Notes on Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

*spoiler alert*

I am pained to admit that adjectives like charming, witty, clever, even provocative (cringe) are among a long list of positively-connotated words that veraciously illustrate this tale about a kidnapped 12-year-old girl, narrated by pedophile who claimed and “protected” her.

I am further pained to conclude that Lolita, doubtlessly, is one of the most beautifully written texts I have read in terms to pure verbal musicality and linguistic artistry, delicacy, and (again, though I wish it were not true) bright charm (wince), though the actual subject matter does not merit this celebration.

Reading this was such a bumpy ride that I had to start over, because I was so uncomfortable with how pedophilia can be written about in such lovely words -- I was sure I was misunderstanding something. Even as I admit this now, I feel confused by the truth that yes, I would recommend this book to others, and I even believe that Lolita is well-placed within the “classic literature” category.

What I was most impressed by was the way Nabokov brought his audience (well, me) to sympathize with Humbert Humbert who was, in fact, a wildly sick yet dynamic character. Despite him reaching some sort of epiphany every dozen pages or so, the mental and emotional evolution was tangible and natural.

His lust converted to love, his rationality converted to insanity, and the fashion by which he described himself as a victim of pedophiliac desires converted to disappointment and even utter disgust in himself for his lack of self-control and the way he “merely broke [Lolita's] life.”

While I initially began noting the instances of pedophilia in this text, I eventually redirected myself to track significant points at which H. H. expressed feeling victim to being born with such sexuality:

“...inly, I was consumed by a hell furnace of localized lust for every passing nymphet whom as a law-abiding poltroon I never dared approach.”

“While my body knew what it craved for, my mind rejected my body’s every plea.”

“Humbert Humbert tried to be good.”

This next passage was SICK and EFFED UP. But almost...idk--wholesome? I’m uncomfortable.

“I felt proud of myself. I had stolen the honey of a spasm without impairing the morals of a minor. Absolutely no harm done. The conjurer had poured milk, molasses, foaming champagne into a young lady’s new white purse; and lo, the purse was intact. Thus had I delicately constructed my ignoble, ardent, sinful dream; and still Lolita was safe--and I was safe. What I had madly possess was not she, but my own creation, another, fanciful Lolita--perhaps, more real than Lolita; overlapping, encasing her; floating between me and her, and having no will, no conscientiousness--indeed, no life of her own.

“The child knew nothing. I had done nothing to her. And nothing prevented me from repeating a performance that affected her as little as of she were a photographic image rippling upon a screen and I a humble hunchback abusing myself in the dark. The afternoon drifted on and on, in tipe silence, and the sappy tall trees seemed to be in the know; and desire, even stronger than before, began to afflict me again. Let her come soon, I prayed, addressing a loan God, and while mamma is in the kitchen, let a repetition of the davenport scene be staged, please, I adore her so horribly.

"No: ‘horribly’ is the wrong word. The elation with which the vision of new delights filled me was not horrible but pathetic. I qualify it as pathetic. Pathetic--because despite the insatiable fire of my venereal appetite, I intended, with the more fervent force and foresight, to protect the purity of that twelve-year-old child.”

This next passage is also a long one, but once again, I want you to feel as uncomfortable as I do with your growing sympathy for H. H. after reading such section:

“Ladies and gentlemen on the jury, the majority of sex offenders that hanker for some throbbing, sweet-moaning, physical but not necessarily coital, relation with a girl-child, are innocuous, inadequate, passive, timid strangers who merely ask the community to allow them to pursue their practically harmless, so-called aberrant behavior, their little hot wet private acts of sexual deviation without the police and society cracking down upon them. We are not sex fiends! We do not rape as good soldiers do. We are unhappy, mild, dog-eyed gentlemen, sufficiently well integrated to control our urge in the presence of adults, but ready to give years and years of life for one chance to touch a nymphet.”

Sad!

“I saw myself administering a powerful sleeping potion to both mother and daughter so as to fondle the latter through the night with perfect impunity.”

“I was still firmly resolved to pursue my policy of sparing her purity by operating only in the stealth of night, only upon a completely anesthetized little nude.”

Idk. I hope you feel as uncomfortable as me.

“If I dwell at some length on the tremors and gropings of that distant night, it is because I insist upon proving that I am not, and never was, and never could have been, a brutal scoundrel.”

This marks a significant turning point for H. H. It was the last point at which he truly tried to to convey himself as an “innocent” and “harmless” pedophile. What a strange sentence that was to write for me.

“I am going to tell you something very strange: it was she who seduced me.”

In any case, while Humbert Humbert sexualized Lolita, I never once viewed her as seductive or possessing of a personality that could reasonably be taken by pop culture and converted into sex icon or one of “female rebellion.” But, low and behold, my favorite lipstick by Kat Von D is named Lolita, and now I can’t wear it as comfortably as I had before.

To further my discomfort, she included the color in a collection called Fetish, and now I simply can’t bring myself to repurchase anything from the brand -- how can one possibly name a beauty product after a 12-year-old girl who was kidnapped and raped by a pedophile and then include the shade in a collection called Fetish? I am concerned.

I will conclude this very confused review with a collection of quotes from the novel that I simply adore. For language like this, I give the book four stars; it does not earn the fifth, because I simply could not bring myself to give a perfect score to a text that so successfully, so painfully and beautifully, tells the story of a young girl who spent her childhood being raped by her father figure.

“...my heart was like snow under thin crimson skin…”

“Most of the dandelions had changed from suns to moons.”

“She was all rose and honey, dressed in her brightest gingham, with a pattern of little red apples, and her arms and legs were of a deep golden brown, with scratches like tiny dotted lines of coagulated rubies…”

“In and out my heart flowed my rainbow blood.”

“He broke my heart. You merely broke my life.”

“I loved you. I was a pentapod monster, but I loved you.”

At the end of the day, I just hope that Lolita ceases to be romanticized and sexualized as of, like yesterday.

Also, Lolita does, shockingly enough, pass the Bechdel Test. Goodnight.