You need to sign in or sign up before continuing.
Take a photo of a barcode or cover
paytonashley 's review for:
Signs and Symbols
by Vladimir Nabokov
funny
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
There are few things I love quite like Nabokov's philosphy toward literature and literary analysts.
This short story itself is a long drawn out joke and either you're in on the joke, or unfortunately are the joke. And I love that clever zinger of this short story. Yet the tone and plotline refuses to be anything other than dismal, dark, and sad, which is part of the brilliance in the writing. It's not wholly necessary, but being acquainted with Nabokov himself gives the short an extra layer.
The "signs and symbols" any other author might use for meaning and context, Nabokov places throughout his story like bait, waiting to see if the reader will see through it or fall into their own "Referential Mania"; asking who will fall prey to a bird drowning in a puddle, downpouring rain, and a wrong number. I find it brilliant the way he describes pointedly the entire premise of literature analysis as the son's ailment.
So who calls the third time? Honestly, it doesn't matter. The characters are nothing more than black ink on white paper and cease to exist the moment Nabokov stops writing. (An attitude and explaination I will only accept out of this author)
For a seemingly sad narrative, it is so tongue-and-cheek and really continues to solidify my obsession with Nabokov
This short story itself is a long drawn out joke and either you're in on the joke, or unfortunately are the joke. And I love that clever zinger of this short story. Yet the tone and plotline refuses to be anything other than dismal, dark, and sad, which is part of the brilliance in the writing. It's not wholly necessary, but being acquainted with Nabokov himself gives the short an extra layer.
The "signs and symbols" any other author might use for meaning and context, Nabokov places throughout his story like bait, waiting to see if the reader will see through it or fall into their own "Referential Mania"; asking who will fall prey to a bird drowning in a puddle, downpouring rain, and a wrong number. I find it brilliant the way he describes pointedly the entire premise of literature analysis as the son's ailment.
So who calls the third time? Honestly, it doesn't matter. The characters are nothing more than black ink on white paper and cease to exist the moment Nabokov stops writing. (An attitude and explaination I will only accept out of this author)
For a seemingly sad narrative, it is so tongue-and-cheek and really continues to solidify my obsession with Nabokov