BOOOOOOOK CLUB: Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov.
Posted By Jason – 11.07.2012
Imagine my surprise when half way through Lolita I realized I was reading a book about an adult man fucking a twelve year-old girl. Call me old fashioned, but that strikes me as being kinda wrong. I knew Lolita was about an illicit affair between a man and a young girl (duh), but I assumed she was fifteen, not fucking twelve! Jesus H. Christ. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with doing it with a fifteen year-old: If there’s grass on the field–play ball. But come on, she’s twelve. That’s not right, is it?
I’m writing this review before finishing the book because I’m not sure I’ll actually be able to finish it. There’s something enormously disturbing about it…probably the pedophile bit. But more than that, I don’t like the way the book makes you forget that a child is being exploited. She’s only twelve, and that’s just sick. Honestly, if she was fifteen it’d be different: Old enough to bleed–old enough to breed, as they say, but she’s not fifteen, she’s twelve, and that’s wrong.
I had a chat with a friend today who claimed he couldn’t finish Lolita. ‘I was worried I’d become a pedophile,’ he said, which is fair enough. The prose is so insanely erotic and so very, very well written, at times you get caught up in it; and then you remember, oh yeah, the man is banging a goddamn twelve year-old! She’s not fifteen–she’s twelve. If she was fifteen, that’d be different: If there’s fluff on the muff, she’s old enough, naturally.
I haven’t checked out Mr. Nabokov’s wiki page but I’m assuming he was very good friends with Gary Glitter and Ed Rooney from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (yeah, he was kiddy fiddler; look it up!) The intellectuals among you will argue that I’m not getting it; they’ll say Nabokov is merely challenging societal mores or some shit like that. But I don’t think so. I believe he just wrote a book about a grown-ass dude who repeatedly bangs-out with a little girl. Come-the-fuck-on! She’s only twelve, man! TWELVE! Not fifteen–TWELVE! I could accept it if she was fifteen. Who among us hasn’t had a crack at fifteen year-old? If there’s fur on the mound she’s good for a pound. But there’s no fur on the mound–she’s fucking twelve for god’s sakes! Color me puritanical, but I think that’s terrible.
Anyway, I’m about half way through the book and I think I might be done. Mr. Bad-touch is driving Lolita around America and buying her gifts in exchange for sex. Outrageous. The Modern Library ranked Lolita number four in its greatest English-language novels of the 20th century list. Four. What’s number one, Flowers in the fucking Attic? I mean, come on. It’s not like Lolita is a fifteen year-old– she’s twelve, for cryin’ out loud. If she was fifteen it’d be normal: If the taco has a pelt you may as well give it a belt, but she’s only twelve, and that’s just sick.
Good book, though. Check it out.
Social