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3.81 AVERAGE
3.81 AVERAGE
funny
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Best part of the book is the description of Pnin’s new denchers
funny
lighthearted
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Tbh i don’t think i’m a fan of nabokov’s prose because rather than the plot, the writing did not vibe with me.
funny
lighthearted
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Rarely does one find a writer as gifted with the English language such as Nabokov, his prose being some of the best I've ever read. All the more surprising is that it isn't even his native tongue, and yet he uses it better than a lot of native speakers I know.
Pnin is a gem I had picked up by pure chance and vague curiosity in my local library, and I'm very glad I did. Serving more as a collection of short stories, it centers them all around the life of a Russian expatriate and his continued attempts at assimilating with American culture. A very sympathetic character and one with whom I enjoyed reading about.
With plenty of great humor and excellent writing, it remained an amazing read through and through.
Pnin is a gem I had picked up by pure chance and vague curiosity in my local library, and I'm very glad I did. Serving more as a collection of short stories, it centers them all around the life of a Russian expatriate and his continued attempts at assimilating with American culture. A very sympathetic character and one with whom I enjoyed reading about.
With plenty of great humor and excellent writing, it remained an amazing read through and through.
I read it in original English: It started to be difficult after the first quarter, I paused and I had to push myself to finish it.
This wasn't much of an enjoyment, but I liked several parts with the long sentences and metaphors. Those were inspiring. The appearance of the first person narrator startled me, now I understand.
I don't think this review can be helpful but, if your felt the same, you can see you're not alone.
This wasn't much of an enjoyment, but I liked several parts with the long sentences and metaphors. Those were inspiring. The appearance of the first person narrator startled me, now I understand.
I don't think this review can be helpful but, if your felt the same, you can see you're not alone.
1.24.21 Update:
I recalled the concluding party scene in vivid detail, so clearly that I suspect I had read this at least one other time in the intervening quarter of a century. Nabokov offers us a portrait of Timofey Pnin, one both in sepia and brilliant color; one in a kaleidoscopic manner, episodic in measures equally hilarious and tragic. The fourth wall is pierced repeatedly and I’m sure there are further Easter eggs if one were to apply the scrutiny.
This is a delightful novel, part emigre caricature, part university satire. Below is the time-sensitive review I penned during some tempest on goodreads.
matters appear hysterical on goodreads these days. Ripples of concern often appear daunting to the literate, cushioned by their e-devices and their caffienated trips to dusty book stores; why, the first appearence of crossed words often sounds like the goddamn apocalypse. Well, it can anyway. I find people are taking all of this way too seriously.
I had a rough day at work. It is again hot as hell outside and I just wanted to come home and listen to chamber music and read Gaddis until my wife comes home. Seldom are matters that simple. It is within these instances of discord that I think about Pnin. I love him and the maestro's creation depicting such. I situate the novel along with Mary and The Gift in my personal sweet cell of Nabokov, insulated well away from Lolita and Ada, perhaps drawing strength from Vladimir's book on Gogol, though certainly not his letters with Bunny Wilson. It is rare that I can think about Pnin washing dishes and not tear up. I suppose I'll survive this day as well.
I recalled the concluding party scene in vivid detail, so clearly that I suspect I had read this at least one other time in the intervening quarter of a century. Nabokov offers us a portrait of Timofey Pnin, one both in sepia and brilliant color; one in a kaleidoscopic manner, episodic in measures equally hilarious and tragic. The fourth wall is pierced repeatedly and I’m sure there are further Easter eggs if one were to apply the scrutiny.
This is a delightful novel, part emigre caricature, part university satire. Below is the time-sensitive review I penned during some tempest on goodreads.
matters appear hysterical on goodreads these days. Ripples of concern often appear daunting to the literate, cushioned by their e-devices and their caffienated trips to dusty book stores; why, the first appearence of crossed words often sounds like the goddamn apocalypse. Well, it can anyway. I find people are taking all of this way too seriously.
I had a rough day at work. It is again hot as hell outside and I just wanted to come home and listen to chamber music and read Gaddis until my wife comes home. Seldom are matters that simple. It is within these instances of discord that I think about Pnin. I love him and the maestro's creation depicting such. I situate the novel along with Mary and The Gift in my personal sweet cell of Nabokov, insulated well away from Lolita and Ada, perhaps drawing strength from Vladimir's book on Gogol, though certainly not his letters with Bunny Wilson. It is rare that I can think about Pnin washing dishes and not tear up. I suppose I'll survive this day as well.
Brilliant book. It is funny and awkward and truly Nabokov.
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This book was my first by Vladimir Nabokov. It was for me an OK book and I was disappointed.
The book starts out well, it does. It's funny and satirical with very nice prose . . . but to me, that's all it ended up being, nothing more. I also found the book to be just plain cold sometimes.
And other than Pnin--the main character-- I found most other characters to be just insipid. It's as if they're just present halfway alive, accompanied with visual descriptions and nothing more. They seemed less like characters, and more like badly disguised outlets for the author to discharge and get over with his opinions and frustrations about culture, literature, teaching, etc.
And, maybe here I'm not smart enough to appreciate Nabokov, I don't know: but the author is so cold with his main character since the beginning of the book that, in later parts of the book, when it seems as though he's finally using the vivid prose and the satire and comedy in the actual service of something and not merely playing around . . . everything just turns out to be predictable. The sadness didn't move me, and the comedy didn't make me laugh.
But it'd be unfair and ignorant on my part to form opinions about a giant like Nabokov based on his 160-page book, so I will read more Nabokov. Maybe Pale Fire or Ada, or something bigger and darker like that.
The book starts out well, it does. It's funny and satirical with very nice prose . . . but to me, that's all it ended up being, nothing more. I also found the book to be just plain cold sometimes.
And other than Pnin--the main character-- I found most other characters to be just insipid. It's as if they're just present halfway alive, accompanied with visual descriptions and nothing more. They seemed less like characters, and more like badly disguised outlets for the author to discharge and get over with his opinions and frustrations about culture, literature, teaching, etc.
And, maybe here I'm not smart enough to appreciate Nabokov, I don't know: but the author is so cold with his main character since the beginning of the book that, in later parts of the book, when it seems as though he's finally using the vivid prose and the satire and comedy in the actual service of something and not merely playing around . . . everything just turns out to be predictable. The sadness didn't move me, and the comedy didn't make me laugh.
But it'd be unfair and ignorant on my part to form opinions about a giant like Nabokov based on his 160-page book, so I will read more Nabokov. Maybe Pale Fire or Ada, or something bigger and darker like that.