 he book Lolita, by Vladimir Nabakov, is considered an outstanding novel by many. On the worn face of the copy resting beside me on the floor, the cover boasts a quote from Vanity Fair; "The only convincing love story of our century." Does this book hold its appeal in its subject matter? If so, are we, the American public, guilty of an underlying sense of sexual indecency? Do we condone child molestation, and are we enticed, as is Humbert Humbert, by its irresistible vices?
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Or is there something fundamentally stronger than subject which draws us to the novel, into the story, and through the epic? Certainly the latter assertion holds much more truth. In terms of the actual subject matter, the narrator begins by appealing to the reader, as if we are his judge and jury. This reverse psychology helps us to keep our minds open throughout the duration of the novel. Also, the book is laden with constant contradictions, which lead to a confusion of any views which may attempt to be formed. Thus, no firm judgment can be made. It is not the subject of Lolita that makes it so enticing, but the lyrical beauty of Nabakov's writing, coupled with the reader's endless search for concrete truth. In the after-word, Nabakov defines pornography.
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…[T]he term 'pornography' connotes mediocrity, commercialism, and certain strict rules of narration. Obscenity must be mated with banality because every kind of aesthetic enjoyment has to be entirely replaced by simple sexual stimulation which demands the traditional word for direct action upon the patient.
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By this definition, there is no doubt that Lolita is not pornography. There are no sexually explicit scenes, and those that are even implied are necessary for the advancement of the story. What draws us into the story, and makes of us a captive audience, is the language. It begins:
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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.
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In this brief introductory paragraph, examples of numerous devices are present. The author uses alliteration freely, coupling it with a description of the language he commands. It makes the reader stop and say, aloud, "Lo… lee… ta…" causing the child (nymphet) to be established as a concrete entity in the mind of the reader. He continues.
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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.
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Nabakov slowly works his way up, from making her name a real sound to assigning every aspect of her existence a separate title. The first time one reads this opening paragraph of the novel, it may seem something of an enigma. If Lolita is the fire of his loins, then who is Dolly/Dolores? Only later do we realize that Dolores is her full name (thus, "On the dotted line", ie, legally).
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On the heels of this lyrical opening, there is the very first reference to the jury. Calling into question the blindness of angels begins the references to the jury which will appear frequently throughout the course of the book.
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Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns(9).
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This initial jury reference seems to refer to Milton's idea of what caused the fall of the angels; the desire to experience the human pleasure of the flesh. This comparison puts Humbert on the same level, having the same downfall as the angels.
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The narrator pleads for the sympathies of the reader. He sometimes pretends that he has some manner of objective viewpoint about the whole sordid affair, which is blatantly untrue. "I am no poet. I am only a very conscientious recorder" (72). This removal of the narrator from the story is negated by the torpor with which the story is told. "Please, reader: no matter your exasperation with the tenderhearted, morbidly sensitive, infinitely circumspect hero of my book, do not skip these essential pages!" (129). The passages of pleading for the patience of the reader seduce us; we continue reading. This was the purpose of addressing us in this manner, yet it also serves to cement the narrator's relationship to the events of the novel. This constant self-contradiction makes it impossible to make any concrete judgments- positive or negative- about Humbert.
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Through the combination of Nabakov's enticing, lyrical writing style and Humbert's constant pleading with the reader to not judge him, we are forced to feel some sympathy. In the above quote, he refers to himself as a hero. Not only does that label give rise to feelings of sympathy, the adjectives with which it is coupled paint a picture of Humbert being just as victimized by his own lusts as is Lolita. By the end of the novel, these tactics render us ready to forgive him just about anything, even murder.
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Nabokov's most influential method of manipulating the language is to constantly refer to the reader as the jury. This allusion, placing the reader in a position of judgment, is present throughout the course of the novel in key places.
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The first time Humbert shares a premeditation of murder he is contemplating drowning Charlotte. Up to this point, we have been given glimpses of possibilities and hints of an eventual outcome, but never have we witnessed Humbert plotting or performing anything more criminal than child molestation. At this point in the story he thinks through- with avid enthusiasm and vivid detail- the death of Charlotte. Ironically enough, this plan of murder serves to, in some skewed way, improve our image of Humbert. For though we have accurate insight of his longing for Lolita, we see him pass up an opportunity to possibly achieve his endless goal, which is to have her for himself. He forgoes this opportunity because "…[Charlotte's] ghost would haunt [him] all [his] life" (87). For a moment, we feel a humanizing emotion emanating from Humbert's depraved mind. He goes on to say, however, that if he could have poisoned her, perhaps he would have. This undercuts Humbert's humanity once again, and it is at this point that he addresses his audience as his jury.
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Nowadays you have to be a scientist if you want to be a killer. No, no, I was neither. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the majority of sex offenders…are innocuous, inadequate, passive, timid strangers… (87-88).
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Whether we are meant to accept this assertion as truth is questionable. It is evident that Humbert intends for us to believe his intentions are good. Yet, later in the novel, he refers to his obsession with young girls (whom he labels, "nymphets") as "the science of nympholepsy" (129). This contradiction, coupled with a reference to the reader as his jury, makes any judgment inconclusive. This is a tactic he employs throughout the novel.
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When Charlotte does die (through no direct action of Humbert's), he again refers to us as the jury, supplying us with tainted evidence. His feelings about the whole event are very confused, and it seems a lucky happenstance that Charlotte has been killed. However, because she had so recently read Humbert's journal, and was therefore extremely angry, there was at least one factor contributed by him.
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"Fat fate's formal handshake…brought me out of my torpor; and I wept. Ladies
gentlemen of the jury, I wept" (103). This avid statement of the affairs of the day bring the reader to wonder several things. First, why was Humbert weeping? Was it an act of mourning the recent death of his wife? Though he did not love her as a husband should love a wife, he had grown to respect her over the period of time they were married. Yet, her demise led to Humbert's eventual possession of Lolita. This fact leads us to wonder if the tears were indicative of happiness. The narrator leaves his motives questionable, not explaining himself any further. This ambiguity, coupled with the reference to us as the jury, seems to be pleading for a judgment call from the reader.
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The next three references occur within seven pages of each other, and in the chronological course of the novel's time, this breaks down to about 4 hours. All three of these references are directly preceding Humbert's failed attempt to drug Lolita so that he can molest her. His plan is to give her sleeping pills so that she will fall asleep, leaving him free to fulfill his urges without damaging her innocence. "Gentlewomen of the jury! Bear with me! Allow me to take just a tiny bit of your precious time!" (123). Why, in this instance, does Humbert target the women of the jury? Is it because he means to appeal to the capabilities of a more sensitive sex, or because he is about to violate a fellow member of the female gender? As always his motives are cloudy, and it is unclear exactly what reaction he is attempting to elicit from the reader.
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The next reference is in the same paragraph, a simple "Jurors!" nestled within his contemplations of his darling sleeping Lolita. It is followed immediately, however, by an instance of regret one sentence later.
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And my only regret today is that I did not quietly deposit key "342" at the office, and leave the town, the country, the continent, the hemisphere,-- indeed, the globe,--that very same night (123).
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In this instance, the reference is not nearly as ambiguous as it is in many places throughout the book. Here, the reader can be fairly certain that the judgment they are expected to make is one of pity, placing Humbert in the victim category along with Charlotte and Lolita. After this quote, Humbert's next move is to describe some cultures in which sex with children was at one time entirely appropriate. He cites the ancient Orientals who,
"use[d] tiny entertainers fore and after between the mutton and the rose sherbert" (124). It is following this attempt at some kind of self- justification that he again asks for a judgment. This time, it is not the ladies of the jury, but the gentlemen, and with an added twist.
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"Oh, winged gentlemen of the jury!" (125). Initially, one would be likely to believe this is categorizing his jury as one of angels. Perhaps in this instance the jurors he is concerned about are more heavenly than just a jury of his peers. Yet, directly prior tothis reference, he speaks of an "angel behind [Lolita's] back. He says that Lolita had not given him any indication that "…nothing but pain and horror would result from the unexpected rapture" (125) of his nymphet. Yet, he says that even if she had not, "some haggard angle behind her back" should have keyed him into the fact. It is unclear whether this angel is Lolita's conscience (if she has one) or just a more vocal version of her, which is usually as elusive as an angel would be on earth. So, in this instance, is the jury being compared with Lolita, or is it possible that this whole thing is being written in hopes that Lolita will see it and forgive Humbert his trespasses.
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A whole new light is shed on the experience ten pages later with the next reference to the jury. We realize that although Humbert violated Lolita, he did not remove her innocence from her has he had expected such an experience would. He pleads, "Did I deprive her of her flower? Sensitive gentlewomen of the jury, I was not even her first lover" (135). This realization changes the reader's perception of Lolita. We are rarely (if ever) given any insight into Lolita's thoughts, so there is no way we could have known this was true before Humbert did.
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These are the main instances of a reference to the jury in the body of the novel. Humbert's reasons for using this tactic are unclear and ambiguous, as is most of his writing. The overall feeling one gets from the novel the first time one reads through it is one of sympathy for Humbert's plight. Is this aggravated by the fact that Humbert
continually contradicts himself, making it difficult to form any concrete opinions. It is debatable whether the jury is his own conscience, or the reader, or simply a term of familiarity which Humbert tends to use. In any case, the reader is forced to feel sympathy for his plight, despite the fact that he is, by legal definition, a criminal.
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