light of my life, fire of my loins

It took me an embarassing long amount of time to finally finish reading Vladmir Nabokov’s Lolita, not for any particular reason. Mostly because I was distracted by consuming an enormous amount of Young Adult literature as some sort of coping mechanism in these crazy Covid times. I wanted escapism not an in depth look at the complexity of human nature, sexuality and innocence.

Having seen one of the movie versions years ago, I knew the plot and I knew what to expect when I started reading but what I didn’t expect was some of the most beautiful language I’d ever encountered. It was unnerving. I found myself repeating the opening lines over and over in my head almost like lyrics to a song. The detailed description of the way the human mouth moves around the word Lolita.

Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

It is magical. Made even more so when you learn that English is not Nabokov’s native tongue and he felt the English language is second rate to the rich Russian one. I have done much like Nabokov himself, distracted you with language from the taboo subject nature of the novel itself which is essentially the story of how a middle aged man seduces his twelve year old adopted daughter.

The story is a tragic one in many ways, but I often found myself inraptured by the masterful use of language that I found myself forgetting that the object of Humbert Humbert’s rapturous affections was an underage girl, completely under his power.

Lolita is the perfect example of language triumphing over shocking content, giving it a beauty that it perhaps does not deserve. Just like Lolita, we are easily seduced.