Though Nabokov's novels, like the luscious "Lolita" and the poetic "Pale Fire" are well-known and read, it's little known that he was also a playwright. This book collects some of his better dramas, all written when he was still a young man, and all written in his native Russian rather than the English that he mastered. One, blank verse masterpiece, is translated so poetically you won't know the difference. A great book to place next to his novels.

The stories in this book (there are about 65 of them) are for the most part very short. Some of my favorite are his earliest ones, they have been translated from the Russian by Nabokov's son, Dmitri, and they are semi-autobiographical, sweet and so beautiful. Included in this book are a few chapters from Nabokov's autobiography, "Speak, Memory" which were published independently as stories. I would also recommend "Speak, Memory" without reservations. It would be a good book to read after or before this one. They are both so wonderful.

I can't imagine anyone not liking at least some of these stories, especially if you like the genre of short stories and if you are familiar with Nabokov's lucid, detailed prose. Some of them are briefer and sketchier, and some are more like small novels, some are auto-biographical, and some are like fairy-tales. All of the different kinds are good, even my least favorite stories in this vast collection have stuck in my mind. They are lovely. Everyone should own this book.

This collection proves that Nabokov was as great a short-storyist as he was a novelist. In some ways, his short works might be even greater; the concentration of the story form pushed him to achieve some startling feats of linguistic and narrative dexterity.

Some of the early stories are unambitious sketches or modest experiments that don't quite work, but gradually mature masterpieces start to appear, and it continues that way right to the end. Among my favorites: "The Visit to the Museum," "Cloud, Castle, Lake," "Time and Ebb," "Signs and Symbols," "Lance," and of course "The Vane Sisters," with its famous ending of which the author himself says "this particular trick can be tried only once in a thousand years of fiction." And that list is only partial; there's still a lot of this book that I haven't yet read. (As with a box of really good chocolates, I'm trying to make it last.)

Given his super-highbrow reputation, it's easy to overlook the fact that when he's at the top of his game, Nabokov is fun. Many of his best stories take the kind of imaginative leaps you expect from high-grade fantasy or science fiction; and the complexity of his style is necessary to his conceptions rather than vain showing-off. Coming upon this book after reading the normal run of fiction ("literary" or otherwise) was like feasting on rich, multi-layered Indian or French food after eating every day in the local pub.

As banal as it may sound, these stories are true treasures of language. If I were banished to a desert island with only one book, it would be these stories of Mr. Nabokov. His prose stands in a category I believe only two other authors habitate (Joyce & Proust). Each story is alive, from early Russian translations to later English originals (everyone is hereby required to read "The Vane Sisters"). Truly astounding, condensed bursts of imagination.

Mikhail Lermontov was a poet by genius, a romantic at heart, yet by the time of his death at 26, he had already become something of a disillusioned realist. This tension between streaks in his personality is expressed openly in "A Hero of Our Time": the novel starts out as a romantic adventure beautified with most exquisite imagery, but is later transformed into a disquieting tale of manipulation and dark deeds.

The setting for this novel (which is really a loosely connected string of short stories) is the wild Caucasian mountains, to which Lermontov himself had been "exiled" to fight against the fierce Chechens. After the death of Pushkin, Lermontov took it upon himself to keep the great poet's legacy alive. The authorities did not take kindly to Lermontov's endeavour, and transferred the young officer to the war zone.

To 19th centrury Russian writers, the experience of the Caucasus and of 'Asiatics' in general was of tremendous value as a gauge of the value of Russian civilization. Juxtaposing Russian high society with the people of the steppes and the mountains became a familiar device in Russian literature, just like American Indians were used to symbolize the natural/unadulterated or the uncivilized/savage in American literature.

However, in "A Hero of Our Time" the officer Pechorin transcends the boundaries between culture and nature. In the early chapters of the book, Pechorin's adventures are described from outside, and seem extraordinary, bizzare, yet captivating. Later on, other stories are recounted in Pechorin's diary, and they draw a different picture of the modern hero: disillusioned, hateful, and profoundly unhappy. Life is a game which he has long mastered, he knows exactly how to play into people's pride, vanity and passion. Yet, at unlikely moments, a stir of long-forgotten emotion briefly produces a vulnerable, human hero with whom we, despite ourselves, are forced to identify...

A Hero of Our Time introduces a most memorable character, Pechorin, who, had the novella been named after him, would stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Eugen Onegin in fame. He derives from the same tradition as Onegin, that of the 'superfluous' man, though he moves beyond his predecessor (and prefigures others) in the degree to which he reeks havoc on a personal level. The novella consists of stories only nominally connected, and it is fair to say that the second half is better than the first. The centrepiece is the diary of Pechorin which contains a full narrative of his 'adventures' at a small holiday town. It just has to be read to be believed: it is 'lady-killing' and 'white-anting' at its clinically destructive best. Readers of Eugen Onegin will notice similarities, though the prose form allows much deeper characterisation, for which one is certainly not sorry. Lovers of later 19th-century Russian literature will appreciate this book in its prefiguring of characters and of settings in, among others, Turgenev, Dostoyevsky, and Chekhov. Lermontov died young and in a very Romantic fashion (a duel); one can only be sorry that he did not live to write more.

Lermontov died age 27 leaving a body of poems and one prose work, a loose collection of stories about his 'anti-hero' Pechorin in "A Hero of Our Times"

The novel presents the misadventures of a Tsarist officer through the account of his early friend and through Pechorin's own diary. Pechorin is an immoral man, personifying the corruption of the early nineteenth century military classes in Russia.

For the concentration of the evils of Pechorin, for his treachery and seduction, this is a surprisingly 'modern' book, though written in the 1840s.

I recommend it for its economy and the strength of its portrayal of Pechorin. By his early death, Russian literature was robbed of a writer who may have joined the pantheon of the great Tsarist novelists.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It was stylistically typical of Nabokov and that is a great thing. His style reminds me of Aldous Huxley's. Character-wise, i agree with what has been said in previous reviews. The only character I felt an affinity to was Darwin, who as one reviewer put it, was "yet another Cambridge fop." This is true, but the other characters. particularly our main character, Martin, ellicits no consistent sympathy. I enjoyed this novel, but not necessarily for its characterisation (it was reminiscent of Cocteau's is Les Enfants Terribles), but for his style. I recommend everyone pick up at least one Nabokov novel at some point.

I found this a curious book. Up until the last few pages I did not care about any of the characters: even the main one, Martin, being so feckless, left me totally cold. I expected to finish the novel having appreciated the style in which it was written (which is excellent) but feeling utterly indifferent about the story line: just another well-written though utterly forgettable piece of fiction.

And yet, in the last few pages, Nabokov redeemed the story for me - sometimes it is worth persevering. It's best not to spoil the ending too much for those who haven't read the book, but careful concentration over the last pages bore fruit for me. I even forgave Nabokov for irritating me with the descriptions of yet another Cambridge fop (Darwin): how many of these quasi-Waugh Oxbridge stereotypes pop up in twentieth-century fiction?

One of the messages of the work for me was to engage with life, expect change, accept that people and situations will alter as time moves on. To paraphrase Proust: it's strange that people act as though today will last forever when all of our experience should tell us the opposite, that change is the normal state of affairs.

I wanted to read fairly short, impressive book during my winter break/holidays. So, Nabokov came to my mind. I picked up "Glory" and I was taken from the moment I started reading. Book about young Martin Edelweiss, of Swiss and Russian heritage, follows his quiet life from his early childhood to his life of the grown up, young man. His parents divorce during his childhood, and Martin's father dies soon afterwards. Martin's mother re-marries to his uncle who sends young Martin to the Cambridge University. Here, Martin acquires new friends and even falls in love with Sonia, ruthless daughter of the Russian emigre editor. Sonia seems to enjoy seducing young man but is ever so easy in discarding them in order to avoid long term commitment. Martin is no exception. And after college days are over, Martin decides to travel around Europe: England, Switzerland, Germany. His uncle/stepfather is concerned about Martin's lack of desire to find suitable position in order to ensure steady flow of income. And while Martin's friends are building their careers in journalism, writing and other "honorable" professions, he seems to rather enjoy doing manual labor in order to find his true self. Until one day - he goes away. Forever. Very powerful novel. It made me Nabokov's fan in a matter of moment.

Whoever it was that wrote the encyclopedia entry at the top of this page either didn't read the book or didn't understand Nabakov. Invitation to a Beheading is one of the most gorgeous books I've ever read. To drop it under the label "anti-utopian" and try to resolve the ambiguities at the end in a poorly aimed summary doesn't even hint at the richness of the book. Thank goodness Nabakov dedicated his life to writing literature instead of lousey encyclopedia entries. Leaving the political and entering the artistic, the world Nabakov lived in after all, Invitation to a Beheading is one of the finest metaphores on the artistic condition I've ever read. Yes, Kafka is mild in comparision, and, as Nabakov always asserted, there's no connection anyway. --Dane Larsen

It's virtually impossible not to give Nabokov five stars...

Anyhow, Invitation to a Beheading is certainly a tricky book, but Nabokov's work always is. I don't see how it's harder than Lolita (in fact I think Lolita is harder to understand than this book), despite what people read as rampant symbolism.

Now, I'm not a Nabokov scholar, but I've read enough from him about writing to say that I doubt he spent huge amounts of time coming up with symbolic imagery for Invitation to a Beheading...that just wouldn't be his style. Instead, I'd bet that he wrote what he saw in his mind's eye and leaves it to the reader to apply meaning to what's shown...much as Cincinnatus is left to apply meaning to his existence without outside help.

What the theme of this book is isn't entirely clear, although of course the final scene in which Cincinnatus thinks his captors out of existence is a pretty obvious clue to it; I read it as a work about A) the arbitrary nature of assigned meaning and B) the individual's overarching authority over his own reality. It's also worthwhile to note that I read Cincinnatus as being insane and that most of what happens in the book as being delusional (including the end). I don't know if that was Nabokov's intent, but it seems to me that there's an underlying framework of a story that would make rational sense in what we consider the real world, masked by what Cincinnatus sees and experiences.

The insanity theory might be a stretch and I'd go so far as to say it's rather unimportant as it has little to no effect on the theme. The challenge of this book is to read past what's going on and move beyond trying to make rational sense out of a clearly irrational book and find the theme. The world of Nabokov's invention cannot be reconciled with what most of us consider the real world: it's a waste of time to try to reconcile the two, and to do so would be to miss the point.

What is the point, then? Well, partly to confuse us and make us question what we think of as reality and partly to tell us that reality is of our own invention. The real genius of Nabokov lies in his ability to achieve both these goals in one word, so to speak; by totally disorienting his audience, Nabokov in fact makes his point of the arbitrary nature of reality and perception.

Sounds heady, I bet, but don't let that turn you away from this book. Despite its oddity, it's very readable and with a bit of sensitivity it's a clear window into Nabokov's archetypal (the archetypes are of his own invention, of course) style and his complete genius.

It's almost impossible to give Nabokov anything LESS than five stars. He has become such a giant in the world of literature, that one ceases to be able to compare his work to other authors, and instead begins to hold them up against Nabokov's other works.

To validate the statements of so many below, "Invitation to a Beheading" is probably not good intro-Nabokov. Some will find the familiarity of his other works more palatable. As well, it may be unwise to tackle this text without a general knowledge of Eastern European politics.

The text is somewhat muddled in places, and I had a hard time deciding whose fault this was...the author's or the editor's. Some sentences were malingering, unclear, and broke up the natural flow of Nabokov's text, which usually reads easily. In the end, I chose sloppy editing and read on.

This text is HIGHLY introspective and symbolic, and I found myself actually applying pen-and-paper to the symbols I encountered, trying to sort out what Nabokov was saying. So saying, this book ended up being more academic reading than pleasure reading, but has nevertheless taken up quick residence on my favorite bookshelf.

This is one glorious little romp of a novel. I personally don't agree that EVERY character in this book is dispicable, I thought Dreyer was perfectly tragic in his eventual realisation, but even so, I don't find the unsympathetic nature to be a fault. The physical world of King Queen Knave is something that pervades the existence of all the characters even to the most grotesque degree (see Franz's chronic disgust), but even though it may seperate their subjective experience to the extent that everybody refuses to understand anybody elses' position, Nabokov fights the deterministic cycle of the Naturalist novel and shows how these walls of relativism can be broken down, and further, that is is even NECESSARY that they be broken down. But more than that, Nabokov twists the arm of fate in his dark conclusion; he delights in showing the authour's mark behind the facade; and there's the expected round of lovely descriptive passages. One shouldn't take Nabokov's "this is by far my gayest novel" too seriously though; this is a farcical romp, but it is one darkly treacherous romp. The reader thanks God that the world around these three main players isn't caught up in the same downward spiral. That creaky boat ride upon the Lindy, the oars fighting, is sharply analgous the overall ride. This is a very good novel, a treat for anybody familiar with Nabokov, but it definitely can stand its own ground. Either by comparison to Nabokov's more brillant later work, or on its own, this novel is a dark little comic-tragedy.

This is the only Nabokov novel I have read, but it sticks in my mind as sensual and tragic... definitely reminiscent of Shakespeare.

"The Graduate" also comes to mind.

Nabokov's descriptive detail puts the reader into the rented room of the nephew, where the first sexual encounter takes place. He doesn't romanticize - he tells everything exactly like it "is" & makes it extremely real.

Very suspenseful at the end, although I see the description on this site reveals the entire ending, so it ruins it for any potential readers!

So don't read that, just read the book. It evoked strong emotion in me, suffering with the characters' situations, frustrations, and desires.

This was Nabokov's second novel, published when he was a mere 28 years old. Thirty-nine years later, after writing so many other fabulous books he said of King, Queen, Knave "of all my novels this bright brute is the gayest." By this he meant that he enjoyed contemplating its "rapturous composition" and reminiscing of how the idea for it first came to him on the coastal sands of Pomerania. The book maintained a special place in his heart. The theme is in many ways similar to Anna Karenina or Madame Bovary, as Nabokov himself admits in the Foreword to the revised English version. I love those other books dearly, but Nabokov's contains several twists and turns that are even more dramatic and less likely for the reader to detect ahead of time than either of those other classic husband/wife/paramour triangle stories.

The setting here is Berlin in the 1920's. The young, unsophisticated Franz arrives on the doorstep of his rich uncle Dreyer with hopes of securing a job in his department store. He gets the job and repays Dreyer's magnanimity by falling for his beautiful wife Martha. (Franz's aunt? Hello!) Martha's seduction of Franz seems to be motivated by something at least bordering on pure boredom, but at any rate, the triangle is set. Dreyer, oblivious to this development, plods on with his money-making schemes and inventions/diversions. Martha, in a departure from the more suicidal natures of Anna K. or Emma B. decides rather to begin clumsily plotting her husband's death so that she and Franz will be able to live happily ever after on his money. But things are not so easy in anything Nabokovian are they? Well, things don't work out the way they're supposed to here either, and that's all I will say. Far be it from me to unravel a rope the Nabokov has so skillfully stretched tight. By the end of this story Franz's conscience lies in tatters, and Martha is _____!

The only reason I don't give the book a perfect 5 stars is because the very ending left me a tad bewildered. I attribute that to a fault in my reading of it and trust that you, being much sharper than I, will rate your experience with King, Queen, Knave a star higher than I did.

Nabokov's Lolita spawns from this short book, and it is fascinating to see the thought process behind the masterpiece. The book is translated to English from Russian, so some of the story may be lost. The Enchanter is a bit disappointing after finishing Lolita. Lolita is full of word play, imagery, allusion, and poetic prose, so finding the Enchanter to be merely a story with not much artistry in the language is almost sad! The storyline consists of little complexity, and the work is void of the characterization that draws the reader into Lolita. The narrator has none of the charisma that the brilliant Humbert Humbert possesses, and comes across simply as a villain. Nabokov's concept of the nymphet that left the term "Lolita" forever in the English vocabulary does not appear either. The young girl's character isn't developed at all; instead the reader gets nothing more than physical descriptions. Nabokov didn't intend the Enchanter for publication at all, it is merely a sketch of an idea he later developed for everyone's eyes. This book is worth reading, but without any expectations that Lolita may cause the reader to have. Perhaps it is better to read the Enchanter before reading Lolita.

Like many posthumous works, this first attempt by Nabokov to portray nymphet-love is more interesting to understand the author than as a reading in itself.

Here, the approach is blunter and in a way more shocking - unmitigated by the intellectual rigmaroles that veil the sexual content in "Lolita". The book's plot, with its desperate escape, is a simplified version of the fantastic voyage of Humbert and Dolores. And "The Enchanter" also lacks the mild, educated satire of Middle America which has been a suitable alibi for many readers of the later book.

In a way, "The Enchanter" is like a notebook sketch for "Lolita". It has its basic elements of a story, but none of its richness of colour.

I found this a difficult and disturbing novella: I was uncomfortable with it throughout and finished with a sense of relief, not only because the book ended, but also because of the way it ended.

Other reviews have pointed out that Nabokov was treading a narrow path between literature and pornography, and I could see their point. How anyone can find children sexually attractive is utterly beyond me. However, I think that the first presumption in literature should be one of tolerance - it would be a mistake, in my view, to dismiss "The Enchanter" as a work of pornography. It isn't - yet it's very challenging.

Nabokov examines the mind of a paedophile - in particular his inability to differentiate between fantasy and reality until it is too late. I would have been worried if I had not found the subject matter disturbing. What it did do was make me reflect why I found this novella so challenging, and why I found, for example, Thomas Mann's "Death in Venice" (which deals with a dying man's infatuation with a boy) so moving. I'll need to re-read "Death in Venice" to reflect more on this, but I think it's because in "Death in Venice" the attraction to the boy was the means by which von Aschenbach faced his own imminent demise, and realised that he'd denied his true nature throughout his life. There was no, as such, sexual possibility.

Also, I was reminded of a scene in William Corlett's "Now and Then" in which the main (gay) character shares a bedroom with his young and (I think, though memory may be unreliable) attractive nephew: the nephew enjoys undressing before his uncle, but the saving factor is that the uncle is in control of his life and emotions - he realises that this is merely the boy showing off, that it is not meant as a sexual advance.

What Nabokov does is examine the fact that for some disturbed individuals (males?), there is an inability to rationalise and separate fantasy from reality - and where the fastasy involves children, this is particularly dangerous. Children do not view the world through the same eyes as adults - I can remember in particular two incidents at school (one when I was 10, the other 15), when male teachers let's say, doted very obviously over particular girls. To us at that age, they appeared to be rather dirty and ridiculous old men (one was in his fifties, the other in his thirties). To my knowledge, nothing at all happended. I think what is important is that most of us, as we mature absorb such reflections made in our youth and use them as the foundations for controlling our behaviour as adults. Some however, fail to do this, as Nabokov demonstrated.

In a society where voilence against children seems to be growing, reading a work like "The Enchanter" is not easy, yet it is brave fiction, and if it makes one reflect and therefore learn, it has immense value.

If you really want to read it, you probably will end up doing so. I read an uncomplimentry review of the book in the Washington Post, but proceeded to buy and read the book anyway. I think the concept is what is so intruiging - who has read Lolita and not wondered what was going on through little Lo's head the entire time? But having read Lo's Diary I found it terribly dissapointing, so unimaginative and lacking in great prose - especially compared to Lolita! - that it becomes worthless. I read the entire thing, and although there were a few good parts (the part that is quoted on the back of the book is one of the few exceptional lines) there is truly nothing in it that sheds any more light on Lolita.

I just finished Lo's Diary last night, and my reaction from page one was purely delight that Pia Pera was able to so perfectly give voice to Lolita. I think this is the best example of a continuum of a familiar story that I have ever read. In my opinion, Ms. Pera is quite successful in her portrayal of Lo as a misguided but intelligent nymphet who knows exactly what she is doing, yet is too hardened to have any idea that she is being cheated and used.

I fell in love with her character, in the sense that she needed so desperately to be loved. Although I don't possess a degree in psychology, I think it is clear that Humbert, Filthy and Lo are all perfectly drawn profiles of the pedophile, the troubled and desperate child, and the hedonist. I would rush to the nearest bookstore to read a further account of Lo's life if Pia Pera ever decided to carry on with her interpretation.

I am rather appalled by the reviews posted here concerning Ms. Pia Pera's novel. They are caustic, nasty, giving the impression that this is infact a badly-written, unrealistic piece of trash. Which it is anything but. Sure, it is not quite of the caliber of Nabokov's original story, but then, what is?

As a sequel, and by its own merits, 'Lo's Diary' is a wicked-good piece of literature. Pera's Dolores is charming and sadistic, a very particular, though not wholly unrealistic, protagonist. Some may say that she sounds too sophisticated for her age in Pera's version....Too cold and calculating, too aware of her own power. And while it is true that most children that age are not as worldly as little, red-lipped Dolly Maze, she is not supposed to represent your average adolescent.

Rather, she is nymphet incarnate. And Pera's is a very convincing portrait of a nymphet.

Read it. Read it.