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I finally read Nabokov’s fan-poem about Superman being sad that he can’t actually bang Lois because he would kill her if he came inside her, and yeah, I sort of get why the New Yorker rejected it.
(Now to be fair it’s pretty funny, almost proto-Watchmen in its concerns)
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The Author as Reader as Nabokov: Text and Pretext in Pale Fire
Unwise to call someone's failure to recognize a moth a "Humbert Humbert moment"
Ivan Veen and his conveniently infertile sisterwife 😂 🤦🏻♀️
Qué busca un editor literario. Enrique Vila-Matas
El escritor Vladimir Nabokov en el Hotel Montreux Palace, en Montreux (Suiza), en 1964.Horst Tappe (Hulton Archive / Getty Images) Ya sabemos que hasta el impecable estilo de un autor puede verse oscurecido por los medios que últimamente lo elogian todo sin importarles lo que elogian Origen: Qué busca un editor literario | Cultura | EL PAÍS
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huh
i love him your honour
Unfortunately Pale Fire simply didn’t do it for me, I went in expecting to enjoy it immensely but came out with nothing else but “it’s pretty good.” The story itself was fine, and the ending jumble of unreality and reality was predictable from the jump and not terribly compelling to me. Of novels with similar formatting, Dictionary of the Khazars comes to mind, which I enjoy much more than Pale Fire, perhaps because of the more interlinked nature of the three stories or perhaps because I enjoyed the historical background more. Anyways, this will put Nabokov on the back burner for now, though I may check out his short stories at some point.
