Поиск по творчеству и критике
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Часть текста: petite vergette faite exprès, ouvrage qu'il continua fi+èrement devant moi. Je jugeai qu'un homme qui passe deux heures tous les matins à brosser ses ongles peut bien passer quelques instans à remplir de blanc les creux de sa peau.” (Les Confessions de Jean-Jacques Rousseau.) Grimm was ahead of his age: nowadays people all over enlightened Europe clean their nails with a special brush. >> 7. The whole of this ironical stanza is nothing but a subtle compliment to our fair compatriots. Thus Boileau, under the guise of disapprobation, eulogizes Louis XIV. Our ladies combine enlightenment with amiability, and strict purity of morals with the Oriental charm that so captivated Mme de Staël ( Dix ans d'exil). >> 8. Readers remember the charming description of a Petersburg night in Gnedich's idyl: Here's night; but the golden stripes of the clouds do not darken. Though starless and moonless, the whole horizon lights up. Far out in the [Baltic] gulf one can see the silvery sails 4 Of hardly discernible ships that seem in the blue sky to float. With a gloomless radiance the night sky is radiant, And the crimson of sunset blends with the Orient's gold, As if Aurora led forth in the wake of evening 8 Her rosy morn. This is the aureate season When the power of night is usurped by the summer days; When the foreigner's gaze is bewitched by the Northern sky Where shade and ambrosial light form a magical...
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Часть текста: telephone call… But if I could dismiss Trapp, as I had dismissed my convulsions on the lawn at Champion, I could do nothing with the anguish of knowing Lolita to be so tantalizingly, so miserably unattainable and beloved on the very even of a new era, when my alembics told me she should stop being a nymphet, stop torturing me. An additional, abominable, and perfectly gratuitous worry was lovingly prepared for me in Elphinstone. Lo had been dull and silent during the last laptwo hundred mountainous miles uncontaminated by smoke-gray sleuths or zigzagging zanies. She hardly glanced at the famous, oddly shaped, splendidly flushed rock which jutted above the mountains and had been the take-off for nirvana on the part of a temperamental show girl. The town was newly built, or rebuilt, on the flat floor of a seven-thousand-foot-high valley; it would soon bore Lo, I hoped, and we would spin on to California, to the Mexican border, to mythical bays, saguaro desserts, fatamorganas. Jos Lizzarrabengoa, as you remember, planned to take his Carmen to the Etats Unis. I conjured up a Central American tennis competition in which Dolores Haze and various Californian schoolgirl champions would dazzlingly participate. Good-will tours on that smiling level eliminate the distinction between passport and sport. Why did I hope we would be happy abroad? A change of environment is the traditional fallacy upon which doomed loves, and lungs, rely. Mrs. Hays, the brisk, briskly rouged, blue-eyed widow who ran the motor court, asked me if I were Swiss perchance, because her sister had married a Swiss ski instructor. I was, whereas my daughter happened to be half Irish. I registered, Hays gave me the key and a tinkling smile, and, still twinkling, showed me where to park the car; Lo crawled out and shivered a...
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Часть текста: in high artistic achievement. Webster, Second Ed., unabridged, 1957 The enthusiasm that sweeps away (entraine) poets. Also a term of physiology (insufflation): ". . . wolves and dogs howl only by inspiration; one can easily ascertain this by causing a little dog to howl close to one's face (Buffon)." Littre. ed. integrate, 1963 The enthusiasm, concentration, and unusual manifestation of the mental faculties (umstvennyh sil). Dal, Revised Ed., St. Petersburg, 1904 A creative upsurge. [Examples: ] Inspired poet. Inspired socialistic work. Ozhegov, Russian dictionary, Moscow, 1960 A special study, which I do not plan to conduct, would reveal, probably, that inspiration is seldom dwelt upon nowadays even by the worst reviewers of our best prose. I say "our" and I say "prose" because I am thinking of American works of fiction, including my own stuff. It would seem that this reticence is somehow linked up with a sense of decorum. Conformists suspect that to speak of "inspiration" is as tasteless and old-fashioned as to stand up for the Ivory Tower. Yet inspiration exists as do towers and tusks. One can distinguish several types of inspiration, which intergrade, as all things do in this fluid and interesting world of ours, while yielding gracefully to a semblance of classification. A prefatory glow, not unlike some benign variety of the aura before an epileptic attack, is something the artist learns to perceive very early in life. This feeling of tickly well-being branches through him like the red and the blue in the picture of a skinned man under Circulation. As it spreads, it banishes all awareness of physical discomfort-- youth's toothache as well as the neuralgia of old age. The beauty of it is that, while completely intelligible (as if it were connected with a known gland or led to an expected climax), it has neither source nor object. It...
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Часть текста: of his life. So he sold his father's collection, including an elaborate sketch on the flyleaf of a book showing the imaginary "Verina raduga Nab." with dappled wings of violet and blue, blood-orange glimmers and iridescent greens. It was auctioned in Geneva on May 5. "Of course it tugs at the heartstrings to let go of these lovely butterflies," Nabokov said at his home in Montreux, Switzerland. "The little, simple ones are so touching. But I would rather do a thing like this lucidly. Having seen death close up on three occasions, it's frightening to think you might leave such precious loose ends." Dmitri has no direct heirs, so when his parents were still alive, it was decided that the books would be auctioned before his death. The collection, except for a few items, was sold last week for nearly $750,000, less than anticipated: Various private collections, most from France and Switzerland, bought parts of it, which will now be scattered to the breeze. Vladimir Nabokov died near Montreux in 1977. Dmitri Nabokov's library consisted of a wide array of his father's novels, short stories, poems and translations, as well as a small set of critical studies. Dedicated for the most part to Dmitri and his mother, Vera, the books were often autographed and annotated. Many are deftly adorned with butterflies, drawn in ink or color pencils on the first page. The first major series of Vladimir Nabokov's archives and manuscripts was acquired in 1991 by the Berg Collection of the New York Public Library. This second series, and perhaps the last, constitutes more than 100 volumes and 30 titles, a remarkable medley of Russian and American literature. "I am an American author, born in Russia, educated in England, where I studied French texts," Nabokov once said. After publishing eight novels in Russian, he began a flamboyant writing career in English with "The Real Life of Sebastian Knight," written in 1941 when he was 42....
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Часть текста: путь развития художника, направленный на большее и подробное раскрытие, расширение создаваемого им в слове мира. Поскольку изолированный анализ лирики художника исключается феноменом целостности, единства набоковского мира, целесообразно анализ первого произведения представить стратифицированно по нескольким позициям: первого стихотворения, первого романа, а также первого перевода, позиционирующего те же принципиальные основы и приемы поэтики художника, как стихотворение и роман. Поскольку первые драмы Набокова трудно доступны , а также на том основании, что драма в отличие от лирики не находит продолжения в англоязычном творчестве писателя, а кроме того и потому, что сам феномен театральности и театрализации мира своих книг был в полной мере развернут в эпосе В. Набокова 32 33 34 , мы представим анализ драматургии писателя в целом. 2.1. СТИХОТВОРЕНИЕ «ДОЖДЬ ПРОЛЕТЕЛ» Поэтическое наследие В.В. Набокова, по справедливому замечанию Н.Анастасьева может стать объектом самостоятельного исследования, но только как одна из граней сложного единого целого - творчества В.В.Набокова, в контексте создаваемого Набоковым художественного космоса и собственно онтологического и эстетического феномена личности писателя . Хотя уже современники отмечали традиционность набоковской лирики, подчеркивая, что по мастерству она значительно уступает его прозе. «Его современники, - пишет, в частности, Г. Струве, - смотрели на него как на поэтического старовера» 35 36 . Современный писатель и критик, восторженный ценитель дара В. Набокова, А. Битов, сравнивая стихи и прозу мастера, даже задается вопросом: «... почему он не переставал их (стихи) писать, пусть и более слабые» . Думается, в первую очередь потому, что неповторимый дар В. В. Набокова обладал...
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Часть текста: но впоследствии вернул себе трон. Он увлечен образом Карла II потому, что сам мнит себя свергнутым королем. Его не интересуют ни причины революции Кромвеля, ни то обстоятельство, что Кромвель казнил Карла I. Однако и здесь навязчивая идея Кинбота скрывает значимый для самого Набокова смысл: отсылки к английской Реставрации в «Бледном огне» — это своего рода способ раскрыть политическое измерение темы гибели Владимира Дмитриевича Набокова от руки убийцы. Как мы уже отмечали в предисловии, характер гибели Джона Шейда, воспринятой Кинботом в качестве неудачной попытки цареубийства, напоминает о том, что отец Набокова пал случайной жертвой политического убийства. Кинбот считает, что убийца Шейда также целил в другого: воспринимая все происходящее с ним в контексте земблянской политики, он отказывается поверить в то, что убийцей был беглый преступник, решивший отомстить судье Гольдсворту и введенный в заблуждение его сходством с Шейдом. На параллелизм двух убийств указывает тщательно продуманная хронология «Бледного огня»: Джон Шейд погибает 21...
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Часть текста: Библиография Сочинения Набокова Набоков В. Бахман // Набоков В. Собр. соч. русского периода: В 5 т. СПб.: Симпозиум, 1999. Т. 1. С. 150–159. Набоков В. Бледное пламя // Набоков В. Собр. соч. американского периода: В 5 т. СПб.: Симпозиум, 1997. Т. 3. С. 290–548. — Пер. С. Ильина. Набоков В. Бледный огонь. Ann Arbor: Ardis, 1983. — Пер. В. Набоковой. Набоков В. Вершина // Набоков В. Стихотворения. СПб.: Академический проект, 2002. С. 221. Набоков В. Дар // Набоков В. Собр. соч. русского периода: В 5 т. СПб.: Симпозиум, 2000. Т. 4. С. 188–541. Набоков В. Другие берега // Набоков В. Собр. соч. русского периода: В 5 т. СПб.: Симпозиум, 2000. Т. 5. С. 140–335. Набоков В. Интервью Альфреду Аппелю, август 1970 // Набоков о Набокове и прочем: Интервью, рецензии, эссе. М.: Независимая Газета, 2002. С. 293–311. — Пер. А. Г. Николаевской. Набоков В. Интервью Альфреду Аппелю, сентябрь 1966 // Набоков о Набокове и прочем: Интервью, рецензии, эссе. М.: Независимая Газета, 2002. С. 177–209. — Пер. М. Мейлаха и М. Дадяна. Набоков В. Интервью Олвину Тоффлеру, март 1963 // Набоков о Набокове и прочем: Интервью, рецензии, эссе. М.: Независимая Газета, 2002. С. 129–157. — Пер. Д. Федосова. Набоков В. Искусство литературы и здравый смысл // Набоков В. Лекции по зарубежной литературе. М.: Независимая Газета, 1998. С. 465–476. — Пер. Г. Дашевского. Набоков В. Комментарий к роману А. С. Пушкина «Евгений Онегин». СПб.: Искусство — СПб; Набоковский фонд, 1998. — Пер. Е. М. Видре, Г. М. Дашевского, Н. М. Жутовской и др. Набоков В. Нежить // Набоков В. Собр. соч. русского периода: В 5 т. СПб.: Симпозиум, 1999. Т. 1. С. 29–31....
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Часть текста: and every now and then I would take a bed-and-cot or twin-bed cabin, a prison cell or paradise, with yellow window shades pulled down to create a morning illusion of Venice and sunshine when actually it was Pennsylvania and rain. We came to know nous connmes, to use a Flaubertian intonationthe stone cottages under enormous Chateaubriandesque trees, the brick unit, the adobe unit, the stucco court, on what the Tour Book of the Automobile Association describes as “shaded” or “spacious” or “landscaped” grounds. The log kind, finished in knotty pine, reminded Lo, by its golden-brown glaze, of friend-chicken bones. We held in contempt the plain whitewashed clapboard Kabins, with their faint sewerish smell or some other gloomy self-conscious stench and nothing to boast of (except “good beds”), and an unsmiling landlady always prepared to have her gift (“…well, I could give you…”) turned down. Nous connmes (this is royal fun) the would-be enticements of their repetitious namesall those Sunset Motels, U-Beam Cottages, Hillcrest Courts, Pine View Courts, Mountain View Courts, Skyline Courts, Park Plaza Courts, Green Acres, Mac’s Courts. There was sometimes a special line in the write-up, such as “Children welcome, pets allowed” ( You are welcome, you are allowed). The baths were...
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Часть текста: Did I mention the name of that milk bar I visited a moment ago? It was, of all things, The Frigid Queen. Smiling a little sadly, I dubbed her My Frigid Princess. She did not see the wistful joke. Oh, d not scowl at me, reader, I do not intend to convey the impressin that I did not manage to be happy. Readeer must understand that in the possession and thralldom of a nymphet the enchanted traveler stands, as it were, beyond happiness. For there is no other bliss on earth comparable to that of fondling a nymphet. It is hors concours , that bliss, it belongs to another class, another plane of sensitivity. Despite our tiffs, despite her nastiness, despite all the fuss and faces she made, and the vulgarity, and the danger, and the horrible hopelessness of it all, I still dwelled deep in my elected paradisea paradise whose skies were the color of hell-flamesbut still a paradise. The able psychiatrist who studies my caseand whom by now Dr. Humbert has plunged, I trust, into a state of leporine fascinationis no doubt anxious to have me take Lolita to the seaside and have me find there, at last, the “gratification” of a lifetime urge, and release from the “subconscious” obsession of an incomplete childhood romance with the initial little Miss Lee. Well, comrade, let me tell you that I did look for a beach, though I also have to confess that by the time we reached its mirage of gray water, so many delights had already been granted me by my traveling companion that the search for a Kingdom by the Sea, a Sublimated Riviera, or whatnot, far from being the impulse of the subconscious, had become the rational pursuit of a purely theoretical thrill. The angels knew it, and arranged things accordingly. A visit to a plausible cove on the Atlantic side was completely messed up by foul weather. A thick damp sky, muddy waves, a sense of boundless but somehow matter-of-fact mistwhat...
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Часть текста: as they wisecracked in advanced Russian circles) who wished to acquire from books a general notion of the fauna of Europe, including Russia, was compelled to scrabble for his crumbs of information in entomological journals in six languages and in multivolume, hard-to-find editions such as the Oberthьr books or those of Grand Duke Nikolai Mikhailovich. The absence or utter inadequacy of "references" in the atlases ad usum Delphini, the tedious perusal of the index of names enclosed with an annual volume of a monthly journal, the sheer number of these journals and volumes (in my father's library there were more than a thousand of the latter alone, representing a good hundred journals) - all this had to be overcome in order to hunt down the necessary reference, if it existed at all. Nonetheless, even in my exceptionally propitious situation things were not easy: Russia, particularly in the north, dwelt in a mist, while the local lists, scattered through the journals, totally haphazard, scanty, and cruelly inaccurate in nomenclature, only maddened me when at last I ferreted them out. My father was the preeminent entomologist of his time, and very well off to boot, but the ordinary amateur, unable to dispatch his scouts throughout Russia, and denied the opportunity - or not knowing how - to gain access to specialized collections and libraries (and an accidental boon, the hasty inspection of collections at a lepidopterological society or in the cellar of some museum, does not satisfy the true enthusiast, who needs to have the boon always at hand), had no choice but to hope for a miracle. And that miracle dawned in 1912 with the appearance of my father's four-volume work The...