Trundling an Empty Barrow Up the Lane: Nabokov’s Pale Fire: Part 2

The focus now shifts to the moral of Nabokov’s Pale Fire: a profound attempt of capturing humanity’s perturbation with mortality and the relationship Art (specifically literature) plays.  Many literary critics have dissected and attempted precise explication of the novel.[1]  Among them, Bryan Boyd is often the most quoted, read critic of Nabokov’s work and life—and specifically his novel Pale Fire.[2]  In his 1997 essay, “Shade and Shape of Pale Fire”, Boyd re-evaluates his previous “Shadean” stance—the notion that the entire Pale Fire (i.e. Foreword, Poem, Commentary, Index) was all written by John Shade and not portions by Charles Kinbote—and adopts a more balanced view of who wrote what, as well as the potential moral.[3]  In providing analysis of Pale Fire some objections to Boyd’s conclusions will be raised.  For the most part, though, Boyd’s observations and conclusions are agreeable.[4]

            Mirrors.  One prevalent motif throughout the novel is the imagery of mirrors.  Subtle at first, one slowly begins to realize the mastery of Nabokov’s work at play.  Mirrors, of course, reflect an image in reverse.  Nabokov applied this to his novel in several ways.  Be it in the reversing of words or names (Hazel Shade’s “mirror words” and twisting T.S. Eliot as “toilest” and Jakob Gradus—Shade’s eventual assassin—becomes Sudarg of Bokay the “mirror genius”), or places (Kinbote’s wild kingdom of Zembla juxtaposed with Shade’s passive New Wye), or people (Shade and Kinbote are very much opposites).[5]  Staying within the idea of reflections, the reader must take one step further and allow for self-reflection.  Fictional literature is a reflection of one’s reality (as both the author intended and the reader sees it).  Upon examining fiction, the reader should reflect and consider the possible relationship literature has with the world in which he or she exists.  Through examining the mirror world, one gains a better understanding of one’s own.  This fact plays a crucial role in Pale Fire.[6]

            Death.   Throughout the novel the reader is presented with death.  Either in Kinbote’s Foreword (the recollection of Shade’s death, or hinting his own potential suicide), in Shade’s magnum opus (where the imagery of death permeates the poem—especially with Hazel Shade), or in Kinbote’s Commentary (mainly in the narrative of Gradus’s westward journey), the idea of death is never too far from the reader’s mind.  The very first sentence of Pale Fire introduces Shade’s death “…(born July 5, 1898, died July 21, 1959)…”.[7]  In the poem, the fist line reads: “I was the shadow of the waxwing slain” another introduction to death—also another example of Nabokov’s double: Shade is the shadow of the waxwing slain.[8]  The remembrance of Hazel Shade in the poem and Kinbote’s notes reflect thoughts of the afterlife.[9]  Nabokov consistently relays this message of death.  Here the moral begins to show itself.  The reader cannot escape death.  Even as Kinbote flees from the majestic Zembla to the bucolic New Wye, he cannot.  He brings death with him.[10]  Gradus is the personification of death.  And even in the suburban Arcadia, death is there too.  This is exactly what Shade tries to communicate to Kinbote in his poem, but not to fear death.  Boyd suggests that the first line of the poem should be read as the last, suggesting life after death.[11]  Though the first line may double as the last, it might not necessarily point towards afterlife.  What could just as easily be true about the cyclicality of life is that death plays a part, and that the two are not mutually exclusive, so one should embrace both in toto.  Embracing mortality is embracing one’s humanity.

            Whatever the interpretations might be, and Nabokov left enough room for many, what is unequivocal is Nabokov’s success at revealing humanity’s struggle with their least favorite attribute: impermanence: and where Art (in this case literature) goes along in the endless endeavor.  That is Pale Fire’s greatness.

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[1] For further reading consideration: Will Norman, Duncan White, Transitional Nabokov, (London, Peter Lang Publishing: 2009); Geoffrey W. Erwin, Pale Fire: A Novel of Mirrors: Reflections and Resemblances—A Study, (Washington DC, Georgetown University Press: 1990); L.S. Dembo, Nabokov: The Man and His Work, (Madison, Wisconsin University Press: 1967); Paul Duncan Morris, Vladimir Nabokov: Poetry and the Lyric Voice, (Toronto, University of Toronto Press: 2010); Bryan Boyd, Vladimir Nabokov: The American Years, (Princeton, Princeton University Press: 1993).

[2] In his 2001 publishing of Nabokov’s Pale Fire: The Magic of Artistic Discovery, Boyd recants his previous Shadean analysis in The American Years (1993) and provides a more accurate analysis of Nabokov’s novel.  The bulk of Nabokov’s Pale Fire centers around the ideas promoted in his essay “Shade and Shape in Pale Fire” (1997), which most of this criticism will be focused.

[3] For the entire essay: http://www.libraries.psu.edu/nabokov/boydpf1.htm

[4] Boyd makes very valid points.  By no means is his analysis to be disregarded.  However, neither are they to be taken without incredulity.  In this phase of critical analysis, the boundaries do not always have to be agreed upon.

[5] Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire, (New York, Vintage: 1989), 80, 193, 314

[6] Nabokov enjoyed playing with the idea of doubles, and often used the idea of “mirrors” in his novels—especially later on in his career.  For further reading: Despair, Lolita, Ada or Ador, Look at the Harlequins!

[7] Nabokov, 11.

[8] Ibid. 33.; Boyd makes this argument in his essay “Shade and Shape,” 6.

[9] Boyd makes an interesting point in his essay (17) that Nabokov hints at supernaturalism in relation to Hazel Shade’s encounter with the phantom or phantasm that predicts the death of her father (188).  Perhaps, but this critic is dubious.

[10] An interesting connection can be made between Kinbote’s escape from Europe to the New World in search of a better life—mainly void from death—and Pastoralism.  What is Pastoralism?  Without losing too much focus: in the 1950s and 60s, two literary scholars, and progenitors of the American Studies field, Henry Nash Smith (with his book Virgin Land) and Leo Marx (The Machine in the Garden) studied apparent themes within literature concerning the New World (and eventually the United States) as an untamed land with infinite possibilities.   These themes would form the notion of Pastoralism (and would eventually be studied and taught within the “Myth and Symbol” school of study for the nascent American Studies).  To be succinct: Pastoralism is linked to escapism, and eventually leads back to humanity’s struggle with mortality.  Pastoralism plays a significant role in Americanism. 

[11] Boyd, 26.

Trundling an Empty Barrow Up the Lane: Nabokov’s Pale Fire: Part 1

Vladimir Nabokov’s Pale Fire is one of the great novels of the post-War era—of the English-language.[1]  Such a superlative requires some vindication.  Allow me.  What constitutes a great novel?  Well, one could have long, laborious dialectical discussions on such a question only to end up with what they had from the beginning: nothing.  Subjectivity is a merciless paradox.  All and none are correct.  And when one criticizes literature, music, film, or the arts etc. etc., the need for order becomes an imperative.[2]  So in order to evaluate, one must first create some boundaries—ultimately understanding said boundaries are illusory, but still necessary.  Once perimeters are agreed justifiable, establishment follows.  When one individual sets the borders alone, he or she freely accepts them and thus plays within his or her own rules—free to change them whenever it behooves the individual.  This becomes inadequate when applying critical analyses on a macro-level.  Therefore when dealing with a broader scale, the communal element must apply.  At this point, the critic looks at the other great literary solons of both past and present.  Once he or she can reach an agreement with the community (in this case: an agreement on the attributes of a “Great” novel), the boundaries can be established.[3]    Looking back, when one thinks of some of the capital G “Greats” (i.e. the “Greatest Novels of the English-Language in Such-And-Such-An-Epoch”) what comes to mind?[4]  According to the Modern Library (a subsidiary of Random House publishing), the best novel of the twentieth century was James Joyce’s Ulysses.[5]  Larry McCaffery (well-known literary critic and former professor of post-modern literature) wrote in the American Book Review in 1999, that Pale Fire was the greatest 20^th Century novel, stating: “[Pale Fire is the] most audaciously conceived novel of the century-and the most perfectly executed-this is also the book whose existence could have been the most difficult to anticipate in the year 1900.”[6]  Indeed.  Others claim Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, de Cervantes’ Don Quixote, even Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged as the jötnar of their literary realm.  Irrespective of what novel sits atop the conjectural lists, one can begin to notice broad, overarching similarities between the novels.  These similarities become the foundations for judging a novel as a Great.  Most of the Greats contain some acute observation of the “human condition” or the world humanity inhabits and the symbiotic relationship between both.[7]  The Greats often succeed in revealing realities within the contexts of fantasy. And at times a novel is considered a masterpiece because it per se revolutionizes the literary world—like Joyce’s Ulysses.[8]  All the while entertaining the reader.[9]  The Greats do all of these in some capacity with much gravitas, a balance of quality and quantity, pious yet playful.  Pale Fire is one of these novels.  It addresses humanity’s struggle with mortality, and the relationship Art plays in the struggle.  Whilst simultaneously exploring the form and structure of fictional writing—creating a novel novel. Like Ulysses, it is a novel for literature, and like Moby Dick, it is as much for the masses.  While literary critics, scholars, or those with a penchant for such, will lionize the novel for its many allusions to other bodies of work or the unique structure and impact on the post-modern literary world; the casual reader (with enough patience and keen eye) will appreciate the underlying moral, and have fun navigating the labyrinth Nabokov created.

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[1] Of course, this entire review is the personal opinion of one individual.  Subjectivity is not irrevocable.

[2] Note: Criticism is not meant pejoratively here, rather a formal intellectual judgment, or observation. 

[3] This does not always come to fruition—these things seldom do.  Often times a loose nucleus is created in which dissenting opinions form the outer nebulous, and the conforming ones draw closer to one point.  Never a true establishment, but when building a house of cards one must accept instability.

[4] Answering this question will help answer the initial one.

[5] Modern Library, “100 Best Novels: The Board’s List,” Random House, Inc., http://www.modernlibrary.com/top-100/100-best-novels/ (accessed August 5, 2011).  Many readers are of the opinion James Joyce’s Ulysses ranks high above the rest.  Indeed a solid paragon, but often an overused standard that, ironically, diminishes the greatness of the novel.

[6] Larry McCaffery, “The 20th Century's Greatest Hits: 100 English Language Books of Fiction,” American Book Review 20, vol. 6 (1999).  McCaffery placed Joyce’s Ulysses in second, Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow in third, and Ellison’s Invisible Man and DeLillo’s Underworld in the top twenty—even including Bret Easton Ellis’ American Psycho on the list.  A man after this critic’s own heart.  For the entire list: http://www.spinelessbooks.com/mccaffery/100/index.html

[7] “Human condition” consumes every aspect of being “human” in multiple conditions (i.e. philosophy, psychology, sociology, biology, anthropology, theology, cultural studies, economics, etc. etc.).

[8] Debate still carries on in certain circles about how much impact Ulysses had on the literary world, but little doubt can be had for what the novel meant for the Modernist movement.

[9] Or, at least, enough of them.