Take a photo of a barcode or cover
3.59 AVERAGE
3.59 AVERAGE
Top 3 Reasons Why I Like This Book:
1) I read the majority of it during a single trip to the laundromat. There's something to be said for short gems of literature that can be enjoyed in the amount of time it takes wash the towels.
2) It's Nabokov...so really it's hard for me not to like it.
3) It deals with the concept of identity and the idea of multiple perspectives of self, including the "ghost self" that lives on through other people's memories. This concept is explored through the metaphor of people as mirrors. It was much more complex and interesting than I expected the 114 page novella to be. It had somewhat of a Fight Club feel to it, only more sophisticated and Russian, because let's face it, Chuck Palahniuk is no Vladimir Nabokov.
1) I read the majority of it during a single trip to the laundromat. There's something to be said for short gems of literature that can be enjoyed in the amount of time it takes wash the towels.
2) It's Nabokov...so really it's hard for me not to like it.
3) It deals with the concept of identity and the idea of multiple perspectives of self, including the "ghost self" that lives on through other people's memories. This concept is explored through the metaphor of people as mirrors. It was much more complex and interesting than I expected the 114 page novella to be. It had somewhat of a Fight Club feel to it, only more sophisticated and Russian, because let's face it, Chuck Palahniuk is no Vladimir Nabokov.
dark
reflective
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I just finished The Eye by Vladimir Nabokov. I COULD NOT RECOMMEND IT ENOUGH.
First of all, though, something really irked me: mainly, the back cover's description:
Smurov, a lovelorn, excruciatingly self-conscious Russian émigré living in prewar Berlin, commits suicide after being humiliated by a jealous husband, only to suffer even greater indignities in the after-life as he searches for proof of his existence among fellow émigrés who are too distracted to pay him any heed.
Yeah ... THAT'S ONLY VAGUELY TO DO WITH THE PLOT AND IS REALLY MISLEADING. Not only are you not supposed to know Smurov and the narrator are the same character until well into the novel, but the suicide is metaphorical! Or not metaphorical, but, it fails, only he thinks it succeeds, rather would LIKE to think it succeeded, so he can continue living his life as though he were dead, and in that a free observer and so truly happy, because in that way he'd be truly untouched. He doesn't want proof of his own existence, he wants proof of his non-existence. Anyway, that really threw me off, having read that and then diving into the novel and after a few pages thinking "wait ... that doesn't quite fit..."
Anyway, I loved this. It's less than a hundred pages, but took me several days, as Nabokov's writing's economical, in that every sentence matters and is worth spending time on. There were so many little things that were so awesome, and these are my favorites:
1. The narrator gets the shit beaten out of him by the husband of the woman he's been sleeping with; this happens in front of his two pupils he tutors, and as he's being chased through the house and beaten, the pupils follow the men to watch, even obligingly turning on the light when the fight stumbles into a darkened dining room.
2. The idea of the number of perspectives that make up a person, like a hundred different shards of mirror pieced together; we are not just us as we exist in our own heads and lives, but, the more people we interact with, the more people's opinions of us create these different perceptions that all come together to create something that's very disjointed and perhaps not wholly accurate, but is us in the sense of it being a conglomeration of everything we've put out into the world. So sifting through all that rumor and opinion and fantasy to who the real person is can be a difficult (if rewarding) task -- It's a really interesting concept, especially to be explored so thoroughly in such a short novel.
3. I really, really loved the left-field climax where Smurov steals the letter to read what Bogdanovich thinks of him, and the letter's contents are basically the eloquent Russian literature equivalent of Pierce Hawthorne in the Cookie Crisp Wizard's suit reading Jeff Winger's mind and yelling "GAY. GAY. IT'S SO GAY."
4. And also, when the guy who beat the shit out of him saw him later on the street, Smurov just like GIGGLED INTO HIS FLOWERS? THAT WAS SO ENDEARING AND WEIRD.
First of all, though, something really irked me: mainly, the back cover's description:
Smurov, a lovelorn, excruciatingly self-conscious Russian émigré living in prewar Berlin, commits suicide after being humiliated by a jealous husband, only to suffer even greater indignities in the after-life as he searches for proof of his existence among fellow émigrés who are too distracted to pay him any heed.
Yeah ... THAT'S ONLY VAGUELY TO DO WITH THE PLOT AND IS REALLY MISLEADING. Not only are you not supposed to know Smurov and the narrator are the same character until well into the novel, but the suicide is metaphorical! Or not metaphorical, but, it fails, only he thinks it succeeds, rather would LIKE to think it succeeded, so he can continue living his life as though he were dead, and in that a free observer and so truly happy, because in that way he'd be truly untouched. He doesn't want proof of his own existence, he wants proof of his non-existence. Anyway, that really threw me off, having read that and then diving into the novel and after a few pages thinking "wait ... that doesn't quite fit..."
Anyway, I loved this. It's less than a hundred pages, but took me several days, as Nabokov's writing's economical, in that every sentence matters and is worth spending time on. There were so many little things that were so awesome, and these are my favorites:
1. The narrator gets the shit beaten out of him by the husband of the woman he's been sleeping with; this happens in front of his two pupils he tutors, and as he's being chased through the house and beaten, the pupils follow the men to watch, even obligingly turning on the light when the fight stumbles into a darkened dining room.
2. The idea of the number of perspectives that make up a person, like a hundred different shards of mirror pieced together; we are not just us as we exist in our own heads and lives, but, the more people we interact with, the more people's opinions of us create these different perceptions that all come together to create something that's very disjointed and perhaps not wholly accurate, but is us in the sense of it being a conglomeration of everything we've put out into the world. So sifting through all that rumor and opinion and fantasy to who the real person is can be a difficult (if rewarding) task -- It's a really interesting concept, especially to be explored so thoroughly in such a short novel.
3. I really, really loved the left-field climax where Smurov steals the letter to read what Bogdanovich thinks of him, and the letter's contents are basically the eloquent Russian literature equivalent of Pierce Hawthorne in the Cookie Crisp Wizard's suit reading Jeff Winger's mind and yelling "GAY. GAY. IT'S SO GAY."
4. And also, when the guy who beat the shit out of him saw him later on the street, Smurov just like GIGGLED INTO HIS FLOWERS? THAT WAS SO ENDEARING AND WEIRD.
dark
mysterious
reflective
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
challenging
funny
lighthearted
mysterious
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
96th book of 2021.
4.5. I'm on holiday so I'll write a review when I'm home, but this is brilliant. Despite only being Nabo's fourth novel, it reads like his later work. And to think the novel that follows this (two years later) is the brilliant Glory... The early 30s were golden years for Nabokov's émigrée novels written in Russian, it seems. Full review to come: but suicide, ghosts, snooping, Berlin, unrequited love, this short text is quite the scimitar-blade of Nabokovian wit/trickery/genius.
4.5. I'm on holiday so I'll write a review when I'm home, but this is brilliant. Despite only being Nabo's fourth novel, it reads like his later work. And to think the novel that follows this (two years later) is the brilliant Glory... The early 30s were golden years for Nabokov's émigrée novels written in Russian, it seems. Full review to come: but suicide, ghosts, snooping, Berlin, unrequited love, this short text is quite the scimitar-blade of Nabokovian wit/trickery/genius.
Vladimir Nabokov’s shortest novel. Set amongst the Russian émigré comunity in 1920s Berlin, it focuses on the enigmatic Russian Smurov. The action commences after the attempted (perhaps successful) suicide of the narrator. After this (potentially imaginary) death, his "eye" observes a group of Russian émigrés as he tries to ascertain their opinions of the mysterious character Smurov.
Largely about ‘identity’ – our own perceptions of self and the social construction of our identity both for and by others – Smurov exists as a hero, fraud, nobleman, crook, "sexual adventurer" and spy in the eyes of himself and others. The central narrator gathers these observations in the attempt to construct a coherent portrait of Smurov.
While the ‘twist’ alluded to in the author’s preface is not particularly surprising, this does not stop the novel from being enjoyable. The young Nabokov keeps the literary affectation to a minimum, and as such we’re left with essentially a metaphysical Russian detective novel.
The central point? We like to think of ourselves as a knowable collection of things, experiences and traits; but, really, we’re limitless, there is no single snapshot that will wholly capture anyone. Indeed, we are all fragmentary refractions of others’ glimpses of us, inherently unknowable, whose memory is reduced to the stories and opinions of our observers.
It’s a good ‘un, and you’ll zip through it in no time. Highly recommended!
Largely about ‘identity’ – our own perceptions of self and the social construction of our identity both for and by others – Smurov exists as a hero, fraud, nobleman, crook, "sexual adventurer" and spy in the eyes of himself and others. The central narrator gathers these observations in the attempt to construct a coherent portrait of Smurov.
While the ‘twist’ alluded to in the author’s preface is not particularly surprising, this does not stop the novel from being enjoyable. The young Nabokov keeps the literary affectation to a minimum, and as such we’re left with essentially a metaphysical Russian detective novel.
The central point? We like to think of ourselves as a knowable collection of things, experiences and traits; but, really, we’re limitless, there is no single snapshot that will wholly capture anyone. Indeed, we are all fragmentary refractions of others’ glimpses of us, inherently unknowable, whose memory is reduced to the stories and opinions of our observers.
It’s a good ‘un, and you’ll zip through it in no time. Highly recommended!
Nabokov has the most amazing ability to write absolutely delusional main characters that everyone in the novel and out of it can’t help but laugh at. Yet he writes them so empathetically that as a reader I find myself doubting truth and believing the delusion. Or at least, questioning my own sanity rather than the narrator’s. And inevitably Nabokov will wrap the book up with lines so beautiful and profound that you’ll wonder why you ever fell compelled to laugh at all. But reality lives in the overlap between reason and absurdity and perhaps that’s why we cry when we laugh.
The Eye is the fourth book I’ve read by Nabakov, and once again I feel like I’ve experienced something rather special.
The story focuses on Russian immigrants living in Berlin. One of them, the protagonist, is a womaniser who gets more than he bargains for.
The first 30% of this story is absolute perfection. Funny, gripping, and filled with characters that are exquisitely articulated. However, once a certain thing happened that really took me by surprise, it lost a little momentum, and I was left scratching for my head for quite some time. Still, it all came together by the final pages.
Is Nabokov the greatest writer of the 20th century? As a storyteller, no. Despite highly enjoying all of his books, they all have discrepancies I cannot quite explain. All of them start and end well, but Nabokov has a tendency to go off on wild tangents that are either confusing or baffling as to what purpose they serve.
Nevertheless, he is, in my experience, the most beautifully descriptive writer of the past 100 years. His mastery of language/s is an absolute joy. Perhaps not since Proust has there been anyone quite like him.
Nabokov Read:
Lolita
Pnin
Transparent Things
The Eye
Next to read:
Invitation to a Beheading
The story focuses on Russian immigrants living in Berlin. One of them, the protagonist, is a womaniser who gets more than he bargains for.
The first 30% of this story is absolute perfection. Funny, gripping, and filled with characters that are exquisitely articulated. However, once a certain thing happened that really took me by surprise, it lost a little momentum, and I was left scratching for my head for quite some time. Still, it all came together by the final pages.
Is Nabokov the greatest writer of the 20th century? As a storyteller, no. Despite highly enjoying all of his books, they all have discrepancies I cannot quite explain. All of them start and end well, but Nabokov has a tendency to go off on wild tangents that are either confusing or baffling as to what purpose they serve.
Nevertheless, he is, in my experience, the most beautifully descriptive writer of the past 100 years. His mastery of language/s is an absolute joy. Perhaps not since Proust has there been anyone quite like him.
Nabokov Read:
Lolita
Pnin
Transparent Things
The Eye
Next to read:
Invitation to a Beheading