and her feet nearest the wall. The hair on that head, abundant and dark, which alone showed above the bedclothes, made me realise that she was, that she had not opened her door, had not stirred, and sensed this motionless and living semicircle, in which the whole human life was contained and which was the only thing to which I attached any value; I sensed it was there, in my despotic possession.
Albertine’s prostrate body as ‘living semicircle’ becomes a linguistic symbol. There is a finality in Marcel’s statement, ‘it had to be Albertine;’ only here does comprehend her in her entirety, the physical body at united with her untranslatable essence. Marcel tries to implant the interpretive practice of reading onto her body, so as to make her knowable and gain mastery over her. However, as we know from the breadth of Proust’s novel, this is not the case, Marcel is never able to boast full knowledge of Albertine, and her lesbian relationships represent a world from which he is utterly excluded. Thus, in attempting to read Albertine by making her into a legible sign, Marcel only reiterates the failure of linguistic signs to be complete in their signification. Just as Albertine’s body stands for her essence and multiple selves, words can only evoke meanings that supersede their own capabilities of representation.
Emerson and Proust are both concerned with accessing or translating something behind or beyond sensory perception. Emerson states that ‘Man is conscious of a universal soul within or behind his individual life,’ he then goes on to determine this ‘universal soul’ as ‘reason’ and asserts that ‘man in all ages and countries, embodies it in his language.’ Thus, language and art are defined as attempts to translate this ‘universal soul;’ as Deleuze states, ‘it is only on the level of art that the essences are revealed.’ This is emphasised in the Recherche in the episode of the steeples of Martinville; Marcel states ‘I felt that I was not reaching the full depth of my impression, that something more lay behind that mobility, that luminosity, something which they seemed at once to contain and conceal.’ Proust, in the following extract, emphasises the duality of sensory experience; it simultaneously betrays a sense of the essence and does not fully reveal it:
And presently their outlines and their sunlit surfaces, as though they had a sort of rind peeled away; something of what they had concealed from me became apparent; a thought came into my mind which had not existed for me a moment earlier, framing itself in words in my head; and the pleasure which that first sight of them had given me was so greatly enhanced that overpowered by a sort of intoxication, I could no longer think of anything else.
Marcel’s continued attention to the spectacle of the steeples causes an epiphany which is immediately translated into language. It is important that this epiphany leads to Marcel’s first attempt at writing; ‘what was hidden behind the steeples of Martinville had to be something analogous to a pretty sentence.’ Marcel sees language as able to make intelligible the immaterial essence behind his sensory perception. Erika Fülöp avers that, ‘the “mystery” glimpsed in the moment of the peeling away of the rind of things [that] is not a sign, but precisely that to which all signs are ultimately supposed to refer.’ Thus emerges the notion that multiple signs cohere to reveal the mystery beyond them; it is the interplay of a proliferation of signs that produces the immaterial essence. As Christopher Newfield says in The Emerson Effect (1996), in Emerson’s work, ‘the inexactness of spiritual words requires that truth be approached through the multiplication of signs, through their ongoing struggle and contradiction.’ It is here where de Man and creative reading resurface; Emerson and Proust insist that the reader must be attentive to the individualised essence produced by the interplay of material and linguistic significations. What is ‘behind’ sensory perception is at once transcendent of material and linguistic expression but ultimately tied to it.
I come, then, to my final point, that both Emerson and Proust see this transcendent quality in language and world as ultimately precarious. They both maintain that the interpretative faculty can only discover a momentary glimmer of the essence of things; truth is always transitive and in flux. This is shown in the way in which Emerson conceives of the self; it resides in the specificity of expression and of sensory experience but as an unnameable, transcendent essence. Emerson begins his essay ‘Experience’ (1844) with the vertiginous statement:
Where do we find ourselves? In a series, of which we do not know the extremes, and believe that it has none. We wake and find ourselves on a stair: there are stairs below us, which we seem to have ascended; there are stairs above us, many a one, which go upward and out of sight.
As David Greenham states, this passage ‘is a story about every moment of our lives.’ Emerson imagines the self suddenly awake to being perpetually poised in time, teetering on the experience behind it. In Poetry and Pragmatism (1992) Richard Poirier infers the significance of ‘transition’ for Emerson, and as Murphy describes it, Emerson attempts to ‘catch a glimpse of a thing before it is possible to recognize or name it.’ The opening of ‘Experience’ describes this then, the self is momentarily aware that it is balanced on its experience, but with its transcendent element stretching out above it. Proust develops a similar thought:
We try to discover in things, now precious because of it, the glimmer that our soul projected on them, we are disappointed to find that they seem to lack in nature the charm they derived in our thoughts from the proximity of certain ideas; at times we convert all the forces of the soul into cunning, into magnificence, in order to have an effect on people who are outside us, as we are all aware, and whom we will never reach.
Like Emerson, Proust posits this as a fleeting ‘glimmer’ of clarity. The transcendent element to the world is produced by our own imaginative relationship with it. Marcel goes on to say:
[…] it was because my dreams of travel and of love were only moments – which I am separating artificially today as if I were cutting sections at different heights of an apparently motionless iridescent jet of water – in a single inflexible upsurge of all the forces of my life.
Proust’s water metaphor performs a similar function to Emerson’s staircase; the human self is seen as continuous and amalgamative. The metaphor here is impossible; the jet of water is inconceivably ‘motionless’ and thus demonstrates the simultaneous fluidity and wholeness of meaning. Marcel thus sees all his desires as coexistent and mutually referent so that the interplay of multiple meanings and sensations cohere to form a sense of the self in time. As Murphy writes, for both Emerson and Proust, ‘all symbols are fluxional; all language is vehicular and transitive.’ Proust’s impossible metaphor demonstrates this flux within the symbol, it is at once stationary and whole, yet also in flux and fragmented. Thus, for Emerson and Proust, the self is understood between the mediation of the material and expressible as coexistent with the immaterial and inexpressible. A momentary awareness of this allows the subject to conceive of themselves outside time, as in the novel’s instances of involuntary memory.
For Emerson, ‘the poet is the person […] who sees and handles that which others dream of, traverses the whole scale of experience.’ Language, then, is the medium through which we communicate this sense of the self as outside time; the simultaneity of material and transcendent that is contained within language allows us to perceive the subject in all their complexity. And it is this awareness which furnishes Marcel with his literary impetus at the close of the novel:
And I was terrified by the thought that the stilts beneath my own feet might already have reached that height; it seemed to me that quite soon now I might be too weak to maintain my hold upon a past which already went down too far. So, if I should not fail, even if the effect were to make them resemble monsters, to describe men as occupying so considerable a place, which is compared to the restricted place which is reserved for them in space, a place on the contrary prolonged past measure, for simultaneously, like giants plunged into the years, they touch the distant epochs through which they have lived, between which so many days have come to range themselves –in Time.
Proust finishes, then, with an image of utmost precariousness, with Marcel poised – on stilts – on the verge of expression. This mode of writing that Marcel describes a few pages earlier as ‘perpetually in process of becoming’ is also the mode of reading that I began with. Language holds in balance the material and the transcendent which the reader must repeatedly engage with in order to gain a momentary glimpse of the truth of experience, that both lies within and beyond physical and linguistic bounds. The whole of the Recherche leads up to this final point so that by the end of the novel, when Marcel is on the verge of writing, he has gained the singularity and complexity of vision which the vocation requires.
I maintain that a combined reading of Emerson and Proust, finds in both their work a vital materialism, which is conveyed through language to reveal something of the mystery of human experience. Thus, it is clear that Emerson and the ideas of Transcendentalism retained significance for Proust in his mature work. I have argued that both Proust and Emerson see language as a perpetual process of matching the sensory with the transcendent, which requires constant interpretation and engagement with its signs to find harmony between them. In ‘Self-Reliance’ (1841), Emerson states, ‘in every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts: they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty.’ This quotation returns my argument to where it began, with the notion of ‘creative reading;’ the job of the poet is to collapse the distinction between author and reader by way of a clarity of expression which reveals the transcendent truth of human experience. Emerson and Proust both see language that ‘contains both singularity and multiplicity.’ The capacious sentences of Proust’s prose attempt to offer up a singularity of vision, covering all the nuances of experience so as to create meaning as specific as possible just as Emerson’s myriad philosophical statements give an expansive picture of human experience. Emerson and Proust both require of their readers an attention and sensitivity to these effusive significations and render reading as a perpetual process of epiphany that catches the glimmer of a ‘charm’ that exists just beyond the capacious signs of the text and the material world.
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de Man, Paul, Allegories of Reading (London: Yale University Press, 1979).
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Murphy, Michael, Proust in America (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2007)
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Proust, Marcel, Swann’s Way: In Search of Lost Time, Vol. 1 trans. by Lydia Davis (London: Penguin Classics, 2004).
Proust Marcel, In Search of Lost Time Vol. IV: Sodom and Gomorrah trans. by C. K. Scott Moncreiff and Terence Kilmartin, 1981 (London: Vintage, 2000).
Proust Marcel, In Search of Lost Time Vol. V: The Captive trans. by C. K. Scott Moncreiff and Terence Kilmartin, 1981 (London: Vintage, 2000).
Proust Marcel, In Search of Lost Time Vol. VI: Time Regained trans. by Andreas Mayor and Terence Kilmartin, 1981 (London: Vintage, 2000).
Poirier, Richard, Poetry and Pragmatism (Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1992).
Stanley, Kate, ‘Through Emerson’s Eye: The Practice of Perception in Proust’ in American Literary History, 28:3 (2016) pp. 455-483.
 Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time Vol. V: The Captive translated by C. K. Scott Moncreiff and Terence Kilmartin, 1992 (London: Vintage, 2000), p. 651.
 Paul de Man, Allegories of Reading, (London: Yale University Press, 1979), p. 17.
 Proust, The Captive, p. 652
 De Man, p. 17.
 Manuel Asensi, Black Holes, J. Hillis Miller; or, Boustrophedonic Reading (Cultural Memory in the Present) (Palo Alto, Stanford University Press: 1999), p. 20.
 Ralph Waldo Emerson, ‘The American Scholar’ 1837, The Collected Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, I. Nature, Addresses and Lectures (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), p. 58.
 Branka Arsić, Cary Wolfe, ‘Introduction’ in The Other Emerson (Minneapolis: The University of Minnesota Press, 2010), p. xxxi.
 Michael Murphy, Proust in America (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2007).
 Kate Stanley, ‘Through Emerson’s Eye: The Practice of Perception in Proust’, American Literary History 28:3, (Oxford University Press, 2016), p. 458.
 Emerson, ‘Nature’ 1836, The Collected Works, I. Nature, Addresses and Lectures (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), p. 18.
 Paul Grimstad, ‘Emerson’s Adjacencies: Radical Empiricism in Nature’, in The Other Emerson, p. 262.
 Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time, Vol IV Sodom and Gomorrah trans. by C.K. Scott Moncreiff and Terence Kilmartin, 1981 (London: Vintage, 2000), p. 422.
 Matthew Del Nevo, The Work of Enchantment (Piscataway: Transaction Publishers, 2011), p. 72.
 Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time,Vol I Swann’s Way, translated by Lydia Davis 2003 (London: Penguin Classics, 2004), p. 143.
 Emerson, ‘Nature,’ p. 19.
 Roland Barthes, ‘Proust and Names’ in New Critical Essays, (New York: Hill & Wang, 1980), p. 59.
 Emerson, ‘Art,’ The Collected Works, II. Essays: First Series, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), p. 210.
 Ibid, p. 18.
 Murphy, p. 110.
 Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time, Vol I Swann’s Way trans. by C. K. Scott Moncreiff and Terence Kilmartin (Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1981), p. 143.
Miguel de Beistegui, Proust as Philosopher: The Art of Metaphor (Abingdon-On-Thames: Routledge, 2012) p. 23.
 Emerson, ‘Nature’, p. 21.
 Ibid, p. 23.
 Murphy, p. 81.
 Ibid, p. 69.
 Gilles Deleuze, Proust and Signs, 1964 (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press edition, 2000), p. 7.
 Malcom Bowie, Proust Among the Stars (London: Harper Collins, 1998), p. 2.
 Proust, The Captive, p. 419.
 Emerson, ‘Nature’ p. 19
 Deleuze, p. 38.
 Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past: 1 trans. by C. K. Scott Moncreiff and Terence Kilmartin (Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1981), p. 196.
 Ibid, p. 197.
 Erika Fülöp, ‘Different Essences and Essential Differences: Proust versus Deleuze’ in Beckett’s Proust/Deleuze’s Proust, ed. by Mary Bryden and Magaret Topping (Palgrave MacMillan, 2009), p. 44.
 Christopher Newfield, The Emerson Effect: Individualism and Submission in America (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1996) p. 57.
 Ralph Waldo Emerson, ‘Experience’ 1844, The Collected Works, III. Essays: Second Series, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), p. 27.
 David Greenham, Emerson’s Transatlantic Romanticism (Basingstoke: Palgrave MacMillan, 2012), p. 179.
 Richard Poirier, Poetry and Pragmatism (Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1992), p. 26.
 Marcel, Proust, Swann’s Way: In Search of Lost Time, Vol. 1 trans. by Lydia Davis, 2003 (London: Penguin Classics, 2004), p. 89.
 Murphy, p. 84.
 Ralph Waldo Emerson, ‘The Poet’ 1843, The Collected Works, III. Essays: Second Series (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), p. 5.
Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time, Vol VI Time Regained, trans. by C.K. Scott Moncrieff and Terence Kilmartin, 1981 (London: Vintage, 2000), p. 451.
 Ibid, p. 443.
 Emerson, ‘Self-Reliance’ 1841, The Collected Works, II. Essays: First Series (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), p. 25.
 Murphy, p.82.