Perhaps Nabokov, who was capable of uninhibited, uproarious laughter, would have enjoyed
        some original details in the Joe Wright directed Anna Karenina. My favorite moment was during
        the race scene when Frou Frou, Vronsky holding on for dear life, crashes into the orchestra
        pit.

        Jerry Katsell






On 4/28/2013 7:42 AM, Jansy wrote:
Carolyn Kunin: At the moment I can't recall Pnin's first (Christian) name. Reminding me of that moment of great suspense in Oscar Wilde's play, when Aunt Augusta "cawn't recall what the General's christian name was" which of course was the whole point of the comedy, The Importance of Being Earnest.* Nor can I recall at the moment what our author's attitude toward the great Irish comics was -- I'm sure he was unaware of Somerville and Ross, but surely he had something to say of the famous resident of Reading Gaol ... (the other great Irish comic writer I was thinking of is of course the great GBS -- what anglophile isn't aware of him?) [   ] His name turned out to be, to everyone's delight except Aunt Augusta's, that the General had indeed been christened Earnest. But what his surname was, I'm sure I have no idea.
 
Eric Hyman: “But what his surname was, I'm sure I have no idea.”:  Moncrieff. (Yes, we are getting away from VN, and I wouldn’t be surprised or disappointed if you don’t post this.)
 
Jansy Mello: Your writing now follows Nabokov's stride in a way and so does Carolyn's spray of associations, inspite of their unexpected aims.
I'm glad that SES posted your reply to her query. Pnin is Timofey. Saint Vladimir's day is on July 15. Nabokov describes famous birthday parties, the most memorable are Ada's picnics in Ardis. I don't remember VN's own childhood festivities but I seem to recollect a cousin's when the kids played hide and seek and forgot all about him. Rejection, boredom and loneliness is also a part of any idyllic childhood, its dark contours perhaps. 
btw, inspite of innumerous inspired angles and photography, or the play inside the play blending fictional reality and its representation, I disliked enormously the recent production of Anna Karenina, directed by Joe Wright. The real world of a novelist, at least its intelligibility, gains consistency by details (caress them) and I missed them all, inspite of all the luxurious lamps and trinkets.
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Google Search the archive Contact the Editors Visit "Nabokov Online Journal" Visit Zembla View Nabokv-L Policies Manage subscription options Visit AdaOnline View NSJ Ada Annotations Temporary L-Soft Search the archive

All private editorial communications are read by both co-editors.