Why did Nabokov spend all this time with Humbert? It’s a mistake to ask this question in search of a biographical answer. In other words, we need to ask the question not about Nabokov as a man, but about Nabokov as an author. We must ask, as we learned to do in lit class and as we yearn to do when we find ourselves trapped, clutching a glass of warm white wine, at interminable book groups where the idea of authorial intention is anathema: Why does the author choose to do this? What is happening in this book, and why? The biographical answer to such questions is a brick wall, where Nabokov is
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