This is intellectual BDSM at its very best. Make no mistake, as the grateful rereaders, not just readers, of the genius, we’re the masochists here.

Considering how vulgar this review may seem so far, Nabokov would surely disapprove. He is probably spinning like a figure skater doing triple axels in his grave as I type. But that’s beside the point.

Within this book, you can find unyielding and strong opinions on literature, which is why it has the title it does. There are also 1001 ways to colorfully insult the book populace at large, including novelists, translators, critics, editors, students, and rereaders, with great wit and wry humor.

Personally, I came for the former but stayed for the latter. The strength with which Nabokov asserts his opinions and ideas on these pages is so great that it will be nearly impossible to reach the last pages without having absorbed some, if not all, of his opinions.

To use an analogy, cracking open this book is not like getting a patch upgrade on software. It is more equivalent to switching from a PC (insert your sad, average name here) to a Mac (*Na-bO-kov* - cue fireworks).

No opinion of his is too small or too unimportant. All are recorded and preserved here as edicts for us Philistines to pore over.

Don’t get me wrong, I love this book. I really cannot recommend it highly enough. I just didn’t realize how much frustration I had pent up while reading.

Una compilación de entrevistas, cartas enviadas a editores y artículos de diversos temas que el autor publicó. En ellos se habla de casi todas sus novelas, pero más en extenso de "Lolita" y "Ada o el ardor". También se menciona su afición a las mariposas, aunque muy pocas cosas personales. Sin embargo, quizá lo que más resalta de este libro son sus opiniones literarias. El autor habla sin ningún pelos en la lengua sobre su disgusto por Dostoievski, Thomas Mann, Lewis Carroll, Sartre, Camus y Freud, entre otros grandes de la literatura. También es sabido su disgusto por Cervantes y por el Quijote.

Sus opiniones son ácidas pero certeras. De su personalidad se podría decir que es hermética y un poco pedante. Aunque no estoy de acuerdo con todo lo que menciona en el libro, hay algunos puntos que me parece importante rescatar. El primero es que no porque un autor sea universalmente amado significa que sea bueno o que necesariamente te tenga que gustar. El autor, cuando no le gusta algo, lo expresa claramente.

Un segundo punto que me gusta rescatar es el de las generalidades contra las particularidades. Al autor, las ideas generales le importan muy poco. En los detalles minuciosos es donde encuentra el gusto y el sentido artístico. Creo que muchos lectores se pierden en la generalidad de una narración y no logran apreciar el detalle de algunos guiños y descripciones particulares. Como lector, me puedo sentir identificado por eso.

El tercer punto es sobre el sentido artístico y de la novela. Según el autor, la novela no tiene un propósito ni un fin, solo un método de contar una historia. Por lo tanto, todas las "novelas sociales" o comprometidas con una causa deben ser juzgadas no por el tema, sino por la calidad en cómo narra los hechos. El autor las descalifica como banales y vulgares. El talento es la medida de un escritor. El arte debe ser difícil y exigir a los lectores.

El cuarto punto es sobre las traducciones. El autor piensa que deben ser exactas, aunque se pierda el ritmo y la fluidez, pero preservando la integridad del mensaje. Yo estoy de acuerdo con él. Ahora, siendo tan tajante en algunas de sus opiniones, son increíblemente consistentes. Esto no sorprende, dado el modo en que el autor trabaja. Todas las respuestas eran mecanografiadas, revisadas y corregidas por él antes de ser publicadas en las revistas. El autor se reconoce como un terrible orador e incapaz de expresar sus ideas con fluidez mientras habla.

En definitiva, es un libro provocador, sobre todo si quieres leer algo fuera de la norma. Hay muchas maneras de disfrutar un libro y hay que ser abiertos a cualquier opinión, siempre y cuando exista una razón que la sustente. Solo para fanáticos del autor y para personas que no se dejan influenciar fácilmente por las opiniones ajenas.

This man is truly such an extraordinary genius. His intellectual capabilities seem to know no bounds.

Not only that, but he also has this delightful air of snobbery about him. It's almost charming in its own unique way.

One can't help but wish to have a peek inside his head, to understand the inner workings of his brilliant mind.

What thoughts and ideas must be swirling around in there? How does he come up with such innovative and ground-breaking concepts?

It's as if he exists in a world of his own, a world filled with intellectual pursuits and a refined sense of taste.

To be able to live inside his head, even for a moment, would surely be an experience like no other.

It would be a chance to witness the birth of great ideas and to soak up the knowledge and wisdom that he possesses.

Alas, we can only admire from afar and wonder what it would be like to have such a remarkable mind.

Nabokov, in a rather understated way, seems to have a certain rigidity or strictness about him. However, it is completely understandable and deserved. I have never come across an author quite like him. He offers a refreshing perspective on art, believing that it doesn't necessarily have to serve a moral purpose. And in general life, Nabokov does whatever he pleases. He eats like an aristocrat, lives a life of luxury like a fat cat, and couldn't care less about what others think. He moves from motel to motel, loves Vera deeply, and has a passion for catching butterflies. His unique approach to both art and life makes him a truly fascinating figure.

I will never go back for the simple reason that all the Russia I need is always within me.

You can strive to get nearer and nearer to reality, but you will never truly get close enough because reality is an infinite succession of steps. There are different levels of perceptions, false bottoms, and thus it remains unquenchable and unattainable.

Memory, in itself, is really a tool, one of the many tools that an artist utilizes. The more you cherish a memory, the stronger and stranger it becomes.

I don't think in any language; instead, I think in images. I firmly believe that people don't think in languages. After all, they don't move their lips when they think. A Russian phrase or an English phrase will form with the foam of brainwave.

Lolita was born in my own mind. I write solely for the sake of pleasure. I have no general idea to exploit.

Color is something special to me. I think I was born a painter. I possess this rather freakish gift of seeing letters in color, which is called color hearing. For example, quartz pink is one of the closest colors that I can connect with the letter V, and the N, on the other hand, is a grayish yellowish oatmeal color. Interestingly, my wife also has this gift of seeing letters in color. When we asked our son to list his colors, we discovered that one letter which she sees as purple is pink to me.

I think that the audience an artist imagines when he envisions that kind of a thing is a room filled with people wearing his own mask. Art, at its greatest, is fantastically deceitful and complex. A work of art holds no importance whatever to society; it is only significant to the individual.

Every good reader has relished a few good books in his life. So why analyze the delights that both sides are already aware of? When it comes to the question of what is the most beautiful language, my head says English, my heart leans towards Russian, and my ear favors French.

Satire is a lesson, while parody is a game. The more gifted and talkative one's characters are, the greater the chances of them resembling each other in tone or tint of mind.

Time is but the memory in the process of being made. When asked why I live in hotels, I would say it simplifies postal matters, eliminates the nuisance of private ownership, and confirms me in my favorite habit - the habit of freedom. Problems, in a sense, are the poetry of chess.

This work is truly and entirely worth it. The variations on Vlad's representative themes, such as the sovereignty of specificity over abstraction, theories, and ideas, are always expressed in a playful, often alliterative, and exquisitely composed rhythmic prose, much like that of Nabokov. There are plenty of memorable aphorisms. However, the emphasis on lepidoptera gets a little too precious. Toward the end, the editorials that settle old scores with critics and nitpick about translation literalism paint VN as a bit of an aspergerian twit. Nevertheless, it is highly recommended WC reading.

Despite the few drawbacks, the overall quality and value of this piece shine through. The unique way in which the themes are presented makes it a captivating read. The use of literary devices like alliteration and rhythm adds a certain charm and elegance to the prose. The abundance of memorable aphorisms makes it easy to remember and reflect on the ideas presented. Even though the lepidoptera emphasis may seem a bit overdone at times, it still contributes to the overall atmosphere and style of the work.

The editorials at the end, while perhaps a bit controversial, also add an interesting dimension to the piece. They show the author's perspective on certain issues and his willingness to engage with critics. Overall, this is a must-read for anyone interested in literature, language, and ideas. It offers a unique and thought-provoking perspective that is sure to leave a lasting impression.

A book specifically for cultists.

Non-cultists, on the other hand, tend to hold this book up as an example of Nabokov at his most arrogant and disdainful. However, they completely miss the real human drama that lies within. Here, Nabokov shows a fierce adherence to the aristocratic ideal of his youth. This ideal is one of unflappable poise and "manly" composure.

Despite facing death, exile, material deprivation, and incalculable emotional loss throughout his adult life, Nabokov still clings to this ideal. He believes in holding his head high and remembering that he is a nobleman.

It is truly admirable how he eludes all attempts to get him to complain or to publicly broadcast his private suffering in an Oprah-ishly way.

One of my favorite exchanges occurs when an interviewer touches on a particularly tender point of Nabokov's pain. The interviewer asks him how he feels about the fact that all of his books are banned in the country of his birth. With superhuman sang-froid, Nabokov simply replies: "It is Russia's loss, not mine." This response perfectly encapsulates his unwavering spirit and his refusal to be defeated by the hardships he has endured.

I truly love Nabokov to the fullest extent when he reaches the peak of his high-brow bitchiness, and this particular work is deliciously just that. His writing in such moments is like a sharp-edged diamond, cutting through the ordinary with its brilliance and precision. There is a certain allure in his ability to be both intellectually superior and yet so delightfully caustic. It's as if he is playing a game with the reader, challenging us to keep up with his wit and his complex literary constructions. And we, the readers, are more than willing participants, eager to be drawn into his world of high-brow bitchiness and experience the unique pleasure it offers. Nabokov's work at its worst in this sense is actually its best, a testament to his extraordinary talent and his unwavering commitment to being true to his own literary vision.

I have a penchant for reading certain authors to enhance specific aspects of my personality. I read George Bernard Shaw to polish my skills in high brow bitchiness. His works are filled with sharp wit and biting sarcasm that can truly make one's tongue as sharp as a razor. On the other hand, I keep Nabokov's "Strong Opinions" close at hand to brush up on my surliness.

I have an unwavering love for Nabokov. Ever since I discovered him as a young and impressionable 16-year-old, I instantly recognized his immense value. He taught me how to be a mean, grouchy old man. He is the epitome of the high brow version of the "GET OFF MY LAWN" old man, at the peak of his grouchiness. He is stubborn, irascible, and firmly believes in his views. If you don't agree with him, he would simply dismiss you as another ignorant peasant. I cherish this old book and pick it up whenever I need to remind myself how to be condescending and arrogant.

When I eventually retire, I have a plan to re-read this book. I will fondly remember my days of youthful exuberance when I thought I needed lessons in such things. And I'll smugly realize that I was taught by one of the masters.

Nabokov's more irritating foibles and pet peeves take center stage in this compilation of interviews, letters to the editor, and occasional articles. His perpetual contradictions are both exasperating and entertaining. After all, they reveal that this self-proclaimed "genius" could be a remarkably careless thinker when attacking his favorite straw men. On one page, he firmly states that he doesn't believe in "groups," only in the individual genius of an author. He's a pre-Thatcher Thatcherite, declaring, "There is no such thing as society!" But on the very next page, he calmly asserts that he, in fact, writes for groups of readers who "think like I do."

He abhors totalitarian dictatorships, yet demands absolute autocracy when it comes to "his" art. Some of his biographers are eager to argue that Nabokov was a gentle, kind man with a strong sense of ethics. However, in this collection, he more often than not comes across as an insufferably pompous braggart who seizes every opportunity to crush those who don't share his "strong opinions." According to Nabokov (as I paraphrase), true art sends a shiver down the reader's spine. I've experienced this with many authors, but never with Nabokov (even though I highly admire his prose style). His art often strikes me as sterile and cold, like so many frozen droplets of scattered words and images.

I imagine it is this that will (perhaps unjustly) ultimately relegate Nabokov to the realm of the second-rate author. Maybe if his loyalty wasn't solely to "individuals" divorced from social contexts, there might be something recognizable and compelling about his writing. But we'll never know. All is folly and bombast. (A sentence VN would condemn as meaningless because it's an abstraction; yet another contradiction...)

Cute and funny are two qualities that can bring a lot of joy and laughter into our lives.

When we see something cute, it often makes us feel a sense of warmth and tenderness. It could be a small puppy with its big, innocent eyes, or a fluffy kitten playing with a ball of yarn.

Funny things, on the other hand, have the power to make us burst out laughing. It could be a hilarious joke, a comical movie, or a silly prank.

The combination of cute and funny is truly magical. It can turn a dull day into a bright one and make us forget about our troubles for a while.

Whether it's a cute and funny animal video on the internet or a charming and humorous character in a book, these things have the ability to touch our hearts and make us smile.

So, the next time you come across something cute and funny, take a moment to appreciate it and let it bring a little bit of happiness into your life.

7/10

“Very funny” is a simple yet often used phrase. It can express a range of emotions, from mild amusement to outright hilarity. For example, when someone tells a joke that is not overly complicated but still manages to bring a smile to your face, you might say “very funny.” It can also be used in a slightly sarcastic way, when you think something is not really that funny but you are trying to be polite or play along. In some cases, “very funny” can be a way to show that you appreciate the effort someone has made to make you laugh, even if the joke itself may not be the funniest thing you have ever heard. Overall, “very funny” is a versatile phrase that can be used in many different situations to express our sense of humor and our appreciation for the efforts of others to make us laugh.