Why Nabokov?

Well, it's a bit of a long story. And it really has no logical progression from the beginning up until this point, where I stand on the brink of what is sure to be a challenging literary undertaking. It involves two inner monologues - which, for personification's sake, we will call conversations. Perhaps a Freudian approach, ironically enough, will allow for the most sensible explanation of the first. It begins where all things begin - with the id, naturally.

"I want to write fiction," the id proclaimed naively, and probably without giving the matter much thought.

The superego, as it is wont to do, combated the id's rash desire with a mocking reprimand. "In order to do so, you must actually KNOW something about fiction, and when it comes to formal conventions ... you don't know jack."

The ego, seeing that the id was hurt, automatically stepped up to mediate: "Well, why don't you learn about fiction, sweetie?"

And just like that, the seed was planted.

Suspend that conversation in your mind for a moment, and consider the second exchange. This was a fully conscious (as opposed to subconscious) conversation that I had with myself (hands down, the best way to amuse yourself on public transportation, also performing the extra function of making people think you're crazy if you take the extra leap and have the conversation aloud. In case you're wondering, I didn't.) This was just last week.

I said, "Self, why do you love books? To what end do you spend your time dragging your eyeballs across pages of words and why, having no apparent purpose, does this pastime bring you such joy?"

And my self said, "Books are art. Art is beautiful. You immerse yourself in art to try and capture some of its beauty to carry around in your own little life."

I replied, "Hmm ... that reminds me of something I heard in an English lecture this year."

We had been studying Vladimir Nabokov's 'Lolita,' and my musings offered a memory of a quote of Nabokov's that the professor had shared with us: "Art should have no (moral) purpose other than to create a state of aesthetic bliss." (These are probably not the exact words, so I'll content myself with a 'citation needed.')

Sounds delicious, no?

At around the same time, I was finishing up 'The Witches of Eastwick' by the lovely John Updike. Updike's winding, lyrical prose instantly reminded me of another author - that's right, Vladimir Nabokov. (Highly recommend the novel, by the way - it's like Desperate Housewives as written by Nabokov. Sorry, VN.) Flipping through my twice-read copy of 'Lolita' to compare their prose stylings, I realized that the back of 'Lolita' actually bore a quote by Updike, an acclaimed author and literary critic himself, who has written on Nabokov. Allow me to share his words with you:

"Nabokov writes prose the only way it should be written, that is, ecstatically." I discovered today that this quote is on the back of every single published edition of all of Nabokov's works.

Somehow, my mind synthesized the concepts of needing to learn about fiction, wanting to incorporate the beauty of art into my life, and Nabokov's aesthetic bliss and ecstatic prose, and decided that in order to obtain a general idea of the conventions of fiction, I must read my merry way through the works of Vladimir Nabokov.

WELL.

To date, the only Nabokov I've read is 'Lolita.' It is one of my favourite novels, bringing me joy when I first read it of my own volition in the summer after grade eleven, and again when I read it for my literature class this past year, writing an essay on Nabokov's use of euphemism and indirection in the novel's sexual descriptions, of which I was very proud (run-on sentence, I know, sorry, I'm excited.)

I had often put off attempting his other works because of the complexity of his prose and ideas, reassuring myself that I would revisit his catalogue when I was deeper into the study of literature, and therefore better equipped. But this desire came over me with such passionate conviction that I simply couldn't refuse or refute it. Even the name of the undertaking arrived without me really having to think about it. Add to that the encouragement of my mother to 1) attempt it, and 2) BLOG about it, and I was set. ("It's like Julie and Julia!" Thanks mom!)

And thus, The Nabokov Project was born.

Vladimir Nabokov - artist, critic, scholar, lepidopterist (collector of butterflies), lecturer (who wrote notoriously difficult English exams) - shall be my teacher. Through his implicit instruction, I shall form a rough understanding of the art of fiction. I shall be using this blog to describe each of his novels - what I think of them, yes, but more importantly what I take from them as it is relevant to the writing of literature. This is not at all meant to be a contribution to the field of scholarship (but if it ends up being one, no complaints!!) but is rather an informal medium for me to express my thoughts, feelings and ideas about a subject for which I have an overwhelming passion - literature.

So, without further ado (yes, that was all preamble, welcome to my brain) I'd like to share the books with which I have chosen to begin the Nabokov Project. They are all somewhat unconventional choices, as I have decided not to read through his works chronologically. Here they are, in the order in which I will read them, complete with slight summary and my own rationale for choosing them:

1) Laughter in the Dark - I wanted to read something from earlier in Nabokov's career, and was attracted to this novel's plot and the sinister title. Dealing with a middle-aged man/younger woman relationship, it inevitably reminded me of 'Lolita.' Perhaps that's a fairly unsubstantial reason to pick it up, but the pull it exerted upon me was strong nonetheless. Also, the title image is so evocative as to be irresistible. (Take a moment, close your eyes, and imagine someone laughing in the dark: intriguing.)

2) The Real Life of Sebastian Knight - The first of Nabokov's novels in English, written about ..." the mysterious life of a famous writer." Nabokov wrote about half of his novels in Russian (originally), but composed the latter half of his catalogue in English. No, English is not Nabokov's first language, but he has a better grasp of it than most native English-speakers. I want to see if I can discern stylistic or thematic differences between those novels written in English and those originally written in Russian. Also, the back describes it as "...a perversely magical literary detective story - subtle, intricate, leading to a tantalizing climax..." How could I refuse?

3) Despair - Like 'Laughter,' this was originally written in Russian. Chronologically, it follows 'Laughter,' so it will also give me a sense of Nabokov's stylings closer to the beginning of his career. I'm not reaching all the way back to the beginning yet - a lot of his earlier work is very grounded in Russian politics and culture, about which I'd like to be slightly better educated in order to approach the work in some context. 'Despair' is about a man who stages his own murder in order to be able to live a peaceful, uninterrupted life - something I'm sure we've all considered, though possibly not to that extreme - but then again, that's what literature is for - taking us beyond the realms of our ordinary experience.

So there you have it. The beginnings of The Nabokov Project. I'm not yet sure if I have resolved to cover all of his works - I'm keeping this open-ended. I still have a book list some one hundred titles long, not including the approximate twenty written by my 'teacher.' For now, I'm happy to see where this takes me and what it teaches me.

And really, who better to teach me than Vladimir Nabokov?