120. Lolita – Vladimir Nabokov

So. Lolita. Where do we begin?

As customary practice to starting a blog post I always do a little bit of writing into the post, re-read some of the notes that I made while reading (which this morning includes a long time reflecting on the amount of times I used the term ‘heebie jeebies’) and doing the customary google search. This google search is one of the most important parts of the routine when it has been months between reading (and in this case doing any writing at all). The first link that appears, sandwiched between the panel of book covers you can peruse and purchase at your leisure and the reviews from the New Yorker, GoodReads and other blogs like this one is a link I’ve never seen before. “WARNING: child pornography is illegal: if you see it, report it.”

And this leads me straight into Lolita. I do not endorse this as a love story. I do not endorse this as a young character ‘leading on’ the older male. No, she is not ‘asking for it’. Sometimes I reflect back and have doubts that Dolores Haze is even present for most of the story or if she is simply transformed into ‘Lolita’ and carried around as the fantastic delusion of an unreliable narrator. There are obviously split opinions about this book and a great deal of debate over it’s content. Some are utterly convinced by Humbert Humbert that it is lust and love that is true and Lolita is wicked and bad. Some are utterly convinced that Humbert Humbert is a figure head for a sort of every man so utterly obsessed and consumed by the thing he wishes to possess she ceases to be a human being. I’m not sure where my opinion fully resides.

Lolita – Vladimir Nabokov

And that is probably because this is the only book I have wished to harm while reading. Beyond my usual dog-earing of page corners and spine breaking (which to me is a tenderness that I leave behind, a sign of my occupation much like leaving a bed unmade, or foot prints on the doorstep) but if only, I could have this novel feeling itself being flung across the room in utter disgust. I had to remind myself that my emotional reaction was the fault of the content and not the book itself, and after all the book itself is innocent.

It was a weird sensation being full of such utter revulsion, yet being so morbidly fascinated by the path the novel takes that I couldn’t bring myself to turn away. It is a book that creeps up on you, where as the reader you almost feel complicit and passive and guilty for witnessing this happening.

But are you witnessing it? Humbert Humbert is such an unreliable narrator that the lines of reality and fantasy are so utterly distorted I am not certain. There is a point near the end of the novel I am uncertain whether or not any of this has happened. Perhaps that is my own rationalisation trying to soothe away the discomfort of the novel. Because the alternative is a man muscling himself into a young girl’s life, becoming her sole guardian and then kidnapping her and road tripping through America. It could be idyllic. It could be boy meets girl, boy and girl run away together.

But instead to me, it is is pure narcissism, justified by supposed flirtation and titillation. It is power play, domination, and possession. And ironically if you want to put a larger lens on it, it is exactly a comment on capitalist America fetishising youth.

So what is it about? I’ve been skirting around the issue. It is about a middle aged pervert and his affair with a 12 year old girl. The novel itself purposes itself to be a manuscript of a man waiting for his trial for murder and the writer crouches behind the name Humbert Humbert as that “expresses the nastiness best”. But it is not the long drawn out whining, but rather his life, from the Hotel postcard mixed european parentage of his youth and his first clumsy encounters at 13 to his later adventures with Lolita.

This early part of the novel is set up as an investigation, perhaps justification for his blighted choices in romance. He suggests that his initial encounter with Annabel is solely to blame for his permanent preference for young girls. He muses that there is something about young girls, between the ages of 9 and 14 that links them to Annabel. From then on Humbert Humbert’s insidious narration is almost comic.

Later on we journey with Humbert Humbert’s feigned attempts at marriage (with adult women whom are by all accounts boring to him) and ultimately to his obsession with his landlady’s daughter, Dolores Haze. It is from there he seduces the mother, and in a freak accident she dies leaving him the sole guardian of Dolores, or Lolita. Throughout the rest of the story he abuses drugs, isolates her, and then go on the run before she slips his grasp.

Lolita is altogether a voiceless character throughout the novel and I do not believe that Humbert Humbert could give an accurate account of the reality of his fantasy if his life depended on it. The Lolita he presents is flirtatious at times emotionally abusive to him, aloof and altogether more complex then an ordinary 12 year old. Which is entirely the point of the novel. This is not a love story. This could be a manuscript that is a half hearted apology or love letter for Lolita. But in no way do I see Humbert as anything but a predator dominating his prey, or perhaps reclaiming the true events of the narration and embellishing.

This novel is beautifully written, and quite frankly haunting. I really enjoy the way Nabokov writes and if you can stomach reading this novel just once then you should. I would like to say that I will go back and read this again someday but I don’t think it’ll be any time soon. I don’t think this book could be written any other way and be as much as a success, because while taboo is successfully propelled forwards in this narrative Lolita (although the victim of the story, the powerless, the possession, and the dehumanised) is somehow the antagonist.

This novel has had much the same effect on me as Mary, that is to say I really want to read more of Nabokov’s work. Lolita is beautifully written at times and I want to fall into Nabokov’s verse and live there. But this is also highly triggering book and made from the stuff of nightmares, so tread with caution.

112. The Ice Palace – Tarjei Vesaas

There isn’t much in the way of international literature on my shelves (actually less shelves more piles/mountains as I do not own bookshelves), but I am slowly and surely changing that. With a little of this and a little of that I find myself in the position of creeping, albeit slowly. The reason this one took my eye is because I am very fortunate to know a wonderful bunch of Norwegians. It is also very overdue that I start jumping into some Norwegian literature. I must admit I do sometimes shy away from translations, because some of the meaning might be lost, or it may be an awful translation and distort the original story completely and how would I know. But also, and perhaps more concerning is that the music and poetry in another language might be completely lost in English. Sometimes English cannot stand up, it can only do it’s best with the tools it has and they may be lacklustre.

As I knew nothing about Tarjei Vesaas I decided to do a little research for you in case you didn’t either so you’d have an idea of where the Ice Palace may be heading before we even get to it:

Vesaas (Born in 1897 Vinje, Telemark, Norway) is widely considered as one of Norway’s most important writers of the twentieth century. Poet and author, he may be the most important Norwegian writer since WWII. His authorship spans nearly 50 years and his work is characterised by terse and symbolic prose. Although simple, his stories are often about simple rural people undergoing psychological drama. Vesaas often revisits the themes of death, guilt, and angst, while uses the Norwegian natural landscape as a prevalent feature in his work.

So what is the book about before we go to the cover image: Siss is a regular 11-year old girl living in her rural community, and her life is about to change in ways she can’t imagine when Unn moves to the village to live with her aunt.

The Ice Palace – Tarjei Vesaas

To give you a little more idea of the plot, Siss and Unn are the opposite sides of the same coin. Siss is very outgoing, popular, and inviting and Unn is withdrawn, alone, and a little sad. They become aware of one another at school and there is an intense curiosity, a wild magnetism between them that almost verges on obsession. All Siss can think about is the excitement of Unn and spending the afternoon with her. I cannot decide if this is innocent because she has known everyone her entire life in her village and Unn is strange and exotic. Or if there is the implication of a childhood crush there because there is an intensity that did make me feel a little, not uncomfortable, but questioning.

They spend the afternoon talking for a while and after she has shown Siss a photograph of her family, Unn persuades Siss that they should undress just for fun. They watch each other and everything is so highly charged the book practically split the paint from my walls with electricity. Everything is implied and nothing is really said and nothing is fully laid bare but maybe it is? Honestly from what has gone from what I assumed was quiet a naive and misleading book about rural childhood gets turned up to eleven when Unn confesses she has a secret and she’s afraid she’ll never get into heaven. She of course promises to tell Siss what her secret is the next day.

Siss runs home and on the way passes the Ice Palace. A naturally forming ice structure that has been created by a local waterfall. She is in a flurry of emotion, as is Unn, and the next day Unn decides to skip school because she is embarrassed.

Here the novel becomes intimately sober and really starts to reveal some of the deftness of Vesaas’s skill as a novelist. Unn goes into the Ice Palace to hide and explore and the worst happens.

It is a troubling book that deals with enormous themes in a way that can be resistant to reading. Sometimes I felt as if I was reading the Ice Palace as if I myself was staring at the pages through a sheet of ice. It can be simplistic and almost resistant, and at times have a weird hallucinative quality that is almost queasy. Often I forget that Siss and Unn are children. Because they are both treated by their community as equals, and also Siss fights so incredibly to be recognised as more then just a child and as another pair of hands to be useful. But also because the other children around Siss recognise her need to grieve in her own way.

All of the children in this novel are so incredibly good at handling things that are difficult that some of them seem to do it better then the adults in the novel.

This is a bit of a terrifying fairytale that demonstrates intractable human emotion. At times it reads like a light and fluffy story that will have a happy ending and it could be argued it has a moral like a fairytale. The contrast between what is a relatively simple, rural life and what is an intense, and sometimes frightening, emotional world is pretty incredible.

I have said some reviews that believe that Siss and Unn are undeveloped characters and that this is tedious writing that is a children’s story written for adults. And in a way that is correct, but generally those reviews also confessed with not sticking to the novel to finishing it out. I went into this novel and found it uncomfortable because it pushed back at me as much as I pushed back at it. I found it tedious at first, I found it difficult, and unyielding with it’s secrets. And like all classics and most literature worth reading it revealed itself to be more than meets the eye.

I’m not saying I’m ready to re-read it tomorrow because I don’t think I’m ready for Siss and Unn again yet. But I am saying that I really want to read more Norwegian literature. This story is entirely mysterious, subtle, and satisfying, and I highly recommend it.

I found another book review here if you would like more information on the novel. If you would like to explore this and other Norwegian classics here is a list of ten books, some of which have been added to my to buy list. And of course any information I found and paraphrased about the the author (and a bit more) is found here.

64. The Plague

It is time to just admit it isn’t it? To stop putting off the reality of this love affair and to throw it into the clear light of day where everyone can see it. Okay. So here it goes: I have a giant crush on Albert Camus and it will not go away.

I am completely seduced by his ideas. By the subtle writing style that caresses layers of meaning and by proxy me. By the anti-cliche scenes swinging their arms without awkwardness (like the old man who spits on the local cats every day). The easy grasp that commands all those separated lovers desperate to claw their way back into the company of whom they desire, but doesn’t patronise them. The Plague is a clinically observed whilst being deeply emotional. It toes the line between intimacy and dispassionateness. Both a hairbreadth close and a mile away. And I was right there watching it all with Dr. Rieux. Waiting to die and watching everybody around me die.

I can’t oversell this point enough: Camus gives me whiplash.

The Plague – Albert Camus

The irony of reading this novel while ill myself was not lost on me. This novel is not a riot of fun and joy. It is a deeply harrowing, melancholy place that will draw out your own misery if you yourself are suffering. But I recommend you read it in whatever state you come in but devote yourself to it. Give it time enough and experience this novel.

The Plague is the story of Bubonic Plague. Plague that arrives suddenly with rats in the town of Oran. The townspeople face a fast and horrifying end in the midst of a quarantine but attempt to continue on with some resemblance of life before the quarantine, while having their own personal battles with the Plague. Some accept their fate as the walking dead, some point blame, some panic, some try to escape and some work ceaselessly against the odds.

Dr. Rieux is our unheroic hero. Rieux walks the fine line of a professional during the epidemic, burying his own emotional exhaustion and hopelessness beneath his desire to fulfil his duty. While great portions of the novel seem detached and observant, there are also sections that act like intimacy in confidence. He is a man doing what must be done, while also being highly emotionally intelligent and empathetic and forcibly optimistic (perhaps so he too will survive).

While the novel follows Rieux it also wanders, taking up great portion of Tarrou’s diary, Rambert’s quest to escape the quarantine, and general observation of the townspeople. As I have already mentioned the Plague uses separated lovers, but it also tackles religious faith, personal redemption, and the horror of unnecessary physical suffering. One of the most potent moments in the Plague is witnessing a child suffering and then the collateral damage from that suffering shaking the faith of a priest.

But equally as significant is the genuine humanity, for example, in Rambert changing his mind and being wracked with guilt by the idea of escaping Oran. This is not a light decision, it comes about from several conversations and in them belongs one of those beautiful and inescapable lines that drives the spirit of the novel: “Man is not an idea, Rambert.”

This novel doesn’t act out a loud heroism or sensationalism, it demonstrates an ordinary courage that is desperate for perseverance despite all of the odds. And that ordinary courage within the Plague is so painfully beautiful, so humble, so matter-of-fact it has floored me at every turn.

“No doubt our love was still there, but quite simply it was unusable, heavy to carry, inert inside us, sterile as crime or condemnation. It was no longer anything except a patience with no future and a stubborn wait.” p. 142

Whether you are reading this novel out of curiosity, or for the allegory of France’s wartime trauma this is not a novel to be taken lightly. It is a heartfelt jolt of reflections as much as it is a narrative. It is not loud in it’s resistance, but it is not unyielding to pestilence. This is such a difficult novel to be objective about and to find faults with, it is a staggering feat, it is a love affair, and it has given me the most terrible hangover. And I want more.

This is real love baby. Real big love that’s thumping around the house with no care for anyone else. So yes, I will read this again and I think that everyone else in this world should read it too because my pal Al, well what can I say? He is one hell of a guy.

10. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

Well, what can I say I’ve really struggled through this one. I’ve always found James Joyce troubling. Currently time is of the essence and I have made myself incredibly busy. I have a deadline fast approaching and have been deconstructing poems, writing my own, and have honestly found very little time to read. The little energy that I have had has felt a little sapped by this novel.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce

This is not one of those easy, light hearted train reads. There is a lot to get your teeth into and personally I have always found Joyce’s writing style quite resistant. I don’t find myself enjoying much of his work, I find myself reading out of spite and this novel was no exception unfortunately.

There was a moment, sat on the train, that I promised myself that if I got through the next twenty pages and it was still awful I would abandon it. I’m a sucker for needing to finish what I’m reading and I was very prepared to actually accept that I wasn’t going to finish this one. But just as I hit that hundred page mark the narrative suddenly got much more interesting and I was hooked – for about a quarter of the novel. Whatever it was that really caught my attention died quickly. I did finish it cover to cover, but it has left me feeling quite apprehensive.

The novel follows Stephen Dedalus along a journey of religious and intellectual awakening. Stephen questions the strict religious background he has grown up within and rebels against it resulting in a self exile from Ireland to Europe. This is not an easy route for young Stephen however, trapped between hedonism and a deep religiosity. Exploring both desires of the flesh and prostitution and also strict piety. Stephen’s confusion and bewilderment at navigating the world are a continual feature within the novel. Before Stephen ultimately concludes that Ireland is far too constricting a place to allow him to express himself as an artist.

If I had a different route into this novel and had studied it I believe I would have enjoyed it more. This is certainly a novel that requires far more time than I am willing to give a text when I am seeking novels to enjoy in my free time. It is quite resistant and unyielding. The philosophical debate and the existential crisis that makes the novel is a little exhausting to be part of. It’s a novel that deals with some very very heavy things and reading it certainly feels as if you are trying to tread water with a cannon strapped to your feet.

I am pleased that I have finally gotten around to reading one of Joyce’s longer works, as I had previously only read a couple short stories. But I am certainly glad it’s over.

9. The Lonely Londoners

Hello there! I have finished the Lonely Londoners, a novel that I think was given to me and that I knew nothing about when I opened it. This is a quick read, I managed it in five days with very little difficulty. Originally published in 1956, the novel is also set in the 50s around the time when there was a great surge of emigration from the West Indies to London. Like the novel’s protagonist Moses Aloette, Sam Selvon is Trinidadian born. Selvon has given his novel a rich dialect and a tapestry of story telling that gives life and layers to his narrative.

The narrative follows Moses in an easy, relaxed story telling, mostly surrounding the mischief and struggle of both himself and his friends in bleak, foggy London. And no surprises here, but the novel acts as a social commentary as well as a tangle of lives. 

The Lonely Londoners by Sam Selvon

How did I find it? It’s a little disenchanting actually. We meet Moses at Waterloo Station as he waits for hopeful new arrivals from the West Indies. He meets Henry Oliver and as Moses is a Veteran of the city takes him under his wing. Henry Oliver plays the part of most of the new hopefuls coming to London expecting an easier life and to be a big fish in a far bigger pond than he expects. Moses having lived in London for years, takes pity on him and ultimately the narrative breaks into little stories about Henry ‘Sir Galahad’ Oliver and other members of their community.

Moses is pessimistic and disenchanted, by the end of the novel its is very clear he is struggling with homesickness, or craving a far simpler life than the one he possesses. However these feelings are mingled in with a great number of smaller tales that really feel like oral tales that are shared between friends. The novel is also written in dialect, so well in fact that in reading it you forget the dialect is present as it becomes part of the music of the novel. The character Harris, who has tried to social climb and rid himself of his accent, is clearly distinguished in dialogue and has tried to set himself apart from his friends. This integration of character detail really highlights the layers of social politics the workings of the novel.

Overall this novel deals with many thoughts and feelings that I am likely to under appreciate because of my background, ethnicity, and lack of knowledge. But it is a very enjoyable read and I feel is a time capsule of a London that is very different to 2016. This is a novel that deserves the title ‘modern classic’ and I certainly implore anyone to read it.