It seems like people are automatically assuming that ghost Claudia is 100% telling the truth in regards to her feelings towards Lestat and Louis rather than saying things she knows will hurt Louis out of rage at being stuck in purgatory while he reads her diary entries to her rapist and gets back together with his ex who abused her. Ghost Claudia is clearly in so much pain over her death and separation from Madeleine and is lashing out in the only way she can.
I really don’t think the seance is retconning the Louclaudia relationship into her always having preferred Lestat. I think it makes it clear that Claudia was more easily able to manipulate Louis than he was aware of, or wanted to be aware of. But I also think the ambiguity and the fine line between love and hate remains.
man imagine going 73 years thinking that blond bitch is going to come out any minute and expose your marriage built on lies only for your one-that-got-awaytionship from 50 years ago to return in leveled up gilf form and do it instead
Oddly enough, despite the numerous warnings about the sheer deviancy of the book, I found myself completely enthralled by it. I mean this in the most normal, morally-sound, anti-paedophilia manner. The fact that i have to add these assurances before jumping into my tirade is part of the reason i wrote this tirade, so.
Somehow, without a single sexually explicit paragraph (in the modern sense, of course), and without gratuitous usage (or, in some cases, any usage at all) of vocabulary that would aim to objectify and demean, the picture painted of Humbert, a pervert and scum of society, hidden behind the charming mask of a handsome, intellectual man, and Lolita, rash and abrasive and altogether a panicked child, painted from his perspective as not only an equal, as a lover, but also as a wanting party, was an absolute delight to read.
AND. I would end there. I would express my utter admiration of this book and go, BUT, it seems, my admiration for this book has been taken to mean, time and time again, as approval for Humbert's actions (insanity bc. why), so i will be expressing my rage here.
Breaking it down, Lolita is more than just a book. It's been written on paedophilia, on grooming and child sexual abuse and a wide array of horrifying topics, the sort polite society would wrinkle their noses at. And while a number of books discussing these topics do exist, none of them exist, as beautifully, from the abuser's perspective. Lolita is more than just a book, it is the psychological study of an offender.
Humbert is, without a doubt, an abhorrent, abhorrent man. and Lolita is, without a doubt, simply a child, awkward in her existence, growing into her body still, fumbling through adolescence and the venom of her mother in whatever way she knows best. She seeks respite in Humbert, a caring, paternal figure, and he simply takes advantage of her.
However, the real kick, the twist, the reason I worship this book on a daily basis mentally, is because of the fact that it expresses its duality gorgeously. There is Lolita, victim. There is Humbert, abuser. These are facts that remain constant throughout the book. But, since this book is from his perspective, there is Humbert, the sad, lonely, intellectual man, handsome and charming and an adolescent fantasy, and there is Lolita, temptress and nymph and magnetic.
While the common thread of criticism seems to be about a lack of condemnation of his actions, the fact that the book is from his perspective explains that well enough. He is, in his eyes, perfectly right in his stance. He is a bewitched sailor at sea, and she the siren.
She is painted as such, too, when seen from his eyes, but when analyzed rationally, for even a minute, her suffering comes into full-view. This is what's simply so addictive about the book, to me. This constant interplay of condemnation and approval.
In the background, Dolores sits, trying her best to escape the constant horrors of her life. In the background, Humbert, literal monster in the body of a man, preys on the little girl. In the foreground, however, his thoughts, his biases, blend into the narration. Beneath the elegantly crafted narrative, the flowery language and shimmering descriptions and multiple self-appraisals and, on the rare, horrifying occasion for the reader, moments of genuine appreciation of the character, for his wit or his wiles, before realizing who he is and what he's done and snapping out of the trance he's managed to put everybody under, lies a maggot-infested corpse, Dolores' innocence decaying at the bare bones of the book.
To expect a man to write a book from his perspective, justifying his crimes, and yet be shocked when he does not condemn himself would be idiocy. but to write a book of this sort, and simultaneously condemn and appraise him, to put him upon a pedestal and crush him beneath the (unfortunately) metaphorical heel would be GENIUS. there, i said it. nabokov is a genius.
BUT. i am not done. i will never be done. i need to personally thank vladimir nabokov (somehow) for having created this magnificent masterpiece, and i need to personally smack everyone whose selective hearing has allowed them to completely disregard his orders for the cover designs. Dolores, his child, being painted on the front cover was not what he wanted.
AND THE MOVIE. The infernal rage that fills me at its existence would be enough to fuel a continent's electricity through sheer combustion heat alone. but. a topic for another day.
Frieren’s writer has such a big brain for using Himmel’s death as the tell for the passage of time.
Not only that it keeps him in the audience’s mind, shows how much influence has on the world, but I think it could also be interpreted as Frieren, an almost immortal being, finally became aware of the passage of time or numbering her days by how long it has been since she lost him.
tangentwithtanner
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