Lolita: Now and Forever
Queue seven consecutive hours of sobbing coupled with a dark, melodramatic deportment in the days following. Of course, it is in my histrionic nature to become entirely consumed by whatever mode I have just consumed. Put plainly, Lolita is like any great work of art in this commonality: if you let it, it will do something to you.
The artist that I attempt to exhort is eloquent, profound, exacting, and thorough. It is with the utmost humility that I approach this “review” in my paucity and slackness. The only position of authority from which speak with complete sovereignty is that of my own spirits. It is from this posture that I honor Nabokov’s virtuosity. I am going to tell you what this book caused me to feel, and what it means to me as work of art.
An abbreviated summary of the book is as such: Set in early 1950’s American suburbia, Lolita is the story of the sophistic, brooding middle aged professor from Europe, aptly named, Humbert Humbert, or H.H.. Humbert becomes improperly infatuated with his landlady’s daughter, Dolores “Lolita”, and marries his lessor in order to be nearer said daughter. When his wife dies in a tragic car accident, H.H. takes Lolita on a cross-country road trip where a salacious and gloomy love affair ensues and eventually consumes.
To the rigid mind, it will never be anything more than a tale of pedantic pedophile occupied with clever puns and disgusting imagery. However, for those who let it trace their hearts-for as many who have known and cherished the work, Lolita will always be a love story to prose itself.
The book is written from the first person perspective of Humbert as a series of current and recollected journal entries with an ominous psychoanalytic preface from his therapist. Having Humbert’s first person narration throughout the book means that we never gain accurate insight into the mind and desires of Lolita. This emphasizes Lolita’s continuous experience of subjection. Our glimpses of her are filtered through the lens of H.H.’s plea. He projects onto and obsesses over this young “nymphet.” In his mania, he describes her as a sort of mystical creature; some timeless deity entombed in the body of a child. What is remarkably effective is the abrupt contrast between the lusting description of Humbert’s feelings for his Amoretti goddess, with the objective, physical description of Lolita’s real prepubescent appearance, “pigtails and bobby-soxing.”
Stanley Kubrick’s classic 1962 film adaptation
Another fascinating contrast appears between the incidental narrative and Humbert's inward reflections of Dolores. He addresses her as "Lo" in everyday conversation, but in his inner dialogue, he always refers to her as "Lolita." This fabricated title evokes a feeling of veneration and sacredness toward the child that exists only in the mind of H.H., creating a clash of hero-villain that is appalling as story yet titillating as verse. With a Ted Bundy-esque charm, our anti-hero's wry wit draws us in, while his exhaustive self-analysis reveals that he is merely continuing the story of his childhood lost love. He implores us to empathize.
Nabokov wages a war of riddles, allowing his audience the option of thinking without feeling or feeling without thinking. This dichotomy between cerebral linguistic lust and emotional turmoil causes us to reexamine the beauty paradigm. We marvel that an act so hideous can be recounted with such phonological splendor. Nabokov's ability to imagine a predisposition in a given circumstance and then describe it with such exactness brands his pen as a conduit for the sins of the world. The untellable story unfolds before us with grace and fluency. As we encounter Humbert's internal dialogue of dreadful lust, we stop to marvel at how we've been mortified and whole-heartedly raptured in an instant.
Our novelist's is meticulous. The detail in his work is remarkable, a testament to the painstaking measures taken to ensure that the delicate subject matter is treated with the utmost care and devotion. In this story of desecration, the devil and God are found in the details, where prose and story are inseparable.
The Russian author's love affair with the English language is evident in his work, where he subtly weaves various themes into his prose to enhance both style and symbolism. Amongst references to classic literature and butterflies, the contrasting relationship between cultured, sardonic Europe and fresh, naive America emerges as a prominent theme. This gently humorous contrast is exemplified in Humbert's description of a road stop during their cross-country tour, where they "patronize those restaurants where the holy spirit of Huncan Dines had descended upon the cute paper napkins and cottage-cheese-crusted salads." Published in 1955, Lolita is a masterful exploration of America vs Old World.
While reading Lolita, I had a thought: by examining Humbert's perverse thoughts through a moral lens, the novel pays beautiful homage to Dolores, an otherwise ordinary child who experiences extraordinary suffering. As a female reader, I found it particularly significant to see my own girlhood reflected in the pages of the book.
I remember being Lo’s age. I desperately desired love. I have always been one of the amorous: concentrated, deep, and passionate. I sought the affection and attention of the opposite sex at a young age. When I failed to receive the affection from classmates and peers, I turned my fantasies elsewhere. That may have been to the handsome new art teacher or the prematurely grey young youth pastor. Certainly an artful eye was even turned toward the actor who portrayed Jesus in the church passion play-a Tennessee taboo of I suppose. A pre-teen girl in her formative state of tempting and trying finds certain giddiness in the idea of arresting a grown man’s fancy. How fortunate that none of these men dared return warmth of the same nature. The idea of a Humbert pondering you, setting you apart like his Lolita is a schoolgirl’s dream. What Humbert actually DOES to her is every schoolgirl’s nightmare.
In his fraught attempt to gain a morsel of youth’s limpidness, he defiles it. He attempts to hold water by gripping it. The end of the book (spoiler alert) shows our Lolita as a grown woman, worn and pregnant. She is no longer the pre-pubescent musing idol we are probed to worship before; merely, “a shadow of her former self.” Humbert’s feelings are unchanged; he still owns the same passion and reverence for her. Our story concludes with a dear saccharine revelation of his long awaited contrition, and when we see her through those eyes, we completely glimpse the splendor of her truest essence.
The first and last paragraphs of this book are quite possibly two of the most remarkable pieces of verse in modern literature. They are, as a whole, the best admission and summary of a book I have ever read. In two paragraphs, Nabokov sheds light on the enigma and concludes with poignant melancholic release. No hints. You must read it yourself. Let us not blaspheme by asking this book to spell out its moral conclusion, leading us to some “bigger meaning.” The lyrical is meaning enough in itself. Beauty is truth-poetry paramount.
I attempt to explain why I love Lolita, offering a glimpse of its splendor, but this book cannot be relayed in bits from one reader to another. Lolita must be experienced. You must taste it and know that it is good. I hope that I could be the prodding voice on your shoulder that will edge you nearer its pages. Lolita is immaculate prose. As Nabokov put himself, “You should feel it as a tingle in your spine.”
