Vladimir Nabokov (placeholder)

His passion for life. His imaginaton. His command of the English language, which was not even his native tongue. Chess. Tennis. Butterflies. He inspired my interest in topics I might otherwise have ignored, simply by sharing his interest is such delightful and creative prose. It’s a pity he passed away in 1977. I would have loved to have met the man whose mind conceived so many books I admire.

Nabokov’s style is unlike any other author, in that, he tells his message (which I doubt few ever get) in a sliding doors, bending mirrors, dropping floors, and never ending patterned sequences. You are lost in a gigantic maze, and just when you think you have found an opening, a reason, the riddle, the end, you realize that the door was simply the entry way to another room. The room is void of color, object, and sense. You realize the answer is the question, the result is the beginning, and that the conclusion may never come. It is a true representation of life, which is at times undefinable, and cognitively-perhaps, never ending. Better than any Rise-Climax-Conclusion plot line I have ever read.

Vladimir you should write to me, because I want to learn from you. More than any statement, by any author—dead or alive—is more true than: “Style and Structure are the essence of a book; great ideas are hogwash.”

Teach me.

Great writer.
He has a way of writing unlike any other, beautifully expressed convincing thoughts.
i enjoy his talent for language.
i enjoy his bawdiness.