Only one author on earth can produce from me the following sentence: “Yeah, I’m reading this book called Despair about an insane murderer with no respect for human life, and it is HILARIOUS.” That author is Nabokov.
In this, one of his lesser-known works, the egotistical and foppish narrator confesses to murdering someone who looks exactly like him in an attempt to collect his own life insurance money (and, more subconsciously, to rid the world of his weird doppelganger). Of course, Vladdy isn’t satisfied with a straight-up story, and slowly reveals that the first-person narrative we’ve been reading is really only just scraping surface of what actually took place.
As always with Nabokov, the language is beautiful and you are sure to learn at least a few new and awesome vocabulary words. You are also sure to either 1) write a bunch of new fiction with a weak, pseudo-retarded version of Nabokov’s style or 2) become paralyzed completely.
Despair was one of his earlier novels, written in Russian in 1932 and then translated into English (by Nabokov himself, the goddamn genius) with extensive edits, in 1965. It’s absolutely fascinating to see a younger, less experienced Nabokov write – you can see all of the seeds of his future works. The themes that he returns to so often during the latter part of his career — mirroring, unreliable narrators, unlikable protagonists, mistaken identities, dark humor, botched violence – are here, too, a little more apparent and a little less smooth and adept.
As a writer, I was happy to see a lower-level Nabokov – unlike in say, Pale Fire, where it is hard to pinpoint how he is pulling off the literary tricks he pulls off, in Despair, it’s a little easier to look into Nabokov’s mind and see the blueprints he was working with. For example, while it is hard to tell how he so subtlety reveals that Pale Fire‘s protagonist is delusional, in Despair, I could pick up on specific techniques he was using to create Hermann, the book’s unreliable narrator. It’s sort of like watching a magic trick before the magician has perfected it — you can maybe glimpse a trap door or a string and get a clue as to how to execute it yourself.
And while the exacting and masterful art of his later books is partially missing, his weird, twisted humor is on full display from the first page to the last. It might be the best kind of joke – 240 pages of non-stop dramatic irony which becomes more and more obvious with each page (all while the “author” is forced to continue complicating the story in order to continue deluding himself). And even while Nabokov can pull off a novel-length leg-pull, he also appreciates and condones the lowest forms of humor – puns and fart jokes. There truly was never a greater writer, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.
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December 11, 2007 at 1:16 am
Cliff Burns
I DESPAIR of ever getting the chance to read Nabokov. I’ve got several of his books but by reputation he’s so damn daunting. Do I stand a chance against a heavyweight like PALE FIRE? Will it be like a Cro-Magnon trying to grasp elementary physics? Perhaps DESPAIR is a better place to start. Or LOLITA.
Short stories…?
December 11, 2007 at 5:10 am
hiamanda
Despair is great. I totally agree with your analysis; it’s not quite as sophisticated as Pale Fire or Lolita but it’s really awesome to see Nabokov at his more, I guess, obvious.
Have you read Ada? It was one of his last books, my favorite of his books, and probably the most daunting book I have ever read. Granted, I’ve never read Ulysses or Gravity’s Rainbow or other notable daunting novels.
December 11, 2007 at 11:36 am
Anonymous
Well, your post made me want to read the book. I’ve read “Lolita”, which I enjoyed and still marvel at. I share your awe of his literary prowess, and his intelligence. Humbert is such a mean-spirited snob, yet I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. Maybe it’s because he’s such a funny and engaging narrator; it’s hard to despise him when he’s so entertaining.
Ah! I just remembered. I also read the Defense! Did you like that one? It’s been a while, but the image that always stuck with me was when Luzhin is sitting outside, distracted by chess as usual, and he hallucinates a wooden post into a knight and imagines it capturing a nearby fountain. I used to play chess a lot and would have weird chess dreams, and his descriptions of Luzhin’s reveries struck a chord.
I like what you said about “seeing through the tricks.” I like Don DeLillo, and was mystified after reading White Noise and Libra. Then I went back and read some of his early stuff like Endzone and Americana and realized that he is just a mortal. As you say, it’s encouraging!
December 11, 2007 at 11:45 am
Steve
That’s a great point you make about “seeing through the tricks.” I’m a Don DeLillo fan, and I remember that after reading White Noise and Libra, I was mystified and awed. How could a human write such transcendent prose? Later I went back to his early stuff and realized that he is mortal after all. Of course, even his flawed work is brilliant, but it was encouraging to see that even a writer of his stature didn’t pop out of the womb clutching a Pulitzer.
December 11, 2007 at 2:21 pm
Nora Rocket
Read “Pnin”! It’s a tricky, sweet little book as well, with the same loving meanness (or mean love?) that it seems “Despair” has. Additionally, “Invitation to a Beheading.”
December 11, 2007 at 3:31 pm
Cliff Burns
I have read ULYSSES, though it took years of preparation, reading every book on Joyce I could lay my hands on, just so I would understand at least a few of the obscure literary, political-historical and geographical references seeded throughout the novel. The effort was worthwhile in the end–and, besides, good authors should make us work harder and think with more depth and complexity. Steve mentions Delillo–UNDERWORLD is an absolute masterpiece but it is not an “easy” read. People who read for pleasure and escapism give such authors (Delillo, Joyce, Nabokov) a wide berth because their reading habits have made them lazy and complacent (ditto genre readers). Great literary offerings obliterate preconceptions and lead us into previously undiscovered countries. Those daring enough to join such aesthetic expeditions come back wiser, better people…
January 4, 2008 at 5:42 am
johnny swan
Yeah, women love Nabokov. They think he’s the best. They’re wrong, but he’s truly a master, and for a first-time reader will absolutely astound/utterly change the perception of what language can do.