Поиск по творчеству и критике
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Часть текста: 1930. Кн. 2–3. С. 167–176. Адамович 1933 – Адамович Г. Человеческий документ // Последние новости. 1933. № 4369. 9 марта. Адамович 1934a – Адамович Г. Сирин // Последние новости. 1934. № 4670. 4 января. Адамович 1934b – Адамович Г. «Современные записки», кн. 55-я. Часть литературная // Последние новости. 1934. № 4809. 24 мая. Адамович 1934c – Адамович Г. Святые мечты // Последние новости. 1934. № 4907. 30 августа. Адамович 1935 – Адамович Г. Несостоявшаяся прогулка // Современные записки. 1935. Кн. LXIX. С. 288–296. Адамович 1936 – Адамович Г. Сумерки Достоевского // Последние новости. 1936. № 5655. 17 сентября. Адамович 1938 – Адамович Г. «Современные записки», кн. 67. Часть литературная // Последние новости. 1938. № 6437. 10 ноября. Адамович 1996 – Адамович Г. Одиночество и свобода. М., 1996. Адамович 1998 – Адамович Г. Собрание сочинений. Литературные беседы: В 2 кн. / Вступ. ст., сост. и примеч. О. А. Коростелева. СПб., 1998. Адамович 1999 – Адамович Г. Собрание сочинений: Стихи, проза, переводы / Вступ. ст., сост. и примеч. О. А. Коростылева. СПб., 1999. Адамович 2000 – Адамович Г. Собрание сочинений: Комментарии / Сост., послесл. и примеч. О. А. Коростелева. СПб., 2000. Адамович 2010 – «Я с Вами привык к переписке идеологической…»: Письма Г. В. Адамовича В. С. Варшавскому, 1951–1972 // Ежегодник Дома русского зарубежья имени Александра Солженицына. М., 2010. С. 255–344. Азадовский 1991 – Азадовский К. М. Райнер Мария Рильке и Александр Блок (Предварительные заметки) // Русская литература. 1991. № 2. С. 144–156. Айхенвальд 1994 – Айхенвальд Ю. И. Силуэты русских писателей. М., 1994. Аксаков 1891 – Аксаков И. С. Сочинения. Славянофильство и западничество, 1860–1886. Статьи из «Дня», «Москвы», «Москвича» и...
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Часть текста: made my wild delight also perfect, just because the vision was out of reach, with no possibility of attainment to spoil it by the awareness of an appended taboo; indeed, it may well be that the very attraction immaturity has for me lies not so much in the limpidity of pure young forbidden fairy child beauty as in the security of a situation where infinite perfections fill the gap between the little given and the great promisedthe great rosegray never-to-be-had. Mes fentres! Hanging above blotched sunset and welling night, grinding my teeth, I would crowd all the demons of my desire against the railing of a throbbing balcony: it would be ready to take off in the apricot and black humid evening; did take offwhereupon the lighted image would move and Even would revert to a rib, and there would be nothing in the window but an obese partly clad man reading the paper. Since I sometimes won the race between my fancy and nature’s reality, the deception was bearable. Unbearable pain began when chance entered the fray and deprived me of the smile meant for me. “ Savez-vous qu’ dix ans ma petite tait folle de voius?” said a woman I talked to at a tea in Paris, and the petite had just married, miles away, and I could not even remember if I had ever noticed her in that garden, next to those tennis courts, a dozen years before. And now likewise, the radiant foreglimpse, the promise of reality, a promise not only to be simulated seductively but also to be nobly heldall this, chance denied mechance and a change to smaller characters on the pale...
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Часть текста: may be imagined screeching, but not loud enough to drown the rhythmical yaps of the Junk setter walking from group to groupfrom a bunch of neighbors already collected on the sidewalk, near the bit of checked stuff, and back to the car which he had finally run to earth, and then to another group on the lawn, consisting of Leslie, two policemen and a sturdy man with tortoise shell glasses. At this point, I should explain that the prompt appearance of the patrolmen, hardly more than a minute after the accident, was due to their having been ticketing the illegally parked cars in a cross lane two blocks down the grade; that the fellow with the glasses was Frederick Beale, Jr., driver of the Packard; that his 79-year-old father, whom the nurse had just watered on the green bank where he laya banked banker so to speakwas not in a dead faint, but was comfortably and methodically recovering from a mild heart attack or its possibility; and, finally, that the laprobe on the sidewalk (where she had so often pointed out to me with disapproval the crooked green cracks) concealed the mangled remains of Charlotte Humbert who had been knocked down and dragged several feet by the Beale car as she was hurrying across the street to drop three letters in the mailbox, at the corner of Miss Opposite’s lawn. These were picked up and handed to me by a pretty child in a dirty pink frock, and I got rid of them by clawing them to fragments in my trouser pocket. Three doctors and the Farlows presently arrived on the scene and took over. The widower, a man of exceptional self-control, neither wept nor raved. He staggered a bit, that he did; but he opened his mouth only to impart such information or issue such directions as were strictly necessary in connection with the identification, examination and disposal of a dead woman, the top of her head a porridge of bone, brains, bronze hair and blood. The sun was still a blinding ...
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Часть текста: is generally a “quiet” affair. The bride may dispense with a tiara of orange blossoms securing her finger-tip veil, nor does she carry a white orchid in a prayer book. The bride’s little daughter might have added to the ceremonies uniting H. and H. a touch of vivid vermeil; but I knew I would not dare be too tender with cornered Lolita yet, and therefore agreed it was not worth while tearing the child away from her beloved Camp Q. My soi-disant passionate and lonely Charlotte was in everyday life matter-of-fact and gregarious. Moreover, I discovered that although she could not control her heart or her cries, she was a woman of principle. Immediately after she had become more or less my mistress (despite the stimulants, her “nervous, eager chri a heroic chri ! had some initial trouble, for which, however, he amply compensated her by a fantastic display of old-world endearments), good Charlotte interviewed me about my relations with God. I could have answered that on that score my mind was open; I said, insteadpaying my tribute to a pious platitudethat I believed in a cosmic spirit. Looking down at her fingernails, she also asked me had I not in my family a certain strange strain. I countered by inquiring whether she would still want to marry me if my father’s maternal grandfather had been, say, a Turk. She said it did not matter a bit; but that, if she ever found out I did not believe in Our Christian God, she would commit suicide. She said it so solemnly that it gave me the creeps. It was then I knew she was a woman of principle. Oh, she was very genteel: she said “excuse ...
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Часть текста: бабочки Отцовские бабочки. Father's Butterflies (английский язык) Father's Butterflies by Vladimir Nabokov DURING my adolescence, the butterfly enthusiast (" le curieux, " as the honnкtes gens used to put it in judicious France, " the aurelian, " as the poets said in grove-rich England, the "fly doctor," 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...
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Часть текста: и в ключевые моменты. Этимологически слово «squirrel» (белка), как мы узнаем из открытки, отправленной Пниным Виктору, означает «shadow tail» («тенехвостая»); благодаря очевидной игре слов — tail / tale (хвост / рассказ) — этот зверек становится образом романа в целом, с его призрачными, как тени, повествователями и метатворческим сюжетом. Р. Олтер и Г. Барабтарло утверждали, что белка служит всего лишь репрезентацией принципа мотивного повторения, без которого, по Набокову, немыслим никакой литературный текст. «Имеет ли Тема Белки особую аллегорическую миссию, — спрашивает Барабтарло, — помимо того, что она включена в общую символику художественного выражения вообще? Уж, по крайней мере, не в романе Набокова» [647]. Излюбленный «мальчик для битья» набоковедов, У. У. Роу, утверждает, что белка — репрезентация призрака Миры Белочкиной, который неотступно преследует героя на протяжении всего текста [648]. С моей точки зрения, белка в романе служит репрезентацией чего-то совсем другого, а именно фундаментального принципа поэтической перверсии, столь любимого Набоковым. Рассмотрим последнее появление этого образа в романе — разговор о башмачках Золушки, которые, по словам Пнина, были «not made of glass but of Russian squirrel fur — vair, in French. It was, Pnin said, an obvious case of the survival of the fittest among words, verre being more evocative than vair…» (Pnin. 158) —...
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Часть текста: своей весьма продуманной позиции, последовательно реализованной, воплощенной им в литературной практике. Скупо и лаконично упомянув об истоках своей эстетической точки зрения, Набоков не объяснил, чем он обязан авторам, тексты которых, несомненно, помогли Сирину ее сформулировать. В центре настоящей работы — попытка прояснить, проартикулировать основания мышления Набокова и указать на некоторые важные для понимания его творчества контексты, которые, на мой взгляд, демонстрируют всю небанальность эстетического выбора романиста. Излишним было бы добавлять, что на исчерпывающую полноту данная работа не претендует. 1 Опубликованный не так давно “берлинский” доклад Набокова “On Generalities”, датированный автором 1926 годом [Долинин 1999: 14], продемонстрировал со всей очевидностью остроту реакции молодого эмигрантского писателя Сирина на модные историцистские спекуляции 1920-х годов. Следует при этом отметить, что аргументация Набокова, направленная против шпенглеров больших и малых, содержит в себе некоторый парадокс. С одной стороны, писатель отказывается от “общих” определений, от глобальных и абстрактных дефиниций “нашей эпохи”, подавая характерные черты современного “упадка”, “нового варварства” в качестве мимолетных или совсем не специфичных явлений. Как резюмирует ход набоковской мысли Александр Долинин, посвятивший полемике Сирина с историцизмом содержательную и очень убедительную статью, ...
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Часть текста: extensive travels all over the States. To any other type of tourist accommodation I soon grew to prefer the Functional Motelclean, neat, safe nooks, ideal places for sleep, argument, reconciliation, insatiable illicit love. At first, in my dread of arousing suspicion, I would eagerly pay for both sections of one double unit, each containing a double bed. I wondered what type of foursome this arrangement was even intended for, since only a pharisaic parody of privacy could be attained by means of the incomplete partition dividing the cabin or room into two communicating love nests. By and by, the very possibilities that such honest promiscuity suggested (two young couples merrily swapping mates or a child shamming sleep to earwitness primal sonorities) made me bolder, 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 ...
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Часть текста: were later recast as formal questions-and-answers. The interviewer was Nabokov's student at Cornell University in 1954, and the references are to Literature 311-312 (MWF, 12), a course on the Masterpieces of European Fiction (Jane Austen, Gogol, Dickens, Flaubert, Tolstoy, Stevenson, Kafka, Joyce, and Proust). Its enrollment had reached four hundred by the time of Nabokov's resignation in 1959. The footnotes to the interview, except where indicated, are provided by the interviewer, Alfred Appel, Jr. For years bibliographers and literary journalists didn't know whether to group you under "Russian" or "American. "Now that you're living in Switzerland there seems to be complete agreement that you're American. Do you find this kind of distinction at all important regarding your identity as a writer? I have always maintained, even as a schoolboy in Russia, that the nationality of a worthwhile writer is of secondary importance. The more distinctive an insect's aspect, the less apt the taxonomist is to glance first of all at the locality label under the pinned specimen in order to decide which of several vaguely described races it should be assigned to. The writer's art is his real passport. His identity should be immediately recognized by a special pattern or unique coloration. His habitat may confirm the correctness of the determination but should not lead to it. Locality labels are known to have been faked by unscrupulous insect dealers. Apart from these considerations I think of myself today as an American writer who has once been a Russian o! ne. The Russian writers you have translated and written about all precede the so-called "age of realism, " which is more celebrated by English and American readers than is the earlier period. Would you say something about your temperamental or artistic affinities with the great writers of the 1830-40...
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Часть текста: She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, a certain initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns. 2 I was born in 1910, in Paris. My father was a gentle, easy-going person, a salad of racial genes: a Swiss citizen, of mixed French and Austrian descent, with a dash of the Danube in his veins. I am going to pass around in a minute some lovely, glossy-blue picture-postcards. He owned a luxurious hotel on the Riviera. His father and two grandfathers had sold wine, jewels and silk, respectively. At thirty he married an English girl, daughter of Jerome Dunn, the alpinist, and granddaughter of two Dorset parsons, experts in obscure subjectspaleopedology and Aeolian harps, respectively. My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three, and, save for a pocket of warmth in the darkest past, nothing of her subsists within the hollows and dells of memory, over which, if you can still stand my style (I am writing under observation), the sun of my...