Braddy Reads Lolita

(Google Image search wouldn't allow me to even find a picture of the book cover I read, as the term "Lolita" is blocked by Safe Search. Given the subject matter, I decided not to alter the Safe Search restrictions.)

I spent the weekend up at my sister-in-law's cabin. Between long naps, near constant eating, and the screaming of several small children (I've got a three-year-old niece with lungs like machine guns), I managed to finish two incredibly insightful and rather shocking books. I'll be posting more about the second book tomorrow. For today, though, you get my response to Vladimir Nabakov's Lolita.

A lot of my fascination with Lolita stems from the time I heard about "that book by Nabakov" in a Police song (no, not "Message in a Bottle"). Since then, Lolita has come up in conversation a lot, usually with English students or professors who say it's one of the greatest books of the twentieth century. I read the book, then, with more than a little apprehension.

Of the three great moral "no-nos" of fiction (cussin', sexin', and killin'), Lolita commits only the second. For those who don't know, Lolita is the story of a "romance" between Humbert Humbert and his young ward, a girl named Dolores, or "Lolita" (and let me just say that "Humbert Humbert" actually FEELS like an appropriate name for our lustful protagonist). Humbert Humbert takes Lolita across the country to various motels and make a pretense of reserving two beds. I found it almost ironic that, while the author describes their physical relationship almost pornographically, he edits out the worst of the lanugage.

On the cover of the book, Vanity Fair calls Lolita "the only convincing love story of our century," a thought which depresses me greatly if it's true. See, as you might expect, Dolores doesn't really reciprocate Humbert Humbert's feelings for her (in fact, there are evidences throughout the text that Humbert Humbert realizes he's hurting his little Lolita, but he ignores those impressions).

We never question Humbert Humbert's feelings for his Lolita, but I found myself constantly questioning his sanity. The book is written from the first-person perspective, and I never once found myself able to fully trust what I was being told (a lovely trick that's difficult to pull off but highly successful when done right).

Which leads me to the main impression Lolita left on me: This is a beautifully written book. The subject matter is horrific, the characters unlikable, and the morality questionable at best, but Nabakov's book may be one of the best-written I've ever seen - an impressive feat, especially considering Nabakov wasn't writing in his first language.

That said, I can't bring myself to pass a moral judgment on the book. I don't believe Lolita is meant to condone pedophilia and rape, nor do I think it's meant to be a celebration of "forbidden love." I don't even think the book is pornographic (erotic definitely). Lolita possesses artistic merit, although, if you ask me to describe what it is, I'd have a difficult time providing an acceptable answer.

It all goes back to that question, "What is art?" (a question I ask myself a lot with literature these days). I believe it is appropriate for art to challenge our perceptions of morality. I don't know that it's always appropriate for art to DEFINE "right and wrong" (that sounds more like propaganda to me). I leave that to the reader.

In short, Lolita now belongs on the list of books that for literary purposes I'm glad I've read, but for moral/religious reasons I feel no need to read again (1984 belongs on that list, too, as does Disgrace).

Sure was a pretty book, though.