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October 15, 2019

Lolita Wall-O-Matic jukebox music Translating Lolita










Double Exposure: On the Vertigo of Translating
Lolita


by Tadashi Wakashima

translated from the Japanese by Jeff
Edmunds
in collaboration with Akiko Nakata
Just prior to completing a new Japanese translation of Lolita,1
as I was immersed in checking the page proofs, the following sentence
caught my eye. It appears in Part One, Chapter 13, the famous scene in
which narrator Humbert Humbert masturbates on the couch:
My heart beat like a drum as she sat down, cool skirt ballooning,
subsiding, on the sofa next to me, and played with her glossy fruit.
While translating the book I had often been surprised to encounter a
sentence like this, a sentence I had no memory of ever having seen, although
I must have read it countless times. It was as if the line had simply
passed through my head without stopping. This time, however, as if written
in bold face, the sentence abruptly jumped out at me: I felt a sensation
familiar to readers of Nabokov: there was something here, as if a concealed
power had been lurking in the sentence waiting to shake the reader’s
sleeping sensors awake.
In the sentence above, what so took me aback was its apparent similarity
to a famous scene in The Seven Year Itch, in which Marilyn Monroe’s
white skirt billows up weightlessly like a balloon as she straddles a
subway vent. Associating the two images may not be as crazy as it seems.
The reader may recall that in Pale Fire, two lines from John
Shade’s poem describe an actress appearing in close-up on a TV screen:
“The parted lips, the swimming eyes, the grain / Of beauty on the
cheek, odd Gallicism,” clearly a reference to Monroe. It would not
be unusual then if Nabokov were using the Monroe of The Seven Year
Itch
as a model in Lolita. Of course the circumstances in
the two cases are entirely different, but the word “cool”
cannot help but evoke Monroe as she appears in the famous film.
When an imaginary line is drawn between Lolita and The Seven
Year Itch
in the hopes of establishing a relationship diagrammatically,
other mysterious connections can be discerned. The scene that includes
Monroe’s billowing skirt occurs when Tom Ewell and Monroe, who has
moved in upstairs from him and whom he has invited to go out, are returning
from seeing a movie: the science fiction classic Creature from the
Black Lagoon
. Monroe expresses a surprising take on the film: she
finds the creature “kinda scary-looking” but says that “he
wasn't really all bad. I think he just craved a little affection-- you
know, a sense of being loved and needed and wanted.” The audience
may laugh at her assessment, which could be seen as unintentionally likening
Tom Ewell, who has unsavory intentions, to the monstrous half-fish, half-man.
Much the same could be said of Humbert Humbert in Lolita: although
disguised as an Old World gentleman, in fact he’s a monster afflicted
with pedophilia.
Such parallels could, of course, be merely the delusions of someone who
has read too much Nabokov, so I investigated the data.
The first release of The Seven Year Itch took place in June
1955. Lolita was published in Paris by Olympia Press in September
1955. What a coincidence! According to the account Brian Boyd gives in
his biography, Nabokov received the galley proofs from Olympia Press and
made minor corrections to them in July 1955 (Vladimir Nabokov: The
American Years
, 269). Although this fact does not confirm that Nabokov
saw The Seven Year Itch, the conjecture that he did—or
that he knew about it through hearsay—and that this description
involving a ballooning skirt then made it into the book at the last minute,
is not wholly outside the realm of possibility. Considering the matter
dispassionately, the apparent parallel is probably only fortuitous, but
such strange coincidences seem inherent in the experience of reading Nabokov’s
novel. One might even say that it has an oddly prophetic quality.
In examining the final typescript of the Japanese translation, I experience
a dizzying sense of illusion, elicited by my awareness that I am now noticing
every place where Nabokov may have made changes to the final proofs of
the novel. As soon as one comes into contact with Nabokov, the world is
suffused with a Nabokovian tint. Spanning in a single burst two points
in time 50 years apart, Lolita seems unexpectedly fresh.



Having begun with movies, let’s continue on the theme of Lolita
and film. In trying to recapture the night he spends with Lolita at the
Enchanted Hunters hotel, Humbert looks through newspapers from the middle
of August 1947 at a public library. Amidst the various articles he reads,
the following statement appears: “Brute Force and Possessed
were coming on Sunday, the 24th to both theaters.”
Brute Force poster
Possessed poster

In his book Nabokov’s Dark Cinema, Alfred Appel, Jr considers
the links between Nabokov’s work and popular culture, most notably
movies and comics. Appel discusses the films Brute Force and
Possessed in detail. In the course of a conversation with the
author, Nabokov says: “I saw both films, and thought them appropriate
for several reasons. But I don’t remember why … so
many years have passed” (210). As to what these “several reasons”
might be, Appel’s analyses are probably, on the whole, correct.
Brute Force, starring Burt Lancaster and directed by Jules Dassin,
is about an escape from prison, a theme perfectly suited to Humbert’s
situation: he composes Lolita in prison; the term “brute”
calls to mind Humbert, who repeatedly refers to himself as such throughout
the novel. The film noir Possessed, directed by Curtis Bernhardt,
tells the story of a nurse (Joan Crawford) who is utterly smitten with
an engineer (Van Heflin) and in the end succumbs to madness. This scenario
too bears close resemblance to Humbert’s situation. (And if we read
“possessed” somewhat obliquely, as equivalent to the title
of the English translation of Besy—literally “demons”
but often rendered as The Possessed—mention of the film
could also be seen as a slighting reference to Dostoevsky, whom Nabokov,
after emigrating to the United States, consistently disparaged.)
Is there a more direct reason that Nabokov makes reference to the films?
An examination of newspapers of that era reveals that Brute Force
was released in June 1947 and Possessed in July 1947. In other
words, reference to the films confirms that time internal to the novel
has been coordinated with the actual time of the real world. Nabokov,
who was in the habit of conducting detailed research, must have examined
newspapers dating from the middle of August 1947,2
just as Humbert does.
Apart from these two films, are there other references to movies? Soon
after Humbert finds lodging in the Lolita’s home, as mother and
daughter are talking one evening in the garden, Charlotte makes a statement
which Humbert records as follows:
The old girl had finished relating in great detail the plot
of a movie she and L. had seen sometime in the winter. The boxer had fallen
extremely low when he met the good old priest (who had been a boxer himself
in his robust youth and could still slug a sinner).
This is another passage that caught my eye while I was translating the
novel. Unlike the two films mentioned above, the title of the one to which
Charlotte refers is not divulged. To conclude that the film is Nabokov’s
invention might be natural. In Nabokov’s Dark Cinema, Appel
does not mention the unnamed film, and in his copiously annotated edition
of Lolita (1970), no note elucidates this passage. But if we
abandon the assumption that the film is invented, can there be any doubt
that the reference is to The Quiet Man starring John Wayne and
directed by John Ford?
The Quiet Man poster

Nabokov’s motive for referring to The Quiet Man
is easy to guess: the eponymous “quiet man” is really an ex-boxer
who once beat an opponent to death. The disparity between his outward
demeanor and inner being is much like the duality characterizing the middle-aged
man in The Seven Year Itch, whom Marilyn Monroe’s character
inadvertently likens to a creature that is half monstrous fish, half man.
The same disparity holds true for Humbert. (As a slight digression, Stanley
Kubrick uses a similar technique in his 1962 film adaptation of Lolita.
Following the scene in which Humbert glimpses Lolita for the first time
in the garden of the Haze house, a shot of Humbert sitting between Charlotte
and Lolita as the trio watches a film at a drive-in theater cuts to a
shot of the movie screen itself, on which a scene from the Hammer film
The Curse of Frankenstein is visible. Here again, Humbert is
likened to a monster. The Curse of Frankenstein dates from 1957,
however, so for a long time I found its appearance in a scene from 1947
to be a mystery. It was only much later that I became aware of my mistake:
Kubrick’s adaptation includes a scene of Lolita playing with a Hula-Hoop,
a fad that swept America in 1958. In other words, The Curse of Frankenstein
makes an appearance because Kubrick has shifted the time period of the
original work by ten years, transforming a novel set in the late 1940s
into a film whose setting is suffused by American popular culture of the
late 1950s.)
And yet, the conversation that supplies a synopsis of The Quiet Man
is fairly strange, and one cannot help feeling that its extreme artificiality
bears closer investigation. We should begin with the phrase that set our
intuition working: “the boxer had fallen extremely low when he met
the good old priest.” The phrase refers to a scene in which Sean
Thornton (John Wayne), a boxer who has returned to his homestead in Ireland
after killing an opponent in the ring, and now troubled by how to respond
to the challenge for a match issued by another man, goes to visit the
Reverend Playfair. In this scene, Reverend Playfair is amusing himself
by playing tiddlywinks.
Nabokov makes references to tiddlywinks in Chapter 5 of Part One of Lolita.
Humbert, excited by his own descriptions as he tracks various nymphets
throughout history, writes “I am just winking happy thoughts into
a little tiddle cup” and “My little cup brims with tiddles.”
Proof that the metaphor referencing an obscure game unfamiliar to many
readers has been drawn from The Quiet Man lies concealed in the
remainder of the same scene from the film: in admitting that his hobby
is clipping articles about sporting events from the newspapers (making
clear that he knows about Thornton’s past), Reverend Playfair says
“Some men collect butterflies, some stamps.”
Collecting butterflies was of course Nabokov’s lifelong passion.
Perhaps when he saw The Quiet Man, the Reverend’s statement
struck him. A recollection of the line may explain the otherwise strange
reference to The Quiet Man in Lolita.3
Nonetheless, the scene in which Charlotte and Lolita are talking about
the film they saw gives rise to a strange effect. Within the time frame
of the novel, Charlotte is speaking in June 1947. In reality, however,
the first release of The Quiet Man took place in June 1952. It
would be nice to find an explanation for this time lag of five years.
To dismiss it as a mere oversight of Nabokov’s would be difficult.
Considering that in the case of the two films mentioned above, Brute
Force
and Possessed, the time internal to the novel and
actual time are precisely coordinated, like the hands of two watches laid
side by side, it is difficult to imagine that in the case of The Quiet
Man
such meticulous attention to detail was carelessly forgotten.
Given that Brute Force and Possessed are expressly named
whereas The Quiet Man is given only in synopsis, its title withheld,
it is natural to see something intentional at work here. Why was this
anachronism planted in the text?
Before assuming the author is the culprit, it may be possible to read
the passage in such a way as to reveal Humbert, rather than Nabokov, as
the source. According to the foreword written by the editor of the confessions,
John Ray, Jr., Humbert dies in prison on November 16, 1952. Since he is
incarcerated in September of that year, it is theoretically possible that
he saw The Quiet Man or knew a synopsis of it. One could therefore
assert that grounds exist for believing that the 1947 conversation between
Charlotte and Lolita about The Quiet Man is Humbert’s fabrication.
Such an assertion is fully within the realm of possibility given Humbert’s
acknowledgement that the passage in question is being written in the form
of a diary reproduced from memory, and that such reproduction can comprise
falsehoods. His admission raises the question of the extent to which Humbert
creates fictions, and has a profound bearing on the extent to which we
the readers should trust the veracity of his confessions.
The all-encompassing question of the truthfulness of Humbert’s
account arise from contradictions in dating that occur in the text. Opinion
even among Nabokov scholars has become divided into two apparently incompatible
schools of thought.4 The anachronistic reference
to The Quiet Man actually has some bearing on the questions on
which the revisionists’ arguments are based. As soon as doubt is
expressed about the veracity of Humbert’s narrative, the resulting
divergence of possible interpretations makes arriving at a simple solution
extremely problematic, like finding the sole path that leads out of an
endless bog.
Placing credibility for the time being in Humbert’s account of
the conversation, let us assume that Nabokov had some reason for planting
the anachronism. This assumption leads to a single conclusion: that in
the novelistic world of Lolita, The Quiet Man already
exists in 1947.
Treatment of music in the novel is similar to the treatment of film.
Apparent time lags exist. During their year-long flight across the United
States, from the spring of 1947 to the spring of 1948, Humbert is pestered
incessantly by Lolita for change to put into jukeboxes. Humbert recalls
the overly sweet voices of the singers: “I still hear the nasal
voices of those invisibles serenading her, people with names like Sammy
and Jo and Eddy and Tony and Peggy and Guy and Patty and Rex.” According
to Appel’s notes in The Annotated Lolita, these names point
respectively to Sammy Kaye, Joe Stafford, Eddie Fisher, Tony Bennett,
Peggy Lee, Guy Mitchell, and Patti Page (Appel does not mention a singer
corresponding to “Rex,” implying no such singer exists). Here
too, however, something strange is going on. The majority of these singers
debuted, became stars, and saw their songs become hits in the 1950s. Moreover,
Anthony Benedetto did not take the stage name “Tony Bennett”
until 1949, and Al Cernik was not discovered and given the stage name
“Guy Mitchell” by Mitch Miller until 1950. In other words,
from the spring of 1947 to the spring of 1948, “Tony” and
“Guy” seem not yet to have existed in the real world.
The key to solving this puzzle is a single note card that Nabokov drafted
while composing Lolita, reproduced by Brian Boyd in Vladimir
Nabokov: The American Years
.
Nabokov's notes for Lolita

The card, dated 1952, lists song titles and singers including
Tony Bennett and the other names mentioned above. The list seems to have
been transcribed from a miniature remote-controlled Wall-O’-Matic
jukebox, a common fixture in restaurants and similar establishments of
that era. Either knowingly or unknowingly, Nabokov has inserted these
singers “as is” into the novelistic world of four or five
years earlier.5
Wall-O'-Matic Jukebox
The Wall-O-Matic jukebox Nabokov saw in a restaurant somewhere
was probably a model like the one pictured above, with 100 songs to choose
from: a total of twenty songs in two columns of ten displayed side by
side in a glass window. Nabokov simply wrote down the names of songs and
singers as they appeared in the Wall-O’-Matic.
Judging by the names that appear on the list, Sammy Kaye, Eddie Fisher,
Jo Stafford, and Tony Bennett, it is clear that this note card became
the source for the passage cited above.6 The songs
and singers can be transcribed as follows:
You Sammy Kaye

Maybe Como + Fisher

Wishin' Russ Morgan

Walkin' to Missouri S. Kaye

God’s Little Candles Red Foley

Botch A Me Rosemary Clooney

Pretty Boy Jo Stafford

Forgive Me Peggy Lee

A Full Time Job Eddy Arnold

Here in My Heart Tony Bennett

You May Be the Sweetheart Ink Spots

Sleepless Tony Bennett
Nabokov may have had a reason for including not only the names of singers
but the titles of hit songs from 1952. The list may have been consulted
as a reference for the climactic scene in which Humbert goes to visit
Lolita after having received a letter from her with news of her marriage
and pregnancy. The date is September 23, 1952. When Humbert sees Lolita
holding her big abdomen and leaning against a cushion, he becomes aware,
for the first time, of the genuine love he feels for her. In the background
of the decisive scene in which Humbert makes his declaration to the reader,
“an afterwork radio had begun singing of folly and fate.”
If we infer from the list Nabokov compiled, the most likely candidate
for the song fulfilling the important role of background music for this
scene is “You Belong to Me” by Joe Stafford, which was number
one on Billboard magazine’s “hit chart” for
five weeks in a row from September 13 to October 11, 1952 (the song “Pretty
Boy” that appears on the list was the B-side of “You Belong
to Me”). In other words, the song playing throughout this scene
corresponds to the song being played most often on the radio at that point
in time in the real world.
But “You Belong to Me” is a song about a woman waiting for
her lover to return, not about “folly and fate.” Since Nabokov
was by nature disdainful of popular music, his conception of this particular
song is of course unknown. However, it is certain that the date on which
Nabokov wrote down the titles of fashionable songs on the card and the
date of the novel’s climactic scene are extremely close in time.
In other words, it seems that the time internal to the novel, eager to
attain the second half, overtakes the time of actual reality, the time
in which Nabokov was composing the novel. In the latter part of this article
I’d like to examine the question of whether this apparent acceleration
of fictional time has any significance.
To summarize: one of Lolita’s distinctive characteristics
is the treatment of popular culture—movies and music—by means
of temporal distortion that results in a kind of double exposure, or rather
double vision. This is an intentional stratagem on Nabokov’s part,
I believe, because such treatment is not limited to movies and music but
applies to other features of the era: cigarette brands and the names of
gas stations are two of the most obvious. Clare Quilty, the playwright
of whom Lolita becomes enamored, appears in publicity for Drome brand
cigarettes. The word “drome” evokes “dromedary”
and thus “camel,” so the brand Camel is inevitably called
to mind for the reader. In fact this was an era when publicity for Camel
cigarettes was flourishing. Even without considering newspaper and magazine
advertisements, we note that the radio program Camel Caravan,
hosted by the popular singer Vaughn Monroe, first aired and won public
favor in 1946.7 In other words, the reader arrives
at “Camel” via a distortion of the word as “Drome,”
and as the advertising campaign for Camel cigarettes is called to mind
he finds himself facing the fictional world in which the brand “Camel”
has been transformed into “Drome.” Something similar can be
said with respect to the gas stations that serve as an indispensable backdrop
for Lolita as a “road novel”: “Shell”
is transformed into “Conch” and “Mobil” into “Pegasus.”
Here again there is a kind of double exposure caused by the distortion
of words.
To borrow a phrase used in the text, “It is a question of focal
adjustment” (I.4). When reading Lolita, both the so-called
real world and the fictional world—like a phantom of it distortedly
reflected in a mirror—simultaneously meet the eye. When one eye
is closed, only one of the dual worlds can be seen. In the essay “On
a Book Entitled Lolita,” Nabokov recounts that while writing
the novel he was “faced by the task of inventing America”
and therefore also of “obtaining … such local ingredients
as would allow me to inject a modicum of average ‘reality’
(one of the few words which mean nothing without quotes) into the brew
of individual fancy….” The dream America depicted by Nabokov
in Lolita is precisely this “brew of individual fancy.”
In keeping with the time lags and the transformations of words, the geographical
details of America as depicted in Lolita are similarly distorted.
Several such distortions have been pointed out.8
Someday I hope to compile a complete list; for now, suffice it to say
that the America of Lolita is a world that has subtle divergences
with respect to the real America, both temporally and geographically.
In fact there are so many subtle such lags that it is easy to overlook
them. Apprehending the novelistic world of Lolita in this way
is not necessarily unusual when one surveys the entirety of Nabokov’s
work. Ada is constructed like science fiction, in which America
and Russia and France are geographically and linguistically fused to form
North America, their common history unfolding with temporal lags relative
to real history.
Moreover, the principle of “double exposure” in Lolita
governs not only the structure of the novelistic world but also the book’s
main themes. The girl Lolita as seen by Humbert is a hallucination that
arises out of the flesh-and-blood girl Dolores Haze. The figures of Lolita
and Dolores are simultaneously reflected in the eyes of the reader. Or,
conversely, as soon as only Lolita is seen, Dolores disappears. Continuously
at question is whether Humbert is referring to Lolita or to Dolores when
he says “Lolita, my Lolita.” The novel has a kind of deceptive
depth as if being viewed through a stereoscope. No matter how many times
one reads the text and no matter how thoroughly one thinks one has read
it, there remains more to be seen. The foremost cause of this effect is
the double exposure mentioned above. Even given the unresolved controversy
articulated by the revisionists, I hope to use the principle of double
exposure as a kind of unified field theory, to allow solution, if only
partial, of a number of questions. Of course, even resolution of the controversy
does not imply that everything in the text to be seen has been seen.
Finally, let us return to time lags. Humbert writes in his notebook that
he wants the confessions to be published after Lolita’s death. John
Ray, Jr., Ph.D., entrusted with the task of editing the notes, reveals
in the foreword that Mrs. Richard F. Schiller (in reality, Lolita) dies
in childbirth on Christmas Day, 1952. The preface is dated August 5th,
1955.
In other words, there is an illusion, momentarily enveloping the reader
like a mist, that at the time of Lolita’s publication in
1955 the events within the novel upon which the appearance of the book
is contingent have already transpired, permitting release of the book—as
the reportage of these events—to the reader. We cannot help but
be struck with admiration at Nabokov’s magic: by boldly connecting
the time in the novel to the time of the real world, he fascinates us
with the book’s unique character—on one level we are aware
that the novel purports to be an account of actual past events, on another
we feel as if the events recounted in the book in our hands are occurring
in real time, that they exist simultaneously in both the real world and
the fictional world. Another case of double exposure in action.
Nabokov’s reason for dating the foreword “August 5, 1955”
is easy to understand, but did he inadvertently commit a blunder? The
date does not appear in the edition issued by Olympia Press in 1955. The
omission was corrected in the version edited by Appel and published in
1970 as The Annotated Lolita. Had Nabokov overlooked the fact
that this correction gives rise to a contradiction in the foreword? In
the enumeration of what has become of the characters after the events
described in the book, Louise, the daughter of Mr. Windmuller—the
source of the information—is said to be at present a sophomore in
college. But in Chapter 33 of Part Two, Humbert on returning to Ramsdale
visits Windmuller’s office and learns there that his daughter has
just been admitted to college. The date is September 24, 1952, the day
after his reunion with Lolita. In other words, on August 5, 1955, Louise
must be a junior and not a sophomore.
How did this contradiction occur? Here’s my theory: Nabokov completed
the manuscript of Lolita on December 6, 1953. As recounted in
“On a Book Entitled Lolita,” the last part of the
novel to be written was John Ray, Jr.’s foreword. With respect to
the timeframe of the novel, Louise was then a sophomore. In other words,
Nabokov intended in the foreword to connect the time of the real world
with the time of the world of the novel. Considered from the point of
view of the author at that moment, for whom Lolita’s prospects
for publication were not yet clear, Nabokov was likely at a loss as to
the date and had to leave it blank. When he later filled in the blank
with “August 5, 1955,” however, he had forgotten the relationship
between the date of the foreword and the time of the action of the novel
implied by the statement that Louise is a sophomore. Or perhaps this time
lag is yet another example of double exposure—not an oversight of
Nabokov’s, but deliberate artifice?
The date “August 5, 1955” is like a moment in time that has
been returned to the real world from the world of the novel, an actual
moment in real time rather than a simple textual signpost. Rereading Lolita
yet again, we cannot help noticing the chronological marker. The manuscript
of the Japanese translation was completed on August 4th, 2005. As I was
about to transmit the file by e-mail, I sensed there was something significant
about the date. Then I remembered that John Ray, Jr.’s foreword
is dated August 5th, 1955: the very day, perhaps, that, fifty years ago,
Nabokov mailed the final galleys to Olympia Press, the day that Lolita
at long last left his hands and after which he had only to wait for the
book to be published.


Notes
1. Tôkyô: Shinchôsha, 2005.
2. Nabokov frequently used newspapers as raw material.
What may be the best example is to be found in Pale Fire. We
digress somewhat from Lolita, but the passage merits attention.
The assassin Gradus, intent on killing Charles Kinbote aka the King of
Zembla, arrives in New York and sets out for a morning stroll through
Central Park. Because the scene is narrated by Kinbote, its reality is
open to question; it may be Kinbote’s delusion. The date is July
21st, 1959. Kinbote's version of the scene, which includes many specific
references to articles and advertisements in The New York Times,
appears in his second note to line 949 of the poem.
If we investigate issues of The New York Times from the 20th
and 21st of July, 1959, as Charles Kinbote appears to have done, what
do we find?
The articles buried in Pale Fire are indeed extracted from
The New York Times. Immediately evident is the influence of the
international situation, especially relations between the US and the Soviet
Union. The cancellation of Krushchev’s visit to Scandanavia, the
launch of the first atom-driven merchant ship Savannah, the situation
in Iraq, Carl Sandburg’s comment on the Soviet exhibition (clearly
Nabokov’s intent is to ridicule the left-wing man of letters) all
relate to US-Soviet relations. In July of that year, Vice-President Nixon
visited Moscow and had a heated exchange about the differences between
capitalism and communism. In September, Krushchev visited America and
met for talks with President Eisenhower. In the midst of the Cold War,
Krushchev articulated a turnaround in foreign policy, “peaceful
coexistence.” Nabokov’s view of these developments is a very
interesting question.
Another distinctive feature are the anagrams. The Rachel Jewelry Company
that appears in one article is an anagram of Charel. Founded in 1945,
Charel had become by the 1950s a well-known brand of costume jewelry.
Today their products are vintage collectors’ items. “Helman”
brothers is also an anagram, a distortion of the Lehman brothers seen
in advertisements of that era. When fabricating “reality”
out of reality, transformation into anagrams is also one of Nabokov’s
standard techniques.
Referring to an actual article without distortion, Nabokov’s intent
is plain when he writes that a “hack reviewer” reviews “his
own tour through Norway.” The person being referred to here as a
“hack reviewer” is frequent contributor to The New York
Times
Orville Prescott. After the scandal caused by the publication
of Lolita in Paris, on the eve of the book’s appearance
in America on August 18th, 1958, Prescott wrote a severely critical review
in The New York Times under the heading “Novel found dull
and fatuous”: “‘Lolita,’ then, is undeniably news
in the world of books. Unfortunately it is bad news. There are two equally
serious reasons why it isn’t worth any adult reader’s attention.
The first is that it is dull, dull, dull in a pretentious, florid and
archly fatuous fashion. The second is that it is repulsive.”
Although his real name does not appear in Pale Fire, the rejection
of Prescott as a “hack reviewer” is retaliation for the article
critical of Lolita. (It is daunting to think that when you defy
Nabokov, you risk being inserted into his novelistic world and held up
to eternal laughter.)
I would like to draw particular attention to the fact that there are
two articles into which accounts relating to the fictional land of Zembla
have been absorbed. Although Krushchev’s trip to Scandinavia, called
off at the last minute--a decision said to have been made based on the
anti-Soviet sentiment in that region--is certainly a historical fact that
appeared on the front page of newspapers, the addition “and was
to visit Zembla instead” is of course fiction. The strange disparities
between reality and “reality” manifest in the article, the
optical illusion caused by seeing the two worlds simultaneously, the trembling
of the fictional world due to “double exposure,” all occur
in Pale Fire. In the fictional world of the novel, whether the
foreign land of Zembla exists in “reality” or is merely the
mad delusion of the narrator Kinbote is not entirely clear. In other words,
the material supposedly being read by the assassin Gradus and now being
reread by Kinbote in the library, to be found in July 20 and 21st issues
of The New York Times in the world of the novel, may or may not
actually mention Zembla. Of course this question too, insofar as the narrator
is apparently insane, is not easy to resolve.
In any case, let’s examine a phrase that appears at the end of
the article mentioning Zembla: “a picnic for international children.”
If we consult the actual article, we find that it describes a farewell
picnic held for children visiting America as part of a homestay program
that involved 30 eleven-year-old boys and girls from 13 countries (from
Bergen, Norway to Tokyo, Japan ) as part of an international exchange.
Whereas in Pale Fire, a Zemblan child says to her Japanese friend:
Ufgut, ufgut, velkam ut Semblerland! (Adieu, adieu, till
we meet in Zembla!),” in the actual article it is a Swedish girl
who says the words “Adjö, adjö, välkommen till Sverige!”
(Goodbye, goodbye, welcome to Sweden!).
New York Times article
What I found so regrettable here is that in transforming
the companion to whom the Swedish child speaks into a Zemblan girl, Nabokov
has eliminated mention of the Japanese friend. This Japanese girl’s
reply to the words of the Swedish girl is reproduced: “Sayonara,
Nippon e kite kudasai” (Good-by, come to Japan).
The same article includes the following account: “The children,
gathered in a circle, watched spellbound as Yôko Tsuchiya of Tokyo,
dressed in a printed robe adorned with purple morning glories, demonstrated
a graceful Noh dance to the accompaniment of recorded Japanese music.”
This is the reason I have been dwelling on the article at such length.
Given that this Japanese participant in the event, Ms. Yôko Tsuchiya,
was 11 years old in 1959, she would now, in 2006, be 58 years old. I wanted
to find her. Of course, doing so would not contribute to the cause of
Nabokov studies. But this Yôko Tsuchiya, as far as I know, is the
only Japanese person to actually appear in Nabokov’s novels. The
very thought of a Japanese managing to enter Nabokov’s text was
something to get excited about. Moreover, it is she to whom the Zemblan
child says goodbye. Isn’t this a bit like meeting a Martian by chance!?
I consulted a number of Japanese newspapers from July 20, 1959 and thereabouts,
but unfortunately there were no articles about the exchange event. I appeal
to readers of this article for additional information. Of course, even
if one were to meet Yôko Tsuchiya face to face, she would no doubt
give the curious Nabokovian a look of bewilderment…
3. Rediscovering such tiddles as we watch this scene
affords the researcher the same relish Nabokov enjoyed when he saw the
film over fifty years ago.
4. At the end of the book, Humbert writes
that his confession was begun in prison 56 days earlier. According to
John Ray, Jr.’s foreword, Humbert dies on the 16th of November,
1952. Assuming Humbert dies immediately after completing the book, he
must have been arrested, at the latest, on September 22, 1952. But September
22 is the day he receives a letter from Lolita (now married to another
man), and if we inspect the account of Humbert’s actions from Chapter
28 of Part 2 to the end of the book, we find that Humbert is arrested
on September 25. There is a gap of three days.
Christina Tekiner pointed out this three-day gap in 1979. At that time
the contradiction did not seem terribly significant to Nabokov scholars,
and the lapse was attributed by some to the unreliability of Humbert’s
memory. But it’s not that simple. When we consider the significance
of dates appearing throughout the novel, we realize Humbert’s fussiness
when it comes to numbers and find very few exceptions to his surprising
exactitude. For example, in the poem “Wanted Wanted Dolores Haze”
composed by Humbert, there is a line stating Lolita’s age as 5,300
days. When we calculate the number of days from Lolita’s birth to
her disappearance, we find that Humbert’s figure is exactly correct.
For argument’s sake, let’s accept both dates as being correct.
If we do, there can be only one conclusion: the events following Humbert’s
receipt of Lolita’s letter do not happen in reality. Given this,
the very basis of Humbert confession becomes unstable. Lolita
itself comes to look like a shimmering mirage.
Defeating the argument expressed by the so-called revisionists is not
easy, and there is even circumstantial evidence to support it. According
to Leona Toker, while preparing the final manuscripts of the Russian translation
as well as the English editions, Nabokov checked scrupulously for errors,
and yet he did not correct either of the figures in question. Instead,
he specified the date September 22, 1952 (cf. Toker 210 and note 14 on
the same page): by retaining it, Nabokov may have planted evidence that
the ending of the book is Humbert’s fabrication.
Opposing the foremost revisionists (Alexander Dolinin and Julian W.
Connolly), Brian Boyd speaks for the traditionalist view and concludes
that the inconsistency in dates is an oversight of Nabokov’s. In
order to restore the traditional reading of Lolita, only a single
digit, in the date of Humbert’s death, need be corrected, from November
16 to November 19.
The revisionist argument is very interesting, built as it is as from
small clues assembled to reveal an unexpected truth, like the solution
to be deduced by a reader of detective fiction, but the questions that
arise as a result are so big that there is as yet no conclusive explanation
of the evidence. Cf.: Christina Tekiner, “Time in Lolita,”
Modern Fiction Studies, 25 (1979), pp. 463-69; Leona Toker, Nabokov:
The Mystery of Literary Structures
(Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1989),
pp. 209-11; Alexander Dolinin, “Nabokov’s Time Doubling: From
The Gift to Lolita,” Nabokov Studies,
2 (1995), pp. 3-40; Julian Connolly, “‘Nature’s Reality’
or Humbert’s ‘Fancy’: Scenes of Reunion and Murder in
Lolita,” Ibid., pp. 41-61; Brian
Boyd, “‘Even Homais Nods’: Nabokov’s Fallibility
or How to Revise Lolita,”
Ibid., pp. 62-86.
5. Proof that the time lag of five years with respect
to the real world evidenced by the movies and music mentioned in the book
is by no means an oversight of Nabokov’s but an intentional operation
can be found in Nabokov’s annotations to Pushkin’s Eugene
Onegin
.
In the passage in question (Eight: XVII, 9), Onegin returns from a trip
to reenter Petersburg society, where he is reunited with Tatiana. But
Onegin fails to recognize her: she has changed into a fair lady with only
faint traces of her former appearance. Onegin asks a prince beside him
“Tell me, prince, you don’t know / who there in the framboise
beret / with the Spanish envoy is talking?” [Nabokov’s literal
rendering]. Whereupon the prince, somewhat surprised, replies “My
wife.”
In the narrative world of Eugene Onegin, the scene takes place
in August 1824. Pushkin composed the stanza from 1829 to 1830. Nabokov
notes the time lag in his annotation:
I suggest that, when composing Eight, Pushkin visualized not
the fashions of 1824 but those of 1829-30 and, possibly, the very beret
of eminence color (a purplish red) which is prominently illustrated in
vol. LXII (no. 2, Pl. 2, fig. 1; Jan. 11, 1829) of the Journal des
dames et des modes
, imported into Russia from Frankfort on the Main
(EO, v.3, pp. 182-183).
Evidence that supports his inference is that from 1825 to 1835 the Spanish
ambassador to Russia was J.M. Páez de la Cadena, whom Pushkin knew
personally. Nabokov points out that there is no record of a Spanish ambassador
having been appointed before 1825, but that the incident in Eight : XVII,
which includes the “Spanish envoy,” takes place in August, 1824.
The Onegin anachronism pointed out by Nabokov (created by Pushkin
consciously or unconsciously, we do not know) is structurally the same
as the anachronism Nabokov plants in Lolita. Even the extent
of the lag, five years, is the same.
Coincidence seems highly improbable. Composition of Lolita
partially overlapped in time with the translation and annotation of Eugene
Onegin
, and it seems unlikely that Nabokov, who had pointed out the
anachronism in Onegin would have overlooked a similar such anachronism
in his own work. That the time lag in Lolita is a nod to Onegin
is the most natural explanation.
At question here is the closeness of the relationship between Onegin
and Lolita. Carefully deleting traces of Russia from the surface
of the text, Nabokov emphasizes the transatlantic theme of a European
in America, while in reality there is a concealed subtext that clearly
draws on Russian literature. Both Lolita and Onegin
can be summarized as: “meeting with a fateful woman” -->
“lengthy separation” --> “reunion” --> “rejection
by the woman.” The parallelism is striking. Furthermore, the works
make use of letters (Charlotte’s in Lolita and Tatiana’s
in Eugene Onegin) in similar ways. For a detailed discussion,
see especially the chapter “Onegin and Lolita
in Priscilla Meyer’s excellent Find What the Sailor Has Hidden
(Wesleyan University Press, 1989). Further examination of the relationship
between Lolita and Onegin is undoubtedly warranted.
6. Nabokov was indifferent to popular music; his
only motive for writing down the song titles was to later use them in
“inventing America” as background for the book.
7. Two of the popular singers whose names have already
been mentioned, Perry Como and Jo Stafford, were hired to appear in advertisements
for Chesterfield brand cigarettes of that era. Such advertisements regularly
appeared in The New Yorker, which Nabokov, as a frequent contributor,
always perused.
8. Paul Kriloff, a student of Galya Diment, points
out in his honors thesis that “Conception Park” does not exist.
See Diment’s
message to the NABOKV-L list on July 8, 1994
. In his annotations to
the German edition of Lolita, Dieter E. Zimmer discusses a number
of place names appearing in the novel (see "Anmerküngen,"
Lolita [München: Artemis & Winkler, 1995], pp. 571-643).
The question of which real world locales correspond to the camouflaged
place names in Lolita is an interesting puzzle. Let’s try
a comparatively simple example: Lepingville, the bustling town visited
by Humbert and Lolita at the end of Part One. What is the model for this
town “where a great poet had resided in the early nineteenth century”
(L, I.27)?
Of particular note is the phrase “a great poet.” Why the
vagueness? What prompted Nabokov’s decision not to make the name
explicit? In fact, Nabokov did make it explicit outside the text of Lolita.
In response to Alfred Appel, Jr., who asked him to identify "the
great poet," Nabokov said "That poet was evidently Leping who
used to go lepping (i.e., lepidoptera hunting) but that's about all anybody
knows about him" (The Annotated Lolita, p. 376). But "Leping"
seems to be, in the context of Nabokov's reply, merely a pun. Who, then,
would be the model for this great poet, and to what actual town might
the name "Lepingville" refer?
To solve the puzzle we must examine the context. The poet most frequently
referred to in Lolita is of course Edgar Allan Poe. Not only
does the name Annabel Lee resound like a keynote throughout the first
part of the novel, but Nabokov later puns on Poe’s name:
“Monsieur Poe-poe,” as that boy in one of Monsieur Humbert
Humbert's classes in Paris called the poet-poet.
Poe was born in Boston, Massachusetts on January 19, 1809. The following
year, his father abandoned the family, and when Poe was two years old
his mother died of tuberculosis. He was adopted by the tobacco merchant
John Allan and went to live in Richmond, Virginia. Poe thus lived for
a brief time as a small child in Boston. My conclusion is that Lepingville
is probably Boston. The phrase “in the early nineteenth century”
supports this theory.
















Double Exposure: On the Vertigo of Translating
Lolita


by Tadashi Wakashima

translated from the Japanese by Jeff
Edmunds
in collaboration with Akiko Nakata
Just prior to completing a new Japanese translation of Lolita,1
as I was immersed in checking the page proofs, the following sentence
caught my eye. It appears in Part One, Chapter 13, the famous scene in
which narrator Humbert Humbert masturbates on the couch:
My heart beat like a drum as she sat down, cool skirt ballooning,
subsiding, on the sofa next to me, and played with her glossy fruit.
While translating the book I had often been surprised to encounter a
sentence like this, a sentence I had no memory of ever having seen, although
I must have read it countless times. It was as if the line had simply
passed through my head without stopping. This time, however, as if written
in bold face, the sentence abruptly jumped out at me: I felt a sensation
familiar to readers of Nabokov: there was something here, as if a concealed
power had been lurking in the sentence waiting to shake the reader’s
sleeping sensors awake.
In the sentence above, what so took me aback was its apparent similarity
to a famous scene in The Seven Year Itch, in which Marilyn Monroe’s
white skirt billows up weightlessly like a balloon as she straddles a
subway vent. Associating the two images may not be as crazy as it seems.
The reader may recall that in Pale Fire, two lines from John
Shade’s poem describe an actress appearing in close-up on a TV screen:
“The parted lips, the swimming eyes, the grain / Of beauty on the
cheek, odd Gallicism,” clearly a reference to Monroe. It would not
be unusual then if Nabokov were using the Monroe of The Seven Year
Itch
as a model in Lolita. Of course the circumstances in
the two cases are entirely different, but the word “cool”
cannot help but evoke Monroe as she appears in the famous film.
When an imaginary line is drawn between Lolita and The Seven
Year Itch
in the hopes of establishing a relationship diagrammatically,
other mysterious connections can be discerned. The scene that includes
Monroe’s billowing skirt occurs when Tom Ewell and Monroe, who has
moved in upstairs from him and whom he has invited to go out, are returning
from seeing a movie: the science fiction classic Creature from the
Black Lagoon
. Monroe expresses a surprising take on the film: she
finds the creature “kinda scary-looking” but says that “he
wasn't really all bad. I think he just craved a little affection-- you
know, a sense of being loved and needed and wanted.” The audience
may laugh at her assessment, which could be seen as unintentionally likening
Tom Ewell, who has unsavory intentions, to the monstrous half-fish, half-man.
Much the same could be said of Humbert Humbert in Lolita: although
disguised as an Old World gentleman, in fact he’s a monster afflicted
with pedophilia.
Such parallels could, of course, be merely the delusions of someone who
has read too much Nabokov, so I investigated the data.
The first release of The Seven Year Itch took place in June
1955. Lolita was published in Paris by Olympia Press in September
1955. What a coincidence! According to the account Brian Boyd gives in
his biography, Nabokov received the galley proofs from Olympia Press and
made minor corrections to them in July 1955 (Vladimir Nabokov: The
American Years
, 269). Although this fact does not confirm that Nabokov
saw The Seven Year Itch, the conjecture that he did—or
that he knew about it through hearsay—and that this description
involving a ballooning skirt then made it into the book at the last minute,
is not wholly outside the realm of possibility. Considering the matter
dispassionately, the apparent parallel is probably only fortuitous, but
such strange coincidences seem inherent in the experience of reading Nabokov’s
novel. One might even say that it has an oddly prophetic quality.
In examining the final typescript of the Japanese translation, I experience
a dizzying sense of illusion, elicited by my awareness that I am now noticing
every place where Nabokov may have made changes to the final proofs of
the novel. As soon as one comes into contact with Nabokov, the world is
suffused with a Nabokovian tint. Spanning in a single burst two points
in time 50 years apart, Lolita seems unexpectedly fresh.



Having begun with movies, let’s continue on the theme of Lolita
and film. In trying to recapture the night he spends with Lolita at the
Enchanted Hunters hotel, Humbert looks through newspapers from the middle
of August 1947 at a public library. Amidst the various articles he reads,
the following statement appears: “Brute Force and Possessed
were coming on Sunday, the 24th to both theaters.”
Brute Force poster
Possessed poster

In his book Nabokov’s Dark Cinema, Alfred Appel, Jr considers
the links between Nabokov’s work and popular culture, most notably
movies and comics. Appel discusses the films Brute Force and
Possessed in detail. In the course of a conversation with the
author, Nabokov says: “I saw both films, and thought them appropriate
for several reasons. But I don’t remember why … so
many years have passed” (210). As to what these “several reasons”
might be, Appel’s analyses are probably, on the whole, correct.
Brute Force, starring Burt Lancaster and directed by Jules Dassin,
is about an escape from prison, a theme perfectly suited to Humbert’s
situation: he composes Lolita in prison; the term “brute”
calls to mind Humbert, who repeatedly refers to himself as such throughout
the novel. The film noir Possessed, directed by Curtis Bernhardt,
tells the story of a nurse (Joan Crawford) who is utterly smitten with
an engineer (Van Heflin) and in the end succumbs to madness. This scenario
too bears close resemblance to Humbert’s situation. (And if we read
“possessed” somewhat obliquely, as equivalent to the title
of the English translation of Besy—literally “demons”
but often rendered as The Possessed—mention of the film
could also be seen as a slighting reference to Dostoevsky, whom Nabokov,
after emigrating to the United States, consistently disparaged.)
Is there a more direct reason that Nabokov makes reference to the films?
An examination of newspapers of that era reveals that Brute Force
was released in June 1947 and Possessed in July 1947. In other
words, reference to the films confirms that time internal to the novel
has been coordinated with the actual time of the real world. Nabokov,
who was in the habit of conducting detailed research, must have examined
newspapers dating from the middle of August 1947,2
just as Humbert does.
Apart from these two films, are there other references to movies? Soon
after Humbert finds lodging in the Lolita’s home, as mother and
daughter are talking one evening in the garden, Charlotte makes a statement
which Humbert records as follows:
The old girl had finished relating in great detail the plot
of a movie she and L. had seen sometime in the winter. The boxer had fallen
extremely low when he met the good old priest (who had been a boxer himself
in his robust youth and could still slug a sinner).
This is another passage that caught my eye while I was translating the
novel. Unlike the two films mentioned above, the title of the one to which
Charlotte refers is not divulged. To conclude that the film is Nabokov’s
invention might be natural. In Nabokov’s Dark Cinema, Appel
does not mention the unnamed film, and in his copiously annotated edition
of Lolita (1970), no note elucidates this passage. But if we
abandon the assumption that the film is invented, can there be any doubt
that the reference is to The Quiet Man starring John Wayne and
directed by John Ford?
The Quiet Man poster

Nabokov’s motive for referring to The Quiet Man
is easy to guess: the eponymous “quiet man” is really an ex-boxer
who once beat an opponent to death. The disparity between his outward
demeanor and inner being is much like the duality characterizing the middle-aged
man in The Seven Year Itch, whom Marilyn Monroe’s character
inadvertently likens to a creature that is half monstrous fish, half man.
The same disparity holds true for Humbert. (As a slight digression, Stanley
Kubrick uses a similar technique in his 1962 film adaptation of Lolita.
Following the scene in which Humbert glimpses Lolita for the first time
in the garden of the Haze house, a shot of Humbert sitting between Charlotte
and Lolita as the trio watches a film at a drive-in theater cuts to a
shot of the movie screen itself, on which a scene from the Hammer film
The Curse of Frankenstein is visible. Here again, Humbert is
likened to a monster. The Curse of Frankenstein dates from 1957,
however, so for a long time I found its appearance in a scene from 1947
to be a mystery. It was only much later that I became aware of my mistake:
Kubrick’s adaptation includes a scene of Lolita playing with a Hula-Hoop,
a fad that swept America in 1958. In other words, The Curse of Frankenstein
makes an appearance because Kubrick has shifted the time period of the
original work by ten years, transforming a novel set in the late 1940s
into a film whose setting is suffused by American popular culture of the
late 1950s.)
And yet, the conversation that supplies a synopsis of The Quiet Man
is fairly strange, and one cannot help feeling that its extreme artificiality
bears closer investigation. We should begin with the phrase that set our
intuition working: “the boxer had fallen extremely low when he met
the good old priest.” The phrase refers to a scene in which Sean
Thornton (John Wayne), a boxer who has returned to his homestead in Ireland
after killing an opponent in the ring, and now troubled by how to respond
to the challenge for a match issued by another man, goes to visit the
Reverend Playfair. In this scene, Reverend Playfair is amusing himself
by playing tiddlywinks.
Nabokov makes references to tiddlywinks in Chapter 5 of Part One of Lolita.
Humbert, excited by his own descriptions as he tracks various nymphets
throughout history, writes “I am just winking happy thoughts into
a little tiddle cup” and “My little cup brims with tiddles.”
Proof that the metaphor referencing an obscure game unfamiliar to many
readers has been drawn from The Quiet Man lies concealed in the
remainder of the same scene from the film: in admitting that his hobby
is clipping articles about sporting events from the newspapers (making
clear that he knows about Thornton’s past), Reverend Playfair says
“Some men collect butterflies, some stamps.”
Collecting butterflies was of course Nabokov’s lifelong passion.
Perhaps when he saw The Quiet Man, the Reverend’s statement
struck him. A recollection of the line may explain the otherwise strange
reference to The Quiet Man in Lolita.3
Nonetheless, the scene in which Charlotte and Lolita are talking about
the film they saw gives rise to a strange effect. Within the time frame
of the novel, Charlotte is speaking in June 1947. In reality, however,
the first release of The Quiet Man took place in June 1952. It
would be nice to find an explanation for this time lag of five years.
To dismiss it as a mere oversight of Nabokov’s would be difficult.
Considering that in the case of the two films mentioned above, Brute
Force
and Possessed, the time internal to the novel and
actual time are precisely coordinated, like the hands of two watches laid
side by side, it is difficult to imagine that in the case of The Quiet
Man
such meticulous attention to detail was carelessly forgotten.
Given that Brute Force and Possessed are expressly named
whereas The Quiet Man is given only in synopsis, its title withheld,
it is natural to see something intentional at work here. Why was this
anachronism planted in the text?
Before assuming the author is the culprit, it may be possible to read
the passage in such a way as to reveal Humbert, rather than Nabokov, as
the source. According to the foreword written by the editor of the confessions,
John Ray, Jr., Humbert dies in prison on November 16, 1952. Since he is
incarcerated in September of that year, it is theoretically possible that
he saw The Quiet Man or knew a synopsis of it. One could therefore
assert that grounds exist for believing that the 1947 conversation between
Charlotte and Lolita about The Quiet Man is Humbert’s fabrication.
Such an assertion is fully within the realm of possibility given Humbert’s
acknowledgement that the passage in question is being written in the form
of a diary reproduced from memory, and that such reproduction can comprise
falsehoods. His admission raises the question of the extent to which Humbert
creates fictions, and has a profound bearing on the extent to which we
the readers should trust the veracity of his confessions.
The all-encompassing question of the truthfulness of Humbert’s
account arise from contradictions in dating that occur in the text. Opinion
even among Nabokov scholars has become divided into two apparently incompatible
schools of thought.4 The anachronistic reference
to The Quiet Man actually has some bearing on the questions on
which the revisionists’ arguments are based. As soon as doubt is
expressed about the veracity of Humbert’s narrative, the resulting
divergence of possible interpretations makes arriving at a simple solution
extremely problematic, like finding the sole path that leads out of an
endless bog.
Placing credibility for the time being in Humbert’s account of
the conversation, let us assume that Nabokov had some reason for planting
the anachronism. This assumption leads to a single conclusion: that in
the novelistic world of Lolita, The Quiet Man already
exists in 1947.
Treatment of music in the novel is similar to the treatment of film.
Apparent time lags exist. During their year-long flight across the United
States, from the spring of 1947 to the spring of 1948, Humbert is pestered
incessantly by Lolita for change to put into jukeboxes. Humbert recalls
the overly sweet voices of the singers: “I still hear the nasal
voices of those invisibles serenading her, people with names like Sammy
and Jo and Eddy and Tony and Peggy and Guy and Patty and Rex.” According
to Appel’s notes in The Annotated Lolita, these names point
respectively to Sammy Kaye, Joe Stafford, Eddie Fisher, Tony Bennett,
Peggy Lee, Guy Mitchell, and Patti Page (Appel does not mention a singer
corresponding to “Rex,” implying no such singer exists). Here
too, however, something strange is going on. The majority of these singers
debuted, became stars, and saw their songs become hits in the 1950s. Moreover,
Anthony Benedetto did not take the stage name “Tony Bennett”
until 1949, and Al Cernik was not discovered and given the stage name
“Guy Mitchell” by Mitch Miller until 1950. In other words,
from the spring of 1947 to the spring of 1948, “Tony” and
“Guy” seem not yet to have existed in the real world.
The key to solving this puzzle is a single note card that Nabokov drafted
while composing Lolita, reproduced by Brian Boyd in Vladimir
Nabokov: The American Years
.
Nabokov's notes for Lolita

The card, dated 1952, lists song titles and singers including
Tony Bennett and the other names mentioned above. The list seems to have
been transcribed from a miniature remote-controlled Wall-O’-Matic
jukebox, a common fixture in restaurants and similar establishments of
that era. Either knowingly or unknowingly, Nabokov has inserted these
singers “as is” into the novelistic world of four or five
years earlier.5
Wall-O'-Matic Jukebox
The Wall-O-Matic jukebox Nabokov saw in a restaurant somewhere
was probably a model like the one pictured above, with 100 songs to choose
from: a total of twenty songs in two columns of ten displayed side by
side in a glass window. Nabokov simply wrote down the names of songs and
singers as they appeared in the Wall-O’-Matic.
Judging by the names that appear on the list, Sammy Kaye, Eddie Fisher,
Jo Stafford, and Tony Bennett, it is clear that this note card became
the source for the passage cited above.6 The songs
and singers can be transcribed as follows:

You Sammy Kaye


Maybe Como + Fisher


Wishin' Russ Morgan


Walkin' to Missouri S. Kaye


God’s Little Candles Red Foley


Botch A Me Rosemary Clooney


Pretty Boy Jo Stafford


Forgive Me Peggy Lee


A Full Time Job Eddy Arnold


Here in My Heart Tony Bennett


You May Be the Sweetheart Ink Spots


Sleepless Tony Bennett

Nabokov may have had a reason for including not only the names of singers
but the titles of hit songs from 1952. The list may have been consulted
as a reference for the climactic scene in which Humbert goes to visit
Lolita after having received a letter from her with news of her marriage
and pregnancy. The date is September 23, 1952. When Humbert sees Lolita
holding her big abdomen and leaning against a cushion, he becomes aware,
for the first time, of the genuine love he feels for her. In the background
of the decisive scene in which Humbert makes his declaration to the reader,
“an afterwork radio had begun singing of folly and fate.”
If we infer from the list Nabokov compiled, the most likely candidate
for the song fulfilling the important role of background music for this
scene is “You Belong to Me” by Joe Stafford, which was number
one on Billboard magazine’s “hit chart” for
five weeks in a row from September 13 to October 11, 1952 (the song “Pretty
Boy” that appears on the list was the B-side of “You Belong
to Me”). In other words, the song playing throughout this scene
corresponds to the song being played most often on the radio at that point
in time in the real world.
But “You Belong to Me” is a song about a woman waiting for
her lover to return, not about “folly and fate.” Since Nabokov
was by nature disdainful of popular music, his conception of this particular
song is of course unknown. However, it is certain that the date on which
Nabokov wrote down the titles of fashionable songs on the card and the
date of the novel’s climactic scene are extremely close in time.
In other words, it seems that the time internal to the novel, eager to
attain the second half, overtakes the time of actual reality, the time
in which Nabokov was composing the novel. In the latter part of this article
I’d like to examine the question of whether this apparent acceleration
of fictional time has any significance.
To summarize: one of Lolita’s distinctive characteristics
is the treatment of popular culture—movies and music—by means
of temporal distortion that results in a kind of double exposure, or rather
double vision. This is an intentional stratagem on Nabokov’s part,
I believe, because such treatment is not limited to movies and music but
applies to other features of the era: cigarette brands and the names of
gas stations are two of the most obvious. Clare Quilty, the playwright
of whom Lolita becomes enamored, appears in publicity for Drome brand
cigarettes. The word “drome” evokes “dromedary”
and thus “camel,” so the brand Camel is inevitably called
to mind for the reader. In fact this was an era when publicity for Camel
cigarettes was flourishing. Even without considering newspaper and magazine
advertisements, we note that the radio program Camel Caravan,
hosted by the popular singer Vaughn Monroe, first aired and won public
favor in 1946.7 In other words, the reader arrives
at “Camel” via a distortion of the word as “Drome,”
and as the advertising campaign for Camel cigarettes is called to mind
he finds himself facing the fictional world in which the brand “Camel”
has been transformed into “Drome.” Something similar can be
said with respect to the gas stations that serve as an indispensable backdrop
for Lolita as a “road novel”: “Shell”
is transformed into “Conch” and “Mobil” into “Pegasus.”
Here again there is a kind of double exposure caused by the distortion
of words.
To borrow a phrase used in the text, “It is a question of focal
adjustment” (I.4). When reading Lolita, both the so-called
real world and the fictional world—like a phantom of it distortedly
reflected in a mirror—simultaneously meet the eye. When one eye
is closed, only one of the dual worlds can be seen. In the essay “On
a Book Entitled Lolita,” Nabokov recounts that while writing
the novel he was “faced by the task of inventing America”
and therefore also of “obtaining … such local ingredients
as would allow me to inject a modicum of average ‘reality’
(one of the few words which mean nothing without quotes) into the brew
of individual fancy….” The dream America depicted by Nabokov
in Lolita is precisely this “brew of individual fancy.”
In keeping with the time lags and the transformations of words, the geographical
details of America as depicted in Lolita are similarly distorted.
Several such distortions have been pointed out.8
Someday I hope to compile a complete list; for now, suffice it to say
that the America of Lolita is a world that has subtle divergences
with respect to the real America, both temporally and geographically.
In fact there are so many subtle such lags that it is easy to overlook
them. Apprehending the novelistic world of Lolita in this way
is not necessarily unusual when one surveys the entirety of Nabokov’s
work. Ada is constructed like science fiction, in which America
and Russia and France are geographically and linguistically fused to form
North America, their common history unfolding with temporal lags relative
to real history.
Moreover, the principle of “double exposure” in Lolita
governs not only the structure of the novelistic world but also the book’s
main themes. The girl Lolita as seen by Humbert is a hallucination that
arises out of the flesh-and-blood girl Dolores Haze. The figures of Lolita
and Dolores are simultaneously reflected in the eyes of the reader. Or,
conversely, as soon as only Lolita is seen, Dolores disappears. Continuously
at question is whether Humbert is referring to Lolita or to Dolores when
he says “Lolita, my Lolita.” The novel has a kind of deceptive
depth as if being viewed through a stereoscope. No matter how many times
one reads the text and no matter how thoroughly one thinks one has read
it, there remains more to be seen. The foremost cause of this effect is
the double exposure mentioned above. Even given the unresolved controversy
articulated by the revisionists, I hope to use the principle of double
exposure as a kind of unified field theory, to allow solution, if only
partial, of a number of questions. Of course, even resolution of the controversy
does not imply that everything in the text to be seen has been seen.
Finally, let us return to time lags. Humbert writes in his notebook that
he wants the confessions to be published after Lolita’s death. John
Ray, Jr., Ph.D., entrusted with the task of editing the notes, reveals
in the foreword that Mrs. Richard F. Schiller (in reality, Lolita) dies
in childbirth on Christmas Day, 1952. The preface is dated August 5th,
1955.
In other words, there is an illusion, momentarily enveloping the reader
like a mist, that at the time of Lolita’s publication in
1955 the events within the novel upon which the appearance of the book
is contingent have already transpired, permitting release of the book—as
the reportage of these events—to the reader. We cannot help but
be struck with admiration at Nabokov’s magic: by boldly connecting
the time in the novel to the time of the real world, he fascinates us
with the book’s unique character—on one level we are aware
that the novel purports to be an account of actual past events, on another
we feel as if the events recounted in the book in our hands are occurring
in real time, that they exist simultaneously in both the real world and
the fictional world. Another case of double exposure in action.
Nabokov’s reason for dating the foreword “August 5, 1955”
is easy to understand, but did he inadvertently commit a blunder? The
date does not appear in the edition issued by Olympia Press in 1955. The
omission was corrected in the version edited by Appel and published in
1970 as The Annotated Lolita. Had Nabokov overlooked the fact
that this correction gives rise to a contradiction in the foreword? In
the enumeration of what has become of the characters after the events
described in the book, Louise, the daughter of Mr. Windmuller—the
source of the information—is said to be at present a sophomore in
college. But in Chapter 33 of Part Two, Humbert on returning to Ramsdale
visits Windmuller’s office and learns there that his daughter has
just been admitted to college. The date is September 24, 1952, the day
after his reunion with Lolita. In other words, on August 5, 1955, Louise
must be a junior and not a sophomore.
How did this contradiction occur? Here’s my theory: Nabokov completed
the manuscript of Lolita on December 6, 1953. As recounted in
“On a Book Entitled Lolita,” the last part of the
novel to be written was John Ray, Jr.’s foreword. With respect to
the timeframe of the novel, Louise was then a sophomore. In other words,
Nabokov intended in the foreword to connect the time of the real world
with the time of the world of the novel. Considered from the point of
view of the author at that moment, for whom Lolita’s prospects
for publication were not yet clear, Nabokov was likely at a loss as to
the date and had to leave it blank. When he later filled in the blank
with “August 5, 1955,” however, he had forgotten the relationship
between the date of the foreword and the time of the action of the novel
implied by the statement that Louise is a sophomore. Or perhaps this time
lag is yet another example of double exposure—not an oversight of
Nabokov’s, but deliberate artifice?
The date “August 5, 1955” is like a moment in time that has
been returned to the real world from the world of the novel, an actual
moment in real time rather than a simple textual signpost. Rereading Lolita
yet again, we cannot help noticing the chronological marker. The manuscript
of the Japanese translation was completed on August 4th, 2005. As I was
about to transmit the file by e-mail, I sensed there was something significant
about the date. Then I remembered that John Ray, Jr.’s foreword
is dated August 5th, 1955: the very day, perhaps, that, fifty years ago,
Nabokov mailed the final galleys to Olympia Press, the day that Lolita
at long last left his hands and after which he had only to wait for the
book to be published.


Notes
1. Tôkyô: Shinchôsha, 2005.
2. Nabokov frequently used newspapers as raw material.
What may be the best example is to be found in Pale Fire. We
digress somewhat from Lolita, but the passage merits attention.
The assassin Gradus, intent on killing Charles Kinbote aka the King of
Zembla, arrives in New York and sets out for a morning stroll through
Central Park. Because the scene is narrated by Kinbote, its reality is
open to question; it may be Kinbote’s delusion. The date is July
21st, 1959. Kinbote's version of the scene, which includes many specific
references to articles and advertisements in The New York Times,
appears in his second note to line 949 of the poem.
If we investigate issues of The New York Times from the 20th
and 21st of July, 1959, as Charles Kinbote appears to have done, what
do we find?
The articles buried in Pale Fire are indeed extracted from
The New York Times. Immediately evident is the influence of the
international situation, especially relations between the US and the Soviet
Union. The cancellation of Krushchev’s visit to Scandanavia, the
launch of the first atom-driven merchant ship Savannah, the situation
in Iraq, Carl Sandburg’s comment on the Soviet exhibition (clearly
Nabokov’s intent is to ridicule the left-wing man of letters) all
relate to US-Soviet relations. In July of that year, Vice-President Nixon
visited Moscow and had a heated exchange about the differences between
capitalism and communism. In September, Krushchev visited America and
met for talks with President Eisenhower. In the midst of the Cold War,
Krushchev articulated a turnaround in foreign policy, “peaceful
coexistence.” Nabokov’s view of these developments is a very
interesting question.
Another distinctive feature are the anagrams. The Rachel Jewelry Company
that appears in one article is an anagram of Charel. Founded in 1945,
Charel had become by the 1950s a well-known brand of costume jewelry.
Today their products are vintage collectors’ items. “Helman”
brothers is also an anagram, a distortion of the Lehman brothers seen
in advertisements of that era. When fabricating “reality”
out of reality, transformation into anagrams is also one of Nabokov’s
standard techniques.
Referring to an actual article without distortion, Nabokov’s intent
is plain when he writes that a “hack reviewer” reviews “his
own tour through Norway.” The person being referred to here as a
“hack reviewer” is frequent contributor to The New York
Times
Orville Prescott. After the scandal caused by the publication
of Lolita in Paris, on the eve of the book’s appearance
in America on August 18th, 1958, Prescott wrote a severely critical review
in The New York Times under the heading “Novel found dull
and fatuous”: “‘Lolita,’ then, is undeniably news
in the world of books. Unfortunately it is bad news. There are two equally
serious reasons why it isn’t worth any adult reader’s attention.
The first is that it is dull, dull, dull in a pretentious, florid and
archly fatuous fashion. The second is that it is repulsive.”
Although his real name does not appear in Pale Fire, the rejection
of Prescott as a “hack reviewer” is retaliation for the article
critical of Lolita. (It is daunting to think that when you defy
Nabokov, you risk being inserted into his novelistic world and held up
to eternal laughter.)
I would like to draw particular attention to the fact that there are
two articles into which accounts relating to the fictional land of Zembla
have been absorbed. Although Krushchev’s trip to Scandinavia, called
off at the last minute--a decision said to have been made based on the
anti-Soviet sentiment in that region--is certainly a historical fact that
appeared on the front page of newspapers, the addition “and was
to visit Zembla instead” is of course fiction. The strange disparities
between reality and “reality” manifest in the article, the
optical illusion caused by seeing the two worlds simultaneously, the trembling
of the fictional world due to “double exposure,” all occur
in Pale Fire. In the fictional world of the novel, whether the
foreign land of Zembla exists in “reality” or is merely the
mad delusion of the narrator Kinbote is not entirely clear. In other words,
the material supposedly being read by the assassin Gradus and now being
reread by Kinbote in the library, to be found in July 20 and 21st issues
of The New York Times in the world of the novel, may or may not
actually mention Zembla. Of course this question too, insofar as the narrator
is apparently insane, is not easy to resolve.
In any case, let’s examine a phrase that appears at the end of
the article mentioning Zembla: “a picnic for international children.”
If we consult the actual article, we find that it describes a farewell
picnic held for children visiting America as part of a homestay program
that involved 30 eleven-year-old boys and girls from 13 countries (from
Bergen, Norway to Tokyo, Japan ) as part of an international exchange.
Whereas in Pale Fire, a Zemblan child says to her Japanese friend:
Ufgut, ufgut, velkam ut Semblerland! (Adieu, adieu, till
we meet in Zembla!),” in the actual article it is a Swedish girl
who says the words “Adjö, adjö, välkommen till Sverige!”
(Goodbye, goodbye, welcome to Sweden!).
New York Times article
What I found so regrettable here is that in transforming
the companion to whom the Swedish child speaks into a Zemblan girl, Nabokov
has eliminated mention of the Japanese friend. This Japanese girl’s
reply to the words of the Swedish girl is reproduced: “Sayonara,
Nippon e kite kudasai” (Good-by, come to Japan).
The same article includes the following account: “The children,
gathered in a circle, watched spellbound as Yôko Tsuchiya of Tokyo,
dressed in a printed robe adorned with purple morning glories, demonstrated
a graceful Noh dance to the accompaniment of recorded Japanese music.”
This is the reason I have been dwelling on the article at such length.
Given that this Japanese participant in the event, Ms. Yôko Tsuchiya,
was 11 years old in 1959, she would now, in 2006, be 58 years old. I wanted
to find her. Of course, doing so would not contribute to the cause of
Nabokov studies. But this Yôko Tsuchiya, as far as I know, is the
only Japanese person to actually appear in Nabokov’s novels. The
very thought of a Japanese managing to enter Nabokov’s text was
something to get excited about. Moreover, it is she to whom the Zemblan
child says goodbye. Isn’t this a bit like meeting a Martian by chance!?
I consulted a number of Japanese newspapers from July 20, 1959 and thereabouts,
but unfortunately there were no articles about the exchange event. I appeal
to readers of this article for additional information. Of course, even
if one were to meet Yôko Tsuchiya face to face, she would no doubt
give the curious Nabokovian a look of bewilderment…
3. Rediscovering such tiddles as we watch this scene
affords the researcher the same relish Nabokov enjoyed when he saw the
film over fifty years ago.
4. At the end of the book, Humbert writes
that his confession was begun in prison 56 days earlier. According to
John Ray, Jr.’s foreword, Humbert dies on the 16th of November,
1952. Assuming Humbert dies immediately after completing the book, he
must have been arrested, at the latest, on September 22, 1952. But September
22 is the day he receives a letter from Lolita (now married to another
man), and if we inspect the account of Humbert’s actions from Chapter
28 of Part 2 to the end of the book, we find that Humbert is arrested
on September 25. There is a gap of three days.
Christina Tekiner pointed out this three-day gap in 1979. At that time
the contradiction did not seem terribly significant to Nabokov scholars,
and the lapse was attributed by some to the unreliability of Humbert’s
memory. But it’s not that simple. When we consider the significance
of dates appearing throughout the novel, we realize Humbert’s fussiness
when it comes to numbers and find very few exceptions to his surprising
exactitude. For example, in the poem “Wanted Wanted Dolores Haze”
composed by Humbert, there is a line stating Lolita’s age as 5,300
days. When we calculate the number of days from Lolita’s birth to
her disappearance, we find that Humbert’s figure is exactly correct.
For argument’s sake, let’s accept both dates as being correct.
If we do, there can be only one conclusion: the events following Humbert’s
receipt of Lolita’s letter do not happen in reality. Given this,
the very basis of Humbert confession becomes unstable. Lolita
itself comes to look like a shimmering mirage.
Defeating the argument expressed by the so-called revisionists is not
easy, and there is even circumstantial evidence to support it. According
to Leona Toker, while preparing the final manuscripts of the Russian translation
as well as the English editions, Nabokov checked scrupulously for errors,
and yet he did not correct either of the figures in question. Instead,
he specified the date September 22, 1952 (cf. Toker 210 and note 14 on
the same page): by retaining it, Nabokov may have planted evidence that
the ending of the book is Humbert’s fabrication.
Opposing the foremost revisionists (Alexander Dolinin and Julian W.
Connolly), Brian Boyd speaks for the traditionalist view and concludes
that the inconsistency in dates is an oversight of Nabokov’s. In
order to restore the traditional reading of Lolita, only a single
digit, in the date of Humbert’s death, need be corrected, from November
16 to November 19.
The revisionist argument is very interesting, built as it is as from
small clues assembled to reveal an unexpected truth, like the solution
to be deduced by a reader of detective fiction, but the questions that
arise as a result are so big that there is as yet no conclusive explanation
of the evidence. Cf.: Christina Tekiner, “Time in Lolita,”
Modern Fiction Studies, 25 (1979), pp. 463-69; Leona Toker, Nabokov:
The Mystery of Literary Structures
(Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1989),
pp. 209-11; Alexander Dolinin, “Nabokov’s Time Doubling: From
The Gift to Lolita,” Nabokov Studies,
2 (1995), pp. 3-40; Julian Connolly, “‘Nature’s Reality’
or Humbert’s ‘Fancy’: Scenes of Reunion and Murder in
Lolita,” Ibid., pp. 41-61; Brian
Boyd, “‘Even Homais Nods’: Nabokov’s Fallibility
or How to Revise Lolita,”
Ibid., pp. 62-86.
5. Proof that the time lag of five years with respect
to the real world evidenced by the movies and music mentioned in the book
is by no means an oversight of Nabokov’s but an intentional operation
can be found in Nabokov’s annotations to Pushkin’s Eugene
Onegin
.
In the passage in question (Eight: XVII, 9), Onegin returns from a trip
to reenter Petersburg society, where he is reunited with Tatiana. But
Onegin fails to recognize her: she has changed into a fair lady with only
faint traces of her former appearance. Onegin asks a prince beside him
“Tell me, prince, you don’t know / who there in the framboise
beret / with the Spanish envoy is talking?” [Nabokov’s literal
rendering]. Whereupon the prince, somewhat surprised, replies “My
wife.”
In the narrative world of Eugene Onegin, the scene takes place
in August 1824. Pushkin composed the stanza from 1829 to 1830. Nabokov
notes the time lag in his annotation:
I suggest that, when composing Eight, Pushkin visualized not
the fashions of 1824 but those of 1829-30 and, possibly, the very beret
of eminence color (a purplish red) which is prominently illustrated in
vol. LXII (no. 2, Pl. 2, fig. 1; Jan. 11, 1829) of the Journal des
dames et des modes
, imported into Russia from Frankfort on the Main
(EO, v.3, pp. 182-183).
Evidence that supports his inference is that from 1825 to 1835 the Spanish
ambassador to Russia was J.M. Páez de la Cadena, whom Pushkin knew
personally. Nabokov points out that there is no record of a Spanish ambassador
having been appointed before 1825, but that the incident in Eight : XVII,
which includes the “Spanish envoy,” takes place in August, 1824.
The Onegin anachronism pointed out by Nabokov (created by Pushkin
consciously or unconsciously, we do not know) is structurally the same
as the anachronism Nabokov plants in Lolita. Even the extent
of the lag, five years, is the same.
Coincidence seems highly improbable. Composition of Lolita
partially overlapped in time with the translation and annotation of Eugene
Onegin
, and it seems unlikely that Nabokov, who had pointed out the
anachronism in Onegin would have overlooked a similar such anachronism
in his own work. That the time lag in Lolita is a nod to Onegin
is the most natural explanation.
At question here is the closeness of the relationship between Onegin
and Lolita. Carefully deleting traces of Russia from the surface
of the text, Nabokov emphasizes the transatlantic theme of a European
in America, while in reality there is a concealed subtext that clearly
draws on Russian literature. Both Lolita and Onegin
can be summarized as: “meeting with a fateful woman” -->
“lengthy separation” --> “reunion” --> “rejection
by the woman.” The parallelism is striking. Furthermore, the works
make use of letters (Charlotte’s in Lolita and Tatiana’s
in Eugene Onegin) in similar ways. For a detailed discussion,
see especially the chapter “Onegin and Lolita
in Priscilla Meyer’s excellent Find What the Sailor Has Hidden
(Wesleyan University Press, 1989). Further examination of the relationship
between Lolita and Onegin is undoubtedly warranted.
6. Nabokov was indifferent to popular music; his
only motive for writing down the song titles was to later use them in
“inventing America” as background for the book.
7. Two of the popular singers whose names have already
been mentioned, Perry Como and Jo Stafford, were hired to appear in advertisements
for Chesterfield brand cigarettes of that era. Such advertisements regularly
appeared in The New Yorker, which Nabokov, as a frequent contributor,
always perused.
8. Paul Kriloff, a student of Galya Diment, points
out in his honors thesis that “Conception Park” does not exist.
See Diment’s
message to the NABOKV-L list on July 8, 1994
. In his annotations to
the German edition of Lolita, Dieter E. Zimmer discusses a number
of place names appearing in the novel (see "Anmerküngen,"
Lolita [München: Artemis & Winkler, 1995], pp. 571-643).
The question of which real world locales correspond to the camouflaged
place names in Lolita is an interesting puzzle. Let’s try
a comparatively simple example: Lepingville, the bustling town visited
by Humbert and Lolita at the end of Part One. What is the model for this
town “where a great poet had resided in the early nineteenth century”
(L, I.27)?
Of particular note is the phrase “a great poet.” Why the
vagueness? What prompted Nabokov’s decision not to make the name
explicit? In fact, Nabokov did make it explicit outside the text of Lolita.
In response to Alfred Appel, Jr., who asked him to identify "the
great poet," Nabokov said "That poet was evidently Leping who
used to go lepping (i.e., lepidoptera hunting) but that's about all anybody
knows about him" (The Annotated Lolita, p. 376). But "Leping"
seems to be, in the context of Nabokov's reply, merely a pun. Who, then,
would be the model for this great poet, and to what actual town might
the name "Lepingville" refer?
To solve the puzzle we must examine the context. The poet most frequently
referred to in Lolita is of course Edgar Allan Poe. Not only
does the name Annabel Lee resound like a keynote throughout the first
part of the novel, but Nabokov later puns on Poe’s name:
“Monsieur Poe-poe,” as that boy in one of Monsieur Humbert
Humbert's classes in Paris called the poet-poet.
Poe was born in Boston, Massachusetts on January 19, 1809. The following
year, his father abandoned the family, and when Poe was two years old
his mother died of tuberculosis. He was adopted by the tobacco merchant
John Allan and went to live in Richmond, Virginia. Poe thus lived for
a brief time as a small child in Boston. My conclusion is that Lepingville
is probably Boston. The phrase “in the early nineteenth century”
supports this theory.