September 30, 2013

Chapter 31 of Part One is yet another soliloquy by Humbert to the "sensitive gentlewomen of the jury" (135).  It begins thus, "I am trying to describe these things not to relive them in my present boundless misery, but to sort out the portion of hell and portion of heaven in that strange, awful, maddening world– nymphet love" (135).  Interesting to note that though his body is bounded physically by the prison walls, his misery is not, it extends beyond himself, or at least rhetorically, possibly in a bid to persuade the reader, or the "jury" of a state of mind that would net some sympathy.  Whether or not he is actually miserable is one, impossible to know, and two, beside the point.  Furthermore, the verb, "relive" in that sentence suggests at once, the act of remembering, and the veracity of the original events in question.  That Humbert describes the world (as different from the "real" world?) of nymphet love (if it is love) in terms of a duality (hell ; heaven) recalls the numerous other oppositions in the novel-memoir, such as, "the beastly and beautiful," which is restated in the next line (135).  This "world," as Humbert would like us to think, is "strange, awful, maddening," which seems to exonerate Humbert by suggesting his relation to it is unnatural, repulsive and insane; i.e., Humbert cannot be helped, his actions are compulsory, out of his control (135).  If he is in control, it, the world of nymphet love, would not possess such "negative" modifiers.  However, this string of characteristics, like the "sensitive gentlewomen" or "boundless misery," my emphasis, could be read as a common ruse on Humbert's part to deceive the reader, but then these are lies, calling into question the validity of all his statements and related memories throughout the text (135).       

September 25, 2013

1. Humbert's arctic expedition seems surprising and off-key. What does it indicate about his character? It is followed by a "bout with insanity." How are we to understand this - what do you suppose really happens?

A man with a secret to hide might find the sparsely inhabited Arctic easier going than the dense populations of Europe or America.  As Humbert remarks, "my health improved wonderfully in spite or because of all the fantastic blankness and boredom.  Surrounded by such dejected vegetation as willow scrubs and lichens... I felt curiously aloof from my own self" (33).  The emptiness, that is, the lack of civilization– its technologies and institutions and society– amplifies a certain mental and spiritual quietude.  The natural landscape, free of distracting humdingers, provides space and time for personal reflection; Humbert's task, moreover, is to be a "'recorder of psychic reactions,'" which, in a place such as the remote boreal forests of Canada ,might become, for any individual, gratuitous, if viewed from the orthodox or circumscribed perspectives of civil society (33).  Ironically, it is Humbert whom, it might be said of generally, possesses some rather prodigal notions.  His subsequent "bout with insanity" then could be indicative of a more general amplifying capacity than above of such meager surroundings to augment pre-existing complexes.  

September 23, 2013

Issue: "obvious" fiction vs. the assumption that this is all true

"When I try to analyze my own cravings, motives, actions and so forth, I surrender to a sort of retrospective imagination which feeds the analytic faculty with boundless alternatives and which causes each visualized route to fork and re-fork without end in the maddeningly complex prospect of my past. I am convinced, however, that in a certain magic and fateful way Lolita began with Annabel" (13-14).

Everyone's past is complex and we necessarily approach it from the present; in this Humbert is not wrong, he is merely as unable as the rest of us to mine every piece of our previous lives out of our minds.  It does not mean that what he, Humbert, recounts of his memories for our reading is necessarily false (ignoring for a moment his fictitious nature).  However, when he says, "Lolita began with Annabel," it could mean his desire, passion, for Lolita began with Annabel, but it might also mean that this story, "Lolita, or the Confession of a White Widowed Male," began in another story, "Annabel"(3).         

"Actually, she was at least in her late twenties (I never established her exact age for even her passport lied) and had mislaid her virginity under circumstances that changed with her reminiscent moods" (25).

In this passage, the parenthetical discovery of a lie, told by a passport (Valeria's) an object, of which we expect indefatigable scrupulousness, constructs a "reality;" however, this reputed "reality" is established, paradoxically, by a negation of truth.  Furthermore, the changing circumstances surrounding the loss of her, Valeria's, virginity reiterates the "maddeningly complex prospect of [the] past" (13).  

"In looking through the latter volume, I was treated last night to one of those dazzling coincidences that logicians loathe and poets love. I transcribe most of the page:..." (31).

While the tense shifts constantly between past and non-past in Book One, these moments when Humbert writes declaratively directly to the audience from the present (incarcerated) moment of his "actual" writing of this text helps to lend the rest of his story credence.  Coincidence as well is interesting here, because, for one thing, coincidences (or the perception of such phenomena) are mystifying, yet somehow enhance one's experience of "reality;" additionally, it might be said by one strictly speaking, that fiction (literary invention, not, perforce, perjury) and truth (veracity, non-fiction, cogency, etc.) are coinciding in this passage and in the book generally.    

September 18, 2013

Humbert Humbert's father, his "mon cher petit papa, took me out boating and biking, taught me to swim and drive and water-ski, read to me Don Quixote and Les Misérables, and I adored and respected him and felt glad for him whenever I overheard the servants discuss his various lady-friends, beautiful and kind beings who made much of me and cooed and shed precious tears over my cheerful motherlessness" (10-11).  The father, apparently, played an active role in his son's childhood, was a good father; spent time with his son, bonded with him, as one would hope for a single father.  The books he read to Humbert were romantic, adventurous stories of love, and good chivalric, principled love at that; that being said, both romances are idealized and unreal.  Additionally, the "various lady-friends," while ambiguously stated, suggests that the father did not have the same sort of dedication to one lover like either the Don or Marius.  This fact might have influenced Humbert's love life, insofar as his own relationships with women (mature, or of a certain, socially acceptable age) never mature in their own right.  Humbert's "cheerful motherlessness" is a rather odd expression– it could be, that sense his mother died when he was so young, combined with the strong presence and camaraderie showed by his father, Humbert did not grieve heavily for the loss.  At the same time, however, it is somewhat bewildering to imagine that his lacking a mother resulted in cheerfulness– perhaps this almost oxymoronic dynamic is evidence for Humbert's perversion, for lack of a better word.                  

September 16, 2013

The fraudulent foreword and the opening chapters of the novel (memoir) are the legend on the map of this “reality.”  John Ray, Jr., Ph.D. is clearly Nabokov (even without reading his note at the end); the purpose of this foreword would seem to be then, a device for culling authenticity– the man is a Ph.D., mind you.  This book, like several of Daniel Defoe’s works- e.g. Robinson Crusoe (alluded to in The Enchanter) and Roxana (also in several of Borges' stories do we find invented scholars expound on esoteric, erudite subjects e.g. "Three Versions of Judas")  attempts to render what is, in “reality,” fiction, as “reality:” which is, oddly (or perhaps not), almost tautological.

The naturalistic endeavor, blended with Nabokov’s quite literary style– which is seemingly clumsily accounted for by Humbert’s literary education– causes some tension within the reader.  Normally, generally, one suspends disbelief in order to read and immerse oneself in the unreal real world of a text, but with Lolita, we stop short of this suspension and are asked, by the author ( Nabokov/Humbert), to believe in the (obvious?) fiction.      

September 9, 2013

When our man tells us that he is “a pickpocket, not a burglar” (for both are thieves) and then invokes Defoe, he is performing the time-honored Jesuit tradition of casuistic moral argument (4).  The eponymous character of Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe enslaves a native islander, whom he (re)christens- Friday; our enchanter, from his position in history, has learned from his society that child molestation (slavery for Crusoe) is wrong, but on a secluded island, where no society, and hence no laws of men abide, his taking of a young girl, (equal to Crusoe’s enslaving Friday) seems a mere trifle compared to a starved desire (body). To suggest that a sandy scenery for “this”/ “it” could positively, morally (based on contemporary social conventions), affect the enchanter's “coming to terms” is indicative of the man's delusional thought-patterns (3).

The enchanter is quite right when he says the island would be “but a license to grow savage” (4).  For, he does give up his “absolutely invisible method” in exchange for the fateful opportunity at the heart of this novella (4).  However, the remark about the “vicious [circle], with a palm tree at its center” might suggest a moment of lucidity: the enchanter realizes his tangential position on the circle, ineffectual and barred from the arboreal (and Edenic) center.