Pomalost

*Slowness*, chronologically the first of Milan Kundera’s four novels written in French, is being published in a Czech translation by Anna Karenina. The publication of Kundera’s novels in Czech is coming to an end.

I look in the rearview mirror: it’s still the same car that can’t pass me because of oncoming traffic. A woman is sitting next to the driver; why doesn’t the man tell her something funny? Why doesn’t he rest his hand on her knee? Instead, he’s cursing the driver ahead who isn’t going fast enough, and the woman doesn’t even think of touching the driver’s hand; she’s driving along with him in spirit and cursing me, too. And I’m thinking of another journey from Paris to a country castle that took place more than two hundred years ago—the journey of Madame de T. and the young knight who accompanied her. For the first time, they are so close to one another, and the indescribably sensual atmosphere surrounding them arises precisely from the slow pace: rocked by the movement of the carriage, their bodies touch—first unconsciously, then consciously—and the story begins to unfold. Milan Kundera: Slowness, Atlantis 2026, pp. 10–11.