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[NABOKOV-][THOUGHTS] Metamorphosis and a mutation of the soul
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Exploring Nabokov's answers in the (previously unpublished in English?)1959 interview,* in relation to his reference to "metamorphosis," I'd like to contrast this word with another, a "mutation of the soul," present in his much earlier poem, also shaped as "questions and answers."**
In the Paris interview, Nabokov states that "metamorphosis doesn't happen if you watch it" , i.e., the fictional entity dies, like a real memory when it's dressed up as a character in a novel (Cf.SO).
A- ...and then I will write another book. Another novel, I think.
Q- On what subject?
A- No, I can't tell you. If I begin to talk about such things, they die. It's
like a metamorphosis; it doesn't happen if you watch it.
In "An Evening of Russian Poetry" (a few lines) we read:
Q: 'Why do you speak of words/ When all we want is knowledge nicely browned?'
A: Because all hangs together - shape and sound
heather and honey, vessel and content.
Not only rainbows - every line is bent,
and skulls and seeds and all good words are round,
like Russian verse, like our colossal vowels:
those painted eggs, those glossy pitcher flowers
that swallow whole a golden bumblebee
those shells that hold a thimble and the sea
...........................................................................
This passion for expansion you may follow
throughout our poetry. We want the mole
to be a lynx or turn into a swallow
by some sublime mutation of the soul.
Hidden and revealed stories, distinct worlds, mirror or multiverse-parallel ones that carry a particular brand of metaphorical consistency, collapsing space and literary metamorphosis, all these suggest to me a tendency towards philosophical idealism (the world gaining existence through the word), in which fiction gains the status of the "dominant reality."
However, in opposition to the magic effectiveness of his synesthesic images, once in a while there is a warning, a wake-up call, informing the enchanted spectators that the poet's fast-moving verbal fingers are simply the conjurer's.
The conjurer collects his poor belongings -
the colored handkerchief, the magic rope,
the double-bottomed rhymes, the cage, the song...
The remains of Nabokov's world, his jewels, are actual in his verse and in his novels, but their material reality is a heap of ashes, unlike his vast "unreal estate," a paradise that also harbors destructive verbal entities (such as Gradus/Death gaining shape from Shade's lines in Pale Fire, for example; or "dementia").
But lapidary epithets are few;
we do not deal in universal rubies.
The angle and the glitter are subdued;
our riches lie concealed. We never liked
the jeweler's window in the rainy night...
In my opinion, Nabokov's planned deceit lies not in the poems he shakes out of his hat (like Kinbote describes Shade's transformation of words into verse), but in his warnings against the "reality" this kind of magic engenders: the "mutation of the soul." (for those who believe in a soul, of course).
The presence of "Death" ( "Et in Arcadia ego") in this verbal paradise is still surprising, but a fundamental intuition (which I cannot yet fully grasp).
...............................................................................
* « The Good Mr. Nabokov » ...An interview given to L'Express in Paris, November, 1959, translated by Maurice Couturier.
** "An Evening of Russian Poetry." First publication in The New Yorker. Vol. 21 (1945), N 3
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In the Paris interview, Nabokov states that "metamorphosis doesn't happen if you watch it" , i.e., the fictional entity dies, like a real memory when it's dressed up as a character in a novel (Cf.SO).
A- ...and then I will write another book. Another novel, I think.
Q- On what subject?
A- No, I can't tell you. If I begin to talk about such things, they die. It's
like a metamorphosis; it doesn't happen if you watch it.
In "An Evening of Russian Poetry" (a few lines) we read:
Q: 'Why do you speak of words/ When all we want is knowledge nicely browned?'
A: Because all hangs together - shape and sound
heather and honey, vessel and content.
Not only rainbows - every line is bent,
and skulls and seeds and all good words are round,
like Russian verse, like our colossal vowels:
those painted eggs, those glossy pitcher flowers
that swallow whole a golden bumblebee
those shells that hold a thimble and the sea
...........................................................................
This passion for expansion you may follow
throughout our poetry. We want the mole
to be a lynx or turn into a swallow
by some sublime mutation of the soul.
Hidden and revealed stories, distinct worlds, mirror or multiverse-parallel ones that carry a particular brand of metaphorical consistency, collapsing space and literary metamorphosis, all these suggest to me a tendency towards philosophical idealism (the world gaining existence through the word), in which fiction gains the status of the "dominant reality."
However, in opposition to the magic effectiveness of his synesthesic images, once in a while there is a warning, a wake-up call, informing the enchanted spectators that the poet's fast-moving verbal fingers are simply the conjurer's.
The conjurer collects his poor belongings -
the colored handkerchief, the magic rope,
the double-bottomed rhymes, the cage, the song...
The remains of Nabokov's world, his jewels, are actual in his verse and in his novels, but their material reality is a heap of ashes, unlike his vast "unreal estate," a paradise that also harbors destructive verbal entities (such as Gradus/Death gaining shape from Shade's lines in Pale Fire, for example; or "dementia").
But lapidary epithets are few;
we do not deal in universal rubies.
The angle and the glitter are subdued;
our riches lie concealed. We never liked
the jeweler's window in the rainy night...
In my opinion, Nabokov's planned deceit lies not in the poems he shakes out of his hat (like Kinbote describes Shade's transformation of words into verse), but in his warnings against the "reality" this kind of magic engenders: the "mutation of the soul." (for those who believe in a soul, of course).
The presence of "Death" ( "Et in Arcadia ego") in this verbal paradise is still surprising, but a fundamental intuition (which I cannot yet fully grasp).
...............................................................................
* « The Good Mr. Nabokov » ...An interview given to L'Express in Paris, November, 1959, translated by Maurice Couturier.
** "An Evening of Russian Poetry." First publication in The New Yorker. Vol. 21 (1945), N 3
Search archive with Google:
http://www.google.com/advanced_search?q=site:listserv.ucsb.edu&HL=en
Contact the Editors: mailto:nabokv-l@utk.edu,nabokv-l@holycross.edu
Visit Zembla: http://www.libraries.psu.edu/nabokov/zembla.htm
View Nabokv-L policies: http://web.utk.edu/~sblackwe/EDNote.htm
Visit "Nabokov Online Journal:" http://www.nabokovonline.com
Manage subscription options: http://listserv.ucsb.edu/