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The novel is the story of Dreyer, a wealthy and boisterous proprietor of a men's clothing emporium store.nbsp;nbsp;Ruddy, self-satisfied, and thoroughly masculine, he is perfectly repugnant to his exquisite but cold middle-class wife Martha.nbsp;nbsp;Attracted to his money but repelled by his oblivious passion, she longs for their nephew instead, the myopic Franz. Newly arrived in Berlin, Franz soon repays his uncle's condescension in his aunt's bed.… (altro)
This book is not only translated, but Nabokov also made changes to the novel when finalizing the translation decades after the original was written, so analyzing it as a chronological step forward from his first novel is somewhat compromised. It does seem clear though that Nabokov's prose style has taken a leap forward towards that famously clever Nabokovian wordplay. The prose is definitely the star of the show here, as the story - part love triangle, part Raskolnikov-ish inner torment of a character involved in murder, part allegory of Weimar Germany - is a bit underwhelming.
In fact, the best bit of the book, I'd claim, is the following sex scene, which I believe is the first time I've ever thought that of a novel:
Now the room was empty. Objects lay, stood, sat, hung in the carefree postures man-made things adopt in man's absence. The mock crocodile lay on the floor. A blue-tinted cork, which had been recently removed from a small ink bottle when a fountain pen had to be refilled, hesitated for an instant, then rolled in a semi-circle to the edge of the oilcloth-covered table, hesitated again, and jumped off. With the help of the lashing rain the wind tried to open the window but failed. In the rickety wardrobe a blue black-spotted tie slithered off its twig like a snake. A paperback novelette on the chest-of-drawers left open at Chapter Five skipped several pages.
Suddenly the looking glass made a signal - a warning gleam. It reflected a bluish armpit and a lovely bare arm. The arm stretched - and fell back lifeless. Slowly, the bed returned to Berlin from Eden.
Okay, the "Eden" is a bit overmuch, I'd have ended that concluding sentence after "Berlin", that's enough, but still: that's hot. ( )
«Este fogoso animal es la más alegre de mis novelas», dijo Nabokov de "Rey, Dama, Valet", una sátira en la que un jovencito miope, provinciano, mojigato y desprovisto de sentido del humor irrumpe en el frío paraíso de un matrimonio de nuevos ricos berlineses. La esposa seduce al recién llegado y le convierte en su amante. Poco después le convence para intentar eliminar al marido. Éste es el aparentemente sencillo planteamiento de la más clásica, quizá, de las novelas escritas por Nabokov. Pero, tras esa aparente ortodoxia se oculta una notable complejidad técnica, y, sobre todo, un tratamiento singular presidido por el tono de farsa.
Someone remarked to me of The Goldfinch, “I like it, but it doesn’t call to me.” That looks a little precious on the page, but it’s exactly how I felt about King, Queen, Knave: each time I picked it up, I noted things in the margins like “A !” and “perfect.” The first few pages of Chapter 8, in which the Queen begins “teaching” the Knave, is as good as anything I’ve read all year. But I didn’t look as forward to picking it up after the first 100 pages as I have with other books.
As the title suggests, the novel depicts a love triangle, a common enough occurrence (in literature, anyway) that it has its own shorthand term. Like The Postman Always Rings Twice, the young suitor (Franz) supplies the bored wife (Martha) with what she needs and the two conspire to do away with what they think is their one impediment to happiness (Dreyer). But how the plot unravels (usually the reason for turning the pages of these kind of novels) isn’t as important to the reader (or Nabokov) as having fun with the characters’ lack of imaginations. In books like Postman, the characters are often too smart for their own good; here, they don’t know what in the world to do:
“Help me, Franz, oh, help me,” she would murmur sometimes, shaking him by the shoulders. His eyes were totally submissive behind their well-wiped lenses. However, he could not think of anything. His imagination was at her command; it was ready to work for her, but it was she who had to give his fancy its impulse and food.
Franz is the aspiring artist with a lazy muse. Of course, the plan doesn’t go as he and Martha think it will, but the denouement is a bit flat and I closed the book glad that I had read it but not ready to shout about it from the rooftops. If you like Nabokov, it’s worth a read. (PS--More than once, I was reminded of Thomas Berger’s Sneaky People, a book that resembles this one in structure and tone.) ( )
Dati dalle informazioni generali inglesi.Modifica per tradurlo nella tua lingua.
To Véra
Incipit
The huge black clock hand is still at rest but is on the point of making its once-a-minute gesture; that resilient jolt will set a whole world in motion.
Di tutti i miei romanzi questo allegro bestione è il più allegro. INTRODUZIONE
L'enorme lancetta nera è ancora immobile, ma s'accinge a compiere il gesto di ogni minuto: quel sobbalzo elastico metterà in moto tutto un mondo.
Citazioni
Come al solito, voglio far presente che, come al solito (e, come solito, qualche persona sensibile a me cara farà il broncio), la delegazione viennese non è stata invitata. Se tuttavia un freudiano particolarmente deciso riuscisse a intrufolarsi, bisognerebbe avvertirlo che qua e là nel romanzo gli sono state predisposte trappole crudeli. INTRODUZIONE
Franz volse gli occhi altrove; il suo sguardo rimase impigliato tra le gambe dei ballerini e si aggrappò disperatamente a un luccicante vestito azzurro. La ragazza straniera in blu ballava con un uomo singolarmente bello che indossava uno smoking fuori moda. Franz aveva notato da tempo quella coppia: gli era apparsa in immagini fugaci come un sogno ricorrente o un sottile Leitmotiv, ora sulla spiaggia, ora in un caffè, ora sulla passeggiata. A volte l'uomo portava una rete per farfalle. La ragazza aveva una bocca dipinta con delicatezza e teneri occchi grigio azzurri, e il fidanzato, o marito, snello, con un elegante principio di calvizie, sprezzante di tutto ciò che c'era sulla terra meno lei, la guardava con orgoglio; e Franz sentì invidia per quell'insolita coppia, una tale invidia che la sua oppressione, dispiace dirlo, divenne ancor più atroce e la musica cessò. Gli passarono davanti. Parlavano ad alta voce. Ma parlavano una lingua totalmente incomprensibile.
In quel momento Franz venne raggiunto da quella enigmatica coppia di stranieri. Indossavano tutti e duedegli accappatoi da spiaggia e camminavano in fretta, conversando rapidamente nella loro lingua misteriosa. Gli parve che lo avessero guardato e che per un attimo fossero ammutoliti. Dopo averlo superato, ripresero la conversazione e Franz ebbe l'impressione che parlassero di lui, che pronunciassero addirittura il suo nome. Lo imbarazzava e lo esasperava l'idea che quel dannato straniero felice che si affrettava verso la spiaggia con la sua bella e abbronzata compagna dai capelli chiari sapesse assoltamente tutto della sua difficile situazione e forse commiserasse non senza un pizzico di derisione, l'onesto giovane che si era lasciato sedurre e catturare da una donna più vecchia di lui la quale, nonostante i bei vestiti e i cosmetici, assomigliava a un grande rospo bianco.
Ultime parole
A woman in the next room, a miserable tramp whom a commercial traveller had jilted, heard through the thin wall what sounded like several revellers all talking together, and roaring with laughter, and interrupting one another, and roaring again in a frenzy of young mirth.
Franz andò dritto alla finestra aperta. Vide Dreyer attraversare la strada e andare a sedersi su una panchina sotto un albero. Franz chiuse la finestra. Adesso era solo. Dalla stanza accanto una povera donna di strada, appena piantata in asso da un commesso viaggiatore, credette di sentire, attraverso la parete sottile, un'intera comitiva di festaioli che ridevano e parlavano tutti insieme interrompendosi a vicenda e di nuovo scoppiavano a ridere in un delirio di chiasso giovanile.
The novel is the story of Dreyer, a wealthy and boisterous proprietor of a men's clothing emporium store.nbsp;nbsp;Ruddy, self-satisfied, and thoroughly masculine, he is perfectly repugnant to his exquisite but cold middle-class wife Martha.nbsp;nbsp;Attracted to his money but repelled by his oblivious passion, she longs for their nephew instead, the myopic Franz. Newly arrived in Berlin, Franz soon repays his uncle's condescension in his aunt's bed.
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In fact, the best bit of the book, I'd claim, is the following sex scene, which I believe is the first time I've ever thought that of a novel:Okay, the "Eden" is a bit overmuch, I'd have ended that concluding sentence after "Berlin", that's enough, but still: that's hot. (