Novel #1 - "Laughter in the Dark" Part I: The Artist vs. The Critic

About two days ago, I had a startling moment of lucidity in which I realized the dubiousness of what it is that I am trying to accomplish. Before I discuss the first novel, I merely wish to tip a tentative hat to this dark cloud of doubt, as an essay’s argument nods to those points that threaten to overthrow its meticulously constructed thesis in order to lessen the sting of their blows. (Circumlocutory, elaborate verbosity … clearly, someone’s been reading Nabokov.)

I realized that I am trying to squeeze lemon juice from oranges, as it were. I am attempting to extract something from Nabokov's novels that, unlike most trails worthy of “scholarly” pursuits, was never woven into the text to lay dormant in anticipation of being unearthed by some raving bookworm.

In short, I fully realize that Nabokov did not write his novels to teach others how to write.

But – and here is the hesitation that drives the entire body of what could otherwise be deemed a trivial pursuit – but nor is literature explicitly intended to be a lesson in morality, or a guide for living your best life, or a method of escapism. Just like music is not written to ease the struggle of stationary cardio, or help you get over the death of your fish, or clog up a rapidly evolving industry with useless garbage (I think, but that’s another blog altogether…)

And yet … … …

Consider my efforts justified.

So. 'Laughter in the Dark.' Published in 1938, 'Laughter' marked Nabokov’s sixth novel, originally written in Russian and later translated into English. Overall, I’d call it a painfully ironic novel that is merciless in its structural concision despite the absurdity of events. You laugh, and you feel like a terrible human being. In terms of authorship, that’s power.

I positively adored it.

Possessing many parallels to 'Lolita,' 'Laughter in the Dark' involves a middle-aged man (Albert Albinus, a respected art critic) who is drawn to a much younger woman (Margot Peters), only to be eventually usurped by another man (Axel Rex.) In ‘Lolita,’ the infamous Humbert Humbert, the ‘nymphet’ Dolores Haze, and the playwright Clare Quilty form a similar triad.

The similarities continue with the relationships between the three characters. Albinus’ attraction to Margot is self-explanatory – the notable difference being that Margot is eighteen when their attraction develops, thus sidestepping so much of the hostility with which 'Lolita' was met. What was of greater interest to me was the relationship between Albinus and Rex, which bore much in common with the antipathy between Humbert and Quilty. Both Humbert and Albinus are scholars – admittedly, scholars who are passionate about art – but remain critics rather than creators. On the opposing side, both Quilty and Rex are makers of art – Quilty a playwright, and Rex a cartoonist. Oddly enough, the artist in both cases dupes the scholar.

Hmm – critic vs. artist … Tajja vs. Nabokov … and the artist always wins. You can imagine how this implicit suggestion made me feel. (Ha!)

But in all seriousness, I thought it a very interesting dichotomy. It mirrored a division that I have often felt in myself – the desire to critique versus create art. It is my desire to have the two coexist peacefully in my life (the study of English, and the writing of music, poetry, and eventually prose), but I have often had the feeling that I am home to two different people, Jekyll-and-Hyde style. Academic Tajja rolls her eyes when Artistic Tajja has a melody running around in her head while Academic Tajja is trying to write an essay. But don’t roll your eyes too obviously, Academic Tajja – apparently, Artistic Tajja can kick your ass.

It reminded me of a quote from 'Lolita': “And now take down the following important remark: the artist in me has been given the upper hand over the gentleman” (Nabokov, 71).

Of this quote, I wrote in an essay: “… Humbert produces the arresting image of a duality within himself – one half a resigned moralist, and the other a passionate artist who has won the fistfight over his craving to experience the magic of nymphets” (Isen, 2009).

(Yessir. I just cited myself.)

The artist is dastardly, the artist is obscene. The artist throws open the windows and prowls around stark naked, tickling the lips of blind men with stalks of grass simply because he can. (Nabokov’s image, not mine.) The critic is relegated to the role of ‘resigned moralist,’ adhering to conventions of form and tradition, while the artist is unbound by such trifling limits. The artist is transcendent, operating beyond the rules. And as such, the artist always wins the fistfight. (Suddenly, the “put-‘em-up” images of Nabokov and myself along the sides of this page are starting to seem much more literally relevant.)

Art is reality’s cookie-jar-swiping younger brother, who gets away with all sorts of mischief that reality could never get away with. Or try this: art is dowdy reality’s sexy friend who looks absolutely stunning in the most outlandish of regalia that reality couldn’t pull off even on her best of days.

Fiona Apple never said to her ex-boyfriend, “You say love is a hell you cannot bear/and I say give me mine back and then go there, for all I care,” but fashion the barb into a song, and when he hears it blaring from the television while cavorting with a new flame, it’ll hit him where it hurts. Suddenly cavorting doesn’t seem so appealing any more. True story.

Bringing the discussion full circle, it seems that I am forging a rare path in the artist/critic 'duality.' I am attempting to use the critic's role to understand the intricacies of the role of the artist, which will hopefully allow me to assume that position one day.

I don't want to be the blind man brushing away the stalk of grass ... I want to be the naked man tormenting him. And I mean that in the most figurative sense.

I have so much more to say, but I think this is a nice point at which to close (visualize preceding image.) No, really, I think I’ll divide my discussion on 'Laughter' into two separate posts, namely because what I've written forms a fairly cohesive whole, and the rest of what I wish to discuss is also quite distinct and deserves its own title. So, stay tuned for “ 'Laughter in the Dark' Part II: Coincidence & Fiction,” in which I discuss the primary literary instruction which I implicitly received from this novel, as well as some bits about characters and title. In the meantime, I shall be slowly delving into the next novel ('The Real Life of Sebastian Knight') while sipping tea and pondering how to articulate exactly what it is I learned from this fantastic little book.

Swatting away that stalk of grass.

This was the first official post. Please be gentle.

Works Cited

Isen, Tajja. "Euphemism and Indirection in Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita." November 20, 2009.

Nabokov, Vladimir. Lolita. New York: Vintage, 1997.