Word: nabokovs
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...gratified and delighted to see on your cover the picture of the most revered author of my youth, Vladimir Nabokov...
...Nabokov...
...Nabokov finally takes hold and orders, mirabile dictu, a Swiss red. Vera accepts, graceful in this as in everything. With finely drawn, strong features, alabaster skin, brilliant white hair, exquisite hands, she is a natural beauty. Their dinner conversation thrives on little disagreements, contrapuntal, and often not really resolved. In one exchange, Vera begins by explaining the mating ritual of the crested grebe, a grubby little bird which frequents the lake. They never touch, she says, waggling a delicate finger, but wiggle one foot back and forth. "No, no, no, no, no," says Vladimir, who has let this...
Russian Scrabble. The meal ends, always the same way. Nabokov empties his pockets of silver, apparently at random. Alone of the regulars, he tips at each meal. "You don't know the laws that govern my life," he sighs humbly, looking heavenward. Now there is time for more serious talk, but Nabokov is reluctant to discuss The Novel...
...solve. They like to read to each other. They reread War and Peace in a motel in Montana a few years ago, and sad to say, Tolstoy flunked. " 'He paled slightly,' or 'Andrei half smiled,' " quotes Vladimir condescendingly. "Really." Between Tolstoy and Nabokov it is clear that Vera would choose Nabokov, and the dedication she brings to him is total. Recently Nabokov heard that John Crowe Ransom, whose poetry he greatly admires, was rewriting many of his old poems at the age of 80 and dismantling their classic beauty. Vladimir turned to Vera and said quietly...