Though Vladimir Nabokov was living in America when he wrote Lolita, the novel was first published in Paris in 1955—by Olympia Press, whose list included many pornographic titles. On the sixtieth anniversary of Lolita’s first publication, we asked ten writers to reflect on their changing experiences with the novel in the course of their reading lives. Each day for five days, we are posting two reflections, each revisiting a section of pages from the book—we are using Vintage’s 2005 edition, a complete, unexpurgated text.

1. Alexandra Kleeman

2. Josephine Livingstone

3. Doreen St. Felix

4. Anna Wiener

5. Moira Weigel

6. Hannah Gold

7. Hannah Rosefield

8. Gemma Sieff

9. Moira Donegan

10. Lidija Haas

1.

By Alexandra Kleeman, pp. 3-32



At first glance, Humbert Humbert’s narrative appears to begin in direct address: Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins, which is a fitting start for one of the most notorious love stories in literature. (What, after all, is more romance-like than calling out for the absent beloved?) But Humbert’s address leads nowhere. My sin, my soul, he continues, leaving the reader uncertain whether he refers to the girl or to himself, or to the latter in the guise of the former. Humbert isn’t speaking to Lolita at all: he uses her instead as material for thought, something to give shape to his speech. Lolita’s allure has more to do with Humbert’s backstory than with any nymph-like nature of her own.



That the eponymous girl makes only a fleeting appearance within the first thirty pages of Lolita offers a perplexing answer to the question of whether any male author—even an exceptionally skilled one—can craft an authentic female character. On NPR’s list of the “100 Best Fictional Characters since 1900”, Humbert Humbert is ranked third, Lolita fourteenth. Fourteenth seems generous, given that it is so difficult to perceive Lolita through the haze of Humbert’s elocution (or is it invention?).