Subject
Book Reviews (fwd)
Date
Body
EDITOR'S NOTE. Mark Spyrison <spiro@iAmerica.net> offers the following
squibs from "one man's reading of Nabokov."
Due to the recent absence of commentary concerning Mr. Nabokov, I felt
charged to provide some of my own in the hopes of encouraging more of same.
Granted, these cursory comments might be considered somewhat self-indulgent
on my part. Nonetheless, desperate men do desperate things, I being no
exception in either regard. I dug up the following reviews from a reclusive
disk I must have mislaid at one time or another. I offer them now for one's
pleasure or pain:
_Tyrants Destroyed and other stories_. "Tyrants Destroyed" is an apposite
beginning for a Nabokov book of tales in that it involves a pensive
neurotic beriddled with ambivalence. Written in first person, this
malevolent narrator desires nothing less than the death of his country's
seditious tyrant whose incompetence, he believes, led to his brother's
drowning years ago when the two were acquaintances. His further
justifications for absolute enmity is laid out in elegant detail, making
this narrative a joy to read. However, while I could vicariously
participate in this narrator's animosity for both his fellowmen's
gullibility and their leader's ignoble character, the last five pages of
his storytelling took such an oscillatory swing in attitude, such an
about-face in character, that it passed as anything but convincing.
"A Nursery Tale" is an interesting story of a shy man suffering from
satyriasis and whose sole focus is to own a harem. His dream remains
unobtainable until one day when he meets a reincarnation of Satan who
offers him his heart's desire on a unique condition. Yet while our
escapist, Erwin, fails in his attempt to acquire his dream-harem, his soul
remains intact.
"Music" is a very short account of Victor who, despite both his lack of
understanding for music and his unwitting disinterest in such arts,
attends a piano recital and spots his ex-wife among the attendants. That
is the hell of it, as they say. But Nabokov's flair and flames are what
make an average idea burn with fervor, making this telling deserving of
the busiest person's time.
"Lik," a short story named after the lead character, has no more focus of
ambition than the protagonist himself. Exceptional writing; poor story.
"Recruiting" is a short piece about a writer who happens upon a very old
man suffering from tuberculosis, obesity, and family loss. Compelled by
an ineffable affinity, our narrator chooses this bundle of flesh and age
as a character to be placed in one of his future works of fiction while
aligning his literary prerogative with what he unjustifiably terms
"complicity".
"Terror" is a look at the fears one man experiences when he is brought
back to the shocking realization of just who he is. Socrates said an
unquestioned life is not worth living; Nabokov suggest a life gone
unquestioned for too long can be frightening. One evening the narrator
looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize himself. He goes home to his
angelic wife and is horror-struck. Reality takes on dream-like qualities
that force him to identify the difference. I'm reminded of the song
entitled Once in a Lifetime by "Talking Heads": "And you may ask yourself:
'Is this my beautiful house? Is this my beautiful wife?'" Yet here again
his tale reads like a fascicle, a random excerpt from a novel. It's as if
Nabokov pulled out nine pages of his book as a sneak preview when the
whole work would treat the material in question more fairly.
"The Admiralty Spire" is good, so good that I fear my petty synopsis would
only vitiate the work, particularly the ending.
"A Matter of Chance" is a morbid piece about a drifter who works as a
waiter on a German commercial train. His heretofore losses have somehow
instigated cocaine as a habit, and the effects of the drug, in turn, lead
to contemplations of suicide. At one point, unbeknownst to our addict,
his wife, whom he has not seen in five years, boards his train. When he
finally spots her, he is too far under the influence of that poisonous
powder to recognize her. Thus, their last hopes of reunion are lost as
our hopeless addict hurls himself in front of an oncoming train.
"In Memory of L. I. Shigaev" traces a brief period in Victor's life,
covering episodes such as his fight with his girlfriend, his expulsion
from a publishing company at which he worked, his hallucinations of small
devils, and his conversations with, and admiration for, the deceased,
Leonid Ivanovich Shigaev, for whom he has titled this story. I enjoyed
this tale. I only wish the ending wasn't so inappropriate and so
self-absorbing.
"Bachmann" is an account of a temperamental pianist whose creativity is
inspired by a married woman he doesn't love. While she is convinced that
their liaisons are significant, our virtuoso is too absorbed in his own
music to give adequate regard for his lover's needs, and his indifference
to her infatuation dissolves only when she becomes ill.
"Perfection" bares the inner thoughts, fears, and hopes of Ivanov, a
Russian teacher who would rather contemplate unvisited landscapes, missed
opportunities, and people he has never met than replace the same
dilapidated black suit he has worn for years. When asked to take one of
his students to the Baltic Sea for vacation, Ivanov reluctantly agrees but
soon discovers he is unfit for such a demanding ordeal. This is yet
another of Nabokov's beautiful stories equipped with a tragic ending for
good measure.
"Vasiliy Shishkov" is named after a struggling poet who meets the narrator
and elicits his critique with hopes of publishing a monthly magazine of
poetry. These hopes are shot down by his peers, and, shortly thereafter,
our poet vanishes into what our narrator suggests might be his very own
verse.
"The Vane Sisters" focuses mostly on Cynthia after her younger sister's
suicide. Cynthia's quirky, posthumous spiritualism fails miserably as a
reasonable perspective, and our narrator eventually decides not to further
his relationship with her or her eccentric friends. But one night after
Cynthia's death, our narrator begins to wonder if there is any validity to
her philosophy, and the last paragraph in his telling of this tale,
unbeknownst to him, is an acrostic, subject to the dead sister's
influence.
_Transparent Things_. Exceptionally deep and well told.
_Pnin_. Nabokov's details and descriptions are absolute poetry. His works
are such treasure troves of language and thought.
_The Enchanter_. A powerfully rendered, albeit perverse, novella, equally
inspiring in style as it is repugnant in content.
_Look At The Harlequins!_ This story would suffer the impersonal stroke of
summarization. So I'll refuse that temptation and instead stand in silent
awe of this author's talent and acumen. My literary aspirations soar
amidst his printed redemptions. I haven't the literary strength to
harness a legible criticism, however. Slowly I'm descending that bound,
typed platitude Nabokov provoked me to visit, but I'm still dizzy from
that rich alliteration, those alphabetic regalities, and while I keep
turning back to snatch those precious prose, I fear I must, for now at
least, leave them above and behind me.
_Glory_. Wonderfully well written, though not his best work. And don't
be fooled by the title; the protagonist's 'glory' is entirely naive and
misguided. In fact, one could say 'glory' is in the eye of the myopic
beholder.
_Despair_. Brilliant! Hermann, the protagonist, an absolute scoundrel,
tells so many lies to his wife and his acquaintances that he succeeds in
fooling even himself. So much so that his demented motives eventually
produce what might have otherwise proved a crime most ingenious, or should
I say ingenuous? (In this case, the two adjectives seem to overlap.) Only
that breathing reflection, that redounding double, that convenient
cadaver, would have brought Hermann financial salvation. Had it not been
for the plan's one fatal flaw -- a flaw obvious to everyone but Hermann --
poor Hermann would have escaped suspicion and lived life anew. Only our
protagonist's false duality forces his stratagem into collapse. And we are
left satisfied with . . . what? Did you think I would give away that
glorious ending?
_Lolita_. Truly the best novel I have yet read! The telling is superb;
the numerous travels he and Lolita embark upon are related so well and
beautifully that it became difficult for me to begrudge this neurotic
anarchist. Humbert's perverse perspective is genuine and sad. I pity him
as much as I do his victim. Perhaps more.
_The Defense_. A touching yet somewhat dismal story about a grandmaster's
fixation for chess and the sympathy his somewhat morose genius produces in
his fiancee and her family. After his nervous breakdown, he is prescribed
abstinence from the game. And it isn't until near the end of the novel
that his inherent need for the board inveigles him into plunging
irretrievably into its squares and shapes.
_Bend Sinister_. Somewhat self-absorbing but still wonderfully rendered.
I can't get enough of this guy! His vocabulary, insight, puns, jokes, and
detail are superb, hypnotic. Truly a master in his golden field.
_King, Queen, Knave_. Dark, witty, wonderful.
_Invitation To A Beheading_. A surreal journey into a unique perspective
on psychological terrorism. Fantastic!
-- Spiro
squibs from "one man's reading of Nabokov."
Due to the recent absence of commentary concerning Mr. Nabokov, I felt
charged to provide some of my own in the hopes of encouraging more of same.
Granted, these cursory comments might be considered somewhat self-indulgent
on my part. Nonetheless, desperate men do desperate things, I being no
exception in either regard. I dug up the following reviews from a reclusive
disk I must have mislaid at one time or another. I offer them now for one's
pleasure or pain:
_Tyrants Destroyed and other stories_. "Tyrants Destroyed" is an apposite
beginning for a Nabokov book of tales in that it involves a pensive
neurotic beriddled with ambivalence. Written in first person, this
malevolent narrator desires nothing less than the death of his country's
seditious tyrant whose incompetence, he believes, led to his brother's
drowning years ago when the two were acquaintances. His further
justifications for absolute enmity is laid out in elegant detail, making
this narrative a joy to read. However, while I could vicariously
participate in this narrator's animosity for both his fellowmen's
gullibility and their leader's ignoble character, the last five pages of
his storytelling took such an oscillatory swing in attitude, such an
about-face in character, that it passed as anything but convincing.
"A Nursery Tale" is an interesting story of a shy man suffering from
satyriasis and whose sole focus is to own a harem. His dream remains
unobtainable until one day when he meets a reincarnation of Satan who
offers him his heart's desire on a unique condition. Yet while our
escapist, Erwin, fails in his attempt to acquire his dream-harem, his soul
remains intact.
"Music" is a very short account of Victor who, despite both his lack of
understanding for music and his unwitting disinterest in such arts,
attends a piano recital and spots his ex-wife among the attendants. That
is the hell of it, as they say. But Nabokov's flair and flames are what
make an average idea burn with fervor, making this telling deserving of
the busiest person's time.
"Lik," a short story named after the lead character, has no more focus of
ambition than the protagonist himself. Exceptional writing; poor story.
"Recruiting" is a short piece about a writer who happens upon a very old
man suffering from tuberculosis, obesity, and family loss. Compelled by
an ineffable affinity, our narrator chooses this bundle of flesh and age
as a character to be placed in one of his future works of fiction while
aligning his literary prerogative with what he unjustifiably terms
"complicity".
"Terror" is a look at the fears one man experiences when he is brought
back to the shocking realization of just who he is. Socrates said an
unquestioned life is not worth living; Nabokov suggest a life gone
unquestioned for too long can be frightening. One evening the narrator
looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize himself. He goes home to his
angelic wife and is horror-struck. Reality takes on dream-like qualities
that force him to identify the difference. I'm reminded of the song
entitled Once in a Lifetime by "Talking Heads": "And you may ask yourself:
'Is this my beautiful house? Is this my beautiful wife?'" Yet here again
his tale reads like a fascicle, a random excerpt from a novel. It's as if
Nabokov pulled out nine pages of his book as a sneak preview when the
whole work would treat the material in question more fairly.
"The Admiralty Spire" is good, so good that I fear my petty synopsis would
only vitiate the work, particularly the ending.
"A Matter of Chance" is a morbid piece about a drifter who works as a
waiter on a German commercial train. His heretofore losses have somehow
instigated cocaine as a habit, and the effects of the drug, in turn, lead
to contemplations of suicide. At one point, unbeknownst to our addict,
his wife, whom he has not seen in five years, boards his train. When he
finally spots her, he is too far under the influence of that poisonous
powder to recognize her. Thus, their last hopes of reunion are lost as
our hopeless addict hurls himself in front of an oncoming train.
"In Memory of L. I. Shigaev" traces a brief period in Victor's life,
covering episodes such as his fight with his girlfriend, his expulsion
from a publishing company at which he worked, his hallucinations of small
devils, and his conversations with, and admiration for, the deceased,
Leonid Ivanovich Shigaev, for whom he has titled this story. I enjoyed
this tale. I only wish the ending wasn't so inappropriate and so
self-absorbing.
"Bachmann" is an account of a temperamental pianist whose creativity is
inspired by a married woman he doesn't love. While she is convinced that
their liaisons are significant, our virtuoso is too absorbed in his own
music to give adequate regard for his lover's needs, and his indifference
to her infatuation dissolves only when she becomes ill.
"Perfection" bares the inner thoughts, fears, and hopes of Ivanov, a
Russian teacher who would rather contemplate unvisited landscapes, missed
opportunities, and people he has never met than replace the same
dilapidated black suit he has worn for years. When asked to take one of
his students to the Baltic Sea for vacation, Ivanov reluctantly agrees but
soon discovers he is unfit for such a demanding ordeal. This is yet
another of Nabokov's beautiful stories equipped with a tragic ending for
good measure.
"Vasiliy Shishkov" is named after a struggling poet who meets the narrator
and elicits his critique with hopes of publishing a monthly magazine of
poetry. These hopes are shot down by his peers, and, shortly thereafter,
our poet vanishes into what our narrator suggests might be his very own
verse.
"The Vane Sisters" focuses mostly on Cynthia after her younger sister's
suicide. Cynthia's quirky, posthumous spiritualism fails miserably as a
reasonable perspective, and our narrator eventually decides not to further
his relationship with her or her eccentric friends. But one night after
Cynthia's death, our narrator begins to wonder if there is any validity to
her philosophy, and the last paragraph in his telling of this tale,
unbeknownst to him, is an acrostic, subject to the dead sister's
influence.
_Transparent Things_. Exceptionally deep and well told.
_Pnin_. Nabokov's details and descriptions are absolute poetry. His works
are such treasure troves of language and thought.
_The Enchanter_. A powerfully rendered, albeit perverse, novella, equally
inspiring in style as it is repugnant in content.
_Look At The Harlequins!_ This story would suffer the impersonal stroke of
summarization. So I'll refuse that temptation and instead stand in silent
awe of this author's talent and acumen. My literary aspirations soar
amidst his printed redemptions. I haven't the literary strength to
harness a legible criticism, however. Slowly I'm descending that bound,
typed platitude Nabokov provoked me to visit, but I'm still dizzy from
that rich alliteration, those alphabetic regalities, and while I keep
turning back to snatch those precious prose, I fear I must, for now at
least, leave them above and behind me.
_Glory_. Wonderfully well written, though not his best work. And don't
be fooled by the title; the protagonist's 'glory' is entirely naive and
misguided. In fact, one could say 'glory' is in the eye of the myopic
beholder.
_Despair_. Brilliant! Hermann, the protagonist, an absolute scoundrel,
tells so many lies to his wife and his acquaintances that he succeeds in
fooling even himself. So much so that his demented motives eventually
produce what might have otherwise proved a crime most ingenious, or should
I say ingenuous? (In this case, the two adjectives seem to overlap.) Only
that breathing reflection, that redounding double, that convenient
cadaver, would have brought Hermann financial salvation. Had it not been
for the plan's one fatal flaw -- a flaw obvious to everyone but Hermann --
poor Hermann would have escaped suspicion and lived life anew. Only our
protagonist's false duality forces his stratagem into collapse. And we are
left satisfied with . . . what? Did you think I would give away that
glorious ending?
_Lolita_. Truly the best novel I have yet read! The telling is superb;
the numerous travels he and Lolita embark upon are related so well and
beautifully that it became difficult for me to begrudge this neurotic
anarchist. Humbert's perverse perspective is genuine and sad. I pity him
as much as I do his victim. Perhaps more.
_The Defense_. A touching yet somewhat dismal story about a grandmaster's
fixation for chess and the sympathy his somewhat morose genius produces in
his fiancee and her family. After his nervous breakdown, he is prescribed
abstinence from the game. And it isn't until near the end of the novel
that his inherent need for the board inveigles him into plunging
irretrievably into its squares and shapes.
_Bend Sinister_. Somewhat self-absorbing but still wonderfully rendered.
I can't get enough of this guy! His vocabulary, insight, puns, jokes, and
detail are superb, hypnotic. Truly a master in his golden field.
_King, Queen, Knave_. Dark, witty, wonderful.
_Invitation To A Beheading_. A surreal journey into a unique perspective
on psychological terrorism. Fantastic!
-- Spiro