Post for 9/31/13

I cannot stop thinking about how little Nabokov is interested in pursuing realism. Well, maybe that's not the right way of putting it. The plausibility of the story isn't complete chance. In fact, (at least so far) while absolutely horrifying and improbable, many of the things Humber Humbert has described happening, or described himself doing, are very well possible. Perhaps it'd be better to say that Nabokov doesn't value realism. No, that's not it either. Nabokov certainly values people, portraying people with humanity. Nabokov doesn't let facts get in the way of the truth. He wants to make sure you know that what he is writing is fiction. This book is championing fiction. Championing the very idea of made up stories. By including nonsensical passages, Nabokov pokes holes in the artifice of reality we suspend our disbelief for, and reminds us that this story is made up. I think that's wonderful. Why? Because we, as a society, are constantly trying to undermine fiction. We're trying to undermine the idea that stories are made up, but also that stories can be made up. We are always using both psychology and the arrogance of the present to say that stories are not creations. We say that they are mere composites of the author's personality, of of somebody else's ideas. Now, I'm not trying to knock that. I don't think we should be frowning on that to begin with. Originality does not inherently make a piece of writing more interesting. However, We should also stop attributing fiction to reality, because it makes fiction less impressive. Writing fiction, good fiction mind you, is enormously difficult. It's infuriating to have readers that are interested in  how authors create their works (read: how a magician pulls off his trick), as well as readers that judge the quality of a work on how much it mirrors reality. In my workshops, I am frequently reading stories that include details that, while certainly imitating reality, don't contribute to the themes, the plot, or the questions the piece is asking at large. It's realism for realism's sake. What Nabokov is saying is that realism is not worth the worship we give it. Fiction, and made up stories can be wonderful, important, and filled with just as much madness and (capital T) Truth as any other story can be.

Post for 9/26/13

Another odd thing about this book is capitalization. Nabokov capitalizes the first letter of many words. However, try always seem to be grammatically correct, or big overarching ideas. For instance, on page 105 (I know this was in Tuesday's reading) he writes, "Instead of basking in the beams of smiling Chance, I was obsessed by all sorts of purely ethical doubts and fears." It's a rather funny thing to do. Not only funny in the sense that it is strange, or out of the norm, but also because it is properly funny. It's great to see Nabokov point and laugh at themes in his book. While there are most definitely a number of (fascinating) themes in Lolita, Nabokov doesn't like being flashy about them. In fact, in my opinion, Nabokov uses these capitalizations to almost underline this idea of "could you imagine if I was this bad of a writer?" So he beats you over the head with these words that are part of larger symbolic, intellectual frameworks, to laugh at how ridiculous of a practice he finds that to be. Nabokov, very obviously I might add, has his fun in games of hiding his motifs, and making them seem offhandedly and unimportant. 

Post for 9/24/13

There are several constantly shifting items in Lolita. Furthermore, frequency of their variation accellerates as the novel goes on. The first of these, is the way Nabokov breaks the fourth wall. Most frequently, Humbert Humbert calls the reader the "Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury," which leads us to believe that the book is either a sort of legal invocation of the judgers. But then, this isn't the only way he refers to the reader. Sometimes he refers to the reader as "the reader" or "my dear readers", which has its own implications. He knows, or at least feels, that this work is going to be read. And he plays the game of the writer self consciously. This is really interesting, perhaps because the terms Humbert Humbert has used to address the reader thus far, this is the only one that in itself comments on the artificiality of fiction. The final one of these I can think of is when Humbert Humbert calls the readere "folks." It's massively out of character. there are two instances. Both on page 87. The first: "But d'ye know, folks--I just could not make myself do it!" The second: "And folks, I just couldn't!" This is totally fascinating. At once, we are faced with a completely overt moment. The moment is so deeply performative, it seems like it would be on a television show. This isn't just an acknowledgement of the reader. This is way more complicated. Because if it's true that this invocation is a performative one, (it seems like a very plausible thesis to me) then we must consider the performativity of the whole piece. Nabokov does this a lot. And this is part of his mastery. He introduces an single, speck of a different idea that forces us to re-evaluate the "normality." Nabokov, then drops very, very, very many of these absolutely minuscule references, that force us to think, "If this is a part of the playing field, I need to re-map my conceptions of the story, and the narrator based on this new information. And this information, in particular, shows Humbert Humbert as a showman. Not only does that completely invalidate all this idea of him being a subtle, quiet, gentlemanly figure, but it also makes us think about our own stake in the story. Are we primarily here (in the story) as readers? As audience members, waiting to be entertained? As people here to judge the morality or immorality of Nabokov and Humbert Humbert? Is Humbert Humbert telling his story to be heard out, or is he doing it to put on a show? If he's doing it to put on a show, what does that say about his truthfulness? Does he value truth over showmanship? The best storytellers often disregard truth. What is Humbert Humbert's place in all of this? What is our place in this? Do we believe him? Sure, he has an absolutely unforgivable desire to rape a twelve year old, but does that mean he would lie to us? The reason for him telling the story is integral to how we are to interpret his actions, and the things he says. What are we to do with all this massive uncertainty?

AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Post for 9/19/13

I'm becoming more and more interested in the way Nabokov mixes things. For instance, there's quite a bit of French in the novel. This begs the question, (at least in my mind,) does Humbert Humbert identify more closely with French or English? The presence of the French must make us interrogate the use of English. He is half English and half Swiss/Austrian/French. The fact that Humbert Humbert includes passages in French makes us think about the fact that the rest is in English. Did America get to him, or was he always natively English speaking? If English wasn't always his primary language, (this seems possible) when did that change? Nabokov, in a number of instances forces us to consider something by creating its opposite. Throughout the novel (thus far) there are a number of contradictory pieces. The contradictory pieces end up being each others lights and shadows, forcing us to question what is going on.

Another way this manifests itself is through the third person bits. There are occasionally pieces in the third person. It comes out of nowhere, and doesn't quite seem to be a thematic choice. The pieces in the third person don't have much in common other than being in the third person. However, again, the nature of the third person makes us think about the first person and vice versa. Nabokov, then, makes sure we're uncomfortable, always unseating us. We always have to stay on our toes. Nabokov makes us think about the funcion of the first person. It totally works. Nabokov has written a story in which we are constantly grappling with the content, and the first person obfuscates the reader, and forces them to deal with their conceptions of the author. Nabokov forces you to create your own distance between the author and the narrator. I love that. Nabokov, who hated these connections, has creates a story that plays with your sense of authorship, and forces you to evaluate Nabokov's place within the picture.

Post for 9/17/13

Frankly, I find autobiographical material to be absolutely insufferable. I just thinking about Nabokov,  because he wants us to not look to treat the work as an entire entity of its own. In that way, I think it's interesting to interpret Nabokov's works, independently of one another. But I'm completely against this idea of looking at his work as a single body, rather than as individual works. I think it's primarily because, I feel like that undermines fiction. To me, it goes against the very idea of made-up stories, and the idea that stories can really be invented. Last semester I took a course on James Joyce's Ulysses, we did a lot of this biographical stuff. Honestly, I find it unbearable. But I find it unbearable for two reasons: first, being this idea that stories should be invented, should be given the credit of being invented. The second reason being that works should be treated as individual work, and not valued based on their relationship to imagined contexts. Thirdly, perhaps most interestingly, Nabokov, and Joyce amongst others, are really against this type of reading. This is worse things get tricky though. And also, where they get fun. Because, although it is true that the bulk of the Joyce don't want us to bring the authors life into the texts, they both also seem to be of the idea that their own interpretations are not the final ones. While I realize what that implies, does that mean that we shouldn't take their opinions into consideration at all? If the author is only a vehicle for the work, and the author does not have the final say on the meanings of the work, does that mean that they should have no say? I don't know. I don't know if I think that an author should comment on their own work. Theoretically, the comments are already in the work. Then moving forward, the role of the reader to interpret and comment.

And what is our fascination with authors? Is it the conception that we are so amazed that they make up the stories that we look for true life within them? Baffled to the point of disbelief, perhaps? Or is it something else? Maybe, it's this idea that we are so in love with the author for creating the work, that we want to know more about what created this beautiful thing. Really, what is the fun of that? Say, for instance, you read an incredible novel. You later go on to read about the authors life, and find, but the story mirror some experiences or happenings within the authors life. Doesn't the magic sort of disappear? The ephemerality and imagination involved in your reading of it prior to knowing about the author is gone. It's like seeing the film before you read the book. You will always see the actors playing those characters when you read the book.

Lastly, what this method does, is that it imagines writing as a non-empathic experience. And perhaps, that's what infuriates me the most. This idea, that a writer can't write out of a desire to connect. That a writer must be creating from their own lives. Empathy is always on my mind, because I realize this world is full of massive differences. And I find empathy, to be the best way of dealing with these differences. Biographical readings then, posit that writers will be creating only out of a desire to represent themselves, rather than out of a desire to connect with others.

Post for 9/12/13

I'm still reveling in The Enchanter. Nabokov is such a masterful writer, and with such massive restraint. Furthermore, Nabokov is completely steeped in his ideology as a writer. He practices what he preaches, which I realize is partly so impressive to me because my taste and my capabilities as a writer are not on the same plane yet. Anyway, I think Nabokov's ability to morally remove himself from the text is fascinating. Nabokov does like messing with his reader though. I think about the way the story is told, which is some odd mix between a (slightly partial) omniscient third person, free indirect discourse, and first person. Nabokov, in this way, plays a game of cat and mouse with the reader. He plays games with your views of him as an author, and of his authorial presence (or lack thereof.) On the one hand, his use of these narrative standpoints would suggest sympathy, or a sense that the author is trying to make a case for the protagonist. However, Nabokov (and his writing) is more complicated than that. What's fascinating is that the text never endorses the character. Even within the monologue and the free indirect discourse, there's never a sense that the protagonist is doing the right thing. That said, the piece does nothing to condemn him. The blank style that Nabokov takes on, then, has an interesting relationship with the narrative perspective he takes. He could, if he so chose, write the piece in a cold, journalistic tone and style. It would certainly fit the amorality of the narrative. However, Nabokov does (in a moment not unlike Odysseus' throwing the spear into Polyphemus' eye) not use a dry or cold tone. In fact, he uses a tone that, as I previously stated, would encourage sympathy, or the idea of sympathy. The pride, mastery and skill in that gesture is completely off the charts, but it should be noted that he definitely pulls it off.

The other thing that's fascinating about the way The Enchanter is told is the ending. The ending both punishes and doesn't punish the protagonist. The way the ending comes through, it almost seems as though Nabokov had no say in it. It's not like Macbeth, where it's very clear that the protagonist does something bad, or wrong, and is thus punished for it. Rather, while the text shows indifference to the protagonist, the society within the novel does not. In that way, I suppose it's strange to have a story, (particularly one that's so morally charged) where the author is not present in the characters nor in the society. The text doesn't give a sense that when the protagonist is caught, that Nabokov is saying "take that, perv!" Rather, it's almost just like, "Well, that happened."

Post for 9/10/13

I loved The Enchanter. It's possibly the most horrifying thing I've read, but I'm already liking Nabokov quite a bit. More than anything, I love Nabokov's capacity for metaphor. I particularly liked this passage on page 15. He writes,

"You lost the hands of your watch," said the girl.
"No, he answered, clearing his throat, "that's the way it's supposed to be. It's a rarity."

It's a simple moment. It's not a moment of severe import, in plot or emotion. However, it's incredible, because more than anything, it requires an incredible amount of control, and knowledge of what you're writing. When Nabokov talks about the absurdity that people get carried away with their own stories, we see it really in application here. In three sentences, Nabokov summarizes the entire story. The outside world, as symbolized by the girl, notes to the man that he doesn't have a proper sense of time. The outside world shows discomfort with this idea, as we all would. He, however, replies that his lack of a structural understanding of time is "the way it's supposed to be. It's a rarity." Nabokov's ability to know and control his story well enough to capture the entire universe of The Enchanter within such a minute detail is incredible.

Furthermore, Nabokov's restraint shows itself here too. His writing has such a masterful sense of restraint. To write a story about such a morally charged subject without spending the entire time editorializing is incredible. To go back to this moment that I was just discussing, this is another great example of that restraint. The entire interaction ends there. Whatever would have come next would have been an editorial comment of some sort. She would have either commented on how it was good or bad that the man's watch had no hands, or he would have said too much about it, and it would be beating the point into the reader. In this way, however, Nabokov is always taking a chance. The chance he's always taking is that you are going to be smart enough to figure it out on your own. By not passing over the same motifs and ideas a number of times, he is really putting his work in the hands of the reader. The reader, is then forced to figure it out for themself.

Lastly, and most importantly perhaps, is Nabokov's ability to portray characters complexly. Nabokov doesn't deny the humanity of the lead character. He doesn't portray him two-dimensionally. While it's clear to us that the character is a villain, the text doesn't really care to acknowledge that. It's both fascinating and relieving to see a story told with a character who is certainly morally appalling, who is neither redeemed nor spurned within the text. Often times, we see these stories of villains, or "bad people" and they are given a horrible, invalidating life story. For instance, a character will try to take over the world, and we find out it's because he was an orphan. The truth is that writing like that invalidates both the narrative of the villain, and not treating him like a whole character, or whole person, but it also invalidates the narratives of orphans, and people who have had rough upbringings. Rough upbringings cannot be the reason everyone is evil. Nabokov understands this. I love that. It forces us to understand and connect to people who our entire society is built upon invalidating. Nabokov in this way creates a framework of thought for dealing with "the other." His making the protagonist so morally appalling only further proves and enforces his point of trying to deal with, or at least try to understand the complexity of narratives of the people we disagree with.