The amazing thing about literature is the ability to push the reader towards the realm of discomfort and disdain while still retaining the essential elements of great writing. Henry Miller is one author that comes to mind immediately. I could never defend the actions of the misogynistic, anti-Semitic protagonists of the Tropic duo, but goddamn was the writing just so perfect in those novels. Great passages would turn into pages of every single word having its specific purpose, every article and seemingly secondary adjective contributing as much as the more prominent nouns and pronouns. The plots could be boiled down to Miller’s own take on two cities (New York and Paris) and his personal exploits within, without much central conflict, rising or falling actions. With a rather trivial storyline, it is too tempting to ask “What is the point of these novels?” And going further, “Is this pornographic or literary or both? Is there a place for pornography in literature?” In an afterword to Lolita, Nabokov takes initiative in answering the former: “I happen to be the kind of author who in starting to work on a book has no other purpose than to get rid of that book.” He recognizes that he is less of a conscious ego declaring himself as writer, more of a fortuitous vehicle for a book that has to be written (a great essay on this concept can be found
here).
I am not here to set about answering these questions, as that would take an entirely more formal essay that I don’t think the minimal readership of this one warrants the time it would take to fully deconstruct. Rather, I am more interested in exploring the conflict between author and reader when confronted with a novel such as this. Early on, when our mainman Humbert Humbert is expressing the agony inflicted by his desire to have his future step-daughter Delores Haze, you really can’t feel any sympathy. We already know that he is giving a testimony before a jury, that he is a murderer and a pedophile. And yet, the expression of this pain almost wins the reader over. And when his Lolita eventually deserts him, his rage and murderous contempt is almost justifiable. It’s this discomfort as a reader that draws me in so much. Can I really acquit a pedophile of his crimes if he were to repudiate them and serve his time? Moreover, for a pedophile, Humbert is quite the charmer and is never vulgar. And here I exist in the world, the mouth of a sailor, and although understanding of references to Hegel and Schlegel, have never taken the time to familiarize myself with them the way this old European corrupting young America (or vice versa) has.
Away from the novel’s content and onto the form, it would be hard to guess that English was Nabokov’s second language. He developed quite the masterful subtleties and extensive vocabulary to create such phrases as “a pharisaic parody of privacy” and “burning with desire and dyspepsia.” He is able to eloquently articulate his character’s intellectual depth: “We live not only in a world of thoughts, but also in a world of things. Words without experience are meaningless.” And: “A change of environment is the traditional fallacy upon which doomed loves, and lungs, rely.” Whether or not it is Nabokov that actually believes this is not what is important, but rather as he puts it, that he needs to get rid of these ideas that bubble and fester inside of him.
Ultimately, the fate of H.H. has to be doomed. Lolita will not stay a nymphet forever. Even had she never ran away, the relationship would be strained over time regardless. He even begins to notice it himself, although even when he tracks her down years after she leaves him, he still attempts to convince her to leave her husband and come back to him. Can love that strong exist? His desire for her was mostly fueled by her youthful features and he used to consider the high school and college aged girls too old for his type. Yet when she enters this stage of life, he still has those feelings. And what could it be in him that develops these feelings? Was it the episode that he describes at a young age of his first relationship as a pre-teen? Could his view of love never mature even as his body did because of that? And these questions continue to exist today, as there is more pressure on the youth to become sexualized younger and younger (tangent: flipping through, I just found another great combination of words: “the most auburn and russet, the most mythopoeic nymphet in October’s orchard-haze.”) A good novel is often characterized as being timeless, a trait defined by its ability to remain relevant over time and raise questions and promote discussion over time. This is no doubt achieved in Lolita in not only its suggestive content but the experimental form as well. Never dense, but enough of a struggle to maintain worthwhileness, it is no wonder the book is considered a masterpiece.
