To begin, I must stress that we are not experienced literary critics or for that matter, literature students of any capacity. We have a certain degree of experience between us, all in our twenties, all having spent a significant proportion of time reading and appreciating the written form in various forms but none of us profess to possess any higher understanding or knowledge of the densely populated critical context that surrounds the books we read. So our opinions will probably seem amateurish or simply silly to those of a more well rounded literary persuasion. Otherwise, read on and enjoy!

Lolita splits critical reception, England and France had it banned, America calls it the great American novel or pornography. It both impressed and dissatisfied me without ever really getting anywhere close to what I’d feel is a great novel. Why?

Nabakov convolutedly describes his work as “his love affair with the English language.” There is no denying the utterly wonderful style, resplendent in sly wit, endless clever devices, French and a brilliantly manipulative main character who effortlessly draws you into his perverted world. However, writing alone does not make a good story. This is clearly a book by an academic artist; an excellent piece of writing that is perhaps not as aesthetically pleasing or entertaining as it is objectively superb.

Many seem to be engaged by this book, but for me, it simply offered a showcase of excellent technical application. The problem, in the end, lies in the subject. The tale of moral turpitude; the paedophile who spends as much time in rationalisation as guilt, has been criticised quite fairly as pornography. In our book club, Giles argued that the paedophile aspect could be replaced with anything, I disagree. Nabakov bases his whole character around the odious condition, and although along with Happiness, the Woodsman and the like, provides an interesting study of that most perplexing disorder, it doesn’t seem to go any further. What can we take away from the book, other than perhaps an increased understanding, perhaps even a degree of sympathy for those in our society that cannot be excused. I genuinely believe a work of fiction should attempt to do more than merely showcase technique and at least try to shed some light on some aspect of the human condition. Nabakov wrote on the book: “For me a work of fiction exists only insofar as it affords me what I shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss.” For me, that’s not enough and that’s why I gave it a 5/10.