My father grew up in the slums of Boston in the 1940’s. When he was seven, my grandmother kicked my grandfather out, on account of too much drinking. The necessity that followed developed a compulsive and near infinite work ethic in my father. When I was a teenager, he explained to me that even though he had escaped poverty long ago, in his mind he was still running from it, and he could not bear to stop running.
Ada. I loved Nabokov when I was in my 20s. Andrew Field, the early VN biographer, taught at my college as a visiting scholar in the 1980s. As time passed, my opinion of VN changed. His dazzling word play and imperiousness impressed me when I was a callow youth. So much about him irks me now. His supreme adoration of A.R.T. leaves him strangely removed and mute about so many aspects of life. In his novels, the world is divided between the few enlightened blessed people, who are usually artists, and the stupid/evil, risible rest of ragged humanity. Such black and white thinking is cold and leaves me cold. The delection he derives in dissecting people he deems idiots is cruel. I have not been able to shake VN’s overuse of alliteration, as you can see (3 d’s!). I grew up and fell in love with Chekhov. In his essay on Chekhov, VN fails to understand the true, elusive essence of Chekhov’s universe. He fails to see the multitudes of humanity that is the miracle of Chekhov’s creation, and instead falls back on the tired and incorrect old view of a fading, gray, charmingly indistinct Cherry Orchard, etc. I still enjoy VN's lectures on literature, but it makes so much sense to me that he could not properly read Chekhov. When I was a child, I thought as a child…
Ada. I loved Nabokov when I was in my 20s. Andrew Field, the early VN biographer, taught at my college as a visiting scholar in the 1980s. As time passed, my opinion of VN changed. His dazzling word play and imperiousness impressed me when I was a callow youth. So much about him irks me now. His supreme adoration of A.R.T. leaves him strangely removed and mute about so many aspects of life. In his novels, the world is divided between the few enlightened blessed people, who are usually artists, and the stupid/evil, risible rest of ragged humanity. Such black and white thinking is cold and leaves me cold. The delection he derives in dissecting people he deems idiots is cruel. I have not been able to shake VN’s overuse of alliteration, as you can see (3 d’s!). I grew up and fell in love with Chekhov. In his essay on Chekhov, VN fails to understand the true, elusive essence of Chekhov’s universe. He fails to see the multitudes of humanity that is the miracle of Chekhov’s creation, and instead falls back on the tired and incorrect old view of a fading, gray, charmingly indistinct Cherry Orchard, etc. I still enjoy VN's lectures on literature, but it makes so much sense to me that he could not properly read Chekhov. When I was a child, I thought as a child…
Beautiful, man. This is the stuff. Hidden away in that quiet is a good place.
Do you read these stories to your children? It would be magic.