Did this fucker like any other writer at all?
>Last name, first name. Dislike him. Adjective, adjective.
I'm liking the Luzhin Defense, but then again, I'm probably a little biased because of the subject matter.
Nabokov's written so much stuff, and while some of his earlier works are a little weaker, it's all enjoyable. If you have one of the Vintage prints, then there's a list of all his works in the back with some one-or-two-line synopses. Just browse on through a pick up a few that sound interesting. Invitation to a Beheading, Here Come the Harlequins, and the Enchanter are definitely things that I'm planning on getting soon, for example.
He had that one quote or whatever about the greatest works of literature (his opinion, obvy) where he listed Ulysses, St. Petersburg, the Metamorphosis, and the first half of In Search of Lost Time.
Pnin was one of the worst, most dull novels i have ever had the displeasure of reading. If that's masterful prose, then I'm a fucking flamingo eating panda shit on a barge of 10/10 naked women tossing gherkins at Val Kilmer while he's wearing a sun god outfit.
Nabokov could have been a contender but his teacher, a respected poet/critic, mocked the sincerity of Vlad's poems in front of the class. Turned him into a metafictionist for life right then and there.
nonsense. a story about a lamer and his glass bowl doesnt move my soul, because it's not compelling. i wept when i read kidnapped, or when i saw the blossoming companionship of queequeg and ishmael, i got lost in mirth when i read Panza's ridiculous parables, and I was mentally harangued by Raskolnikov's paranoia.
I have a heart and soul, Pnin did not touch it. unlike Nabokov touching those little girls.
don't be. Nabokov didn't know shit about poetry and didn't write a single line of good poetry in his entire miserable pretty-prose life.
I don't think his novels are that great either, maybe INNOVATIVE, but still bad novels. But that's just my opinion
>Melville, Herman. Love him. One would like to have filmed him at breakfast, feeding a sardine to his cat.
>Joyce, James. Great. A favorite between the ages of 20 and 40, and thereafter. Let people compare me to Joyce by all means, but my English is patball to Joyce's champion game. A genius.
>Shits on everything but Ulysses
you know half the reason everyone wants to call Nabokov a "genius" was because he acted like one, right? His novels aren't genius but his persona is. in 100 years when his persona is forgotten, we're going to revaluate him and put him out of the canon.
>Gogol, Nikolai. Nobody takes his mystical didacticism seriously. At his worst, as in his Ukrainian stuff, he is a worthless writer; at his best, he is incomparable and inimitable. Loathe his moralistic slant, am depressed and puzzled by his inability to describe young women, deplore his obsession with religion.
>puzzled by his inability to describe young women
>Borges, Jorge Luis. A favorite. How freely one breathes in his marvelous labyrinths! Lucidity of thought, purity of poetry. A man of infinite talent.
Who gives a damn about what Nabokov thinks? He was probably the most overrated writer of the 20th century. His English prose is awful. Perhaps his writings in his native Russian are better, but I would doubt it.
I think it must be clear from this thread that one should not trust 1. Nabokov's opinions, 2. the opinions of any artist in general, esp. in relation to their own work. I mean, he thought of Lolita as some special light in his past that he would return to now and again and be warmed by, or some shit, and it's nowhere near his best.
>Tolstoy is the greatest Russian writer of prose fiction.
>his art was so powerful, so tiger bright, so original and universal that it easily transcends the sermon.
Jungle Jim had a few opinions. His are a bit more tame though, and I can agree with many more of them. James Joyce was an awful poet like Nabokov though, and his taste in poetry, while not as shit, isn't very refined. It seems to me more of a novelist's taste than a poet's taste. Which makes sense.
Nearly everyone with even a modicum of taste can recognize Borges' brilliance, but it STILL took him until he was in his fifties to achieve recognition and fame.
I don't know whether this is depressing or encouraging.
>James McConkey, a writer and a professor of English Literature who inherited the European Novel course after Nabokov left Cornell, remembers seeing Nabokov, "his whole face flushed and red," running out of the classroom where he was lecturing and into the office of the (still existent at the time) Division of Literature. Nabokov appeared to be so agitated that McConkey actually worried that "he was going to have a stroke or something . . . He was stammering . . . I thought he might fall over." Apparently, this "Pninian-size rage" was occasioned by one of the students' pointed question as to whether, if Professor Nabokov refused to discuss Dostoyevsky, the student himself could.
Was Nabokov autistic?
Man, this is self-importance to an unbelievable level. Nabokov wasn't a "genius" enough to be allowed to do this. Most real geniuses wouldn't do this.
If he hated the idea of engaging in 2-way dialogue, whether the student is worth it or not, why did he teach? Could have done like Wallace Stevens and worked at a law firm...