Moi je m'appelle...Lolita
I have been reading about her lately.Lolita, by vladimir nabokov, chronicles the story of Humbert Humbert, poet and pervert, and his obsession with 12-year-old Dolores Haze, trying to possess her carnally, and then out of so-called love, by attempting to close her off to the world outside, or in his own words, ‘to rid the world of the danger of nymphets.’
For those who wish themselves an insight into the world of a very twisted mind, this is a book for you to consider. Although he appears perfectly normal – even gentlemanly and charming, yet the very things he derives pleasure from – the hunger he describes in such florid, rich, tempting words, clearly states that Lolita never knew what she really meant to him – H.H. confessed indirectly in this sense that although he derived serious pleasure from it all, Lolita never really did, and even if he rationalized everything from the so-called viewpoint of the mature adult, that Lolita actually seduced him, it was never true – perhaps she did love him as a child because, simply put, he treated her better than her mother did, but it was only an expression of love she saw in the movies.
And what did he do to satiate himself? He married Lolita’s widowed mother, if only to keep Lolita by his side, then indirectly causing her death, for which he feels no sadness whatsoever, then taking Lolita on a trip round the U.S. of A., to prevent Lolita from finding out the truth, and to prevent anyone from ever finding them out. In a sense, he took her on the run from their past – whatever it may have been.
Lolita is torn – she wants to lead a normal life, yet the demands of her only kin decree otherwise. She had never known of the repercussions of that fateful day which led her on the road to sell her body for the soul – selling her body so that H.H. may let her carry on with some semblance of normal life as it is – she thinks she can control him, even if it is him who holds the reins.
Countless trysts and a few thousand miles down the road, he begins to feel that he is being followed – by a car whose number plate always changes – and begins to understand that the vestiges of his sanity, having been worn away by the mental and physical torture of the trip and Lolita herself, are finally slipping away…
What’s next? I don’t know…I’ll be reading in camp! Haha…it’s really engrossing, and although some parts you will read with the knowledge that something is very, very wrong, it is a book to taste and enjoy to the fullest. If only I knew more French, or knew how to read more into books…maybe I should’ve taken Lit? ah, hecks.
posted by quatscherei @ 17:37
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