Vladimir Nabokov: Speak, Memory
“One night, during a trip abroad, in the fall of 1903, I recall kneeling on my (flattish) pillow at the window of a sleeping car (probably on the long-extinct Mediterranean Train de Luxe, the one whose six cars had the lower part of their body painted in umber and the panels in cream) and seeing with an inexplicable pang, a handful of fabulous lights that beckoned to me from a distant hillside, and then slipped into a pocket of black velvet: diamonds that I later gave away to my characters to alleviate the burden of my wealth.”
This is not a comprehensive review, nor merely a commentary. To truly grasp the significance of this book, one would need to compose another book dedicated to it. My attempt here is to gather glimpses from my reading, serving as a reminder to everyday individuals, including professionals like product or software developers. It underscores the importance of engaging with high-quality literature and serves as a poignant reflection on our times, where Russian barbarism not only wreaks havoc on the lives and worlds of other nations but also on its own citizens.
The book comprises individual essays originally published between 1936 and 1951, forming the first editions released in 1951. Nabokov later revisited and extended the content for a revised edition in 1966. I read the Czech translation from this updated version, skillfully translated by Pavel Dominik and published by H&H, presenting itself as a beautiful book artefact designed by Vladimír Náro?ník.
Let’s delve into the book, which is structured into 15 chapters. Each chapter unfolds a distinct theme, such as reflections on writing an autobiography, recollections of first memories and early childhood, exploration of genealogy and family tree, a poignant chapter dedicated to his teachers, and a special tribute to his governess, Mademoiselle. Noteworthy chapters include one on Nabokov’s lifelong hobby of butterflies, a heart-wrenching portrayal of his father (in stark contrast to Kafka’s letter to his father), a dedicated chapter to his first significant love, Tamara, and an exploration of his chilly years in Cambridge. The narrative also delves into the life of emigrants in Berlin and culminates with a chapter on Berliners, Prague, and Paris parks, ultimately focusing on the young family comprising his wife Vera and son Dmitry.
Yet, all the conventional elements one anticipates in a biography are present. However, Nabokov, a seasoned magician, candidly acknowledges at the book’s outset that he had debated with his sister about certain events, contending that they did not unfold exactly as he described. This admission of uncertainty plants a seed of suspicion in the reader’s mind, suggesting that the narrator may be unreliable and engaging in subtle mind games. Readers can adopt various perspectives, but the most secure stance is to view this book as another work of Nabokov’s fiction.
The question arises: What makes me consider this book exceptional, and which elements do I value the most? What compelling reasons could I offer my colleagues to encourage them to read this book?
Alright, let’s begin by outlining the context. I apologize for the lengthy narrative…
The concept of “nation,” which emerged in the 19th century and firmly rooted itself in the 20th century, gives the impression that people have been thinking this way for eternity. As a reader of Nabokov’s book, you begin to distance yourself from “crowd thinking” and “common sense,” becoming infected by Nabokov’s belief in individualism and the conviction that art or, more precisely, education in art, can transform the world. After 30 years of Central Europe attaining freedom and achieving all the comforts of the Western world and consumerism, we find ourselves no happier, opting instead to vote for autocrats. We believed that by directing all our efforts towards “catching up” with the West and primarily investing in technology, we inadvertently neglected education, culture, and art. This approach “has bred” a kind of “citizen” deprived of empathy, incapable of critical thinking on a daily basis.
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In answering my initial question, Nabokov portrayed his childhood in such a way that one doesn’t need to be Russian or born in the 19th century to understand. He captured the emotions and memories of childhood that many may struggle to articulate due to a lack of observational and writing skills. Reading this book feels like therapy, touching on deep childhood feelings amidst the backdrop of adult routines.
As a reader, you empathize with Nabokov — as a child, as a student, as a lover — crossing barriers that differentiate us, such as the concept of “nation,” and you begin to realize that you have also gone through similar experiences as Nabokov. You start to recognize these feelings, this light, this fear.
I hope it’s clear that technological advancements and hypermarkets won’t bring us happiness. In Nabokov’s tale of escaping Bolshevik Russia and later fleeing Germany and France from the Nazis, the parallels to our contemporary era become strikingly apparent. The madness of his time clearly overlaps with the madness of our times.
You may ask yourself, “How can I live among fellow citizens who lack critical thinking and empathy, and who vote for autocrats?” My small piece of advice would be: Do not resign yourself to inaction. Cultivate your mind and your surroundings; read books and foster empathy. The books of Nabokov and the story of his life promise that madness can be overcome.
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[original blog post on Medium]