The long bus rides I now take to summer courses allows me to read a surprisingly amount of pages per day. I realized within three weeks, I had finished re-reading Nabokov's
Lolita, again. I have memorized a few more lines of this novel. To say that love
Lolita would be a massive understatement, and would do injustice to the indescribable sentiments I have for this book. Of all the literature I have read in my brief life so far, it is vastly my favorite, for one dominating reason: Humbert Humbert. A character of such elegant qualities and sophistication, complimented by his faults, his essence struck profoundly my metaphorical heart and mind. Shinku is the only other fictional entity comes even close to challenging his apotheosis. But I shall articulate the light of my life, fire of my loins, my sin, my soul, in another languid night such as this. I have partially dissected Humbert Humbert
here. Should you wish to seek more understanding of me, of this, at the least, online persona, there lies revelations. The only flaw I can give this book is that it sparked in me an envy of Humbert Humbert, of how he immortalized himself through "mere" words. And I, for succumbing to this envy, and crudely mimicking him, and his art of discourse.
My eyes are currently tackling Jame Joyce's
Ulysses. I obtained this book long ago since I was drawn by the critical acclaims of a majority, and its high positions in numerous lists of "greatest novels of the 20th century". I've read bits and pieces of it earlier in my life, but task of reading through this intimidating book seemed far too daunting in times before, until now. I'm currently working, no, forcing myself through a rather pretentious (heh heh, I admit I am guilty of sometimes being this as well) foreword introduction by Declan Kiberd. Why is it called an "introduction" when his over-praising analysis spoils/requires knowledge of the characters and details of the novel?