08.32 Lolita (1955) by Vladimir Nabokov
I will be discussing this novel with my forum group in February so I'll be leaving a blank space here for the forthcoming review.
Let me just say in advance that I thought the writing was incredible.
Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.
3 comments:
Is that the court appointed group after your last Humber Humbert incident?
Is that the cover of the copy you read? Because that cover is a bit too realistic for my tastes. With Lolita, I think it's best to keep it abstract, or use an image from the movie.
Yeah, that cover would be too much for me, too. Like riding the subway reading Joseph Conrad's third novel, The Nigger of The Narcissus.
I wrapped it in a brown bag.
And I felt bad enough walking around my high school (where I work) carrying a Post-It splintered copy with a fairly boring cover.
This cover would not work for me.
Post a Comment