Confession Of A White Unmarried Female

So, I have a bit of a confession.

I love this book.

I just finished re-reading it (you can imagine my Grandfather's surprise-even shock- when he realized not only what I was reading, but that it wasn't my first time reading it, either!) And I just....adore it. It's just so beautifully written, so compelling.

Perhaps it's my own 'connection' to Lolita (those of you who know me 'for reals' know on how many levels) or simply Nabokov's perfectly written pathos. You can't help but feel sorry for Humbert Humbert, trapped by his own malformed mind. (And yet, and yet! His real-life counterpart is so vile!) As much as you understand, as you abhor, you want it to work out, you desperately want them to be happy, Humbert and his poor Lolita.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.
She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line.

But in my arms she was always Lolita.