Conor's Reviews > Pale Fire
Pale Fire
by Vladimir Nabokov
by Vladimir Nabokov
I couldn't write, or didn't want to write, a review after reading this. I think a couple of years on, a couple of cloth-bound versions given away to lovers as gifts, and I'm ready.
The first thing that should be noted for anyone approaching this book is that it's a commentary on editing and a novel with extremely odd form. If you're not down for that, or you don't like the idea of reading a poem, then stay away.
That said, it's still jaw droppingly amazing what this book is. It shouldn't be, but it is. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's "original" in its style and content, and extremely well done at that.
"Original" might not sound exciting, but if you've read a lot of books, the ones that stand apart are something special. Even if you've only read text books, a radical departure in style from them (Like reading Hawking's more conversational books)leaves a mark.
As much as there are many books that mess with formatting, there are still many that just ape something else; THIS being the "why" of why (whenever I finish it and its author) I will have reviewed Tristram Shandy (1759) on here so well, and House of Leaves (2000) so poorly...there are still ways in which someone can make their own version of the novel - not just mess with formatting, as Sterne does so well and Danielewski apes so poorly, but incorporate elements of a text that are more than just the text. Elements that drive into the nature of presenting a work of fiction to people. Not just changing the format, but changing how we read the text in such a way that we have to think differently to understand it.
THIS is the primary reason I am so willing to delve into the very limited and very marginal genres of hypertext or interactive fiction. THIS is the reason that I am currently so enjoying the text of Life: A User's Manual. THIS is the reason that Italio Calvio considered that book an event in this history of the novel.
"THIS" being nothing more exciting sounding than something, anything really, that is truly "original" from a writer. Something that, one might argue, is what we expect from novelist, but also something that we rarely actually receive.
The first thing that should be noted for anyone approaching this book is that it's a commentary on editing and a novel with extremely odd form. If you're not down for that, or you don't like the idea of reading a poem, then stay away.
That said, it's still jaw droppingly amazing what this book is. It shouldn't be, but it is. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's "original" in its style and content, and extremely well done at that.
"Original" might not sound exciting, but if you've read a lot of books, the ones that stand apart are something special. Even if you've only read text books, a radical departure in style from them (Like reading Hawking's more conversational books)leaves a mark.
As much as there are many books that mess with formatting, there are still many that just ape something else; THIS being the "why" of why (whenever I finish it and its author) I will have reviewed Tristram Shandy (1759) on here so well, and House of Leaves (2000) so poorly...there are still ways in which someone can make their own version of the novel - not just mess with formatting, as Sterne does so well and Danielewski apes so poorly, but incorporate elements of a text that are more than just the text. Elements that drive into the nature of presenting a work of fiction to people. Not just changing the format, but changing how we read the text in such a way that we have to think differently to understand it.
THIS is the primary reason I am so willing to delve into the very limited and very marginal genres of hypertext or interactive fiction. THIS is the reason that I am currently so enjoying the text of Life: A User's Manual. THIS is the reason that Italio Calvio considered that book an event in this history of the novel.
"THIS" being nothing more exciting sounding than something, anything really, that is truly "original" from a writer. Something that, one might argue, is what we expect from novelist, but also something that we rarely actually receive.
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