The name of the capital of Kinbote's Zembla (in VN’s novel Pale Fire, 1962, a distant northern land), Onhava seems to hint at heaven. Onhava-onhava means in Zemblan "far, far away." On the other hand, Onhava may hint at Abhâva, and is opposite, Bhava, the Sanskrit terms mentioned by Helena Blavatsky (a Russian and American mystic, the co-founder of the Theosophical Society, 1831-1891) in The Theosophical Glossary (1892):
Abhâva (Sk.). Negation, or non-being of individual objects; the noumenal substance, or abstract objectivity.
Bhava (Sk.). Being, or state of being; the world, a birth, and also a name of Siva.
Abstract objectivity brings to mind the abstact battle being concretely fought in Canto Four of Shade's poem:
Now I shall spy on beauty as none has
Spied on it yet. Now I shall cry out as
None has cried out. Now I shall try what none
Has tried. Now I shall do what none has done.
And speaking of this wonderful machine:
I'm puzzled by the difference between
Two methods of composing: A, the kind
Which goes on solely in the poet's mind,
A testing of performing words, while he
Is soaping a third time one leg, and B,
The other kind, much more decorous, when
He's in his study writing with a pen.
In method B the hand supports the thought,
The abstract battle is concretely fought.
The pen stops in mid-air, then swoops to bar
A canceled sunset or restore a star,
And thus it physically guides the phrase
Toward faint daylight through the inky maze.
But method A is agony! The brain
Is soon enclosed in a steel cap of pain.
A muse in overalls directs the drill
Which grinds and which no effort of the will
Can interrupt, while the automaton
Is taking off what he has just put on
Or walking briskly to the corner store
To buy the paper he has read before. (ll. 835- 860)
According to Kinbote (Shade’s mad commentator who imagines that he is Charles the Beloved, the last self-exiled king of Zembla), Shade composed his last poem in July, 1959:
Pale Fire, a poem in heroic couplets, of nine hundred ninety-nine lines, divided into four cantos, was composed by John Francis Shade (born July 5, 1898, died July 21, 1959) during the last twenty days of his life, at his residence in New Wye, Appalachia, U.S.A. The manuscript, mostly a Fair Copy, from which the present text has been faithfully printed, consists of eighty medium-sized index cards, on each of which Shade reserved the pink upper line for headings (canto number, date) and used the fourteen light-blue lines for writing out with a fine nib in a minute, tidy, remarkably clear hand, the text of his poem, skipping a line to indicate double space, and always using a fresh card to begin a new canto. (Foreword)
In her Theosophical Glossary Helena Blavatsky mentions Ab, the fifth month of the sacred year beginning in July:
Ab (Heb.). The eleventh month of the Hebrew civil year; the fifth of the sacred year beginning in July. [w. w. w.]
Abracadabra (Gn.). This symbolic word first occurs in a medical treatise in verse by Samonicus, who flourished in the reign of the Emperor Septimus Severus. Godfrey Higgins says it is from Abra or Abar "God", in Celtic, and cad "holy"; it was used as a charm, and engraved on Kameas as an amulet. [w.w.w.]
Godfrey Higgins was nearly right, as the word "Abracadabra" is a later corruption of the sacred Gnostic term "Abrasax", the latter itself being a still earlier corruption of a sacred and ancient Coptic or Egyptian word: magic formula which meant in its symbolism "Hurt me not", and addressed the deity in its hieroglyphics as "Father". It was generally attached to an amulet or charm and worn as a Tat (q.v.), on the breast under the garments.
Describing Hazel Shade’s and his own attempts to decipher a message from the ghost, Kinbote mentions a secret design in the abracadabra:
Jane allowed me to copy out some of Hazel's notes from a typescript based on jottings made on the spot:
10:14 P.M. Investigation commenced.
10:23. Scrappy and scrabbly sounds.
10:25. A roundlet of pale light, the size of a small doily, flitted across the dark walls, the boarded windows, and the floor; changed its place; lingered here and there, dancing up and down; seemed to wait in teasing play for evadable pounce. Gone.
10:37. Back again.
The notes continue for several pages but for obvious reasons I must renounce to give them verbatim in this commentary. There were long pauses and "scratches and scrapings" again, and returns of the luminous circlet. She spoke to it. If asked something that it found deliciously silly ("Are you a will-o-the-wisp?") it would dash to and fro in ecstatic negation, and when it wanted to give a grave answer to a grave question ("Are you dead?") would slowly ascend with an air of gathering altitude for a weighty affirmative drop. For brief periods of time it responded to the alphabet she recited by staying put until the right letter was called whereupon it gave a small jump of approval. But these jumps would get more and more listless, and after a couple of words had been slowly spelled out, the roundlet went limp like a tired child and finally crawled into a chink; out of which it suddenly flew with extravagant brio and started to spin around the walls in its eagerness to resume the game. The jumble of broken words and meaningless syllables which she managed at last to collect came out in her dutiful notes as a short line of simple letter-groups. I transcribe:
pada ata lane pad not ogo old wart alan ther tale feur far rant lant tal told.
In her Remarks, the recorder states she had to recite the alphabet, or at least begin to recite it (there is a merciful preponderance of a's) eighty times, but of these seventeen yielded no results. Divisions based on such variable intervals cannot be but rather arbitrary; some of the balderdash may be recombined into other lexical units making no better sense (e. g., "war,""talant," ”her," "arrant," etc.). The barn ghost seems to have expressed himself with the empasted difficulty of apoplexy or of a half-awakening from a half-dream slashed by a sword of light on the ceiling, a military disaster with cosmic consequences that cannot be phrased distinctly by the thick unwilling tongue. And in this case we too might wish to cut short a reader's or bedfellow's questions by sinking back into oblivion's bliss - had not a diabolical force urged us to seek a secret design in the abracadabra,
812 Some kind of link-and-bobolink, some kind
813 Of correlated pattern in the game.
I abhor such games; they make my temples throb with abominable pain - but I have braved it and pored endlessly, with a commentator's infinite patience and disgust, over the crippled syllables in Hazel's report to find the least allusion to the poor girl's fate. Not one hint did I find. Neither old Hentzner's specter, nor an ambushed scamp's toy flashlight, nor her own imaginative hysteria, expresses anything here that might be construed, however remotely, as containing a warning; or having some bearing on the circumstances of her soon-coming death. (note to Line 347)
At the beginning of the same note of his commentary to Shade's poem Kinbote mentions "certain phenomena:"
This barn, or rather shed, where "certain phenomena" occurred in October 1956 (a few months prior to Hazel Shade's death) had belonged to one Paul Hentzner, an eccentric farmer of German extraction, with old-fashioned hobbies such as taxidermy and herborizing. Through an odd trick of atavism, he was (according to Shade who liked to talk about him - the only time, incidentally, when my sweet old friend became a tiny bit of a bore!) a throwback to the "curious Germans" who three centuries ago had been the fathers of the first great naturalists. Although by academic standards an uneducated man, with no real knowledge of far things in space or time, he had about him a colorful and earthy something that pleased John Shade much better than the suburban refinements of the English Department. He who displayed such fastidious care in his choice of fellow ramblers liked to trudge with the gaunt solemn German, every other evening, up the wood path to Dulwich, and all around his acquaintance's fields. Delighting as he did in the right word, he esteemed Hentzner for knowing "the names of things" - though some of those names were no doubt local monstrosities, or Germanisms, or pure inventions on the old rascal's part. (ibid.)
"Certain phenomena" in the Haunted Barn investigated by Hazel Shade (the poet's daughter) bring to mind la femme aux phénomènes (one of the three or four hypostases of Helena Blavatsky). Shade’s poem is almost finished when the author is killed by Gradus. Kinbote believes that, to be completed, Shade’s poem needs but one line (Line 1000, identical to Line 1: “I was the shadow of the waxwing slain”). But it seems that, like some sonnets, Shade's poem also needs a coda (Line 1001: “By its own double in the windowpane”). Shade's murderer, Gradus (a member of the Shadows, a regicidal organization) is Kinbote's double. Can the Double Murder? (1877) is a story by Helena Blavatsky.