Lolita, a light in my life, the daughter of my wife. My friend, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: a slippery trip for the tip of my tongue, tough and rewarding, like our friendship, and fun to say, even in anger. Try it: Lo. Lee. Ta.
She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. “You can’t go to school in one sock!” I said, fondly. She was Lola as well. They called her Dolly at school. A little infantile, that name. She was Dolores on the birth certificate. But in my heart she was always Lolita.
Did I ever think of fathering kids myself? I did, indeed I did. In point of fact, I might have had a daughter the old-fashioned way had I not lost the love of my youth, a certain initial young lady. We made such plans in our princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. (You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.) But if that first love had worked out, why, I’d probably never have met Lolita or her poor sweet mother, I’d certainly never have gone on the road trip, or any of the other riotous happenings I plan to disclose in this thorny tangled whopper of a tale.
But it’s all true, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I promise you that. Exhibit number one: my heart. I may have been a beast at times, to Lolita, to her mother, certainly to Quilty, but as for the fullness in my heart, well—even the seraphs would envy that.
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One man's chapter-by-chapter quest to remove the pedophilia from Nabokov's Lolita.
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Welcome. Perhaps you’re here because you and I share a love for the wit and poetry found in Nabokov’s classic, Lolita. For a book fan, Lolita is a trove of voice, alliteration, character, plot, assonance, and mood. It’s chock-full of references and culture. But—and for the morally discriminating reader, there’s always that but—it’s the account of a child rapist, told with fluctuating, insufficient remorse. The narrator’s moral depravity left this reader unsatisfied and I doubt I am alone.
My solution: put on my editor hat go to work, creating an alternate edition of Nabokov’s masterwork, Lolita, Scrubbed. In this new (and I hope, improved) version, I seek to retain the lovable poetry of the book’s original text while excising the book’s amoral core. And while I make no claims to be a writer of Nabokov’s caliber, I plan to “re-see” troubling scenes as the author would, were he convinced of the novel’s problematic nature. I also plan, in an effort to make the book more “of our times,” to apply light cuts here and there in areas where I feel the language goes a little overboard.
I ask fans of the original text to not confuse my re-seeing as “censorship.” I do not wish to see Nabokov’s book banned or burned. I only wish to humbly present a new version, to be enjoyed and evaluated on its own merit. And lest you think I’m a total buzz-kill, there’s still a juicy murder plot at the heart of the story. Enjoy!
- Gerard Kibbey, June 2009
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