Goodbye Nabokov

After having read all but two of Nabokov’s works--_Pnin_ and _Nabokov’s Dozen_—the former because either I could not locate the grandiose writing to which I was accustomed with Nabokov or perhaps I subconsciously did not want to finish the only book in which I had yet to read; the latter title I had never seen until about a year ago when a friend found it in a used bookstore—I thought (like all Nabokov lovers) that I would never witness another publication. I was wrong.

Even through all of the controversy of Dmitri, Vladimir’s son, publishing his father’s book posthumously, I knew I had to read _The Original of Laura_. Although the subtitle warns its readers that it is merely a “novel in fragments,” it is actually many novels in fragments. I read it only once, but plan to read it several times, as I know I missed much symbolism—one always does the first time around, especially with Nabokov.

Signs of _Lolita_ ran rampant throughout this novel—from the pedophilia behavior of the illicit lover of Flora’s (later FLaura) mother, Hubert Hubert, to Flora's marriage to an older man on whom she later sexually deceives—sexuality, or perhaps lack thereof for some, becomes a major struggle for the characters; or is it Nabokov himself?

I also found similarities to _Invitation to a Beheading_. However, instead of a constant fear and wonder of when an execution might occur if, in fact, it does (or did), here the character becomes detached from his own being, wondering how he, himself, might delete a certain part of his “wretched flesh” (p. 159).

I am left to wonder if Flora, FLaura, Laura is the sneezing nurse who, in the introduction, Dmitri claims left the window open that later contributed to our Vladimir’s demise. Was Vladimir himself the antagonist, a man struggling with the aging process? In most every page you will find a loathing aroused by the aged human anatomy. Finally, I wonder if his quote from Nietzsche was a tell-tale sign that Vladimir had thoughts of suicide. I wonder.

By the end of the book I felt somewhat guilty. Did Vladimir want this piece of work to be “obliterated” as not only Vera, his wife, had said, but that Vladimir had written on a note card? Was this a journal of his private struggle with life and the end of it? Or was this fragmented piece of art just another Nabokovian genius? Perhaps we will never know.

Personally, I am sad. Vladimir died when I was only five years old. I would not discover him until years later. I would never know the feeling of having my favorite author die until recently, for his were classics before I was graced with his words. Now, however, I feel he has died once more, and still I am not sure why I am going through this metamorphosis. I am not sure I will re-read _The Original of Laura_ for a while; perhaps I will savor it for some time. Perhaps.