“You want everything finished before you have even started.” I was trying to write a book, thinking about how to begin, when suddenly my grandmother's slightly irritated voice entered my memory. What I remembered was a common situation in my childhood, in which she tried to teach me how to knit or stitch. Frankly, I was never very good at either, and since I was impatient as well, my behavior often prompted this remark. Where did this memory come from and why at this particular moment? Was it because I was trying to plan my new book project in far too many details? I was trying to think it through to the end. So in a sense she was right. I wanted it finished before I had even started. No matter, I had not searched for the memory. The memory was involuntary. It came out of the blue and yet with a clear and unmistakable reference to my personal past. This book is about such involuntary memories.

My own way into this research topic was somewhat accidental. One might almost say involuntary, in the sense that it was not the result of a determined and rational decision. I had just finished my Master's degree in psychology and I wanted to apply for a Ph.D. scholarship. I had a long-standing interest in literature, notably poetic metaphors and how they are created. Yet my mentor thought that this would be too narrow for a Ph.D. in psychology.