Despair in Nabokov in Three Years

Feb 12, 2008 Inderjit Sanghera rated it really liked it · review of another edition

Despair stands as an anomaly in Nabokov’s oeuvre. It lacks the poetry of his other novels, the wonderful imagery, metaphors and similes which light up Nabokov’s works like beacons blazing within the sibylline genius of his prose, yet Nabokov’s genius iridesces from the pages which, if not exactly aesthetically pleasing, blaze with the themes which dominate Nabokov’s world view; his hatred of cruelty, his distrust of the “sensitive murderer” trope and his contempt for the clichés and banalities o Despair stands as an anomaly in Nabokov’s oeuvre. It lacks the poetry of his other novels, the wonderful imagery, metaphors and similes which light up Nabokov’s works like beacons blazing within the sibylline genius of his prose, yet Nabokov’s genius iridesces from the pages which, if not exactly aesthetically pleasing, blaze with the themes which dominate Nabokov’s world view; his hatred of cruelty, his distrust of the “sensitive murderer” trope and his contempt for the clichés and banalities of the conventional literature.
‘Despair’ is the story of Hermann Hermann (whose double sobriquet brings to mind that other cruel brute, Humbert Humber) who believes he has found a double (who in fact nothing like him) and, in a doubly Dostoevskian twist, tries to stage the perfect murder in order to make a life insurance claim, with some rather vague artistic purpose attached. Hermann constantly claims to be a great artist, a brilliant writer and some of his prose is indeed beautiful;
“It was a fast, fresh, blue-dappled day; the wind, a distant relation of the one here, winged its course along the narrow streets; a cloud every now and then palmed the sun, and reappeared like a conjuror’s coin.”
Hermann, however, makes for a lame conjuror, he is hopelessly myopic, his fantasies febrile with his hopelessly limited imagination, his attempts to render the beauty of the world descend into farce;
“And those pines facing me, with their bark resembling reddish snake-skin drawn on tight, and their green fur which the wind was stroking the wrong way; and that bare birch tree on the forest’s edge (now why did I write ‘bare’? It was not winter yet, winter was still remote) and the day so balmy and almost cloudless, steps (no, no-I cannot recall what I was brooding over) surveyed some broken twigs that lay at my feet; then turned back again.”
Hermann constantly brags about his enhanced aesthetic sense and his ability to observe the world around him, yet his hopelessly blind and hopelessly unreliable as a narrator. He fails to see the affair which his wife is having with her “cousin”, the hopelessly talentless painter Ardalion, he fails to see how slimy a figure he cuts and most importantly he fails to see that his doppelgänger looks nothing like him and is merely a figment of his limited imagination. During some of the artistic discussions he as with Ardalion, he comments that he merely sees the similarities between things, whereas for Ardalion, who is a kind of surreal substitute for Nabokov, the true artist perceived the difference between things and the uniqueness of each sunset, each vein on a leaf and, more importantly, each human being. Hence, given that ‘Despair’ is written by Hermann himself, the unpoetic nature of the prose and his largely bland, one-dimensional renderings of his environment;
“The colours of the day were reduced to a mere two: black (the pattern of bare trees, the asphalt) and whitish (the sky, patches of snow)”
His monochrome renderings of the scenery are a result of his myopia, he constantly evokes his ability to observe and render his observations down on paper, yet he constantly confuses his present with his past, he sees Ardalion’s paintings in the house of a random stranger and transports St Petesburg to a sleepy village-his self-absorption is a product of his distinct lack of imagination, he himself states on multiple occasions that he is a consummate, if mediocre, liar. And this leads to his murder of the pathetic tramp Felix. He seeks to justify his murder, firstly via rather vague Raskolnikovian principles of being a “great man” and then via artistic principles of his “perfect murder” being an unrivalled work of art, which no man could ever match. He never stops to think whether his murder of an innocent man and taking another person’s life was wrong, in fact he never thinks about other people at all, except with derision, contempt and mockery, he thinks he is far above the everyday rules of mankind and people exist not in and of themselves, but as extensions of his own ego. For Nabokov the very idea of a “sensitive murderer or criminal” that doubles as an artist is ridiculous, because a true artist would be able to appreciate the pain of others, whereas Hermann obviously cannot. He is also taking a dig at the tropes and conventions of ‘crime’ fictions, with its endless slew of murderers masquerading as geniuses.
‘Hermann’ is in many ways a prototype of ‘Humbert Humbert’, yet he lacks Humbert’s literary flair and writing ability. Instead his cartoonish, surreal and myopic renderings of his “perfect crime” read like the confessions of a mad-man rather than the literary genius he thinks he is.
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Apr 13, 2014 Publius rated it it was amazing · review of another edition

Shelves: nabokov, five-star-books, novels, russian, re-read

Just like Annabel Lee was a precursor of Dolores Haze in Lolita , Humbert Humbert originated from his Russian cousin, Hermann Hermann in Despair, as Nabokov writes in his preface that "they are alike in the sense as two dragons painted by the same artist at different periods of life resemble each other." However, if you thought that the incestuous, murderous nymphomaniac Humbert was a villainous character, Hermann takes it to another level in Despair, as Nabokov comments that "both are neurotic Just like Annabel Lee was a precursor of Dolores Haze in Lolita , Humbert Humbert originated from his Russian cousin, Hermann Hermann in Despair, as Nabokov writes in his preface that "they are alike in the sense as two dragons painted by the same artist at different periods of life resemble each other." However, if you thought that the incestuous, murderous nymphomaniac Humbert was a villainous character, Hermann takes it to another level in Despair, as Nabokov comments that "both are neurotic scoundrels, yet there is a green lane in Paradise where Hermann is permitted to wander at dusk once a year; but Hell shall never parole Hermann." Hermann is the poster boy for unreliability and ambiguous madness (like Hamlet), as he sees a homeless man who is an exact double of himself. However, here's the catch: no one else, not his wife, not the police chief and not even his homeless "double" Felix can see any similarities between the two. I will not spoil the rest, but will say that Hermann tries to exploit the supposed identical image of his "double", but it ends badly for him.

This novel was essentially a parody of Fyodor Dostoevsky (who is called "Dusky and Dusty"), whom Nabokov detested and referred to as "that elephantine writer". Nabokov's false double motif parody's Dostoevsky's novel The Double, as well as Crime and Punishment (which is referred to as Crime and Slime in Despair) with a little jab at existentialism in Notes from the Underground. However, what seems like a playful little tale on the surface, taking occasional shots at Dostoevsky, emerges into a much more serious text upon a closer look. Despair echoes Nabokov's disdain for the uniformity of the Bolshevik revolution and the Soviet regime which led to his father's assassination and his own exile from Russia. It also touches upon Nabokov's controversial homophobia, as there are clues which illustrate Hermann as a repressed homosexual. It is interesting to note that Nabokov's own brother Sergei was gay, and that his partner's name was - you guessed it, Hermann.

All in all, a great early Russian masterpiece from Nabokov. The prose style may not be as quite beautiful as the lines from Lolita, but are magnificently constructed nonetheless. A must-read for anybody who has read and enjoyed Lolita. Not recommended for new readers of Nabokov as the prose is a little more challenging and the themes may feel too subtle to pick up if one has not experienced him before. ...more

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