While reading William's "The Widow's Lament in Springtime" for my American Lit class, I came across three rather interesting discoveries that may or may not have to do with Nabokov's Pale Fire. The first is of course the widow who has lost her husband of thirty-five years recently. The second is a mention of "cold fire" in the fifth line of the play, and the third is the mention of suicide by drowning at the end of the poem which the reader never sees take place.
The first may not be as much of a connection as a coincedence, however, the second and third gave me a slight thrill as I read them. Why would Nabokov not take seemingly obscure references from an almost unknown source in order to create his work? When he says "Help me
Will" might it not also refer to the man with two Will names? I may of course be reaching here but the thought was too interesting to not blog about. Here is a link to the poem should anyone want to read it.
http://www.poetry-archive.com/w/the_widows_lament_in_springtime.html
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Midterm Paper
It is the sign of the true artist, the true master of his craft, when he can put the siplest of phrases down on paper and bring to mind a whole slew of events to the reader. Yet, it is not even a phrse, but rather a pair of words that, by themselves mean nothing, and together mean even less. Yet somehow we, as readers, are shown a full world, presented a full story in less time than it takes most of us to even begin to paint the picture of our story.
These are the first impressions of "picnic, lightning." It is perhaps the simplest and greatest of the many moments in the novel Lolita when Humbert Humbert is describing the death of his mother, but in its simplicity there is a power that cannot be denied. The reader is plunged into a world, if even for the briefest of seconds, where we are faced with a grizzly death that is left to our own imaginations. Even those of us who first simply skim over these seemingly unimportant words are eventually drawn back to them, as if somehow they will give us a true glance into the mind of one of the most infamous characters in literary history.
It is one of the amazing feats of Nabokov, much like his class list, a kind of poetry in the simplest of places. Yet Nabokov is not the first to have used two seemingly innocuous words that have resonated with a power that little else can. In the bible there is a small passage in John, chapter 11, verse 35. It simply states: "Jesus wept." From this, as with "picnic, lightning," we are barraged with images that tell a story so powerful that we become speechless, perhaps even envious of the great masters who were able to do what we could only dream of. We write our letters and essays, our novels and plays, yet none can even compare to two small words in the middle of a page, placed there as if by accident.
Nabokov has then, through two famous words, given us a glimpse of the true power he held over his craft, the absolute mastery he exuded over each word of each line fo his books. All are placed there with the delicacy and intricacy of a master sculptor trying to piece together ten thousand tiny pebbles into the masterpiece of a lifetime. Perhaps the freatest thing about this ten thousand piece puzzle is that each piece, when examined closely, tells its own amazing story. With "picnic, lightning," we are assaulted by a series of painful images that each of us can relate to. Perhaps they are more powerful in that the tragic event portrayed happens to a loved one, and so each of us sees, not Humbert's mother but our own, standing in a serene, almost dreamlike, world that turns suddenly and ferociously nightmarish. It is something that we have all feared, the sudden loss of a loved one in the happiest of times, and to have it staring at us from the page, our deepest fears immortalized in two words, is a very powerful and moving experience.
Perhaps that, then, is why the two words "picnic, lightning" inspire art to this day because like the best art it is something simple and primal that reaches to our very core. It is this ability to lay bare the most intimate and darkest fears of our souls, in two words, that Nabokov should be praised for. Throughout the book Lolita he shows us this horrid world that we do not dare be a part of, that we do not dare to glance at simply due to the fact that we do not want to see ourselves as part of this dark world. Yet it is even before Nabokov reveals the true dark nature of his main character that we are first introduced to this horrid world. Consider it a shot over the bow so to speak, a warning to all who would enter that the knowledge contained within these pages is not for the faint of heart. Remember this as you travel deeper into the book that you were warned the most elegant and powerful way possible. A simple phrase, two words, "picnic, lightning."
These are the first impressions of "picnic, lightning." It is perhaps the simplest and greatest of the many moments in the novel Lolita when Humbert Humbert is describing the death of his mother, but in its simplicity there is a power that cannot be denied. The reader is plunged into a world, if even for the briefest of seconds, where we are faced with a grizzly death that is left to our own imaginations. Even those of us who first simply skim over these seemingly unimportant words are eventually drawn back to them, as if somehow they will give us a true glance into the mind of one of the most infamous characters in literary history.
It is one of the amazing feats of Nabokov, much like his class list, a kind of poetry in the simplest of places. Yet Nabokov is not the first to have used two seemingly innocuous words that have resonated with a power that little else can. In the bible there is a small passage in John, chapter 11, verse 35. It simply states: "Jesus wept." From this, as with "picnic, lightning," we are barraged with images that tell a story so powerful that we become speechless, perhaps even envious of the great masters who were able to do what we could only dream of. We write our letters and essays, our novels and plays, yet none can even compare to two small words in the middle of a page, placed there as if by accident.
Nabokov has then, through two famous words, given us a glimpse of the true power he held over his craft, the absolute mastery he exuded over each word of each line fo his books. All are placed there with the delicacy and intricacy of a master sculptor trying to piece together ten thousand tiny pebbles into the masterpiece of a lifetime. Perhaps the freatest thing about this ten thousand piece puzzle is that each piece, when examined closely, tells its own amazing story. With "picnic, lightning," we are assaulted by a series of painful images that each of us can relate to. Perhaps they are more powerful in that the tragic event portrayed happens to a loved one, and so each of us sees, not Humbert's mother but our own, standing in a serene, almost dreamlike, world that turns suddenly and ferociously nightmarish. It is something that we have all feared, the sudden loss of a loved one in the happiest of times, and to have it staring at us from the page, our deepest fears immortalized in two words, is a very powerful and moving experience.
Perhaps that, then, is why the two words "picnic, lightning" inspire art to this day because like the best art it is something simple and primal that reaches to our very core. It is this ability to lay bare the most intimate and darkest fears of our souls, in two words, that Nabokov should be praised for. Throughout the book Lolita he shows us this horrid world that we do not dare be a part of, that we do not dare to glance at simply due to the fact that we do not want to see ourselves as part of this dark world. Yet it is even before Nabokov reveals the true dark nature of his main character that we are first introduced to this horrid world. Consider it a shot over the bow so to speak, a warning to all who would enter that the knowledge contained within these pages is not for the faint of heart. Remember this as you travel deeper into the book that you were warned the most elegant and powerful way possible. A simple phrase, two words, "picnic, lightning."
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
A Case for Kinbote
In first encoutnering Charles Kinbote, we are faced with a man that few can tolerate let alone sympathize with. His forward and commentary, even the index that he has appended, to the poem of his dead friend John Shade have nothing to do with the poem itself. He is constantly telling us of a story about a king in exile from the distant land of Zembla. As we move deeper into the commentary we are forced time and again to read of the "sad" story of a Zemblan king that many of us could not care less for, and eventually it wears on us.
Yet, when we look deeper, I think that we can begin to see something else creeping out of the endless dregs of Zemblan references. Perhaps there is more to Charles Kinbote than meets the eye. Perhaps he is the lost king Charles Xavier. Could this be? there are many hints throughout the forward and even in the commentary to the point that I begin to think that he is indeed our exiled king.
With that revelation I have come to realize that Charles Kinbote is not writing about Zembla because he is a pompous ass. Rather, he is constantly writing about Zembla because he has lost something that is truly precious to him. Perhaps it is my own fault for not recognizing it on first reading the book. I did not see as Kinbote saw.
I now think that Kinbote is writing about Zembla much as John Shade wrote about his daughter Hazel. Both were stripped of something precious to them, violently, suddenly, and with no sense of control in the matter. As Kinbote reads the poem by a dead poet who is lost to a bullet meant for him, perhaps he sees Zembla because the loss that he feels pouring off the page reminds him so much of the loss that he felt when being exiled from his beloved home. He reciprocates the feelings that Shade expresses in his poem the only way that he knows how, in a forward and commentary that tell his own tragic story.
Perhaps it is a bit arrogant to associate the death of a child with the loss of a country. But how do we know? I myself have experienced neither of these things. I can only imagine how horrible it was for John Shade to recieve the news of his daughters death. I can only imgaine the fear that gripped Xavier as he was forced to flea the homeland that he had loved and been a part of all of his life.
I think that Kinbote felt the same way. He could not comprehend the loss of a child because it had not happened to him, and so could not adequately do justice to such a beautiful poem by pompously assuming that he could write of the pain of a child's death. Perhaps then he took the higher road, writing of the loss of a country, which he could understand. He is not trying to be arrogant. I think that it just appears so to those of us who cannot reciprocate.
Perhaps, then, it is we who are the arrogant ones, assuming that we know why Kinbote would write of his homeland rather than the death that so blatantly stands out in the poem. I would urge, each of you then to reread Pale Fire in this new light. If, in the end, you still feel that Kinbote is an ass, then perhaps he is, but maybe we can see, beneath the arrogant talk, a pain that is too hard to express in anything other than a beautiful poem. It is a pale fire. Not bright and illuminary, but soft and subtle, so that we do not have to cry twice while reading the book.
Yet, when we look deeper, I think that we can begin to see something else creeping out of the endless dregs of Zemblan references. Perhaps there is more to Charles Kinbote than meets the eye. Perhaps he is the lost king Charles Xavier. Could this be? there are many hints throughout the forward and even in the commentary to the point that I begin to think that he is indeed our exiled king.
With that revelation I have come to realize that Charles Kinbote is not writing about Zembla because he is a pompous ass. Rather, he is constantly writing about Zembla because he has lost something that is truly precious to him. Perhaps it is my own fault for not recognizing it on first reading the book. I did not see as Kinbote saw.
I now think that Kinbote is writing about Zembla much as John Shade wrote about his daughter Hazel. Both were stripped of something precious to them, violently, suddenly, and with no sense of control in the matter. As Kinbote reads the poem by a dead poet who is lost to a bullet meant for him, perhaps he sees Zembla because the loss that he feels pouring off the page reminds him so much of the loss that he felt when being exiled from his beloved home. He reciprocates the feelings that Shade expresses in his poem the only way that he knows how, in a forward and commentary that tell his own tragic story.
Perhaps it is a bit arrogant to associate the death of a child with the loss of a country. But how do we know? I myself have experienced neither of these things. I can only imagine how horrible it was for John Shade to recieve the news of his daughters death. I can only imgaine the fear that gripped Xavier as he was forced to flea the homeland that he had loved and been a part of all of his life.
I think that Kinbote felt the same way. He could not comprehend the loss of a child because it had not happened to him, and so could not adequately do justice to such a beautiful poem by pompously assuming that he could write of the pain of a child's death. Perhaps then he took the higher road, writing of the loss of a country, which he could understand. He is not trying to be arrogant. I think that it just appears so to those of us who cannot reciprocate.
Perhaps, then, it is we who are the arrogant ones, assuming that we know why Kinbote would write of his homeland rather than the death that so blatantly stands out in the poem. I would urge, each of you then to reread Pale Fire in this new light. If, in the end, you still feel that Kinbote is an ass, then perhaps he is, but maybe we can see, beneath the arrogant talk, a pain that is too hard to express in anything other than a beautiful poem. It is a pale fire. Not bright and illuminary, but soft and subtle, so that we do not have to cry twice while reading the book.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
On Zembla
Having just finished reading the actual poem "Pale Fire," I was surprised to find on line 937 an actual reference to Zembla. It was, of course, only one reference, and I found it even more amusing that he mentions the one thing that Kinbote wants him to talk about most of all in an aside almost while he is talking about shaving. This struck my interest and I had to skim through the commentary if for no other purpose than to see how Kinbote handled the mentioning of his beloved Zembla in such an offhand sort of way. As I suspected, there is a note. It recounts Kinbote's reading of the notecard that possesses this line and the asside that Shade had written to that line the day before he died. Kinbote writes of his sadness at this point, but it is not for his friend who was lost so recently after writing this small piece. NO, it is for the fact that such a small piece alone was reserved for his precious Zembla.
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