This is my final blog post. Wow! What a class this has been! I can remember signing up for this class thinking "who is this Vlad-a-mere Na-bow-cough guy?"I asked someone if they knew anything he had written and they replied "Yeah. He wrote a book about a pedophile. It's called Lolita." At that point I wondered what in hell kind of class I was signed up to take! But, I decided to give this Russian author a shot and how glad I am that I did!
The only reason I've decided to my last blog post now (except my paper which will be up when it's finished) is that I really wanted to try and get my thoughts out there before any good thing I have to say about this semester gets swallowed up by the mass intelligence drain that is the upcoming week! Also, I haven't posted any images on this post because I don't really think that it is necessary as this is MY last voice, my last utterance that gets to echo around the class before we head off to Christmas and leave this class for memories and recollections. I really just want to get my final reflections for this class out now before I get swamped and a lot of them get lost among all the other stuff I have to do. I'm sure that I will miss including the papers that are going to be presented next week but I can pretty confidently say that they will be good and offer new perspectives about each persons interests in Nabokovian studies.
Thinking back on the plethora of things we learned this semester it makes me wonder how more people don't spend almost all of their time reading this fabulous author! I guess there are a small share of Kinbotian Brian Boyd's who do :). It seems so crazy to think of the ground we have covered from wondering "what the hell are we reading?" to intensive discussions about Zembla! Although we took off at A we have not yet reached Z; in fact, I would be happy to think that I've reached C with Nabokov.
Well, because this is my last blog of the semester, I feel like I should reach some sort of tangible conclusion from the class. I think just for the sake of doing it (it is MY last blog after all) let me rank the order of works that we've read this semester according to my own personal likes/dislikes (don't attack my opinion because of my likes/dislikes! In this scenario, I get to be God and base my valuations on my personal opinion)
4. Transparent Things-- For some reason I just had a harder time getting into this book. It wasn't that I didn't like it, it was just difficult for me to discern it as well as the others. Part of me thinks that at the time maybe I was feeling "done" with Nabokov for a little bit while I regrouped. Anyway, out of all the texts, this is the one that I feel like I owe the most return to- if just to appreciate it more.
3. Speak, Memory- Having read few autobiographies, I must say that this work is the most carefully crafted "self-life-writing" I have ever read. It really offers anyone interested in Nabokov a real portrait of the author as a young man! (cheesy James Joyce joke). Nabokov's ability to speak the truth and stretch it so artfully form the foundations of his beautifully recollected autobiography! Perhaps, this book has my favorite opening in any book I've ever read.
2. Lolita- From what I know this is by far Nabokov's most popular book, and, unlike works by other authors with that notable status, this one doesn't disappoint! I was amazed at Nabokov's ability to compose a complex, dedicated, sincerely artistic text. This work seems like the perfect segway into studying Nabokov. So many of the themes and strategies of composition that lace his works are beautifully depicted here.
1. Pale Fire- Wow. To put it simply, this work is undeniably a masterpiece. I was mesmerized by the way Nabokov experiments with structure and achieves an effect worthy of the masterpiece title. The whole time I read this book I was in awe of how a true author can compose such an intricate and thoughtful text. Not only does the structure of the piece capture the author but also does his mastery of the various subject matters he writes about-- criticism, academia, loss of a child, poetry, etc. With the creation and depiction of the history of Zembla as it were, Nabokov perhaps achieved his most masterful feat.
I hope everyone reading this list at least can feel some of the justifications to why I put what books where I did. Although I know that ranking books is somewhat of a silly practice, I really feel like I need it to help me understand and grasp this semester a little more firmly.
Now here is where I really begin to wrap it up, play the final notes, turn off the lights, read the last line, and all other euphemisms for the end. First off, I'd really like to thank the whole class. I felt like, at some point in the semester, everyone really contributed to the overall direction of the class and added to the class perspective. It was a joy to pursue these studies with all of you. Thank you most of all to Dr. Sexson for teaching the class! It was really fun and, now that it's done, I think my studies of Nabokov must go off on their own directions. Perhaps to new Nabokov works we didn't make it to, literary criticism surrounding Nabokov, or wherever I find myself leaning. God, the closer I get to ending this blog the more I feel the end of the class coming to a close; like Gradus' existance dependent on following the path of the written words of John Shade I feel like my voice in this class is dependent on this blog. When the text ends, I end. Oh well, I guess if I'm going to go out I would like to conclude my blog with what I consider the most important passage of the whole semester. It seems a fitting end for me to fade away with this quote in mind.
Just this: not text, but texture; not the dream
But topsy-turvical coincidence,
Not flimsy nonsense, but a web of sense.
Yes! It sufficed that I in life could find
Some kind of link-and-bobolink, some kind
Of correlated pattern in the game,
Plexed artistry, and something of the same
Pleasure in it as they who played it found.
Adam
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Final Paper-- "Based on a Misprint"
*I was unable to figure out how to attach the notes. I guess you all can try and annotate some of the paper yourselves!-- Adam
Foreword
Based on a Misprint was the title of the email which the writer of this present note received the strange pages it perambulates. Although I am now a retired professor of literature (20 years in the English Department at Wordsmith College) the authors mother, Suzie Schatz-Benson, emailed me this essay asking for my opinion on its worth. I put down the current book I’m working on, a collaboration with a friend named Vivian, and picked up this undergraduate essay to see if it could help guide my study. Let me point out that, at first, I was simply horrified. After reading it again I modified my initial reaction.
Before I continue, I feel that I need to alert the reader of this commentary exactly who I am in this web of sense. In order to do so I will relate my relationship to the Benson family. I became an intimate correspondent to the family shortly after Adam attended, what I am told, was the first day of the class which this essay was composed for. We were first introduced through a mutual acquaintance, Clarence Choate Clark. Also, my “couple minute” proximity to Adam’s Sheridan, Wyoming residence (this lass could get to that male in four) also contributed to our correspondence leading to my current voice in the commentary.
This commentator may be excused for repeating what she has stressed in her own books and lectures, namely that “offensive” is frequently but a synonym for “unusual”; and a great work of art is of course always original, and thus by its very nature should come as a more or less shocking surprise. I have no intention to glorify Adam. No doubt, he is horrible, he is abject, he is a shining example of academic leprosy, a mixture of ferocity and jocularity that betrays supreme misery perhaps, but is not conducive to attractiveness. He is ponderously capricious. Many of his opinions on the people and texture of Nabokov’s works are ludicrous. A desperate honesty that throbs through his essay does not absolve him from sins of diabolical cunning. He is abnormal. He is not a gentleman. But how magically his singing violin can conjure up a tendresse, a compassion for his studies that makes us entranced with the essay while abhorring its author!
As an essay, Based on a Misprint will become, no doubt, a classic in undergraduate circles. As a work of art, it transcends its expiatory aspects; and still more important to us than academic significance and literary criticism worth, is the ethical impact the essay should have on the serious academic. It warns us of dangerous trends; it points out potent evils. Based on a Misprint should make all of us— professors, students, educators— apply ourselves with still greater vigilance and vision to the task of bringing up a better generation in the academic world.
To this essay we now must turn. The notes included should satisfy the most voracious reader. Let me state that without my notes Adam’s text simply has no academic reality. To this statement my dear Adam would probably not have subscribed, but, for better or worse, it is the commentator that has the last word.
Dame Nasbon, Ph.D.
December 6th, 2009
Based on a Misprint
“A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and the portals of discovery.”—James Joyce
I want my learned readers to participate in the scene I am about to replay; I want them to examine its every detail . A muscular, black bull with ivory-knife horns stands in the center of a bullfighting ring. The bull shoots sharp glances left and right looking for his competitor. He puffs smoke rings from his nostrils and paws in the dirt, lifting a small scuff of dust with a cloven gray hoof. Suddenly, from an open pair of green doors on one side of the ring, a ridge of dark brown earth overturns and rapidly approaches our focus. Something is tunneling into the ring. A mole perhaps? A gopher? Punxsutawney Phil? No. A long-eared, buck-toothed, wide-eyed rabbit toting one maroon suitcase and one forest-green suitcase erupts from the hole and gleefully announces, “well, here I am!” He looks around the ring in dismay. The rabbit clenches two fists and says in long drawn out skepticism “hey— just a cotton-picking minute. This don’t look like the Coachella Valley to me.” He reaches back down into his tunnel and pulls out a leaf-green and sea-blue map sliced into a grid on a piece of white paper. The rabbit ruminates over the map and mutters a sardonic “hmmm…” followed by the utterance “I knew I should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque.”
Hey you! You person up there holding this white paper in your hands staring down at these words wondering if I’m writing to you . You wonder how I’m at the end of the first page of an essay of Vladimir Nabokov and all you’ve read this far is a scene about Bugs Bunny? Do you think I possibly printed off the wrong paper and am just now realizing it? (Segno ) Do you think this is a mistake? No, it is far from a mistake and is most definitely intentional (al Coda) . I do understand where you are coming from though; you are undoubtedly feeling slightly perturbed at this point and asking yourself “how in the world does Bugs Bunny have anything at all to do with Vladimir Nabokov?” Well, the admirable reader who trusts in me will understand that this Bugs Bunny scene and the craftsmanship of Vladimir Nabokov have much in common (in addition to their disdain for Freudians) . To get at their comparability our focus should shift to Nabokov’s Pale Fire. In a moment appealing to any black humorist the poet John Shade, a character central to the masterpiece, desperately pens “Life Everlasting— based on a misprint!” (Pale Fire 62). John Shade, who had based his newly adopted spiritual outlook on the accuracy of a statement found in a magazine, found out that because of a misprint, an error, he might be (gulp) wrong! To put Shade’s fear more simply, while he thought he was definitely going to one place it turned out he might be going to another; both Shade and Bugs find they are not at a place they thought they were going, but rather, turned around and thrown off track by an error! What makes these characters situations more comparable is how they react to their errors. Bugs Bunny, upon discovering his mistake, does a remarkable thing in getting out of the hole, entering the ring, and engaging in the world he has mistakenly been led to; likewise, John Shade, who at first feels he has been led astray, engages in the realm the error has led him to and he quickly realizes that in fact he has actually stumbled upon the “real point” (hey you skeptic, did you just feel your spine tingle? ). The action of engagement leads us to the crux of this essay. In his works, (make sure to focus here reader!) Nabokov debunks the traditional perception of errors as bad, wrong, and useless and asserts the ability of so-called errors to act as portals leading the persistent reader to fantastic, new knowledge.
In the interpretation of the “cryptogrammic paper chase” section of Lolita, errors, misinterpretations, mistaken trails, and the like all have a vast import (Lolita 250). After Humbert Humbert strikes out to find the person responsible for the capture of Lolita he eventually loses the obvious trail to Lolita’s captor. H.H. needs to adapt quickly if he hopes to regain the scent. He does not give up when the he seems to run out of evidence but notes how he “discovered at once that he (the captor) had forseen my investigations and had planted insulting pseudonyms for my special benefit” (Lolita 248). Before continuing, it must be noted that Humbert is an unreliable narrator; simply because he believes that there are “clues” planted for him by Lolita’s captor in various hotel registries does not necessarily mean that “Harry, Bumper. Sheridan, Wyo.” is referring to an 18th century play Humbert had recently been trying to interest Lolita in (Lolita 250). Because of his unstable status as an unreliable narrator the reader must consider these supposed clues to be errors in H.H.’s judgment. However, it is crucial to see how H.H. reacts to this mistaken trail. He practically relishes in the chase set up for him (if not by the captor then who?) exclaiming how investigating each registry “challenged my scholarship… what a shiver of triumph and loathing shook my frail frame when… his fiendish conundrum would ejaculate in my face” (Lolita 250). The close, attentive reading that H.H. gives to the Hotel registries he stumbles upon allows him to flex his intellectual muscle. Each new list under his attentive glare becomes swollen with literary references and allusions. H.H.’s toilest engagement in the wasteland of names replaces an ordinary view with an extraordinary one.
Silly, H.H. you say. How does he really think that all these names, while convincingly linked to literary references, have anything to do with his chase? He is simply being toyed with! Well frigid ladies and gentlemen of H.H’s jury , I have something grave to report to you. Ready? Take one or two deep breaths. Ok, H.H. is being toyed with but so are you! You, as a reader of the text Lolita, are more closely intertwined with the hairy-armed ape than you would like to think. In fact “virtually every ‘move’ in the ‘true story’ Lolita seems to be structured with their predictable responses in mind; and the game-element depends on such reflexive action, for it tests the reader” (Appel lvii). Not only are the moves structured for you but “the traps are baited with tempting ‘false scents’” (Appel lviii). Do you recall the song that H.H. recites on page 61, back when the mystery was unsolved? “O my Carmen, my little Carmen!... and the gun I killed you with, O my Carmen,/ The gun I am holding now” (Lolita 61). For those of you cultured enough to be aware of Bizet’s famous opera the final scene in Act IV where Don José kills Carmen should ring a bell. As seems the obvious connection Lolita is intended to be linked to Carmen and Humbert Humbert to Don José. So, knowing what we know about Carmen this is an obvious foreshadowing of Humbert Humbert’s eventual murder of Lolita right? (skip ahead, skip ahead). Wrong! H.H. doesn’t kill Lolita in the end. Like H.H., some unseen force has moved you the reader to make an erroneous assumption about the end of the novel. This is only one of many instances in the book in which you have been fooled by a “false scent” leading you to mistaken conclusions (Vivian is the male author, the gal author is Clare … really?).
As I look out I can see that some of you are fuming at this realization of being misled, fooled, conned, bamboozled, flimflammed, and foxed. Please sir, you sparking the lighter with a shaky thumb, do not ignite the messenger . If you are only patient I can direct you to the real hand moving all the pieces – the man behind the curtain . This treacherous fiend is no other than Vivian Darkbloom! This collaborator of Clare Quilty is responsible for leading you astray reader. Confused? When you take closer look Vivian Darkbloom jumps off the page, crawls off the folds, and mans the pen when you rearrange the anagram; Vivian Darkbloom becomes (jumble jumble ) Vladimir Nabokov.
Before you relegate Nabokov to the eighth circle and tenth ditch of lower hell I will provide the author’s proper defense that should illuminate his genius (D.S. al Coda) . (Coda) Firstly, Nabokov is definitely in control of reader as evident in Speak, Memory when he says “I like to fold my magic carpet, after use, in such a way as to superimpose one part of the pattern upon another. Let visitors trip” (Speak, Memory 139). Nabokov must have purpose in this tactic. That purpose seems to be revealed in a passionate attack on the popular lack of consideration and thought when he says “nervous publishers of popular novels pamper the ‘average reader’— who should not be made to think” (Speak, Memory 124). Reader, Nabokov is only thinking in your best interest by asserting your worth as a human and stating that you deserve literature that is not only entertaining but also thought provoking. He has taken upon himself to provide you with books befitting a reader of your intellect and calling him a cheat is how you repay him? Lucky for you, Nabokov is a forgiving author; he understands that everyone makes errors, and, in fact, he really wants you to reconsider errors too.
In one of Nabokov’s most poetic and emotional passages of Pale Fire he provides his most eloquent defense of the nature of errors. Shade, in his glorious epiphanic response to the destitution caused by an error, says:
“But all at once it dawned on me that this/ Was the real point, the contrapuntal theme;/ Just this: not text, but texture; not the dream/ But topsy-turvical coincidence,/ Not flimsy nonsense, but a web of sense./ Yes! It sufficed that I in life could find/ Some kind of link-and-bobolink, some kind/ Of correlated pattern in the game,/ Plexed artistry, and something of the same/ Pleasure in it as they who played it found” (Pale Fire 62). Not only has Shade escaped depression but he has discovered the point; mistakes are not separate from the path of discovery, rather, they are interlinked in the great “web of sense” that makes up all knowledge. Making a mistake puts the person in a position to learn something new that they did not even set out to discover.
Beware reader, making discoveries is not easy though. The person who learns the most from their mistakes must have one of the most amiable qualities (are those Palanese birds I hear cawing ?)— awareness. It will not suffice to make mistakes without an awareness of the learning opportunities that the mistakes can afford. Through Shade, Nabokov frames mistakes and errors not as things that lead away from discovery but straight into it for an aware and attentive person. Shade exuberantly concludes his revelation with “making ornaments/ Of accidents and possibilities” (Pale Fire 62). According to this doctrine not only are errors and accidents portals to discovery but they should be celebrated as highly useful opportunity to learn something new .
Reader, by this point I think that you must be convinced in Nabokov’s ability to successfully use errors and mistakes. He subjects his characters to them, and, when they discover the mistaken trail you lament their wrong turn. However, you quickly realize that you are also one of his characters following a path laid out before you. The paths not only lead you to false assumptions about his texts but more importantly to allow for you to confront your so-called “errors” and give you an opportunity to learn something new. When Nabokov wants you to be his ideal reader he doesn’t mean never to make errors; he wants you to learn from your errors. While reading his book you can be assured that many of the mistakes you make were set up for you and that he has not lead you away from discovery, but closer to other discoveries that you never even knew to be after. Remember though, to get after the discoveries that Nabokov sets you towards you must be aware of the texture of the path, the web of sense, and how the path you have taken is just another link in the chain. Each error and mistake leads you closer to the end, and when you close the book, you must turn back to the beginning, peruse the first lines and think “And the end of all our exploring/ Will be to arrive where we started/ And know the place for the first time” (Eliot 39). Then, you will read the book again, and again, and again …
Works Cited
Appel Jr., Alfred. Introduction. Lolita. By Vladimir Nabokov. 1955. First Vintage Books
Edition, 1991. ix- lxvii . Print.
Eliot, T.S. Four Quartets. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc. pg. 39.
Nabokov, Vladimir. Lolita. New York: Vintage Books, 1991. Print.
--- Pale Fire. New York: Vintage Books, 1989. Print.
--- Speak, Memory. New York: Vintage Books, 1989. Print.
Foreword
Based on a Misprint was the title of the email which the writer of this present note received the strange pages it perambulates. Although I am now a retired professor of literature (20 years in the English Department at Wordsmith College) the authors mother, Suzie Schatz-Benson, emailed me this essay asking for my opinion on its worth. I put down the current book I’m working on, a collaboration with a friend named Vivian, and picked up this undergraduate essay to see if it could help guide my study. Let me point out that, at first, I was simply horrified. After reading it again I modified my initial reaction.
Before I continue, I feel that I need to alert the reader of this commentary exactly who I am in this web of sense. In order to do so I will relate my relationship to the Benson family. I became an intimate correspondent to the family shortly after Adam attended, what I am told, was the first day of the class which this essay was composed for. We were first introduced through a mutual acquaintance, Clarence Choate Clark. Also, my “couple minute” proximity to Adam’s Sheridan, Wyoming residence (this lass could get to that male in four) also contributed to our correspondence leading to my current voice in the commentary.
This commentator may be excused for repeating what she has stressed in her own books and lectures, namely that “offensive” is frequently but a synonym for “unusual”; and a great work of art is of course always original, and thus by its very nature should come as a more or less shocking surprise. I have no intention to glorify Adam. No doubt, he is horrible, he is abject, he is a shining example of academic leprosy, a mixture of ferocity and jocularity that betrays supreme misery perhaps, but is not conducive to attractiveness. He is ponderously capricious. Many of his opinions on the people and texture of Nabokov’s works are ludicrous. A desperate honesty that throbs through his essay does not absolve him from sins of diabolical cunning. He is abnormal. He is not a gentleman. But how magically his singing violin can conjure up a tendresse, a compassion for his studies that makes us entranced with the essay while abhorring its author!
As an essay, Based on a Misprint will become, no doubt, a classic in undergraduate circles. As a work of art, it transcends its expiatory aspects; and still more important to us than academic significance and literary criticism worth, is the ethical impact the essay should have on the serious academic. It warns us of dangerous trends; it points out potent evils. Based on a Misprint should make all of us— professors, students, educators— apply ourselves with still greater vigilance and vision to the task of bringing up a better generation in the academic world.
To this essay we now must turn. The notes included should satisfy the most voracious reader. Let me state that without my notes Adam’s text simply has no academic reality. To this statement my dear Adam would probably not have subscribed, but, for better or worse, it is the commentator that has the last word.
Dame Nasbon, Ph.D.
December 6th, 2009
Based on a Misprint
“A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and the portals of discovery.”—James Joyce
I want my learned readers to participate in the scene I am about to replay; I want them to examine its every detail . A muscular, black bull with ivory-knife horns stands in the center of a bullfighting ring. The bull shoots sharp glances left and right looking for his competitor. He puffs smoke rings from his nostrils and paws in the dirt, lifting a small scuff of dust with a cloven gray hoof. Suddenly, from an open pair of green doors on one side of the ring, a ridge of dark brown earth overturns and rapidly approaches our focus. Something is tunneling into the ring. A mole perhaps? A gopher? Punxsutawney Phil? No. A long-eared, buck-toothed, wide-eyed rabbit toting one maroon suitcase and one forest-green suitcase erupts from the hole and gleefully announces, “well, here I am!” He looks around the ring in dismay. The rabbit clenches two fists and says in long drawn out skepticism “hey— just a cotton-picking minute. This don’t look like the Coachella Valley to me.” He reaches back down into his tunnel and pulls out a leaf-green and sea-blue map sliced into a grid on a piece of white paper. The rabbit ruminates over the map and mutters a sardonic “hmmm…” followed by the utterance “I knew I should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque.”
Hey you! You person up there holding this white paper in your hands staring down at these words wondering if I’m writing to you . You wonder how I’m at the end of the first page of an essay of Vladimir Nabokov and all you’ve read this far is a scene about Bugs Bunny? Do you think I possibly printed off the wrong paper and am just now realizing it? (Segno ) Do you think this is a mistake? No, it is far from a mistake and is most definitely intentional (al Coda) . I do understand where you are coming from though; you are undoubtedly feeling slightly perturbed at this point and asking yourself “how in the world does Bugs Bunny have anything at all to do with Vladimir Nabokov?” Well, the admirable reader who trusts in me will understand that this Bugs Bunny scene and the craftsmanship of Vladimir Nabokov have much in common (in addition to their disdain for Freudians) . To get at their comparability our focus should shift to Nabokov’s Pale Fire. In a moment appealing to any black humorist the poet John Shade, a character central to the masterpiece, desperately pens “Life Everlasting— based on a misprint!” (Pale Fire 62). John Shade, who had based his newly adopted spiritual outlook on the accuracy of a statement found in a magazine, found out that because of a misprint, an error, he might be (gulp) wrong! To put Shade’s fear more simply, while he thought he was definitely going to one place it turned out he might be going to another; both Shade and Bugs find they are not at a place they thought they were going, but rather, turned around and thrown off track by an error! What makes these characters situations more comparable is how they react to their errors. Bugs Bunny, upon discovering his mistake, does a remarkable thing in getting out of the hole, entering the ring, and engaging in the world he has mistakenly been led to; likewise, John Shade, who at first feels he has been led astray, engages in the realm the error has led him to and he quickly realizes that in fact he has actually stumbled upon the “real point” (hey you skeptic, did you just feel your spine tingle? ). The action of engagement leads us to the crux of this essay. In his works, (make sure to focus here reader!) Nabokov debunks the traditional perception of errors as bad, wrong, and useless and asserts the ability of so-called errors to act as portals leading the persistent reader to fantastic, new knowledge.
In the interpretation of the “cryptogrammic paper chase” section of Lolita, errors, misinterpretations, mistaken trails, and the like all have a vast import (Lolita 250). After Humbert Humbert strikes out to find the person responsible for the capture of Lolita he eventually loses the obvious trail to Lolita’s captor. H.H. needs to adapt quickly if he hopes to regain the scent. He does not give up when the he seems to run out of evidence but notes how he “discovered at once that he (the captor) had forseen my investigations and had planted insulting pseudonyms for my special benefit” (Lolita 248). Before continuing, it must be noted that Humbert is an unreliable narrator; simply because he believes that there are “clues” planted for him by Lolita’s captor in various hotel registries does not necessarily mean that “Harry, Bumper. Sheridan, Wyo.” is referring to an 18th century play Humbert had recently been trying to interest Lolita in (Lolita 250). Because of his unstable status as an unreliable narrator the reader must consider these supposed clues to be errors in H.H.’s judgment. However, it is crucial to see how H.H. reacts to this mistaken trail. He practically relishes in the chase set up for him (if not by the captor then who?) exclaiming how investigating each registry “challenged my scholarship… what a shiver of triumph and loathing shook my frail frame when… his fiendish conundrum would ejaculate in my face” (Lolita 250). The close, attentive reading that H.H. gives to the Hotel registries he stumbles upon allows him to flex his intellectual muscle. Each new list under his attentive glare becomes swollen with literary references and allusions. H.H.’s toilest engagement in the wasteland of names replaces an ordinary view with an extraordinary one.
Silly, H.H. you say. How does he really think that all these names, while convincingly linked to literary references, have anything to do with his chase? He is simply being toyed with! Well frigid ladies and gentlemen of H.H’s jury , I have something grave to report to you. Ready? Take one or two deep breaths. Ok, H.H. is being toyed with but so are you! You, as a reader of the text Lolita, are more closely intertwined with the hairy-armed ape than you would like to think. In fact “virtually every ‘move’ in the ‘true story’ Lolita seems to be structured with their predictable responses in mind; and the game-element depends on such reflexive action, for it tests the reader” (Appel lvii). Not only are the moves structured for you but “the traps are baited with tempting ‘false scents’” (Appel lviii). Do you recall the song that H.H. recites on page 61, back when the mystery was unsolved? “O my Carmen, my little Carmen!... and the gun I killed you with, O my Carmen,/ The gun I am holding now” (Lolita 61). For those of you cultured enough to be aware of Bizet’s famous opera the final scene in Act IV where Don José kills Carmen should ring a bell. As seems the obvious connection Lolita is intended to be linked to Carmen and Humbert Humbert to Don José. So, knowing what we know about Carmen this is an obvious foreshadowing of Humbert Humbert’s eventual murder of Lolita right? (skip ahead, skip ahead). Wrong! H.H. doesn’t kill Lolita in the end. Like H.H., some unseen force has moved you the reader to make an erroneous assumption about the end of the novel. This is only one of many instances in the book in which you have been fooled by a “false scent” leading you to mistaken conclusions (Vivian is the male author, the gal author is Clare … really?).
As I look out I can see that some of you are fuming at this realization of being misled, fooled, conned, bamboozled, flimflammed, and foxed. Please sir, you sparking the lighter with a shaky thumb, do not ignite the messenger . If you are only patient I can direct you to the real hand moving all the pieces – the man behind the curtain . This treacherous fiend is no other than Vivian Darkbloom! This collaborator of Clare Quilty is responsible for leading you astray reader. Confused? When you take closer look Vivian Darkbloom jumps off the page, crawls off the folds, and mans the pen when you rearrange the anagram; Vivian Darkbloom becomes (jumble jumble ) Vladimir Nabokov.
Before you relegate Nabokov to the eighth circle and tenth ditch of lower hell I will provide the author’s proper defense that should illuminate his genius (D.S. al Coda) . (Coda) Firstly, Nabokov is definitely in control of reader as evident in Speak, Memory when he says “I like to fold my magic carpet, after use, in such a way as to superimpose one part of the pattern upon another. Let visitors trip” (Speak, Memory 139). Nabokov must have purpose in this tactic. That purpose seems to be revealed in a passionate attack on the popular lack of consideration and thought when he says “nervous publishers of popular novels pamper the ‘average reader’— who should not be made to think” (Speak, Memory 124). Reader, Nabokov is only thinking in your best interest by asserting your worth as a human and stating that you deserve literature that is not only entertaining but also thought provoking. He has taken upon himself to provide you with books befitting a reader of your intellect and calling him a cheat is how you repay him? Lucky for you, Nabokov is a forgiving author; he understands that everyone makes errors, and, in fact, he really wants you to reconsider errors too.
In one of Nabokov’s most poetic and emotional passages of Pale Fire he provides his most eloquent defense of the nature of errors. Shade, in his glorious epiphanic response to the destitution caused by an error, says:
“But all at once it dawned on me that this/ Was the real point, the contrapuntal theme;/ Just this: not text, but texture; not the dream/ But topsy-turvical coincidence,/ Not flimsy nonsense, but a web of sense./ Yes! It sufficed that I in life could find/ Some kind of link-and-bobolink, some kind/ Of correlated pattern in the game,/ Plexed artistry, and something of the same/ Pleasure in it as they who played it found” (Pale Fire 62). Not only has Shade escaped depression but he has discovered the point; mistakes are not separate from the path of discovery, rather, they are interlinked in the great “web of sense” that makes up all knowledge. Making a mistake puts the person in a position to learn something new that they did not even set out to discover.
Beware reader, making discoveries is not easy though. The person who learns the most from their mistakes must have one of the most amiable qualities (are those Palanese birds I hear cawing ?)— awareness. It will not suffice to make mistakes without an awareness of the learning opportunities that the mistakes can afford. Through Shade, Nabokov frames mistakes and errors not as things that lead away from discovery but straight into it for an aware and attentive person. Shade exuberantly concludes his revelation with “making ornaments/ Of accidents and possibilities” (Pale Fire 62). According to this doctrine not only are errors and accidents portals to discovery but they should be celebrated as highly useful opportunity to learn something new .
Reader, by this point I think that you must be convinced in Nabokov’s ability to successfully use errors and mistakes. He subjects his characters to them, and, when they discover the mistaken trail you lament their wrong turn. However, you quickly realize that you are also one of his characters following a path laid out before you. The paths not only lead you to false assumptions about his texts but more importantly to allow for you to confront your so-called “errors” and give you an opportunity to learn something new. When Nabokov wants you to be his ideal reader he doesn’t mean never to make errors; he wants you to learn from your errors. While reading his book you can be assured that many of the mistakes you make were set up for you and that he has not lead you away from discovery, but closer to other discoveries that you never even knew to be after. Remember though, to get after the discoveries that Nabokov sets you towards you must be aware of the texture of the path, the web of sense, and how the path you have taken is just another link in the chain. Each error and mistake leads you closer to the end, and when you close the book, you must turn back to the beginning, peruse the first lines and think “And the end of all our exploring/ Will be to arrive where we started/ And know the place for the first time” (Eliot 39). Then, you will read the book again, and again, and again …
Works Cited
Appel Jr., Alfred. Introduction. Lolita. By Vladimir Nabokov. 1955. First Vintage Books
Edition, 1991. ix- lxvii . Print.
Eliot, T.S. Four Quartets. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc. pg. 39.
Nabokov, Vladimir. Lolita. New York: Vintage Books, 1991. Print.
--- Pale Fire. New York: Vintage Books, 1989. Print.
--- Speak, Memory. New York: Vintage Books, 1989. Print.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Cool idea inspired by Christina's paper!
While Christina was reading her paper in class on Thursday I thought of a great project that I would really be intrigued to see if anyone could do the research and do it. I recall the mention she made of Nabokov as artist. I loved this statement and instantly thought about Nabokov writing his words like an artist paints with colors. Then it struck me. Nabokov had synesthesia-- the mixing of the senses. For him, he literally was painting colors with words. I coupled this realization with a recently discovered this page about synesthesia. It would be fascinating to get a collection of various people with synesthesia and have each one "color" the book according to the way they see it, much like the artists creating new book covers for Nabokov. Even more wonderful would be to research Nabokov's individual legend for the coloring of words (I have no idea if this is possible) and color the text of a book, or even a page, with an attempted reproduction of the way that Nabokov himself would have seen it! Perhaps this is the task for Christina, art major as she is, to take on and offer a fresh and new perspective about how to consider Nabokov an artist! I have no idea if this is possible, but if it is, it would be a damn cool project for someone to undertake and complete!
Solus Rex Video-- Group Project #4
Hey everyone--
I really enjoyed all of the group projects that I was able to attend, and, because my group (group #4) made a digital media production, I thought it would be extremely useful to post the movie on my blog. I would love for people to watch it again and really try to get at some of the images that we put forward for interpretation; if you have some time posting a comment or discussing it on your blog would be a cool thing to do!
The quality of the film should be greater since it will be on a smaller screen (not the big projector in class). However, some of the sound that play's throughout the film might be a little inconsistent as I had a limited amount of time to really tweak all of the levels to perfection :)
If any of you guys happen to want a copy of the video just bring a blank DVD and I can burn one for you! Thanks again to all the groups for putting together informative and HIGHLY creative projects that enlightened many of the concepts that our class discussed this semester!
I really enjoyed all of the group projects that I was able to attend, and, because my group (group #4) made a digital media production, I thought it would be extremely useful to post the movie on my blog. I would love for people to watch it again and really try to get at some of the images that we put forward for interpretation; if you have some time posting a comment or discussing it on your blog would be a cool thing to do!
The quality of the film should be greater since it will be on a smaller screen (not the big projector in class). However, some of the sound that play's throughout the film might be a little inconsistent as I had a limited amount of time to really tweak all of the levels to perfection :)
If any of you guys happen to want a copy of the video just bring a blank DVD and I can burn one for you! Thanks again to all the groups for putting together informative and HIGHLY creative projects that enlightened many of the concepts that our class discussed this semester!
Quick Briefing on Paper Topic
This weekend I will be writing my paper for presentation on Thursday Dec. 11th. After hearing some of the other papers I'm even more excited to write this one because I feel that we have been allowed a significant space to "play" with our topics of choice. Really look for mine to be a bit shorter than 10 pages, but with some significant "play" in it's structure, theme, and approach that should only compliment what we have discussed in the course of this class! I'm really looking forward to it!
In my paper I'm going to focus on the passage in John Shade's poem "Pale Fire" where he discusses how the misprint of "fountain" instead of "mountain" in a local press piece, he is lead to believe that someone shares his view of life eternal. The more broad message underneath this scene is how our mistakes don't necessarily lead us to the "wrong" place, but to another place worth exploring and learning new things. Furthermore, I plan on exploring how mistakes operate on Nabokov. I really would like to focus this on how the characters in the works deal with their often mistaken thoughts and also how the reader is supposed to deal with some of the "false scent" trails that Nabokov leaves for us.
In my paper I'm going to focus on the passage in John Shade's poem "Pale Fire" where he discusses how the misprint of "fountain" instead of "mountain" in a local press piece, he is lead to believe that someone shares his view of life eternal. The more broad message underneath this scene is how our mistakes don't necessarily lead us to the "wrong" place, but to another place worth exploring and learning new things. Furthermore, I plan on exploring how mistakes operate on Nabokov. I really would like to focus this on how the characters in the works deal with their often mistaken thoughts and also how the reader is supposed to deal with some of the "false scent" trails that Nabokov leaves for us.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
New Nabokov Website Discovered
Deep in the annals of the internet I have stumbled across yet another website devoted to our author of study, Vladimir Nabokov. The site is entitled waxwing, an obvious reference to the opening lines of John Shade's poem in Pale Fire. The website, although it refers to a lot of the knowledge that we've learned this semester, does provide some interesting new perspectives and new ways to consider the knowledge that we've learned this semester. Due to my interest in the way he composed his works one of my favorite mentions on the website is a Nabokov quote that reads "...Since this entire structure, dimly illumined in one's mind, can be compared to a painting, and since you do not have to work gradually from left to right for its proper perception, I may direct my flashlight at any part or particle of the picture when setting it down in writing. I do not begin my novel at the beginning I do not reach chapter three before I reach chapter four... This is why I like writing my stories and novels on index cards, numbering them later when the whole set is complete. Every card is rewritten many times..."
Here's another great quote about Nabokov's synesthesia "..And also I have this rather freakish gift of seeing letters in colors. it's called color hearing. Perhaps one in a thousand has that. But I'm told by psychologists that most children have it, that later they lose that aptitude when they are are told by stupid parents that it's all nonsense, an A isn't black, a B isn't brown -- don't be absurd." The mention of "stupid parents" and elevation of the child-like mind is a really crucial and important concept for understanding the way that Nabokov could have considered art, literature, and aesthetics. Once again in literature the intimate relationship between classic authors/texts and fairy-tales is evident. Perhaps the sources of stories flow more purely in the child's mind? And for the rest of us, we can only attempt to filter our perspectives to try and regain that purity of the child's mind.
Although not the same quality of forum that the Zembla website is the waxwing site does provide useful notes for study.
In my searches for another website I stumbled across novazembla.com. While this seems like it could really have potential as a Nabokov website, it is actually a furniture store in NYC. Hmmmm... no Nabokov? Wait! In the companies logo, between the words "Nova" & "Zembla" is a picture of a butterfly. Coincidence? No way...
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Solus Rex-- Explanation of Theme's and more for Group 4's movie project
First of all, I would like to say that while considering the possibilities for editing a movie project, I was astounded at all the potential the "visual" aspect allowed. It really seemed important when making a movie that it was important to closely consider various aspects of how we shot the movie, attention to visual themes, and how to provide substantive information balanced with entertainment. The material for the movie came easy, since all semester we've been discussing Nabokov from so many perspectives. It seemed that our group film really took the themes we've discussed in class and ran with them to create a thoughtful, well-planned, creative, and informative movie.
For me personally, much of that work came from the "frame" of Nabokov and Reader that surrounded the quotes and the themes, providing a thread that held the movie together. Specifically in this blog, I would like to alert the reader to a few of the images that ran throughout the movie and their purpose in portraying our message even more.
The first one I would like to address is Nabokov's cigarettes and the Reader's book. These two images, cigarettes and book, run parallel throughout the film; Nabokov carefully selects the cigarettes from a pack while the Reader carefully selects books from the shelves, when Nabokov lights the cigarette and begins the composition the reader opens the book and begins the journey of reading, when Nabokov finishes the cigarette and extinguishes it the shot cuts to the Reader closing the book thus signifying a closure. It can be considered by the viewer that the cigarette and book are both the physical manifestations of the muse that inspires Nabokov to create. The pages of the book end up being read and flipped through like the ashes of a burned-down cigarette.
Another theme that I would like to address is the juxtaposition of Nabokov and the Reader. The careful viewer of the film will notice that the Reader, will independent of Nabokov, relies on Nabokov to pen the first words of his works before the Reader can exist as a reader; the reader can only exist based on the actions of Nabokov. This reliance of the Reader's existence on the actions of Nabokov was meant to explore the theme from Pale Fire that Gradus exists only when John Shade pens the words and condemns Gradus to following the pace of Shade's writing.
Lastly, I would like to explore the chess imagery that laces the frame. Although our project was somewhat simply concerned with chess-problems, we took advantage of the visual element to juxtapose Nabokov and the Reader in a game of chess that was played parallel to their relationship as author and reader. Nabokov moves a pawn forward before he composes Lolita and when the Reader opens the book, the same pawn moves forward signifying the opening of a game. In another of my favorite moments in the frame, Nabokov and the Reader actually come into the same place at the same time playing a game at the same table; Nabokov moves his lone King (solus rex) forward and then fades out leaving the Reader alone. This image somewhat haunts the viewer and leaves them with the impression that perhaps Nabokov himself is the lone king, the solus rex, that we are all attempting to capture through our strategic interpretations of his works; however, until we according to his rules and figure out the patterns he has laid out for us, the lone king will escape our capture.
There are a couple more really fascinating images outside the frame that were played with, but, I will leave those up to the intelligent viewer to discern and interpret for themselves!
For me personally, much of that work came from the "frame" of Nabokov and Reader that surrounded the quotes and the themes, providing a thread that held the movie together. Specifically in this blog, I would like to alert the reader to a few of the images that ran throughout the movie and their purpose in portraying our message even more.
The first one I would like to address is Nabokov's cigarettes and the Reader's book. These two images, cigarettes and book, run parallel throughout the film; Nabokov carefully selects the cigarettes from a pack while the Reader carefully selects books from the shelves, when Nabokov lights the cigarette and begins the composition the reader opens the book and begins the journey of reading, when Nabokov finishes the cigarette and extinguishes it the shot cuts to the Reader closing the book thus signifying a closure. It can be considered by the viewer that the cigarette and book are both the physical manifestations of the muse that inspires Nabokov to create. The pages of the book end up being read and flipped through like the ashes of a burned-down cigarette.
Another theme that I would like to address is the juxtaposition of Nabokov and the Reader. The careful viewer of the film will notice that the Reader, will independent of Nabokov, relies on Nabokov to pen the first words of his works before the Reader can exist as a reader; the reader can only exist based on the actions of Nabokov. This reliance of the Reader's existence on the actions of Nabokov was meant to explore the theme from Pale Fire that Gradus exists only when John Shade pens the words and condemns Gradus to following the pace of Shade's writing.
Lastly, I would like to explore the chess imagery that laces the frame. Although our project was somewhat simply concerned with chess-problems, we took advantage of the visual element to juxtapose Nabokov and the Reader in a game of chess that was played parallel to their relationship as author and reader. Nabokov moves a pawn forward before he composes Lolita and when the Reader opens the book, the same pawn moves forward signifying the opening of a game. In another of my favorite moments in the frame, Nabokov and the Reader actually come into the same place at the same time playing a game at the same table; Nabokov moves his lone King (solus rex) forward and then fades out leaving the Reader alone. This image somewhat haunts the viewer and leaves them with the impression that perhaps Nabokov himself is the lone king, the solus rex, that we are all attempting to capture through our strategic interpretations of his works; however, until we according to his rules and figure out the patterns he has laid out for us, the lone king will escape our capture.
There are a couple more really fascinating images outside the frame that were played with, but, I will leave those up to the intelligent viewer to discern and interpret for themselves!
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
More Chess... and Italo Calvino
I can never be done. I mentioned that I should probably stop talking about Italo Calvino in a Vladamir Nabokov class. However, this may be one of the greatest discoveries I've made in the class-- Vladamir Nabokov had a HUGE impact on his contemporaries and followers, or, perhaps, a game did. Check out this passage from Invisible Cities about chess and see if it reminds you of anybody. It appears that like Nabokov, Calvino was very interested in chess and potentially used it to influence some of his writing-- at least as a theme. Maybe when this semester is over I will conduct some personal research to see just how related Calvino and Nabokov really are.
Paragraph on "Transparent Things"
Transparent Things. Well, I already did post an initial blog about this work, but I guess I can easily write another one, as there is a lot to write about! I will begin with the "like" question-- Did I like it?... Yes and no. It was hard for me to really get into this work. Perhaps it was the time I was reading it, it could possibly be that following one of the greatest works I've read, Pale Fire, and I think I was just hoping to read a work that presented itself more clearly. Certainly, Transparent Things DID NOT do that. However, discussing the work in class really made me feel more confident that perhaps I did understand what was going on more than I thought I did. A couple of major details did fly over my head but I hope we can get those tied down a little. Furthering the class discussion, our mention of how Hugh Person keeps returning to Switzerland, four times to be exact, and explores how memory works in the ways of recalling the past made me think of yet another Italo Calvino novel (I promise, I will eventually stop referencing Calvino) Invisible Cities. In this book, Marco Polo and Kubla Khan sit in the Khan's garden and the young Polo tells Kubla about all the cities in his empire. Many of the cities sound fantastical and soon, we learn that in fact Marco has been talking solely about Venice. Here is a small sample that, I think, isn't too far off from Nabokov... "As this wave of memories flows in the city soaks it up like a sponge and expands. A description of Zaira as it is today should contain all Zaira's past. The city, however, does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand, written in the corners of the streets, the gratings of the windows, the banisters of the steps, the antennae of the lightning rods, the poles of the flags, every segment marked in turn with scratches, indentations, scrolls." Now, if that doesn't sound somewhat like the groping for memory that Hugh Person must have (towards the end of his journey) I don't know what does!
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Nabokov's Religious Views?...
Here is a link to some criticism of Nabokov focused on confronting his widely supposed lack of "religious views" by explicating on the ways Nabokov represents his views on immortality and notions of afterlife, through various devices and themes that he uses in his novels. Note specific references to Transparent Things.
Behind the Glass Pane: Vladimir Nabokov’s “Perfection” and Transcendence
Behind the Glass Pane: Vladimir Nabokov’s “Perfection” and Transcendence
Transparent Things-- The "Knot" of Structure
*A much easier knot to untangle than Transparent Things
I had a bit of a hard time with Transparent Things. In order to elucidate my minimal understanding of this novel more I went to the internet. Here is a excerpt I read from a website that offered some valuable insight and a mention of Brian Boyd--
"Transparent Things, a novella and National Book Award nominee, was published after first appearing in the December 1971 issue of Esquire. This deceptively slim chaser to Ada had taken Nabokov more than two years, off and on, to complete, and reviewers scarcely knew what to make of it. With a complex network of disembodied narrators, it was inspired in part by Nabokov's stays in thin-walled hotel rooms on his travels across America which allowed him access to the unseen worlds of his neighbors. Finished on April Fool's Day, 1971, it was not issued in book form until the end of the following year.
On publication day, he wrote in his diary that reviews "oscillat[ed] between hopeless adoration and helpless hatred. Very amusing." One such review called it "an unlovely and unlovable book that begins to touch the reader only the second time around. It is a masterpiece, of course." In an interview published in 1973, Nabokov stated: "Amongst the reviewers several careful readers have published some beautiful stuff about it. Yet neither they nor, of course, the common criticule discerned the structural knot of the story." He assisted by sketching its theme, "a beyond-the-cypress inquiry into a tangle of random destinies." Nabokov biographer Brian Boyd's analysis attempts to untie that "knot" with a more specific elucidation: "Within the small compass of Transparent Things and the bleak life of Hugh Person, Nabokov ruptures the relationship of reader, character, and author more radically than he has ever done, in order to explore some of his oldest themes: the nature of time; the mystery and privacy of the human soul, and its simultaneous need to breach its solitude; the scope of consciousness beyond death; the possibility of design in the universe."
This mention of a "knot" in the structure of the story makes me feel better (I felt like it was an impossible mess of wires, cords, and lines that had been tangles behind my back.) Thinking about a book that confuses the reader by blurring the line between reader/author/subject I am going to have to come back to Italo Calvino (as I love linking books I'm reading to books I've read). It seems to me, that much of what is going on in this novels structure was also being confronted by Calvino, especially in his work If on a winter's night a traveler. "Traveler" confronts the issues as it follows the story of You (second person) as you read the book If on a Winters Night A Traveler by Italo Calvino; to explain it more basically, you are reading a book about yourself reading the book you are reading (Think of holding a mirror up to a mirror and the tunnel of reflections that follows). Throughout the text much of the same barriers and textual complexities confront the reader. I would be curious if Nabokov or Calvino ever made mention of each others works? It would be interesting if these two contemporaries had made some conversations and the discussions of form and texture that would have ensued. These are very interesting questions indeed...
I "googled" Brian Boyd and Italo Calvino thinking that maybe the Nabokov scholar would make some mention of Calvino. Here is a paragraph from a useful essay by Brian Boyd-- The average shot length in Hollywood movies has been shrinking as viewers have learned to assimilate film faster and to cope with the information rush of the modern world. Nabokov has influenced writers from acclaimed oldsters (Italo Calvino, W. G. Sebald, Salman Rushdie, Martin Amis, Orhan Pamuk) to feisty youngsters (Zadie Smith, Marisha Pessl) by introducing into fiction something akin to modern film’s reduction in shot length, its rapidity of changes of subject or perspective. I suspect that storytelling in general has speeded up our capacity to shift attention from one perspective to another. Homer generally moves from subject to subject slowly compared with modern storytelling, let alone Nabokov, but even Homer can swiftly shift level and focus when he suddenly backgrounds a warrior dying on the battlefield."
Very interesting more discussion about the form and pacing of the work and how Nabokov, as perhaps more of a influence on Calvino rather than his contemporary as I earlier asserted, is, according to Boyd, one of the authors most instrumental in bringing about this radical shift in structure. The mention of Calvino in this context no doubt refers to the structural intrigue of "Traveler"; the pattern of texture in "Traveler" may in fact be cut from the same cloth of Nabokov's work Transparent Things.
I had a bit of a hard time with Transparent Things. In order to elucidate my minimal understanding of this novel more I went to the internet. Here is a excerpt I read from a website that offered some valuable insight and a mention of Brian Boyd--
"Transparent Things, a novella and National Book Award nominee, was published after first appearing in the December 1971 issue of Esquire. This deceptively slim chaser to Ada had taken Nabokov more than two years, off and on, to complete, and reviewers scarcely knew what to make of it. With a complex network of disembodied narrators, it was inspired in part by Nabokov's stays in thin-walled hotel rooms on his travels across America which allowed him access to the unseen worlds of his neighbors. Finished on April Fool's Day, 1971, it was not issued in book form until the end of the following year.
On publication day, he wrote in his diary that reviews "oscillat[ed] between hopeless adoration and helpless hatred. Very amusing." One such review called it "an unlovely and unlovable book that begins to touch the reader only the second time around. It is a masterpiece, of course." In an interview published in 1973, Nabokov stated: "Amongst the reviewers several careful readers have published some beautiful stuff about it. Yet neither they nor, of course, the common criticule discerned the structural knot of the story." He assisted by sketching its theme, "a beyond-the-cypress inquiry into a tangle of random destinies." Nabokov biographer Brian Boyd's analysis attempts to untie that "knot" with a more specific elucidation: "Within the small compass of Transparent Things and the bleak life of Hugh Person, Nabokov ruptures the relationship of reader, character, and author more radically than he has ever done, in order to explore some of his oldest themes: the nature of time; the mystery and privacy of the human soul, and its simultaneous need to breach its solitude; the scope of consciousness beyond death; the possibility of design in the universe."
This mention of a "knot" in the structure of the story makes me feel better (I felt like it was an impossible mess of wires, cords, and lines that had been tangles behind my back.) Thinking about a book that confuses the reader by blurring the line between reader/author/subject I am going to have to come back to Italo Calvino (as I love linking books I'm reading to books I've read). It seems to me, that much of what is going on in this novels structure was also being confronted by Calvino, especially in his work If on a winter's night a traveler. "Traveler" confronts the issues as it follows the story of You (second person) as you read the book If on a Winters Night A Traveler by Italo Calvino; to explain it more basically, you are reading a book about yourself reading the book you are reading (Think of holding a mirror up to a mirror and the tunnel of reflections that follows). Throughout the text much of the same barriers and textual complexities confront the reader. I would be curious if Nabokov or Calvino ever made mention of each others works? It would be interesting if these two contemporaries had made some conversations and the discussions of form and texture that would have ensued. These are very interesting questions indeed...
I "googled" Brian Boyd and Italo Calvino thinking that maybe the Nabokov scholar would make some mention of Calvino. Here is a paragraph from a useful essay by Brian Boyd-- The average shot length in Hollywood movies has been shrinking as viewers have learned to assimilate film faster and to cope with the information rush of the modern world. Nabokov has influenced writers from acclaimed oldsters (Italo Calvino, W. G. Sebald, Salman Rushdie, Martin Amis, Orhan Pamuk) to feisty youngsters (Zadie Smith, Marisha Pessl) by introducing into fiction something akin to modern film’s reduction in shot length, its rapidity of changes of subject or perspective. I suspect that storytelling in general has speeded up our capacity to shift attention from one perspective to another. Homer generally moves from subject to subject slowly compared with modern storytelling, let alone Nabokov, but even Homer can swiftly shift level and focus when he suddenly backgrounds a warrior dying on the battlefield."
Very interesting more discussion about the form and pacing of the work and how Nabokov, as perhaps more of a influence on Calvino rather than his contemporary as I earlier asserted, is, according to Boyd, one of the authors most instrumental in bringing about this radical shift in structure. The mention of Calvino in this context no doubt refers to the structural intrigue of "Traveler"; the pattern of texture in "Traveler" may in fact be cut from the same cloth of Nabokov's work Transparent Things.
Friday, November 13, 2009
2nd Panel-- "Who Are You?"
First Presentation-- ZuZu Federer "The Living Museum Piece". ZuZu's creative non-fiction essay dealt with the story of a Pygmy from Africa's capture and display at the 1904 World's Fair in St. Louis. Listening to Otebenga's journey to America, and the terrible misreading of Darwin's theory of evolution by social-Darwinism (justifications for white supremacy arguments). Otebenga was placed in a cage with Orangutans on display for the general public. Some creationist Christian groups became angered by the move; not because of the entrapment of a human being, but for the juxtaposition of what they believed was a presentation of Otebenga as the "missing link". Eventually, after being freed, he lived in America for a while and eventually committed suicide. Zuzu's research was extremely well founded and presented in an interesting and accessible manner. This piece was a great balance between fact and feeling and really depicts the power of cnf to convey facts.
Second Presentation-- Poetry. The poetry she presented was very Western and it really dealt with issues that arise for the western rodeo woman; the poems were very autobiographical. My favorite line about drunken sexual relations in the West- "He said he thought he talked to me Wednesdy night and he asked if he was a gentleman".
Third Presentation-- Story about presenters father from the first person. Before the piece she acknowledged how this story is important for her to understanding of the story. For me, this is a very interesting move in confronting the classic "how is this writing about you" question. For the listener this move really sets up the reader as vulnerable and makes the story seem much more "real". This story ends up revolving around the characters conflict of faith with the Jehovah Witnesses. This is an interesting memoiresque piece that puts the author in the voice of her father. Q&A- Someone asked a really interesting question if she has shared the piece with her father. This brings up really interesting ethics questions about writing about others, especially in this potentially inflammatory context.
Fourth Presentation-- Twilight Chaos...
Second Presentation-- Poetry. The poetry she presented was very Western and it really dealt with issues that arise for the western rodeo woman; the poems were very autobiographical. My favorite line about drunken sexual relations in the West- "He said he thought he talked to me Wednesdy night and he asked if he was a gentleman".
Third Presentation-- Story about presenters father from the first person. Before the piece she acknowledged how this story is important for her to understanding of the story. For me, this is a very interesting move in confronting the classic "how is this writing about you" question. For the listener this move really sets up the reader as vulnerable and makes the story seem much more "real". This story ends up revolving around the characters conflict of faith with the Jehovah Witnesses. This is an interesting memoiresque piece that puts the author in the voice of her father. Q&A- Someone asked a really interesting question if she has shared the piece with her father. This brings up really interesting ethics questions about writing about others, especially in this potentially inflammatory context.
Fourth Presentation-- Twilight Chaos...
Readin' the Hell Out of It Conference/Festival Helena, MT First Session
10:30 a.m.-- First Panel, "The Kids Aren't Alright". Examination of various aspects of childrens lit. Mixture of Criticism & Fiction.
First Presentation-- Madeline Lesveque "Selected Short Fiction". Madeline's first story was a story about a young woman in the city, Seattle, experiencing and interacting with the cityscape. Her second story revolves around the Megan in Seattle talking to a woman with a southern accent about working in a hospital, Megan's job. The woman likens it to the popular t.v show "ER". It's really interesting hearing this juxtaposition of characters from the Pacific Northwest and the South. The interaction of characters really sets up a wide view of America. Third Story- Older people on a bench taking about the clash between their older views and contemporary society. Their pastor proposes that there will be violent backlash due to the rapid atomization of people through Ipods and such. "There ain't gonna be no music when someone's got a gun in your face." Q&A.
2nd Presentation-- MSU's own Taylor Moorman. "Skins of a Life" Erotic connections with animals in Children's Lit. Mention of stroking Lyra's daemon in His Dark Materials trilogy. "What is it about the beasts?" Why have they been relegated to Children's lit. and folklore? "Are these things for childrens or are they for all of us?" Children's lit. magnifies desires and anxieties. The Beast, from "Beauty and the Beast", embodies animal and human in one body. "Bringing the animal into the human realm to create one embodiment." Mention of Angela Carter. Personal ?-- Is Teen lit. the perfect forum for this discussion? In a nutshell, it seems that Taylor would like to open the discussion and availability of this erotic-animal theme in what is considered more adult literature.
3rd Presentation-- Emily Stueven (Panel Chair) "The Silly Little Boy". Story creating a character profile embodying Emily's future characters in her teaching pursuits, although, not set particularly in the classroom. James, a little boy, recounts experiences and awareness of death and he decides that he must no longer be a silly little boy. He also is called "the man of the house" by his Grandma after his father has to go to the hospital and eventually dies. The struggle between innocence and experience, immaturity and maturity, runs deep in this story. Also, story is coupled with maturation of knowledge from picture books to "chapter books". Reading becomes an escape and he becomes a reading addict... "21 books in a month". Concludes with an image of the child crushing a dead bug, which he used to cry over, and a mention of him being a big boy who reads chapter books. Story about kids growing up and kids growing up too soon. Very interesting perspective into the ways in which children develop a grasp of the world and learn to understand the ways to act-- and the story seems to even be a critique of that.
First Presentation-- Madeline Lesveque "Selected Short Fiction". Madeline's first story was a story about a young woman in the city, Seattle, experiencing and interacting with the cityscape. Her second story revolves around the Megan in Seattle talking to a woman with a southern accent about working in a hospital, Megan's job. The woman likens it to the popular t.v show "ER". It's really interesting hearing this juxtaposition of characters from the Pacific Northwest and the South. The interaction of characters really sets up a wide view of America. Third Story- Older people on a bench taking about the clash between their older views and contemporary society. Their pastor proposes that there will be violent backlash due to the rapid atomization of people through Ipods and such. "There ain't gonna be no music when someone's got a gun in your face." Q&A.
2nd Presentation-- MSU's own Taylor Moorman. "Skins of a Life" Erotic connections with animals in Children's Lit. Mention of stroking Lyra's daemon in His Dark Materials trilogy. "What is it about the beasts?" Why have they been relegated to Children's lit. and folklore? "Are these things for childrens or are they for all of us?" Children's lit. magnifies desires and anxieties. The Beast, from "Beauty and the Beast", embodies animal and human in one body. "Bringing the animal into the human realm to create one embodiment." Mention of Angela Carter. Personal ?-- Is Teen lit. the perfect forum for this discussion? In a nutshell, it seems that Taylor would like to open the discussion and availability of this erotic-animal theme in what is considered more adult literature.
3rd Presentation-- Emily Stueven (Panel Chair) "The Silly Little Boy". Story creating a character profile embodying Emily's future characters in her teaching pursuits, although, not set particularly in the classroom. James, a little boy, recounts experiences and awareness of death and he decides that he must no longer be a silly little boy. He also is called "the man of the house" by his Grandma after his father has to go to the hospital and eventually dies. The struggle between innocence and experience, immaturity and maturity, runs deep in this story. Also, story is coupled with maturation of knowledge from picture books to "chapter books". Reading becomes an escape and he becomes a reading addict... "21 books in a month". Concludes with an image of the child crushing a dead bug, which he used to cry over, and a mention of him being a big boy who reads chapter books. Story about kids growing up and kids growing up too soon. Very interesting perspective into the ways in which children develop a grasp of the world and learn to understand the ways to act-- and the story seems to even be a critique of that.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Caroll College "Readin' The Hell Out Of It" Lit. Conference
Hey all--
This thursday and friday I will be up in Helena, MT. at a literary festival/conference presenting a short story and attending various panels about a range of topics from Magical Realism, Children's Lit., Philosophies of Death and Literature, and even one about Vampires and Lit. (damn Twilight). Even though it is not specifically a Nabokov conference and I don't believe any pieces are being presented on Nabokov I feel that this is a worthy subject to include on this blog. The whole nature of conferences in general seems to be something that is right up the "discovery" alley of Nabokov himself... I wonder if Vlad enjoyed attending various conferences. (I can see him attending all sorts of things, lit. conferences, science conferences, home shows, movie reviews, baseball games, obscure museums, etc., embracing a breadth of knowledge and discovery as broad and diverse as Whitman's America.) I think that this will be a fantastic opportunity for me to make some discoveries (despite whether or not they are about Nabokov) and practice what Nabokov preaches about being a voracious learner. Perhaps I will make some certain discoveries that illuminate some perspectives about Nabokov that, until now, have been left in the dark. Hopefully I will be feeling that tingle of discovery in my spine and I will come away with a satisfied mind. I plan on posting some various interesting things/discoveries/thoughts/revelations/etc. from the conference
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Updated Paper Topic-- "Based on a Misprint"
Ok, I changed my paper topic. I am intensely fascinated by the phrase "Life everlasting based on a misprint" and plan to do a paper examining the ways misprints, "false scents" and misleadings can actually lead the creator/reader to more interesting discoveries than had they been right all the time. To slightly digress, consider the pain and anguish that Shade must have felt upon discovering that his proof of the afterlife, the white fountain, was actually a white mountain and thus not supporting his own notions; however, think of how the misprint of fountain perhaps led to his eternal refuge in Zembla. Embracing mistakes may lead a person to his/her mistakes may perhaps be the best guide down an undiscovered trail. Doing some further research should lead me down some wonderful trails of discovery mixed with dead-ends that will, according to the theory, lead me to more wonderful places then I would have ever come to otherwise.
*Think of Bugs Bunny's amazing adventure through errors on his way to Pismo Beach...
*Think of Bugs Bunny's amazing adventure through errors on his way to Pismo Beach...
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Final Paper Topic! -- "The Assembly of Zembla"
Ok. I haven't been blogging as consistently as I should, but now, with the pressing issue of the upcoming term paper, I will re-stoke that fire and get back to it. After the mention by Dr. Sexson of Kinbote and the commentary of Pale Fire as a parody of Literary Criticism I discovered that this is my topic of choice-- How Nabokov parodies lit. crit. keeping in mind that parody is a game and satire is a lesson. To explore the depths of this topic more I will (Ironically) be using some literary criticism to explore the topic. Mainly, keeping along with the theme of criticism, I will investigate and integrate some theories from the Reader Response field.
One particular avenue that I would like to pursue is how the critic is sort of the parasite who tags his/her who clutches onto the coattails of the artist & subject as they move into the space of immortality, the refuge of art.
Another topic of interest to this paper could be the metafictional appeals of the subjects within the stories to sway the reader and the characters awareness of the readers abilities in remembering their legacy (ie: H.H. in Lolita referring to the narrative as a trial where the reader is his jury) . Nabokov has his characters confronting the reader and attempting to sway the reader and, in effect, making attempts to change the nature and direction of criticism. However, investigating this too deeply may be trying to fry too many fish in one pan.
For this paper I would like to make it formal, but, really playful-- keeping in the true sense of Nabokov. It would be fun to even try to hide in some references and an acrostic... :)
It seems to me that a good title for this paper might be "The Assembly of Zembla". I really like effect of the A & Z and the mention of Zembla as a sort of idealistic and grotesque example of literary criticism and interpretation gone awry (but with fantastic results!).
One particular avenue that I would like to pursue is how the critic is sort of the parasite who tags his/her who clutches onto the coattails of the artist & subject as they move into the space of immortality, the refuge of art.
Another topic of interest to this paper could be the metafictional appeals of the subjects within the stories to sway the reader and the characters awareness of the readers abilities in remembering their legacy (ie: H.H. in Lolita referring to the narrative as a trial where the reader is his jury) . Nabokov has his characters confronting the reader and attempting to sway the reader and, in effect, making attempts to change the nature and direction of criticism. However, investigating this too deeply may be trying to fry too many fish in one pan.
For this paper I would like to make it formal, but, really playful-- keeping in the true sense of Nabokov. It would be fun to even try to hide in some references and an acrostic... :)
It seems to me that a good title for this paper might be "The Assembly of Zembla". I really like effect of the A & Z and the mention of Zembla as a sort of idealistic and grotesque example of literary criticism and interpretation gone awry (but with fantastic results!).
Monday, October 12, 2009
Short Paper-- "The Refuge of Art"
Early in Lolita Humbert Humbert informs the reader “between the age limits of nine and fourteen there occur maidens who, to certain bewitched travelers, twice or many times older than they, reveal their true nature which is not human, but nymphic… and these chosen creatures I propose to designate as ‘nymphets’” (Nabokov 16). However, for the “nympholept”, those “lone voyagers” who have this obsessive attraction to nymphs, the idea of this “entranced time” between nine and fourteen supplies a problem (Nabokov 17). As the nymphete ages the nympholept must suffer knowing that he is soon about to lose her on her fifteenth birthday. However, in the last lines of Lolita H.H. offers a potential solution to this problem: “I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita” (Nabokov 309). Within these lines H.H. places special attention on “the refuge of art” as the place where girl-child nymph and her adult-male admirer can escape the problem of nymphic aging and live in immortality. Throughout the course of Lolita the eventual battle between H.H. and Clare Quilty is not only over the nymph Lolita but which nympholept is only a pretender and who will inhabit the “refuge of art”.
As H.H. reveals the qualities of nympolepts early in his narrative he offers the reader a revelation that to be a nympholept “you have to be an artist” (Nabokov 17). With the artistic prerequisite echoing in the minds of the readers H.H. strives to depict himself as an artist in order to establish his identity as a legitimate nymphelept. When reading the class-list H.H. showcases his artistic sensibilities by acknowledging his recognition of the seemingly mundane list as a poem. Also, he frequently writes poetry and references his own artistically trained eye. However, all these artistic displays are overshadowed by the greater text of Lolita supposedly composed by H.H. himself; the reader is led to wonder at the deft composition of the memoir but H.H informs us “you can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style” (Nabokov 9).
H.H.’s nemesis and doppelganger Clare Quilty, another of Lolita’s star nympholepts, also attempts to record and preserve this nymphic time in immortality. When H.H. has finally tracked down Lolita she reveals that she has been at a place owned by Quilty named “Duk Duk Ranch” where “the idea was for all of us to tangle in the nude while an old woman took movie pictures” (Nabokov 276). However, it seems that Lolita refused to partake in the making of these pornographic movies bringing the artistic status of Quilty’s pornos into question. The reader is also only given a brief description of this scene opposed to a prolonged viewing of the film attesting to the fact that it lacked the immortality to even be given a longer duration. The failure of this method to establish an artistic immortality echoes H.H.’s assertion that he is “not concerned with so-called ‘sex’ at all” (Nabokov 134). H.H. continues to essentially juxtapose his status of a nymphelept against Quilty’s by saying how “anybody can imagine those elements of animality. A greater endeavor lures me on: to fix once for all the perilous magic of nymphets” (Nabokov 134). Through this depiction of what a “true” nymphelept must have he confidently proves himself a true connoisseur of nymphs while demoting Quilty to the status of a mere perverted pedophile.
Despite the success of Quilty in stealing away Lolita and leading him on a chase across the American landscape H.H. can be viewed as the novel’s the eventual winner. This is accounted for not in H.H.’s murder of Quilty but that in the end, the glorious “refuge of art”, the ultimate prize offered in the novel, is awarded to H.H. because he has won over the sympathies of the reader. H.H. resounds this when he states “do not pity C.Q. One had to choose between him and H.H., and one wanted H.H. to exist at least a couple of months longer, so as to have him make you live in the minds of greater generations” (Nabokov 309). In this metafictional appeal to the reader, his judge and jury, H.H. reveals that the immortality he speaks of is not found in the physical text itself but in the mind of the reader—the true “refuge of art”.
As H.H. reveals the qualities of nympolepts early in his narrative he offers the reader a revelation that to be a nympholept “you have to be an artist” (Nabokov 17). With the artistic prerequisite echoing in the minds of the readers H.H. strives to depict himself as an artist in order to establish his identity as a legitimate nymphelept. When reading the class-list H.H. showcases his artistic sensibilities by acknowledging his recognition of the seemingly mundane list as a poem. Also, he frequently writes poetry and references his own artistically trained eye. However, all these artistic displays are overshadowed by the greater text of Lolita supposedly composed by H.H. himself; the reader is led to wonder at the deft composition of the memoir but H.H informs us “you can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style” (Nabokov 9).
H.H.’s nemesis and doppelganger Clare Quilty, another of Lolita’s star nympholepts, also attempts to record and preserve this nymphic time in immortality. When H.H. has finally tracked down Lolita she reveals that she has been at a place owned by Quilty named “Duk Duk Ranch” where “the idea was for all of us to tangle in the nude while an old woman took movie pictures” (Nabokov 276). However, it seems that Lolita refused to partake in the making of these pornographic movies bringing the artistic status of Quilty’s pornos into question. The reader is also only given a brief description of this scene opposed to a prolonged viewing of the film attesting to the fact that it lacked the immortality to even be given a longer duration. The failure of this method to establish an artistic immortality echoes H.H.’s assertion that he is “not concerned with so-called ‘sex’ at all” (Nabokov 134). H.H. continues to essentially juxtapose his status of a nymphelept against Quilty’s by saying how “anybody can imagine those elements of animality. A greater endeavor lures me on: to fix once for all the perilous magic of nymphets” (Nabokov 134). Through this depiction of what a “true” nymphelept must have he confidently proves himself a true connoisseur of nymphs while demoting Quilty to the status of a mere perverted pedophile.
Despite the success of Quilty in stealing away Lolita and leading him on a chase across the American landscape H.H. can be viewed as the novel’s the eventual winner. This is accounted for not in H.H.’s murder of Quilty but that in the end, the glorious “refuge of art”, the ultimate prize offered in the novel, is awarded to H.H. because he has won over the sympathies of the reader. H.H. resounds this when he states “do not pity C.Q. One had to choose between him and H.H., and one wanted H.H. to exist at least a couple of months longer, so as to have him make you live in the minds of greater generations” (Nabokov 309). In this metafictional appeal to the reader, his judge and jury, H.H. reveals that the immortality he speaks of is not found in the physical text itself but in the mind of the reader—the true “refuge of art”.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Beginning Pale Fire-- An Account of a somewhat Resistant Reader
After reading Lolita I must confess that I don't trust Nabokov. I know that with various words, phrases, structures, and such he is striking some unconscious chord in my skull and leading me around exactly where he wants me, like a bee on a string, or perhaps a butterfly... As I read the "Foreward" to Pale Fire I was confronted by a dilemma concerning one of the most fundamental issues that could possible be presented. How am I supposed to read this damn thing? On page 28 of the "Foreward" Charles Kinbote (undoubtedly one of Nabokov's PAWNS in leading me astray) confronts me with the way to read Pale Fire. "Although those notes, in conformity with custom, come after the poem, the reader is advised to consult them first and then study the poem with their help, rereading them of course as he goes through its text, and perhaps, after having done with the poem, consulting them a third time so as to complete the picture."
This concept of Nabokov composing his own notes is very, very scary. By composing the notes I feel like I will soon be stuck in a world of vertigo. I am entering a world where it is not the case of "the blind leading the blind" but a guide with 20/20 omniscient vision coupled with devious intent to mislead me to the heart of confusion and vertigo to guide me, the blind. What if God was a trickster? I can only imagine what it would have been like if Nabokov was actually Anthony Appell in Lolita composing all the annotations for that work. This structure makes me feel vulnerable. I have to rely on Nabokov for guidance through his own work because in the notes is where the story lies. I think that this structure must have put Nabokov over the edge with excitement at seeing the possibilities; the twists, the turns, the games to be played... However, for these same reasons that the structure makes me feel vulnerable it makes me feel empowered. I am supposed to be doing the things that Nabokov wants me to do. He is leaving it up to me to be his ideal reader-- his worthy opponent.
The more I read and reread and reread and reread Nabokov the more I become a resistant reader to his words, "truths", and suggestions. I realize that his writings are a game between him and the reader. An intimate game which, despite my attentiveness, he will always win. Each time he tells me something I cringe and wait for the page to come when he confronts what I believed and makes me feel the part of the fool. Nabokov, in his infinitely puzzlemaster self, isn't only constructing the voracious, attentive reader, he is also crafting the resistant reader-- an opponent whose toying with, leading on, and eventual defeat is a game, infinitely pleasurable even from the grave.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Lolita Discovery! Kenneth "Knight"
Finding a worthy discovery wasn't very hard. Discoveries, known to other readers (or even Nabokov himself!) occur throughout the book in such quantities that it would be almost impossible not to discover something! As I am very intrigued by the chess game nature of Lolita I decided to take a look at one of the coincidentally named minor characters-- Kenneth Knight.
To begin the search for discovery I investigated the infamous class list. Low and behold, Kenneth Knight appears as such in the list...
Hamilton, Mary Rose
Haze, Dolores
Honeck, Rosaline
Knight, Kenneth
"Aha!" (the reaction that the observant reader knowledgeable of chess moves should have) For Knight to "take" Dolores/ Lolita/ the Queen as H.H. refers to her later in the book, he must move up two words and over one-- the formation in which the Knight moves. It seems that Nabokov, an avid chess player, very possibly would intentionally put this small, yet notable, nugget for the reader to discover inside his intricately laced text.
Exploring Kenneth Knight further I found an interesting link for the whole class list. This author shed some interesting light on possible who Kenneth Knight could depict. "Both the first and the last names once again (cf. Glave, Mabel) evoke medieval associations: Kenneth Mac Alpin (ninth century) was the first king of the Picts and Scots, who distinguished himself in his military exploits against the Vikings and the English. Kenneth is mentioned in "Berchan's prophecy," which alleged that he "by force of his strength [...] would reign in the east after using ther strength of spears and of swords." In the novel, the medieval Kenneth's prowess and military exploits are travestied in his namesake's "exhibit[ing] himself wherever and whenever he had a chance (137) and in his 'propell[ing] the Ramsdale Journal with a very precise thud on the porch" (54). In addition, the surname of course alludes to nabokov's first English novel, "The Real Life of Sebastian Knight".
To follow up I did a quick check on Kenneth Mac Alpin. Interestingly enough, it appears that Kenneth Mac Alpin, according to weakipedia, has been posthumously dubbed as "The Conqueror", although, his status as a real conqueror is in debate. Referring back to the class list interpretation I posted above I was also very intrigued at how the author links the throwing of swords and spears to Kenneth Knight exposing himself and thrusting his masculinity about. For Nabokov, this would seem to be too Freudian I'm also drawn to the whole "King" novelty of this possible interpretation. I guess it could be possible that Nabokov could be critiquing Freud (although it seems Nabokov likes his attacks on Freud to be pretty open) through inserting this somewhat humorous image of a child exposing the phallus freely at will. Kenneth Knight as a parody of Freud???... possible.
While this understanding of Kenneth Knights name is very interesting it doesn't seem too likely to me that Nabokov intentionally put it into his text for the Kenneth Mac Alpin/ Freud reference. However, pursuing tricks and trails tethered throughout the text is a great way to practice being an observant reader.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Possible Paper Topics
For the short-paper I have two ideas in mind. Each option presents an interesting possibility for discovery and exegesis of Nabokov's work.
Option #1:
In "Lolita" Nabokov uses a plethora of literary allusions, many of which are to fairy tales and children's texts. More specifically he makes a couple of references to "Alice and Wonderland" by Lewis Carroll aka. Charles Dodgson. I would be interested in doing some research and composing a short study of how the "Alice in Wonderland" helped influence some aspects of Lolita.
Option #2: For this option I was considering doing a study of the "games" of Nabokov's works. Undeniably the avid chess player/author used chess strategies and moves to influence the ways in which he composed his novels. For this option I would also be interested in pursuing "Game Theory" which, I believe, is concerned with examining texts and such through the lens of games and how life can be understood as game-play. *Note: I am perhaps thinking that this study might be better for the longer term-paper for the end of the class.
I think that both of these options would provide an interesting focus for greater understanding Nabokov's works and making my own discoveries that would help illuminate further reflections on his texts.
Option #1:
In "Lolita" Nabokov uses a plethora of literary allusions, many of which are to fairy tales and children's texts. More specifically he makes a couple of references to "Alice and Wonderland" by Lewis Carroll aka. Charles Dodgson. I would be interested in doing some research and composing a short study of how the "Alice in Wonderland" helped influence some aspects of Lolita.Option #2: For this option I was considering doing a study of the "games" of Nabokov's works. Undeniably the avid chess player/author used chess strategies and moves to influence the ways in which he composed his novels. For this option I would also be interested in pursuing "Game Theory" which, I believe, is concerned with examining texts and such through the lens of games and how life can be understood as game-play. *Note: I am perhaps thinking that this study might be better for the longer term-paper for the end of the class.
I think that both of these options would provide an interesting focus for greater understanding Nabokov's works and making my own discoveries that would help illuminate further reflections on his texts.
Letter to Amanda
Simply put-- Why a pedophile? Why does Vladamir Nabokov, a fantastic author and artist, focus his story on the character of a disgusting, perverse and hated pedophile?
Well, although at first I too was against the despicable H.H. I feel that I am now understanding Nabokov's choice a little better (if only slightly). In class we discussed how authors throughout the ages have attempted one-up each other by telling more grotesque stories and creating more despicable characters than the last. This question reminded me of a joke that a friend told me about. Apparently there are a series of jokes referred to as "The Aristocrats" in which the goal of the comedian is to tell the most horrific, grotesque, and shocking joke. The comedian who can best shock the listener with the the dirtiest joke is the most successful. So, by crafting a story around a despicable character provides a challenge to the author and the artist through which only the best can "pull-off".
I was considering posting the link for the Bob Saget aristocrat joke (simply because it is Bob Saget) but I felt that It was TOO vulgar to link. If you want, you can look it up on YouTube and watch it to understand just how grotesque it is. It is highly offensive.
Well, although at first I too was against the despicable H.H. I feel that I am now understanding Nabokov's choice a little better (if only slightly). In class we discussed how authors throughout the ages have attempted one-up each other by telling more grotesque stories and creating more despicable characters than the last. This question reminded me of a joke that a friend told me about. Apparently there are a series of jokes referred to as "The Aristocrats" in which the goal of the comedian is to tell the most horrific, grotesque, and shocking joke. The comedian who can best shock the listener with the the dirtiest joke is the most successful. So, by crafting a story around a despicable character provides a challenge to the author and the artist through which only the best can "pull-off".
I was considering posting the link for the Bob Saget aristocrat joke (simply because it is Bob Saget) but I felt that It was TOO vulgar to link. If you want, you can look it up on YouTube and watch it to understand just how grotesque it is. It is highly offensive.
Picture Caption
This photograph, of my father, mother, and me, (appearing in that order) was taken on the set of a local production of the Tony award winning "Pump Boys and Dinettes" at the WYO theater in Sheridan, Wyoming. My mother, a former High School Choir teacher (and avid lover of music and performance), appeared in the musical as either Prudie Cupp or Rhetta Cupp, I forget now, one of the two sisters who owned the charming and quaint Double Cupp Cafe in which the musical is set. The musical, which premiered on Broadway at the Princess Theater on February 4, 1982, showcases slices of Americana through country/rock/pop songs and the story of four gas station workers and the two Cupp sisters. Presumably the play is not set in contemporary times according the the $2.50 hamburger and $.50 slice of pie listed on the Double Cupp Diner Menu in the upper left of the photograph. My father (wearing an entertainingly western buckskin jacket and belt buckle with a big horn ram with the words *National Forest*) and I hold two empty white ceramic cups, fooling the viewer of the photograph to thinking we are customers at this diner while my mother presents a pecan pie. I believe this photograph was taken in mid-late October of 2006 as I had recently purchased my green hat and jacket in Bozeman, Montana, the town in which I was attending my freshman year of University. I had traveled back to Sheridan, a modest four hour drive in my Subaru Forester, to watch my mother perform.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Reading Lolita Twice
Twice is nice. Reading "Lolita" for a second time should be, I imagine, a second chance to be a detective-- a detective with the assistance of moderate foresight! Now that I know "who did it" I can search back through the pages, back through the narrative of that despicable Humbert Humbert, and uncover the treasured mentions of his arch-foe, Clare Quilty. Possibly even more important than uncovering the culprit (like the one in the manila slip in a game of clue) it will be fascinating to appreciate the way Nabokov crafts the story and the reader along with it. Noticing the sultry scents that mislead the reader can be appreciated for the irresistible "try", like in a game of chess between reader and author.
Reading the story w/o annotations was quite a test of will power. At times (many, many times) I found what seemed to be a typical sentence, nothing hidden, nothing cryptic, but there would be that damned number on the side denoting some meaning or reference important to the novel. I would notice this and probe the sentence, put each word under a microscope, and realize that I had no idea what was being annotated. Like this I would trudge through the work.
The more I reflect on the phenomena of my being an English major for almost 4 years now and seemingly have learned absolutely nothing that helps me read this infuriating text I realize that this is part of reading "Lolita" and perhaps this is what Nabokov's version of didacticism is-- teasing the reader. Provoking the reader with his twists and turns, flips of the tongue and labyrinthine language he is, in fact, molding what he refers to throughout the book as the "learned reader". For the reader to grasp that he/she is missing a lot, perhaps even the bulk of what is important, teases us enough to read more, read deeper, and examine "Lolita" and other texts, under the astute microscope of a specialized scientist and playful puzzle-master. Twice is nice.
*A lovely labyrinth
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Continuation of "The Void" blog post...
In review of my blog post "The Void" I feel that I left some large stones unturned and upon further musings about this topic, discovered my error. I wish to add that I feel what an author like Nabokov, one concerned with all the rays of light illuminating this small slice of existence, would have wanted. Nabokov, as well as Calvino and Kafka, certainly wish that this time of light, the illumination of our position hanging above the abyss, should be spent in time of study, engaging our sight with every detail of every moment-- as is evident in the captions of Nabokov. We should leave no small glance in the trash bin, no "unimportant" detail left considered "unimportant", no large boulder, as well as grain of sand, unturned. One of the ways to pursue this scrutinizing eye is to follow the words of the birds who roam Pala in Auldous Huxley's "Island": "Attention! Attention! Attention!". Only with this attention and awareness that is deeper than a glancing eye can a viewer pursue illuminating this slice of life between darkness and changing our views from those seen by candlelight to those seen under the rays of the sun.
*"Attention" to good writing, notes, and authorial decisions!
Saturday, September 5, 2009
The Void
Vladimir Nabokov's autobiography "Speak, Memory" opens up with a memorable quote; "The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness." This quote, with the intense focus on the concepts of an "abyss" (void) and "light", reminds me of the writings of two other authors writing in the 20th century, albeit one is about 20 years previous and the other about 20 years later-- Franz Kafka & Italo Calvino.
In Italo Calvino's work "Invisible Cities" he often flirts with the ideas of places suspended above the nothingness, cities built on nothingness, and cities that define the space they are given, even if it is only points of light in nothingness-- the brief crack of light in the darkness. In this work Calvino imagines every city there could possibly be as he explores the depths of possibilities. However, as the book progresses Khan begins to understand that perhaps Marco Polo hasn't traveled to all these places but he may be explaining the depths, focusing the intricate rays of light of his native Venice.
Franz Kafka's "The Castle" begins with an intense description of place that evokes much of the same imagery of Navokov; "It was late in the evening when K. arrived. The village was deep in snow. The Castle hill was hidden, veiled in mist and darkness, nor was there even a glimmer of light to show that a castle was there. On the wooden bridge leading from the main road to the village, K. stood for a long time gazing into the illusory emptiness above him." An intriguing difference between Nabokov's and Kafka's understanding of the void the void's relation to the subject. Nabokov imagines hanging over the void, suspended, something to beware of falling into. Kafka however envisions the void above the subject as something to get to, something to investigate and attain, as is true of many of Kafka's works perhaps most notable in the short story "Before the Law".
The most notable similarity between the two is Nabokov's and Kafka's supreme interest in investigation. Each author pursues their works with a magnified and careful eye. Kafka's characters Joseph K. ("The Trial") and K. ("The Castle") try to explore their situations from every perspective in order to better their position; Joseph K. pursues discovering the nature of his trial in order to appropriately diagnose the best course of action in his defense. K. pursues every avenue of entering the Castle to attempt to understand the nature of his employment. Nabokov investigates the world through a scientifically trained eye. Each detail is noted and important, even the ones that often seem the least important.
The void needs to be considered an important characteristic of the writing of Nabokov and other writers exploring space in the 20th century. It can symbolize something that many of these authors such as Nabokov and Kafka struggle with-- defining the undefinable, approaching infinity, and exploring the abyss.
*Here is a passage from a story I wrote called "A Grove in the Barren". I feel that this story deals with this concept Nabokov puts forth about "our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness".
It was cold and the snow whipped around my face in tight curls. I had been walking alone in The Barren a long time, as long as I could remember, and never found anything or been found by anything. I used to hold my hand out to feel my way along, to try and strike a solid wall, but always when I outstretched my hand it reached infinitely far, contacted nothing and became lost in the crystalline white void. Some time ago, during my bouts of vertigo, I would drop to my knees and vomit, but even then it looked blank and white and the bloodspots were instantly buried deep in fresh snow...
*Read the rest of the story at http://adambenson.blogspot.com/2009/08/grove-in-barren.html
In Italo Calvino's work "Invisible Cities" he often flirts with the ideas of places suspended above the nothingness, cities built on nothingness, and cities that define the space they are given, even if it is only points of light in nothingness-- the brief crack of light in the darkness. In this work Calvino imagines every city there could possibly be as he explores the depths of possibilities. However, as the book progresses Khan begins to understand that perhaps Marco Polo hasn't traveled to all these places but he may be explaining the depths, focusing the intricate rays of light of his native Venice.
Franz Kafka's "The Castle" begins with an intense description of place that evokes much of the same imagery of Navokov; "It was late in the evening when K. arrived. The village was deep in snow. The Castle hill was hidden, veiled in mist and darkness, nor was there even a glimmer of light to show that a castle was there. On the wooden bridge leading from the main road to the village, K. stood for a long time gazing into the illusory emptiness above him." An intriguing difference between Nabokov's and Kafka's understanding of the void the void's relation to the subject. Nabokov imagines hanging over the void, suspended, something to beware of falling into. Kafka however envisions the void above the subject as something to get to, something to investigate and attain, as is true of many of Kafka's works perhaps most notable in the short story "Before the Law".
The most notable similarity between the two is Nabokov's and Kafka's supreme interest in investigation. Each author pursues their works with a magnified and careful eye. Kafka's characters Joseph K. ("The Trial") and K. ("The Castle") try to explore their situations from every perspective in order to better their position; Joseph K. pursues discovering the nature of his trial in order to appropriately diagnose the best course of action in his defense. K. pursues every avenue of entering the Castle to attempt to understand the nature of his employment. Nabokov investigates the world through a scientifically trained eye. Each detail is noted and important, even the ones that often seem the least important.
The void needs to be considered an important characteristic of the writing of Nabokov and other writers exploring space in the 20th century. It can symbolize something that many of these authors such as Nabokov and Kafka struggle with-- defining the undefinable, approaching infinity, and exploring the abyss.
*Here is a passage from a story I wrote called "A Grove in the Barren". I feel that this story deals with this concept Nabokov puts forth about "our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness".
It was cold and the snow whipped around my face in tight curls. I had been walking alone in The Barren a long time, as long as I could remember, and never found anything or been found by anything. I used to hold my hand out to feel my way along, to try and strike a solid wall, but always when I outstretched my hand it reached infinitely far, contacted nothing and became lost in the crystalline white void. Some time ago, during my bouts of vertigo, I would drop to my knees and vomit, but even then it looked blank and white and the bloodspots were instantly buried deep in fresh snow...
*Read the rest of the story at http://adambenson.blogspot.com/2009/08/grove-in-barren.html
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Butterflies & Nightmares
*I'm taking an actual nightmare/event from my childhood and exploring it with the allowances and liberty of composing it in a more literary style.
Butterflies & Nightmares
When I was young, sometime between 4-6, I had, as my mother recalls, one of the most terrifying nightmares of my life. It was summertime in Sheridan, Wyoming meaning the daytime was most likely hot, sunny and a great day for a young boy to be playing outside. Most likely, I was in fact playing outside-- rambling around my yard, throwing a ball around in the grass, exploring the hidden areas underneath pines and inside of bushes and having the sort of summer day that is only afforded to young boys. At the end of the day I would come inside the brick house, sit at the oak table for dinner, peruse flickering images of baseball on the television, and finally go to sleep.
I woke up with a twinge of unsettling that made me decide to stand by my parents bedside and ruffle their blankets with the palm of my little hand. My mom who (if viewing the bed from the foot) slept on the left, woke up first. She shifted out of the sleep and transformed into a motherly figure full of concern and worry. I told her I had woken up and couldn't go back to bed. She suggested I move out of my room, hot and stuffy with no air conditioning, into our living room and lay out on the grey speckled carpet in my Aladin sleeping bag.
In mere minutes I drifted back into the land of sleep so easily entered by children and I began to dream. I played out in our yard, rambling around the grass and exploring the depths and dens of the pines and bushes. After tiring I quit the foliage caverns and reentered the yard, spacious, green, and cut short with a spring smell. I looked around searching for something to capture my interest. High up in the sky a small speck fluttered. Yellows, blacks, and whites all mixed together in an intricate pattern that was mirrored from one wing across to the other. The butterfly came down, pushing through the air like a swimmer in a calm pool, taking quick, short strokes. I held out my hand and soon the insect had alighted on its rook. I looked it over, admiring the slow expansion and retraction of the patterned wings, each flap pushing small quantities of air across the knuckles of my hand.
After examining the creature for a short while I suddenly became aware of the shadow around my body. I started at this phenomena; I had only stood in shadows when close to trees, buildings, and other tall objects, which, in the middle of my yard, had none close around. I swiveled my head around searching for the cause of the cloud. Above my head, hovering in a yellow, black, and white mass, was a collective flurry of butterflies, swirling around as if angry food in a blender. The butterflies quickly descended and covered my body, crawling around on my arms and neck with prickly steps, clogging the air around my nose and mouth, tangling their insect bodies into my hair, and folding their wings over my eyes, darkening my eyes.
I woke screaming "butterflies! Butterflies!" My mother finally ran out and convinced me that I was, in fact, quite bare of any abhorred insect. She questioned me if I had eaten anything around the household, possibly divulged in the liquids under the sink. I stood too scared to answer in a moment of arrest at the covering of my body in so many butterflies.
Butterflies & Nightmares
When I was young, sometime between 4-6, I had, as my mother recalls, one of the most terrifying nightmares of my life. It was summertime in Sheridan, Wyoming meaning the daytime was most likely hot, sunny and a great day for a young boy to be playing outside. Most likely, I was in fact playing outside-- rambling around my yard, throwing a ball around in the grass, exploring the hidden areas underneath pines and inside of bushes and having the sort of summer day that is only afforded to young boys. At the end of the day I would come inside the brick house, sit at the oak table for dinner, peruse flickering images of baseball on the television, and finally go to sleep.
I woke up with a twinge of unsettling that made me decide to stand by my parents bedside and ruffle their blankets with the palm of my little hand. My mom who (if viewing the bed from the foot) slept on the left, woke up first. She shifted out of the sleep and transformed into a motherly figure full of concern and worry. I told her I had woken up and couldn't go back to bed. She suggested I move out of my room, hot and stuffy with no air conditioning, into our living room and lay out on the grey speckled carpet in my Aladin sleeping bag.
In mere minutes I drifted back into the land of sleep so easily entered by children and I began to dream. I played out in our yard, rambling around the grass and exploring the depths and dens of the pines and bushes. After tiring I quit the foliage caverns and reentered the yard, spacious, green, and cut short with a spring smell. I looked around searching for something to capture my interest. High up in the sky a small speck fluttered. Yellows, blacks, and whites all mixed together in an intricate pattern that was mirrored from one wing across to the other. The butterfly came down, pushing through the air like a swimmer in a calm pool, taking quick, short strokes. I held out my hand and soon the insect had alighted on its rook. I looked it over, admiring the slow expansion and retraction of the patterned wings, each flap pushing small quantities of air across the knuckles of my hand.
After examining the creature for a short while I suddenly became aware of the shadow around my body. I started at this phenomena; I had only stood in shadows when close to trees, buildings, and other tall objects, which, in the middle of my yard, had none close around. I swiveled my head around searching for the cause of the cloud. Above my head, hovering in a yellow, black, and white mass, was a collective flurry of butterflies, swirling around as if angry food in a blender. The butterflies quickly descended and covered my body, crawling around on my arms and neck with prickly steps, clogging the air around my nose and mouth, tangling their insect bodies into my hair, and folding their wings over my eyes, darkening my eyes.
I woke screaming "butterflies! Butterflies!" My mother finally ran out and convinced me that I was, in fact, quite bare of any abhorred insect. She questioned me if I had eaten anything around the household, possibly divulged in the liquids under the sink. I stood too scared to answer in a moment of arrest at the covering of my body in so many butterflies.
Pinky-- A recurring memory from my childhoold
Pinky
I try to rummage through my memories and sort the useful from the useless like the separating of wheat from chaff. Locating the singular memory I consider my first feels impossible in the jumbled chronology of the past. I ruminate and probe the various flashes of recollection that present themselves as my first, most important memory only to return to the thought of my dad’s missing finger. Considering my childhood memories in accordance with my dad’s missing finger raises memories of the flowering of my understanding of humor, frustration and a myriad of humanity. Each sprouting from the space on my dad’s hand where there should be flesh and bone but there is none.
Since I can remember my dad has had five fingers on his right hand and four and a half on his left, the pinky being lopped off at the first joint past the knuckle. This stub became a tool for provoking me endlessly. I would ask him how he had lost his finger and he would tell me the story. I became confused when his stories began to contradict one another; each story being different every time he told me of how his pinky had become to be half intact, half lost. Soon, I could recognize the pattern he crafted his stories around. The story would surround the situation that we both were in and at the end he would abruptly hold up his hand, framing the pinky in my view, and give a signature, quick flash of a smile. This half-finger story became even more interesting when I noticed his insistence on telling a tale to complete strangers: a cashier, a waitress, some students in his Spanish class. Always masterfully twisting the story around the situation but always ending the tale by holding up his hand and giving a quick smile.
Among my friends the telling of these tales became something of a legend. My dad would craft the tales to fit in to our teenage ramblings when he drove us up skiing. He had cut it off on the edge of a snowboard, broke it off by slamming it in a cash register, and it had been sliced off on a guitar string just like a piece of salami. My friends intrigue of this story went so far as for one of my friends to suggest “Adam, it’s your destiny to lose a finger just like your dad and tell stories.” I laughed and brushed off the remark. I stated how absurd that was, how much I liked having ten fingers and how I expected to for a long time to come.
I’ve made inquiries with friends of his, fellow high-school teachers that know him, and even my mom. Somehow they all react with cryptic knowledge. Not revealing any useful information and giving me a sly smile, honoring a tradition they all know; a tradition that precedes my birth.
To this day I still do not know the “real” reason why my dad has nine and a half fingers instead of the standard ten. I do not know if he’s embedded clues or some version of the truth in the stories he has told me. I do not know if I will ever find out. I do not know if I want to ever find out. But I do know that the imprint of these tales sway across my childhood memories like my dad dangling a plastic finger attached to a key chain in front of my eyes.
I try to rummage through my memories and sort the useful from the useless like the separating of wheat from chaff. Locating the singular memory I consider my first feels impossible in the jumbled chronology of the past. I ruminate and probe the various flashes of recollection that present themselves as my first, most important memory only to return to the thought of my dad’s missing finger. Considering my childhood memories in accordance with my dad’s missing finger raises memories of the flowering of my understanding of humor, frustration and a myriad of humanity. Each sprouting from the space on my dad’s hand where there should be flesh and bone but there is none.
Since I can remember my dad has had five fingers on his right hand and four and a half on his left, the pinky being lopped off at the first joint past the knuckle. This stub became a tool for provoking me endlessly. I would ask him how he had lost his finger and he would tell me the story. I became confused when his stories began to contradict one another; each story being different every time he told me of how his pinky had become to be half intact, half lost. Soon, I could recognize the pattern he crafted his stories around. The story would surround the situation that we both were in and at the end he would abruptly hold up his hand, framing the pinky in my view, and give a signature, quick flash of a smile. This half-finger story became even more interesting when I noticed his insistence on telling a tale to complete strangers: a cashier, a waitress, some students in his Spanish class. Always masterfully twisting the story around the situation but always ending the tale by holding up his hand and giving a quick smile.
Among my friends the telling of these tales became something of a legend. My dad would craft the tales to fit in to our teenage ramblings when he drove us up skiing. He had cut it off on the edge of a snowboard, broke it off by slamming it in a cash register, and it had been sliced off on a guitar string just like a piece of salami. My friends intrigue of this story went so far as for one of my friends to suggest “Adam, it’s your destiny to lose a finger just like your dad and tell stories.” I laughed and brushed off the remark. I stated how absurd that was, how much I liked having ten fingers and how I expected to for a long time to come.
I’ve made inquiries with friends of his, fellow high-school teachers that know him, and even my mom. Somehow they all react with cryptic knowledge. Not revealing any useful information and giving me a sly smile, honoring a tradition they all know; a tradition that precedes my birth.
To this day I still do not know the “real” reason why my dad has nine and a half fingers instead of the standard ten. I do not know if he’s embedded clues or some version of the truth in the stories he has told me. I do not know if I will ever find out. I do not know if I want to ever find out. But I do know that the imprint of these tales sway across my childhood memories like my dad dangling a plastic finger attached to a key chain in front of my eyes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
