Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "HALLUCINATION"
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Входимость: 2. Размер: 102кб.
Часть текста: упорядоченной. Кроме того, «Бледный огонь» дал Набокову возможность во всей полноте раскрыть его любимые темы. Кинбот и Зембля окружают шейдовскую поэму мерцанием странного смысла, точно за его самодостаточным миром маячит иная реальность: безумие, или ключ к загадке, над которой Шейд бился всю жизнь? «Бледный огонь» даже сильнее других романов нацелен на восторг открытия. Предисловие начинается с кинботовского строго научного резюме поэмы Джона Шейда «Бледный огонь», однако этот фасад почти сразу же дает трещину: выплески неуместного раздражения («Прямо напротив моей нынешней квартиры находится очень громкий увеселительный парк»); научные интриги, закрутившиеся вокруг рукописи мертвого поэта; сомнения в компетентности нынешнего ее редактора и комментатора. На второй странице предисловия Кинбот сообщает нам, что в последний день своей жизни его бедный друг Шейд объявил ему, что труд его завершен. К этому Кинбот добавляет: «смотри мое примечание к стиху 991». С этой точки мы можем либо читать дальше предисловие и ознакомиться с примечанием, когда до него доберемся, либо поверить автору на слово и сразу обратиться к примечанию. ...
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Часть текста: to make presentspresents just a prissy wee bit out of the ordinary, or so he prissily thought. Noticing one night that my box of chessmen was broken, he sent me next morning, with a little lad of his, a copper case: it had an elaborate Oriental design over the lid and could be securely locked. Once glance sufficed to assure me that it was one of those cheap money boxes called for some reason “luizettas” that you buy in Algiers and elsewhere, and wonder what to do with afterwards. It turned out to be much too flat for holding my bulky chessmen, but I kept itusing it for a totally different purpose. In order to break some pattern of fate in which I obscurely felt myself being enmeshed, I had decideddespite Lo’s visible annoyanceto spend another night at Chestnut Court; definitely waking up at four in the morning, I ascertained that Lo was still sound asleep (mouth open, in a kind of dull amazement at the curiously inane life we all had rigged up for her) and satisfied myself that the precious contents of the “luizetta” were safe. There, snugly wrapped in a white woolen scarf, lay a pocket automatic: caliber. 32, capacity of...
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Часть текста: Speak, Memory and Ada, and in the way you and Van retrieve the past in images. Do you both work along similar lines? The more gifted and talkative one's characters are, the greater the chances of their resembling the author in tone or tint of mind. It is a familiar embarrassment that I face with very faint qualms, particularly since I am not really aware of any special similarities-- just as one is not aware of sharing mannerisms with a detestable kinsman. I loathe Van Veen. The following two quotations seem closely related: "I confess I do not believe in time. I like to fold my magic carpet, after use, in such a way as to superimpose one part of the pattern upon another. " (Speak, Memory) and "pure time, perceptual time, tangible time, time free of content, context and running commentary-- this is my time and theme. All the rest is numerical symbol or some aspect of space. " (Ada). Will you give me a lift on your magic carpet to point out bow time is animated in the story of Van and Ada? In his study of time my creature distinguishes between text and texture, between the contents of time and its almost tangible essence. I ignored that distinction in my Speak, Memory and was mainly concerned with being faithful to the patterns of my past. I suspect that Van Veen, having less control over his imagination than I, novelized in his indulgent old age many images of his youth. You have spoken in the past of your indifference to music, but in Ada you describe time as "rhythm, the tender intervals between Stresses. " Are these rhythms musical, aural, physical, cerebral, what? Those "intervals" which seem to reveal the gray gaps of time between the black bars of space are much more similar to the interspaces between a metronome's...
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Часть текста: Lake Geneva, and the sounds of the lake are audible through the open doors of their small balcony. Since Mr. Nabokov does not like to talk off the cuff (or "Off the Nabocuff," as he said) no tape recorder was used. Mr. Nabokov ei! ther wrote out his answers to the questions or dictated them to the interviewer; in some instances, notes from the conversation were later recast as formal questions-and-answers. The interviewer was Nabokov's student at Cornell University in 1954, and the references are to Literature 311-312 (MWF, 12), a course on the Masterpieces of European Fiction (Jane Austen, Gogol, Dickens, Flaubert, Tolstoy, Stevenson, Kafka, Joyce, and Proust). Its enrollment had reached four hundred by the time of Nabokov's resignation in 1959. The footnotes to the interview, except where indicated, are provided by the interviewer, Alfred Appel, Jr. For years bibliographers and literary journalists didn't know whether to group you under "Russian" or "American. "Now that you're living in Switzerland there seems to be complete agreement that you're American. Do you find this kind of distinction at all important regarding your identity as a writer? I have always maintained, even as a schoolboy in Russia, that the nationality of a worthwhile writer is of secondary importance. The more distinctive an insect's aspect, the less apt the taxonomist is to glance first of all at the locality label under the pinned specimen in order to decide which of several ...
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Часть текста: past development of his life. Here again I had to provide pegs and echoes when furnishing my reception halls. Is the strongest tie between men this common captivity in time? Let us not generalize. The common captivity in time is felt differently by different people, and some people may not feel it at all. Generalizations are full of loopholes and traps. I know elderly men for whom "time" only means "timepiece." What distinguishes us from animals? Being aware of being aware of being. In other words, if I not only know that I am but also know that I know it, then I belong to the human species. All the rest follows-- the glory of thought, poetry, a vision of the universe. In that respect, the gap between ape and man is immeasurably greater than the one between amoeba and ape. The difference between an ape's memory and human memory is the difference between an ampersand and the British Museum library. Judging from your own awakening consciousness as a child, do you think that the capacity to use language, syntax, relate ideas, is something we learn from adults, as if we were computers being programed, or do we begin to use a unique, built-in capability of our own-- call it imagination? The stupidest person in the world is an all-round genius compared to the cleverest computer. How we learn to imagine and express things is a riddle with premises impossible to express and a solution impossible to imagine. In your acute scrutiny of your past, can you find the instruments that fashioned you? Yes-- unless I refashion them retrospectively, by the very act of evoking them. There is quite a lot of give and take in the game of metaphors. As you recall a patch of time, its shapes, sounds, colors, and occupants, does this complete picture help combat time or...
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Часть текста: turned out to belong to the glossily browned pine-log kind that Lolita used to be so fond of in the days of our carefree first journey; oh, how different things were now! I am not referring to Trapp or Trapps. After allwell, really… After all, gentlemen, it was becoming abundantly clear that all those identical detectives in prismatically changing cars were figments of my persecution mania, recurrent images based on coincidence and chance resemblance. Soyons logiques , crowed the cocky Gallic part of my brainand proceeded to rout the notion of a Lolita-maddened salesman or comedy gangster, with stooges, persecuting me, and hoaxing me, and otherwise taking riotous advantage of my strange relations with the law. I remember humming my panic away. I remember evolving even an explanation of the “Birdsley” telephone call… But if I could dismiss Trapp, as I had dismissed my convulsions on the lawn at Champion, I could do nothing with the anguish of knowing Lolita to be so tantalizingly, so miserably unattainable and beloved on the very even of a new era, when my alembics told me she should stop...
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Часть текста: против бывшего протеже, взлетевшего слишком высоко 1 . Пожалуй, без зависти тут действительно не обошлось. Однако критические суждения Уилсона вполне профессиональны: все-таки он относился к своему делу очень щепетильно. Возможно, в чем-то он был слеп, или рассуждал по-обывательски, или же к концу жизни настолько ослабел от болезней, что не способен был оценивать здраво, но все-таки тут дело не в одной зависти. Что-то в романе Набокова его не убедило. Уилсон и прежде высказывал другу возражения. Даже в книгах, которые ему понравились, как “Николай Гоголь” 2 , находились моменты, вызывавшие у него досаду, и в единственном романе, который привел Уилсона в восторг, “Подлинной жизни Себастьяна Найта”, тоже, по его мнению, имелись серьезные недостатки. Независимость суждений и неподкупность Уилсон возвел в культ. Иногда это его подводило: к примеру, он не заметил восторженного описания их дружбы в романе “Под знаком незаконнорожденных”. Уилсон читал все, что присылал ему Набоков, но не как профессиональный критик. Он не делал заметок (скорее всего, ему это и в голову не приходило) по поводу значимых моментов произведений . В 1953 году он писал Набокову: Получится ли у...
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Часть текста: My soi-disant passionate and lonely Charlotte was in everyday life matter-of-fact and gregarious. Moreover, I discovered that although she could not control her heart or her cries, she was a woman of principle. Immediately after she had become more or less my mistress (despite the stimulants, her “nervous, eager chri a heroic chri ! had some initial trouble, for which, however, he amply compensated her by a fantastic display of old-world endearments), good Charlotte interviewed me about my relations with God. I could have answered that on that score my mind was open; I said, insteadpaying my tribute to a pious platitudethat I believed in a cosmic spirit. Looking down at her fingernails, she also asked me had I not in my family a certain strange strain. I countered by inquiring whether she would still want to marry me if my father’s maternal grandfather had been, say, a Turk. She said it did not matter a bit; but that, if she ever found out I did not believe in Our Christian God, she would commit suicide. She said it so...