„Lolita, lumină a vieții mele, văpaie a viscerelor mele. Supliciul meu, suflet al meu. Lo-lii-ta”.

Într-un moment de maximă luciditate, Vladimir Nabokov a aruncat în foc manuscrisul Lolitei. Numai hazardul (care, pe vremea lui, avea un nume feminin, Vera) a făcut să se păstreze, să fie publicat de o editură din Franța și să stîrnească un scandal imens în Satele Unite. Scandalul e cel mai sigur mijloc de a promova o carte. Lolita a devenit un bestseller. Nabokov s-a îmbogățit și, din fericire, n-a mai trebuit să muncească. S-a mutat în Elveția într-un hotel din Montreux (Palace). Și-a dat frîu liber pasiunii pentru lepidoptere. A prins mormane de fluturi necunoscuți, i-a botezat: „Lycaeides melissa samuelis Nabokov 1944” e cel mai frumos exemplu...

Critici literari foarte prestigioși au situat Lolita în topul celor mai influente romane din toate timpurile. Imediat după Anna Karenina, Doamna Bovary și Război și pace (cf. J. Peder Zane, The Top Ten: Writers Pick Their Favourite Books, Norton, 2007: Lolita ocupă locul 4). Îndrăznesc să nu fiu de acord cu acest verdict (aproape) unanim și invoc în ajutorul meu (și al lor) vechiul dicton: De gustibus non est disputandum.

Din păcate, nici după recitirea romanului, n-am devenit fan Nabokov. Asta e sigur. Rezultă și din cele 3 steluțe :)

Dar despre ce este vorba în Lolita? Despre pasiunea unui bărbat pentru o „nimfetă”? Nu tocmai. Văd în cartea lui Nabokov prezentarea meticuloasă a destructurării unei psihii. Pe măsură ce încearcă săse justifice, naratorul o ia razna și nu e niciodată credibil. Nu puteam citi literal ceea ce povestește (scrie) Humbert Humbert și nu putem fi niciodată siguri că nu halucinează. În Lolita, ironia și umorul lipsesc aproape cu desăvîrșire. Adjectivele sînt fie foarte căutate, fie comune. Cît despre „dușul non-laodiceean”, comentat într-un eseu cunoscut de Mircea Cărtărescu, el rămîne, probabil, excepția care întărește regula.

Cred că romanele pe care Vladimir Nabokov le-a scris în rusește sînt mai bune: Mașenka, Invitație la eșafod. Din ce a scris în engleză prefer, firește, Pnin și Vorbește, memorie.

Mă tem că Lolita e un roman mai mult citat decît citit...

P. S. Nu, dușul „non-laodiceean” nu e o excepție. Adjectivul „laodiceean” a fost folosit încă în secolul al XIX-lea de către Thomas Hardy, în Departe de lumea dezlănțuită: „[Gabriel Oak] simțea că, din punct de vedere moral, ocupa doar un loc oarecare în întinsa arie de mijloc a neutralității laodiceene”. Sfîntul Pavel a reproșat bisericii din Laodiceea că nu este nici fierbinte, nici rece. (29 septembrie 2021, miercuri)

n   “Te quería. Era un monstruo pentápodo, pero te quería. Era despreciable y brutal, y depravado y cuanto podía imaginarse, mais je t'aimais, je t'aimais! Y había momentos en que sabía cuanto pasaba por ti, y saberlo era el infierno, mi pequeña Dolita, aguerrida Dolly Schiller.” n

Quizá este parrafito en las páginas finales de la novela contenga la razón principal en la que se sustentan los ataques que ha recibido este libro desde su publicación y que se han reactivado en los últimos tiempos. Aparte de las críticas puritanas a la obscenidad de la narración (más preocupadas, creo yo, por las escenas “afrodisiacas”, por muy elegantemente que estén narradas, que por el hecho de que el objeto sexual sea una niña), los ataques más virulentos vienen por considerar a “Lolita” como una historia de amor.

Sea o no susceptible de ser definido como amor lo que Humbert Humbet siente (nadie sabe realmente qué es el amor, cuáles son sus límites o en qué se diferencia de otros sentimientos o fiebres varias, de ahí que el tema sea inagotable), “Lolita” es por encima de todo la historia de una obsesión de un pederasta que, a pesar de su intento constante de quitar hierro a sus acciones o de justificarlas, es muy consciente del mal que ha provocado en su víctima, tal y como se recoge en la cita que encabeza mi comentario o en la que a continuación recojo.

n   “A menos que se me pruebe —a mí tal como soy ahora, con mi corazón y mi barba y mi putrefacción— que en el infinito no importa un comino que una niña norteamericana llamada Dolores Haze haya sido privada de su niñez por un maniático, a menos que se me pruebe eso (y si tal cosa es posible, la vida es una broma), no concibo para tratar mi miseria sino el paliativo melancólico y demasiado local del arte anticuado.” n

Debemos tener siempre presente que la novela es una confesión cuyo principal objetivo es la justificación de los hechos o, al menos, su explicación. Sería del todo incongruente que HH se declarara culpable de todas las acusaciones. Si aun así aparecen estos textos se debe al conflicto que se resume en la siguiente cita:

n   “No he hecho más que seguir a la naturaleza. Soy el fiel sabueso de la naturaleza. ¿Por qué, entonces, este horror del que no logro desprenderme?” n

Si con la razón intenta descargarse de culpa, con el corazón siente su culpabilidad. Aunque ese peso que le oprime no le impide seguir atormentando a la niña, intenta autoconvencerse de que en el fondo sus intenciones son buenas, que por encima de todo intenta conservar la inocencia de Lo. En este intento exculpatorio, no podemos olvidar que HH es un claro caso clínico de pedofilia y que ha pasado por varios establecimientos psiquiátricos.

n   “… es muy posible que la atracción misma que ejerce sobre mí la inmadurez reside no tanto en la limpidez de la belleza infantil, inmaculada, prohibida, cuanto en la seguridad de una situación en que perfecciones infinitas cierran el abismo entre lo poco concedido y lo mucho prometido...” n

Otro hecho por el que se critica a la novela es por blanquear la imagen mítica de la Lolita provocadora a la que los hombres adultos son incapaces de resistirse. Por un lado, la novela no es culpable de la imagen de la Lolita erotizada que ha trascendido. En la novela, Lolita es una niña de doce años, sin desarrollar físicamente (condición indispensable para la atracción que sienten los pedófilos) y que si bien puede poseer una sexualidad precoz, es una preadolescente sin el desarrollo completo de sus capacidades intelectuales y emocionales, por lo que toda la responsabilidad de los abusos recae en el adulto, hecho que en ningún momento intenta esquivar la novela, más bien todo lo contrario.

n   “… no era ella misma, sino mi propia creación, otra Lolita fantástica, acaso más real que Lolita. Una Lolita que flotaba entre ella y yo, sin voluntad ni conciencia, sin vida propia.” n

No falta quién ve en la novela una manifestación más del machismo y de la visión patriarcal de las relaciones hombre-mujer (objeciones que se resumen en el artículo de Laura Freixas publicado en El País “¿Qué hacemos con ‘Lolita'?, léanlo, no tiene desperdicio). Espero que nadie se moleste si confieso que a mí me parecen grotescas afirmaciones tales como que la novela “Está escrita de tal modo que consigue hacernos olvidar que está mal violar niñas”, o que se tomen en serio las manifestaciones del obsesivo y enfermo HH sobre “cualquier mujer no sometida” o que se le eche en cara al autor que la novela sea estéticamente bella o que HH sea culto, apuesto y “seductor” (a mí me parece, además de todo lo dicho, un ser patético, cursi y pedante, pero en gustos…) y hasta se nos acusa a los que defendemos la novela de olvidar “que el mundo está lleno no solo de Humberts, sino de Lolitas: de niñas y mujeres maltratadas y violadas”.

En fin, “Lolita” es una gran novela y si no le he dado la quinta estrella es porque la parte central en la que se narra el peregrinaje de Humbert y Lolita por medio país me ha parecido largo en exceso sin encontrar razón alguna que justifique tal despliegue.

I know I am in the minority in not seeing the brilliance of this novel. It was far too repulsive a subject matter and far too intimately related to allow me to admire it. I could not divorce myself from the horror this twelve year old was being subjected to, I could not separate the act from the actor. HH’s protestations of love fell on deaf ears with me. I focused completely on “and her sobs in the night--every night, every night--the moment I feigned sleep.” My god, at one point he reflects on the possibility of marrying Lolita when she is outgrown his sordid attraction and making her produce Lolita II, who will be a nymphet with his own blood and truly belong to him. He is depraved beyond depravity.

I will admit to feeling less sickened once “Dolly” was outside his grasp. Reading of his despair and supposed anguish did not bother me. I found the end anti-climatic. His condemnation of men who were his mirror reflection, his obvious mental fragility, his inability to acknowledge the pain he inflicted or care about anyone other than himself produced no effect on me.

I saw so many 5-star ratings and read some remarkable reviews, which made me want to read this novel while I was carrying it on the TBR, but in the end, it simply exercised no appeal for me. I would no doubt have marked it “abandoned” had I not felt there must be some layer of meaning I was just about to encounter. Some wonderful quality that would reveal itself to me in time...but never did.

Every book is not for every person. This one made me want to scrub my skin and gargle with Listerine. I have never wished to explore the mind of a pedophile, and now that I have done so, I am glad to say I still do not understand such a perversion. How dead at heart would you need to be to say, “I had just retracted some silly promise she had forced me to make in a moment of blind impatient passion, and there she was sprawling and sobbing, and pinching my caressing hand, and I was laughing happily…”

Could Nabokov write? Absolutely! Would I read him again? Never! Despite knowing, as most people do, that Lolita was a story about an under-aged temptress and her adult admirer, I was unprepared for its true content. I hope it doesn’t color my ability to look at a young girl in the company of an older man without recalling Lolita to mind.

Me ha encantado! En mayúsculas y a todo color. Nabokov borda con gran maestría el perverso mundo del protagonista y nos adentra con una facilidad pasmosa en su mente. Muy enamorada de su pluma y, aunque hay frases espectaculares en el libro, me quedo con esta; sencillamente porque creo resume su amor obsesivo por Lo, Lotita: "La quería. Era amor a primera vista, a última vista, a cualquier vista'.

Upon finishing this I immediately wanted to go back and read it again, to catch all the clues I had missed. Because Nabokov does a great job of introducing the best elements of detective novels in the latter stages.

Early on, it was irritating me a little. I think when you write in a foreign language it's very difficult not to show off a bit, your vocabulary as well as your ability to create rhythm and beauty with foreign words. Nabokov is clearly having a whale of a time. On the opening page he makes a wholly absurd tongue-in-cheek justification - "You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style." Not only does he slaver over Lolita, he also slavers over language. There's a good deal of intended conventional hyperbole about the way the narrator waxes lyrical over the attractions of the female and it's easy to forget he's describing a child. It comes across as any other young love riddled with the usual illusions and clichés and short-sighted tyranny of the eyes. The sordidness is there among all the beautiful language like something fetid fermenting just beneath the surface. All said and done it's a brutal and brilliant indictment of the male's tendency to turn the female into a possessed object and a plaything. In this novel, sexual love on the part of the male is founded on unbridled egotism and illusion.


This is one of those novels one could write a twenty page essay on. Nabokov's penchant for deploying doubles is very much to the fore. The narrator, famously, is called Humbert Humbert. But this doubling up doesn't stop there. He shares the narrative with a kind of evil twin predator. At face value our narrator is reliable. But towards the end you start wondering if he hasn't invented his evil twin, a still more morally reprehensible individual than he himself, to exonerate some of his own guilt. As often Nabokov gives the reader a choice of multiple interlocking interpretations.

It's interesting that Nabokov's favourite characters among all his creations were Lolita and Pnin. I wouldn't go that far where she's concerned but she is well drawn and convincingly alive on the page though we have to wait until the end of the book to find out the extent of the damage done to her.

I feel very weird about this. Because how in God’s name do you write a review of … Lolita?
Anyway, I came to this book somewhat belatedly having sort of filed it in my head as kind of like DH Lawrence but with more paedophilia. One of those books that is the literary canon because a straight white dude wrote it at the right time.

But, uh, well. Prepare for a hot take but Lolita is kind of brilliant, isn’t it? Which is kind of a shame because the book is sort of lost in its own legacy. And you kind of have to ask the question: do we really need books about over-educated paedophiles who try to convince us it’s okay they’re paedophiles? Especially when, from just a cursory consideration of discussion around Lolita, it feels like the aforementioned over-educated paedophile does seem to have been semi-successful in that attempt. Because I have legit seen people claiming the book is ambiguous on the sexually abusing children front. Or that Dolores was, in fact, up for it or asking for it.

Of course, all books are open to interpretation—Lolita even moreso than most because I don’t think you can get a more unreliable narrator than HH. And without wanting to sound like an edgelord I do believe a lot of morality is complex. Except, y’know. When it comes to children and sex. (Another hot take there, Hall).

So I think if we take it as axiomatic that adults should not abuse children and we assume the book subscribes to the same unquestionable principle … Lolita becomes, I don’t even know what, the biggest act of gaslighting in the literary canon? As an act of narrative control on the part of the author (Nabokov I mean, not HH) that’s so wildly impressive to me. Because the book itself betrays HH repeatedly. No matter how desperately he tries to re-write language, re-write morality, re-write the fucking genre of his own story (he flips from comedy to romance to some kind of weird detective novel at the end) you can’t escape the fact he’s a terrible fucking person who has done a terrible fucking thing. And yes you can debate whether its an act of evil or an act of dysfunction, and no it doesn’t change the fact he’s still a human being with flaws and merits and a history, but … ultimately it doesn’t matter. The book is rotten with its own wrongness.

And still … so awfully readable. Even awfully funny at times—with these cringe-inducing, semi-slapstick sections where HH is nervously attempting to assault Dolores in her sleep but is constantly interrupted by practical concerns. Although, again, the fact that HH chooses to play up the absurdity of the business—his own ineptitude at bringing it about—strikes me as yet another of his endless distractions from the truth of what he’s doing.

I feel beyond sorry for Dolores. The way the book itself becomes an act of textual violence, mirroring HH’s various abuses of her. She’s framed endlessly, inescapably, by him. To the point that most of her speech is reported, rather than written: he can’t even let the child have her *voice*. And nowhere is this clearer than the very first few lines:

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.

I can’t get over the sheer repulsive gall of HH deciding Dolores’s most relevant identity, not just to him, but to the reader, and to posterity, is the pet name he bestows upon her while abusing her. Urgggh.

Anyway. Book is remarkable. Dizzying. Never read anything like it.

Will never read again.

(Although I do recommend the audio-version read by Jeremy Irons: he is the perfect voice for HH. So plausibly urbane the truth of who he is, and what he has done, keeps slipping between your fingers like a bread knife).

(Also how about we stop covering this book with pictures of 'sexy' girl children? COME ON).

His parents lowkey dickheads for naming him Humbert Humbert

Impossible to rate as it's an awful subject, but very well written. The skill of the book (and what makes it most disturbing for me), is that it isn't a clear-cut story of innocent child and predatory adult (which is not to excuse Humbert's actions), and it's only told from one - very biased - point of view.

Since writing this review, I've discovered that Nabokov was a synaesthete. If I (re)read him, I'll have to bear that in mind.

This book raises many intriguing and troubling questions, balanced out by beautiful writing. Some see it as a love story, but I see no love - not even self love. The subject is appalling, but it’s not very explicit, which has the disturbing effect of making the reader complicit in Humbert’s fantasies and later, his actions.

* Some minor spoilers below (but the story is well-known) *

Truth and Lies

It is written as the supposedly honest confession of a paedophile, with overtones of necrophilia (initially he intends to drug her to rape her) and incest (when he is Lolita’s (step)father and even fantasises about her bearing him a child to replace her in his sexual affections). It mixes psychological self-analysis, wry humour, literary flourishes and endless excuses and justifications, though at other times he relishes his debauchery. Mostly he writes in a detached way, especially early on, occasionally slipping into the third person for himself.

Although it’s meant to be “true”, I couldn’t see why Lolita stuck with Humbert once the initial excitement had worn off, even allowing for the fact she enjoyed manipulating him for gifts and money (her loose morals, he said). But she'd been groomed very effectively, and there was no one obvious for her to turn to.

Humbert offers no explanation as to why she was so sexually precocious (it seems to predate her fling at summer camp). Perhaps he's imagining it, as justification for what he must, deep down, know is wrong, or maybe he's not the first to have abused her. The bit where the headmistress of Beardsley School tells Humbert that Lolita is “morbidly uninterested in sexual matters” was bizarrely implausible. Maybe even Humbert can't lie plausibly all of the time.

Shameless

Humbert gives plenty reasons why he should not feel guilty (“nymphets” are demoniac; it’s a natural urge; other societies allow such relationships; if she was drugged she’d never know; it’s not as bad as murder; he’s generous and indulgent), but Nabokov muddies it further by the fact that Lolita is allegedly not a virgin and actually takes the initiative in their first sexual encounter, and at least one subsequent one, even though she doesn’t appear to enjoy it. That's enough justification for Humbert (hopefully not Nabokov), and leaves the reader unsettled and unconvinced. Lolita is a child, unable to give consent, no matter the circumstances and history.

Falling Apart

The second half of the book is more muddled and, at times manic, reflecting Humbert’s own decline. After all the dreadful things he does, his final downfall is a literal but relatively trivial crossing of the line: a gloriously ironic way to end such a troubling novel.

Modern Mores - see also

Would such a book be published today, now society is hyper-alert for paedophiles, and #MeToo is taking off?

•tMarguerite Duras published The Lover (see my review HERE), but that was autobiographical in back in 1984.

Maybe it's marginally less shocking when the sexes are reversed?

•tIn 2004, Zoe Heller wrote Notes on a Scandal / What Was She Thinking? (see my review HERE), about a married but oddly naïve teacher and a teenage boy pupil.

•tIn 2012, John Banville finished his Alex Cleave trilogy with Ancient Light (see my review HERE), in which an aging man fondly remembers a teenage fling with a friend's mother.

Of those three, Banville's is my favourite.

What does the writing of such a book say about Nabokov and, more troublingly, what does the reading of it say about me?

Another Nabokov

Nabokov's short story, Symbols and Signs, features parents struggling to cope with an adult child's mental health issues. See my review HERE. The shock comes from love, not abuse.

Libro amoral que interpela mediante la incomodidad que pretende provocar. Exquisítamente escrito y agobiantemente leído. La oposición y quizá contradicción entre el estilo y el contenido es un logro a enmarcar. Extraordinario.

„Lolita” to, najprościej mówiąc, spowiedź pedofila, któremu zdecydowanie nie można odmówić erudycji — tyle wystarczyło, by wielu uznało najsłynniejsze dzieło Nabokova za historię tragicznej miłości. Skąd jeszcze wzięła się taka interpretacja? Stąd, że narrator właśnie tak nam to przedstawia; wiele zapewnień o uczuciach pada z ust Humberta, jednak żadne z nich nie jest istotne zważywszy na jego zaburzenia. Oprócz tego jest w tej książce wszystko to, co kojarzy się, głownie za sprawą popkultury, z trudną miłością — wielka namiętność, idealizowanie i obsesyjna zazdrość. Ta książka aż kipi od uczuć, szczególnie w drugiej połowie (zakończenie!). I oczywiście są to uczucia chore, zbudowane na moralnie złym fundamencie, ale jednak one w tej powieści są i wywołują dyskomfort. Miłość nie jest dobrym słowem by opisać tę relację, pedofila jak najbardziej słusznym, jednak „książek o pedofilii” jest mnóstwo, ale tylko o tej jednej tak dużo i tak zawzięcie dyskutuje się nawet kilkadziesiąt lat po premierze.

Ponoć niektórym brakuje w „Lolicie” morału wyrażonego wprost, ale ja myślę, że moralizowanie odbiorcy byłoby zabójstwem sensu tej powieści. To jest wielka literatura, która mówi sama przez siebie i której absolutnie nie powinno się w żaden sposób wyjaśniać. Nie jest też winą Nabokova, że wiele lat później w ekranizacjach sens „Lolity” został całkowicie zmieniony.

4.5

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee.

Edgar Allan Poe

*******

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.

This has to be my favorite beginning of a book ever. Is it my favorite book? No...but does it have the most beautiful writing that I have ever come across? Yes...yes it does.

I'll admit it. I was seduced by Lolita...

I was seduced by the gorgeous writing...seduced by the story...and alas, seduced by H.H.



Humbert Humbert has a problem. He is only attracted to the very young. He tries to make excuses- the same excuses many men try to make- to justify their appetites. He also tries to head off his lustful feelings- by marrying someone age appropriate...but it doesn't last...and eventually he flees to the US, hoping to start a new life.



Humbert's intention is to rent a house from the McCoos, only to discover- that their house burned down. A Mrs. Haze offers up her house instead, and Humbert is going to turn her down until he spots her 12-year-old daughter, Dolores. Lolita.



...a girl who reminds him of his lost love...



A beautiful little girl- that through no fault of her own- will make him into a monster.



A side Pantaloonless classic buddy-read with Evgeny, Stepheny, Ginger, Christopher, Erin, Dan, Ashley, and Kristin

He broke my heart. You merely broke my life.
Lolita ~~  Vladimir Nabokov



One of my reading goals for 2021 is to clear books off my Must Read Bucket List. This brings me to Vladimir Nabokov’s, Lolita, one of the first books to make that list years ago.

We all know the story of Nabokov’s disturbing masterpiece ~~ the middle-aged Humbert Humbert embarks on a tragic love affair with his 12-year-old, bubble-gum popping stepdaughter Dolores "Lolita" Haze. n   Lolitan remains as shocking today as it was when first published in 1955.

n   Lolitan has lost none of its power to shock, even after the passage of more than 65 years since it was published. If anything, it may be more disturbing in the 21st Century then when first published.

This is not an easy book to review as n   Lolitan comes with so much baggage. n   Lolitan also comes complete with a classically flawed narrator, Humbert Humbert, whose words can never be taken at face value. With Humbert, Nabokov explores the world of the unreliable narrator and subverts the image of the typical love story, as the ideas of love and depraved obsession are confused with each other.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta, and thus begins Nabokov’s masterpiece, Lolita.



n   Lolitan is thought to be pornographic and depraved. The title alone is enough to stir erotic visions of a young girl, licking on a large sucker, while seductively glancing over her heart shaped sun glasses. And, that’s exactly how the book has been marketed in the past; suckers, heart-shaped sunglasses, lipsticks, lips and young girls, in short skirts, wearing bobby socks and saddle shoes taking a provocative stance. All these elements combined have worked to push the false impression that n   Lolitan is a n  very dirty book.n It’s not. What n   Lolitan is, is an incredibly disconcerting tale.

Interestingly, as I wrote earlier, n   Lolitan is not literary porn. There is nothing erotic or dirty about Lolita. What n   Lolitan is, is a novel of trauma and the damage infatuation causes.

Nabokov’s narrative style is brilliant; not only does it succeed in depicting the mind of a criminal, but it also illustrates the ease with which the reader’s interpretation of events can be swayed with a convincing narrative, even if it is completely erroneous. The intricate narrative not only reflects the convoluted mind of Humbert, but also serves to twist and muddy the reader’s viewpoint, sweeping us along until we realize we are accepting the viewpoint of a paedophile and murderer.



I don’t know how much more there is to say. n   Lolitan has been reviewed to death over the years.

Nabokov’s tragic tale of Lolita, cloaked in Humbert’s twisted, deluded and at times humorous love story is a reminder of the power of the narrator to alter reality ~~ think the previous occupant of the White House ~~ in literature, and in today’s media.

I wouldn’t call n   Lolitan an easy read, I would however definitely recommend this read, especially if you’re looking for something to really challenge and make you think.

In closing, I’m not sure I got everything n   Lolitan is about. But Nabokov impressed me, made me laugh, and moved me. It’s a brilliant novel.