“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.”
For those who aren’t familiar with Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita (1955), the novel explores the events initiated and devised by the protagonist Humbert Humbert, who is infatuated with a “nymphet” nicknamed Lolita. However, the infamous controversy surrounding the piece is that, when the two first meet, Lolita is a twelve-year-old girl, whilst Humbert is around the age of thirty-six.
I think all can agree that the subject matter at hand, especially as the book progresses, is deeply disturbing, with the reader experiencing a first hand insight into Humbert’s obsession with the child. Thus, Nabokov’s choice to explore the inner workings of a child-predator was, and remains to be, a highly contested literary decision.
Yet, the fascinating nature of the novel is not found in the disturbing events that unfold, but the enchanting use of language in which such events are depicted. Immediately in the opening line (quoted at the start of the article), we are met with a visceral, almost religious, depiction of intensity, as Humbert declares his passion for the child.
It is this fiery and vivid use of language which compels the reader to immerse themselves in the piece, despite the deep unease they would feel whilst doing so.
This is the powerful contradiction within literary depiction. One may not wish to associate with the subject matter, and may find it extremely uncomfortable in parts, but find the means by which it is portrayed so appealing that they are captivated by the text.
My personal thoughts at the end of the novel were exactly that; I was hesitant to explore the subject matter, yet would absorb the language and lexis again in a heartbeat. Thus, I, along with many other readers I’m sure, felt conflicted, having been made a victim of the paradox of literary presentation.
“Vladimir Nabokov (statue)” by Rahul Narain on Openverse.
