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Thanks for noticing and posting those chronological errors. Alas, that is the least of it. Some months ago the very kind and courteous Yana and Yuri Zubtsov of Domovoy approached me for an interview through my cousin Michael Massalky. We agreed that, before they came to Montreux, they would submit a small number of questions. Setting other important matters aside, I promptly and attentively replied. They said they were very happy with my answers. After a long and very agreeable chat in Montreux, they sent me the proofs of their piece from Russia. I was disappointed to find that, amid many valid or well-meant items, the things I had written and said were often inaccurately reported, and abundantly laced with extraneous and often incorrect information. Yuri was terribly sorry, and only then explained that the issue had to go to press immediately, and their article had largely been prepared in advance before their departure for Montreux, and on the way there, on the basis of "research" done beforehand. Apparently the visit to DN was but prestigious icing on a hasty cake from a grab-bag of ingredients. A few last-minute changes eliminated some of the worst blunders but left many inaccuracies. I have maintained friendly relations with Yana and Yuri, because they were truly nice and truly apologetic. But some axioms persist: As one learns in any intelligence school, one must verify and weigh his sources. No matter how nice, journalists cannot be fully trusted, unless one charges them an arm and a leg for the interview, and demands approval of every word in advance. "Research," in the journalistic context, is, predominantly a dirty word. Case in point: the Domovoy article was full of misinformation based on the indiscriminate consultation of materials that happened to be about the Nabokovs. I shall give neither examples nor names, since disagreement and criticism seem invariably to be interpreted as ad hominem aggression, with homo, contrary to the directives of correctspeak, encompassing mulier. I would not mind so much, if all this spurious stuff did not embed itself ever deeper, every time it is dignified by printed or online publication, in the canon of Nabokoviana.