Describing the torments of poor mad Aqua (the twin sister of Van's, Ada's and Lucette's mother Marina), Van Veen (the narrator and main character in VN’s novel Ada, 1969) mentions Caliban:
She developed a morbid sensitivity to the language of tap water — which echoes sometimes (much as the bloodstream does predormitarily) a fragment of human speech lingering in one’s ears while one washes one’s hands after cocktails with strangers. Upon first noticing this immediate, sustained, and in her case rather eager and mocking but really quite harmless replay of this or that recent discourse, she felt tickled at the thought that she, poor Aqua, had accidentally hit upon such a simple method of recording and transmitting speech, while technologists (the so-called Eggheads) all over the world were trying to make publicly utile and commercially rewarding the extremely elaborate and still very expensive, hydrodynamic telephones and other miserable gadgets that were to replace those that had gone k chertyam sobach’im (Russian ‘to the devil’) with the banning of an unmentionable ‘lammer.’ Soon, however, the rhythmically perfect, but verbally rather blurred volubility of faucets began to acquire too much pertinent sense. The purity of the running water’s enunciation grew in proportion to the nuisance it made of itself. It spoke soon after she had listened, or been exposed, to somebody talking — not necessarily to her — forcibly and expressively, a person with a rapid characteristic voice, and very individual or very foreign phrasal intonations, some compulsive narrator’s patter at a horrible party, or a liquid soliloquy in a tedious play, or Van’s lovely voice, or a bit of poetry heard at a lecture, my lad, my pretty, my love, take pity, but especially the more fluid and flou Italian verse, for instance that ditty recited between knee-knocking and palpebra-lifting, by a half-Russian, half-dotty old doctor, doc, toc, ditty, dotty, ballatetta, deboletta... tu, voce sbigottita... spigotty e diavoletta... de lo cor dolente... con ballatetta va... va... della strutta, destruttamente... mente... mente... stop that record, or the guide will go on demonstrating as he did this very morning in Florence a silly pillar commemorating, he said, the ‘elmo’ that broke into leaf when they carried stone-heavy-dead St Zeus by it through the gradual, gradual shade; or the Arlington harridan talking incessantly to her silent husband as the vineyards sped by, and even in the tunnel (they can’t do this to you, you tell them, Jack Black, you just tell them...). Bathwater (or shower) was too much of a Caliban to speak distinctly — or perhaps was too brutally anxious to emit the hot torrent and get rid of the infernal ardor — to bother about small talk; but the burbly flowlets grew more and more ambitious and odious, and when at her first ‘home’ she heard one of the most hateful of the visiting doctors (the Cavalcanti quoter) garrulously pour hateful instructions in Russian-lapped German into her hateful bidet, she decided to stop turning on tap water altogether. (1.3)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): lammer: amber (Fr: l’ambre), allusion to electricity.
my lad, my pretty, etc: paraphrase of a verse in Housman.
ballatetta: fragmentation and distortion of a passage in a ‘little ballad’ by the Italian poet Guido Cavalcanti (1255–1300). The relevant lines are: ‘you frightened and weak little voice that comes weeping from my woeful heart, go with my soul and that ditty, telling of a destroyed mind.’
Aqua's loquacious namesake, water is the element that destroys Lucette, Van's and Ada's half-sister who in June 1901 commits suicide by jumping from Admiral Tobakoff into the Atlantic. Half-man, half-monster, Prospero's slave Caliban is a character in Shakespeare's play The Tempest. The title of Aldous Huxley's novel Brave New World (1932) derives from The Tempest, Act V, Scene I, Miranda's speech:
O wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in 't.
In Aldous Huxley's novel Island (1962) Dr. Robert quotes Lenin's formula involving electricity:
"In the old days," Dr. Robert explained, "we used to lose about half of all the perishables we produced. Now we lose practically nothing. Whatever we grow is for us, not for the circumambient bacteria."
"So now you have enough to eat."
"More than enough. We eat better than any other country in Asia, and there's a surplus for export. Lenin used to say that electricity plus socialism equals communism. Our equations are rather different. Electricity minus heavy industry plus birth control equals democracy and plenty. Electricity plus heavy industry minus birth control equals misery, totalitarianism and war." (chapter 9)
The Italian title of Aldous Huxley's Island is L'isola (brought out by Mondadori, VN's and Pasternak's Italian publisher). In VN’s novel Zashchita Luzhina (“The Luzhin Defense,” 1930) the father of Luzhin's bride mentions Isola Bella (one of the Borromean islands of Lago Maggiore in Northern Italy):
В один из ближайших вечеров произошел давно назревший, давно рокотавший и наконец тяжело грянувший,- напрасный, безобразно громкий, но неизбежный,- разговор. Она только что вернулась из санатории, жадно ела гречневую кашу и рассказывала, что Лужину лучше, Родители переглянулись, и тут-то и началось.
"Я надеюсь,- звучно сказала мать,- что ты отказалась от своего безумного намерения". "Еще, пожалуйста",- попросила она, протягивая тарелку. "Из известного чувства деликатности..."- продолжала мать, и тут отец быстро перехватил эстафету. "Да,- сказал он,- из деликатности твоя мать ничего тебе не говорила эти дни,- пока не выяснилось положение твоего знакомого. Но теперь ты должна нас выслушать. Ты знаешь сама: главное наше желание, и забота, и цель, и вообще... желание - это то, чтоб тебе было хорошо, чтоб ты была счастлива и так далее. А для этого..." "В мое время просто бы запретили,- вставила мать,- и все тут". "Нет, нет, при чем тут запрет. Ты вот послушай, душенька. Тебе не восемнадцать лет. а двадцать пять, и вообще я не вижу во всем, что случилось, какого-нибудь увлечения, поэзии". "Ей просто нравится делать все наперекор,- опять перебила мать.- Это такой сплошной кошмар..." "О чем вы собственно говорите?"- наконец спросила дочь и улыбнулась исподлобья, мягко облокотившись на стол и переводя глаза с отца на мать. "О том, что пора выбросить дурь из головы,- крикнула мать.- О том, что брак с полунормальным нищим совершенная ересь". "Ох",- сказала дочь и, протянув по столу руку, опустила на нее голову. "Вот что,- снова заговорил отец.- Мы тебе предлагаем поехать на Итальянские озера. Поехать с мамой на Итальянские озера. Ты не можешь себе представить, какие там райские места. Я помню, что когда я впервые увидел Изола Белла..." У нее запрыгали плечи от мелкого смеха; затем она подняла голову и продолжала тихо смеяться, не открывая глаз. "Объясни, чего же ты хочешь",- спросила мать и хлопнула по столу. "Во-первых,- ответила она,- чтобы не было такого крика. Во-вторых, чтобы Лужин совсем поправился". "Изола Белла это значит Прекрасный Остров,- торопливо продолжал отец, стараясь многозначительной ужимкой показать жене, что он один справится.- Ты не можешь себе представить... Синяя лазурь, и жара, и магнолии, и превосходные гостиницы в Стрезе,- ну, конечно, теннис, танцы... И особенно я помню,- как это называется,- такие светящиеся мухи..." "Ну, а потом что?- с хищным любопытством спросила мать.- Ну, а потом, когда твой друг,- если не окочурится..." "Это зависит от него,- по возможности спокойно сказала дочь.- Я этого человека не могу бросить на произвол судьбы. И не брошу. Точка". "Будешь с ним в желтом доме,- живи, живи, матушка!" "В желтом или синем..."- начала с дрожащей улыбкой дочь. "Не соблазняет Италия?" - бодро крикнул отец. "Сумасшедшая... Я поседела из-за тебя! Ты не выйдешь за этого шахматного обормота!" "Сама обормот. Если захочу, выйду. Ограниченная и нехорошая женщина..." "Ну-ну-ну, будет, будет",- бубнил отец. "Я его больше сюда не впущу,- задыхалась мать.- Вот тебе крест". Дочь беззвучно расплакалась и вышла из столовой, стукнувшись мимоходом об угол буфета и жалобно сказав "черт возьми!". Буфет долго и обиженно звенел.
One night soon after this, there took place a long brewing, long rumbling and at last breaking, futile, disgracefully loud, but unavoidable scene. She had just returned from the sanatorium and was hungrily eating hot buckwheat cereal and relating that Luzhin was better. Her parents exchanged looks and then it began.
"I hope," said her mother resonantly, "that you have renounced your crazy intention." "More please," she asked, holding out her plate. "Out of a certain feeling of delicacy," continued her mother, and here her father quickly took up the torch. "Yes," he said, "out of delicacy your mother has said nothing to you these past days--until your friend's situation cleared up. But now you must listen to us. You yourself know that our main desire, and care, and aim, and in general ... desire is for you to be all right, for you to be happy, et cetera. But for this ..." "In my time parents would simply have forbidden it," put in her mother, "that's all." "No, no, what's forbidding got to do with this? You listen to me, my pet. You're not eighteen years old, but twenty-five, and I can see nothing whatsoever enticing or poetic in all that has happened." "She just likes to annoy us," interrupted her mother again. "It's just one continuous nightmare...." "What exactly are you talking about?" asked the daughter finally and smiled from beneath lowered brows, resting her elbows softly on the table and looking from her father to her mother. "About the fact that it's time you ceased to be silly," cried her mother. "About the fact that marriage to a penniless crackpot is nonsense." "Ach," uttered the daughter, and stretching her arm out on the table she put her head upon it. "Here's what," her father began again. "We suggest you go to the Italian lakes. Go with Mamma to the Italian lakes. You can't imagine what heavenly spots there are there. I remember the first time I saw Isola Bella ..." Her shoulders began to twitch from half-suppressed laughter; then she lifted her head and continued to laugh softly, keeping her eyes closed. "What is it you want?" asked her mother and banged on the table. "First," she replied, "that you stop shouting. Second, that Luzhin gets completely well." "Isola Bella means Beautiful Island," continued her father hastily, trying with a meaningful grimace to intimate to his wife that he alone would manage it. "You can't imagine ... An azure sky, and the heat, and magnolias, and the superb hotels at Stresa--and of course tennis, dancing ... And I particularly remember--what do you call them--those insects that light up ..." "Well and what then?" asked the mother with rapacious curiosity. "What then, when your friend--if he doesn't die ..." "That depends on him," said the daughter, trying to speak calmly. "I can't abandon him. And I won't. Period." "You'll be in the madhouse with him--that's where you'll be, my girl!" "Mad or not ..." began the daughter with a trembling smile. "Doesn't Italy tempt you?" cried her father. "The girl is crazy. You won't marry this chess moron!" "Moron yourself. If I want to I'll marry him. You're a narrow-minded, and wicked woman ..." "Now, now, now, that's enough, that's enough," mumbled her father. "I won't let him set foot in here again," panted her mother; "that's final." The daughter began to cry soundlessly and left the dining room, banging into a corner of the sideboard as she passed and letting out a plaintive "damn it!" The offended sideboard went on vibrating for a long time. (Chapter Ten)
The professor in the sanatorium forbids Luzhin to be given anything by Dostoevski:
Путешествие Фогга и мемуары Холмса Лужин прочел в два дня и, прочитав, сказал, что это не то, что он хотел,- неполное, что ли, издание. Из других книг ему понравилась "Анна Каренина" - особенно страницы о земских выборах и обед, заказанный Облонским. Некоторое впечатление произвели на него и "Мертвые души", причем он в одном месте неожиданно узнал целый кусок, однажды в детстве долго и мучительно писанный им под диктовку. Кроме так называемых классиков, невеста ему приносила и всякие случайные книжонки легкого поведения - труды галльских новеллистов. Все, что только могло развлечь Лужина, было хорошо- даже эти сомнительные новеллы, которые он со смущением, но с интересом читал. Зато стихи (например, томик Рильке, который она купила по совету приказчика) приводили его в состояние тяжелого недоумения и печали. Соответственно с этим профессор запретил давать Лужину читать Достоевского, который, по словам профессора, производит гнетущее действие на психику современного человека, ибо, как в страшном зеркале...
"Ах, господин Лужин не задумывается над книгой,- весело сказала она.- - А стихи он плохо понимает из-за рифм, рифмы ему в тягость".
Luzhin read Fogg's journey and Holmes' memoirs in two days, and when he had read them he said they were not what he wanted--this was an incomplete edition. Of the other books, he liked Anna Karenin--particularly the pages on the zemstvo elections and the dinner ordered by Oblonski. Dead Souls also made a certain impression on him, moreover in one place he unexpectedly recognized a whole section that he had once taken down in childhood as a long and painful dictation. Besides the so-called classics his fiancée brought him all sorts of frivolous French novels. Everything that could divert Luzhin was good--even these doubtful stories, which he read, though embarrassed, with interest. Poetry, on the other hand (for instance a small volume of Rilke's that she had bought on the recommendation of a salesman) threw him into a state of severe perplexity and sorrow. Correspondingly, the professor forbade Luzhin to be given anything by Dostoevski, who, in the professor's words, had an oppressive effect on the psyche of contemporary man, for as in a terrible mirror--
"Oh, Mr. Luzhin doesn't brood over books," she said cheerfully. "And he understands poetry badly because of the rhymes, the rhymes put him off." (Chapter Ten)
The action in Ada takes place on Demonia, Earth’s twin planet also known as Antiterra. After the L disaster in the beau milieu of the 19th century (chronologically, the Antiterran L disaster seems to correspond to the mock execution of Dostoevski and the Petrashevskians on Jan. 3, 1850, in our world) electricity was banned on Demonia:
The details of the L disaster (and I do not mean Elevated) in the beau milieu of last century, which had the singular effect of both causing and cursing the notion of ‘Terra,’ are too well-known historically, and too obscene spiritually, to be treated at length in a book addressed to young laymen and lemans — and not to grave men or gravemen.
Of course, today, after great anti-L years of reactionary delusion have gone by (more or less!) and our sleek little machines, Faragod bless them, hum again after a fashion, as they did in the first half of the nineteenth century, the mere geographic aspect of the affair possesses its redeeming comic side, like those patterns of brass marquetry, and bric-à-Braques, and the ormolu horrors that meant ‘art’ to our humorless forefathers. For, indeed, none can deny the presence of something highly ludicrous in the very configurations that were solemnly purported to represent a varicolored map of Terra. Ved’ (‘it is, isn’t it’) sidesplitting to imagine that ‘Russia,’ instead of being a quaint synonym of Estoty, the American province extending from the Arctic no longer vicious Circle to the United States proper, was on Terra the name of a country, transferred as if by some sleight of land across the ha-ha of a doubled ocean to the opposite hemisphere where it sprawled over all of today’s Tartary, from Kurland to the Kuriles! But (even more absurdly), if, in Terrestrial spatial terms, the Amerussia of Abraham Milton was split into its components, with tangible water and ice separating the political, rather than poetical, notions of ‘America’ and ‘Russia,’ a more complicated and even more preposterous discrepancy arose in regard to time — not only because the history of each part of the amalgam did not quite match the history of each counterpart in its discrete condition, but because a gap of up to a hundred years one way or another existed between the two earths; a gap marked by a bizarre confusion of directional signs at the crossroads of passing time with not all the no-longers of one world corresponding to the not-yets of the other. It was owing, among other things, to this ‘scientifically ungraspable’ concourse of divergences that minds bien rangés (not apt to unhobble hobgoblins) rejected Terra as a fad or a fantom, and deranged minds (ready to plunge into any abyss) accepted it in support and token of their own irrationality.
As Van Veen himself was to find out, at the time of his passionate research in terrology (then a branch of psychiatry) even the deepest thinkers, the purest philosophers, Paar of Chose and Zapater of Aardvark, were emotionally divided in their attitude toward the possibility that there existed 'a distortive glass of our distorted glebe’ as a scholar who desires to remain unnamed has put it with such euphonic wit. (Hm! Kveree-kveree, as poor Mlle L. used to say to Gavronsky. In Ada’s hand.)
There were those who maintained that the discrepancies and ‘false overlappings’ between the two worlds were too numerous, and too deeply woven into the skein of successive events, not to taint with trite fancy the theory of essential sameness; and there were those who retorted that the dissimilarities only confirmed the live organic reality pertaining to the other world; that a perfect likeness would rather suggest a specular, and hence speculatory, phenomenon; and that two chess games with identical openings and identical end moves might ramify in an infinite number of variations, on one board and in two brains, at any middle stage of their irrevocably converging development. (1.3)
Darkbloom (‘Notes to Ada’): beau milieu: right in the middle.
Faragod: apparently, the god of electricity.
braques: allusion to a bric-à-brac painter.