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Re: Fw: [NABOKOV -L] [THOUGHTS] Botkin
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The Nabokovian (65, Fall 2010): "as you fly, swallowlike.../find one plain word within this world,/...where moth and rust do not corrupt." ( from V.Nabokov, "The University Poem").
Speak Memory: Ch.5 "The man in me revolts against the fictionist, and here is my desperate attempt to save what is left of poor Mademoiselle..." (95);
"What am I doing in this stereoscopic dreamland?...the two sleighs have slipped away, leaving behind a passportless spy standing on the blue-white road in his New England snowboots and stormcoat...All is still spellbound, enthralled by the moon, fancy's rear-vision mirror. The snow is real, though, and as I bend to it and scoop up a handful, sixty years crumble to a glittering frost-dust between my fingers." (100)
JM When the man in Nabokov revolts against the fictionist, the real snow the writer holds in his hands is transformed back again into an imagined scene by his writing. And yet, also shaped by his writing, the snow retains something of its physical "realness". The plain word "snow," by the special tilt Nabokov has added to its spinning ( "where moth and rust do not corrupt,/ cherishing each instant,/ blessing each motion,/ do not allow it to freeze still, perceive the delicate rotation/ of the slightly tilted earth"), now reveals, through a ressurrected child with his Mademoiselle in a Russian scene, a trace of the real timeless Nabokov.
Or so it feels to me.
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Speak Memory: Ch.5 "The man in me revolts against the fictionist, and here is my desperate attempt to save what is left of poor Mademoiselle..." (95);
"What am I doing in this stereoscopic dreamland?...the two sleighs have slipped away, leaving behind a passportless spy standing on the blue-white road in his New England snowboots and stormcoat...All is still spellbound, enthralled by the moon, fancy's rear-vision mirror. The snow is real, though, and as I bend to it and scoop up a handful, sixty years crumble to a glittering frost-dust between my fingers." (100)
JM When the man in Nabokov revolts against the fictionist, the real snow the writer holds in his hands is transformed back again into an imagined scene by his writing. And yet, also shaped by his writing, the snow retains something of its physical "realness". The plain word "snow," by the special tilt Nabokov has added to its spinning ( "where moth and rust do not corrupt,/ cherishing each instant,/ blessing each motion,/ do not allow it to freeze still, perceive the delicate rotation/ of the slightly tilted earth"), now reveals, through a ressurrected child with his Mademoiselle in a Russian scene, a trace of the real timeless Nabokov.
Or so it feels to me.
Search archive with Google:
http://www.google.com/advanced_search?q=site:listserv.ucsb.edu&HL=en
Contact the Editors: mailto:nabokv-l@utk.edu,nabokv-l@holycross.edu
Visit Zembla: http://www.libraries.psu.edu/nabokov/zembla.htm
View Nabokv-L policies: http://web.utk.edu/~sblackwe/EDNote.htm
Visit "Nabokov Online Journal:" http://www.nabokovonline.com
Manage subscription options: http://listserv.ucsb.edu/