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Look at the Harlequins! by Vladimir Nabokov
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Look at the Harlequins! (original 1972; edition 1990)

by Vladimir Nabokov

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6421136,211 (3.7)13
As intricate as a house of mirrors, Nabokov's last novel is an ironic play on the Janus-like relationship between fiction and reality. It is the autobiography of the eminent Russian-American author Vadim Vadimovich N. (b. 1899), whose life bears an uncanny resemblance to that of Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov, though the two are not to be confused (?). Focusing on the central figures of his life -- his four wives, his books, and his muse, Dementia -- the book leads us to suspect that the fictions Vadim has created as an author have crossed the line between his life's work and his life itself, as the worlds of reality and literary invention grow increasingly indistinguishable. One of the twentieth century's master prose stylists, Vladimir Nabokov was born in St. Petersburg in 1899. He studied French and Russian literature at Trinity College, Cambridge, then lived in Berlin and Paris, where he launched a brilliant literary career. In 1940 he moved to the United States, and achieved renown as a novelist, poet, critic, and translator. He taught literature at Wellesley, Stanford, Cornell, and Harvard. In 1961 he moved to Montreux, Switzerland, where he died in 1977. "One of the greatest masters of prose since Conrad." -- Harper's… (more)
Member:Brasidas
Title:Look at the Harlequins!
Authors:Vladimir Nabokov
Info:Vintage (1990), Paperback, 272 pages
Collections:Your library
Rating:
Tags:fiction, russia, us, ussr, 01

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Look at the Harlequins! by Vladimir Nabokov (1972)

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63. Look at the Harlequins! by Vladimir Nabokov
published: 1974
format: 253-page paperback
acquired: December 12
read: Dec 15-21
time reading: 10:08, 2.4 mpp
rating: 3
locations: Cambridge England. the French Riviera (or Cote de Azure), Paris, sort of Massachusetts etc.
about the author: 1899 – 1977. Russia born, educated at Trinity College in Cambridge, 1922. Lived in Berlin (1922-1937), Paris, the US (1941-1961) and Montreux, Switzerland (1961-1977).

This was a tough read. It seemed clear until I realized I was getting lost. (I stopped at page 30 and re-read from page 1...and it didn't help). Most of it is a narrator talking crazy, which gets tiresome. There is complexity and it calms down in the last 100 pages. But, i was happy to be done.

One of the interesting things about this novel is how Nabokov writes about himself in variations of apparent integrity and apparent opposition. The narrator here has a number of parallels with the real VN, including a set of parallel novels in Russian and English. He's also crazy and in other ways directly counter to Nabokov. But, not entirely crazy. The counter-real-VN stuff is also revealing about the author...and interesting if you are trying to understand him....but not if you're not.

This was his 17th and last novel. He was working on another when his health very suddenly declined. I have now read all of his novels, plus a novella, a kind of autobiography ([Speak, Memory]), a small biography and a longer one of his wife - and that may be my favorite of all this. Anyway, closing this chapter.

2021
https://www.librarything.com/topic/333774#7689534 ( )
  dchaikin | Dec 24, 2021 |
I hesitate to write a review after reading it only once. It's astonishing how so funny a book can have so heartbreaking an end. Unimaginably intricate--there's a great website that connects some of the puzzles. An amazing novel that I will surely reread soon. ( )
  gtross | Sep 21, 2020 |
Another novel by Nabokov which is far from his best. I could not really get into the story and I thought the entire plotline was a little diluted in form and substance. The characters were not very appealing and Nabokov's attempts at making the novel palatable were, to me, not effective.

A disappointing read: 1.5 star. ( )
  DanielSTJ | Oct 15, 2019 |
I have stopped reading this, a little over halfway through. I can't believe I am saying this, but I find it tedious. Rather than echoing themes from other Nabokov books I've read, it just seems repetitive and lacks his usual wit. I feel guilty for not liking it but I don't think I'm the only one. Oh well. ( )
  ltfitch1 | Jun 5, 2016 |
Autobiography or paraody? Does it matter when it's Nabokov? If you know your N, you won't trust him as a narrator. Not as freewheelingly wonderful as _Ada_ which I believe is also fairly autobiographical. ( )
  dbsovereign | Jan 26, 2016 |
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Vladimir Nabokovprimary authorall editionscalculated
Ferron, LouisTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
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I met the first of my three or four successive wives in somewhat odd circumstances, the development of which resembled a clumsy conspiracy, with nonsensical details and a main plotter who not only knew nothing of its real object but insisted on making inept moves that seemed to preclude the slightest possibility of success.
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As intricate as a house of mirrors, Nabokov's last novel is an ironic play on the Janus-like relationship between fiction and reality. It is the autobiography of the eminent Russian-American author Vadim Vadimovich N. (b. 1899), whose life bears an uncanny resemblance to that of Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov, though the two are not to be confused (?). Focusing on the central figures of his life -- his four wives, his books, and his muse, Dementia -- the book leads us to suspect that the fictions Vadim has created as an author have crossed the line between his life's work and his life itself, as the worlds of reality and literary invention grow increasingly indistinguishable. One of the twentieth century's master prose stylists, Vladimir Nabokov was born in St. Petersburg in 1899. He studied French and Russian literature at Trinity College, Cambridge, then lived in Berlin and Paris, where he launched a brilliant literary career. In 1940 he moved to the United States, and achieved renown as a novelist, poet, critic, and translator. He taught literature at Wellesley, Stanford, Cornell, and Harvard. In 1961 he moved to Montreux, Switzerland, where he died in 1977. "One of the greatest masters of prose since Conrad." -- Harper's

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