The word pedophile has Greek roots: pedo meaning “child” and philos meaning “loving”; reference these word-roots in other familiar words like pediatrician—a child healer (iatrikos means “healing”), or philosophy—a lover of wisdom (sophia means “wisdom” or “learning”). While the practice of “child loving” also goes back at least as far as ancient Greece—where sexual intimacy between boys and their teachers was commonplace—I fully support, along with the vast majority of America, dolling out increasingly harsh punishments to those who destroy the innocence and self-worth of children for what is, in the end, a selfish and atrocious act.
Given this the appalling nature of this violation, it seems an odd for a topic for literary treatment. After all, there are so many things about which authors COULD write, why would anyone attempt, on any level, to examine the pedophile? Yet, Lolita (Random House, 1955), by Vladimir Nabokov, does just this by examining the pedophilic relationship of a grown man and a young girl and the complications which arise.
Nabokov seems to take great pains, before the story even begins, to ensure that his condemnation of pedophilia is clear: the story told in Lolita is four-times-separated from Nabakov. The narration is framed as the personal confessions of “Humbert Humbert” (first separation)—a pseudonym for the narrator (second separation)—which were only printed by H. H.’s lawyer (third separation) after H. H. died (fourth separation) while still serving out his time in jail for the crimes discussed in the novel. In a sense, Nabokov lets the reader know that he hates the subject matter—hates it so much that he will not be associated with the story itself (hence all the frames)—and has already found the protagonist guilty—so guilty that the protagonist died in captivity before the story was even told.
However, following this condemnation, we start at the beginning of H. H.’s life and walk with him through his earliest memories and into his obsession with the young Lolita; an obsession which becomes both his raison d’etre and ultimate downfall. H. H. is a tragic anti-hero captured between self-loathing and conceit; an anti-hero whose self-compelled and selfish quest to obtain an ultimately unachievable prize results in a fixation on an ideal that Lolita eventually embodies; and thus, for a time, a fixation on the body of Lolita. This fixation turns to stagnation and eventually damnation as H. H.’s pursuit of this untenable, self-created archetype destroys everything he touches.
Less explicit but perhaps more prominent is the role of Lolita. She is the named focal point of the novel, but we are given less insight into her journey since the novel is bound by the perspective of the narrator. However, from what little we do find out, there is reason find hope in Lolita’s journey. It is not the blissful adventure of Little Orphan Annie, but a tale of deep and profound strength, perseverance, and instinct. These qualities could be dismissed as the delusions of a biased observer (namely the knowlingly-obsessed H. H.), but there is an energy and purpose in Lolita’s actions—a transfer of power from H. H. to Lolita which happens slowly as the narrative progresses—which seems to indicate Nabokov’s purposeful attempt to thwart H. H. and give some measure of assurance to the reader that things will turn out alright.
What makes this novel worth reading is the ability of its author. Nabokov’s novel is not a lurid string of explicit and disturbing sexual conquests. Indeed, while there are a few sexual encounters implied in the novel, they are neither gratuitous nor explicit. In fact, a crowning achievement of the book is the way in which Nabokov’s prose captures the awkward cowardice of these acts without ever disclosing details of the actual encounter. More astonishing though is that even at the end of this story—after accompanying H. H. on this journey of wreckage and destruction—Nabokov is able to keep the reader from utterly despising H. H. on some level. Instead, when reflecting on the many life journeys in Lolita, we are left with a complex mixture of hate and empathy; sadness and hopefulness; loathing and love; anguish and sanguinity; left—as with all great literature—wondering what might have been.
In Lolita, Nabokov demonstrates his mastery of narration by treating this despicable subject and an even more heinous protagonist with an evenhandedness and confidence that is unparalleled. While this topic is a veritable minefield, Nabokov is able to navigate through Lolita with poise and insight, leaving him unscathed and making Lolita a singular reading experience. There are many who will never read Lolita or be able to see beyond the subject matter of the book, yet in this story Nabokov does the very thing that his protagonist, H. H., could not do: Nabokov successfully completes his self-selected quest for a seemingly unachievable goal by making an odious accounting of one man’s life into a work of supreme literary merit.
afternoon ten long years ago. Helen remembers it as follows:
afternoon ten long years ago. Helen remembers it as follows: