Vladimir Nabokov
Lolita
309 p.

For Russian Reading Challenge.

Replik, 2001.
(First published 1955.)

Back cover blurb:

none (they stuck the bar code over the text!)

So, Lolita. A tale about peadophilia and desire and such things. And, surprisingly, a dull tale. I expected it to be many things, but dull was not one of them. Everyone speaks so warmly about it! (though, of course, damning the subject.) But I, however I tried, could never really find it very interesting. In my eyes it was to a great extent the rantings of a deranged man. (A man who willingly calls himself Humbert Humbert can’t be sane, especially as he sometimes, in first person, describes his actions in third person. What!)

Of course, I could blame this on that I read it in translation. It was full of tiny, annoying typos (e.g. Lo!ita), but I can’t say it was a bad translation. It is of course possible that the translation was bad but well-written.
I must say I really liked Nabokov’s language, even though I didn’t care too much about the story. It flowed nicely, and it built a feeling which, although it made me quite uneasy, was believable. Naturally, I believe the language is even better in the original language, so I assume I’ll have to read something more by Nabokov, then in English.

(Okay, to distract our thoughts for a moment, here’s a fun story about the first Swedish translation of Lolita. The man who translated it shared Humbert Humbert’s passion for young girls, and added to the story several explicit sex scenes. After some time, I believe it was after publication but I can’t swear on it, Nabokov read the Swedish translation. He was one of these writers who knew every language. He, of course, was more than a little surprised to find stuff in the novel that he hadn’t written! Needless to say, in all subsequent editions these added passages have been removed.)

I’m a little sad I didn’t like it much. I mean, T-Rex in Dinosaur Comics talks loads about it! And other people, too! Though, I guess, you can’t like everything. And perhaps, it might have been the burning sun and the 30 degrees Celsius that put me off. I feel that it might not really be a lazy beach book. Still, now I have read it, and one day I might re-read it and discover that it really is terrific. It might be one of these books that has to grow on you, and I might have given it too little time. How can I know?

Per Nilsson
Svenne
286 p.

Månpocket, 2006

Back cover blurb:

- I Sverige ska svenskarna bestämma.
Så kunde han säga.
- I Sverige ska inte EU-byråkraterna i Bryssel bestämma. I Sverige ska inte de multinationella storföretagen bestämma. I Sverige ska inte USA:s president bestämma. I Sverige ska svenskarna bestämma. I Irak ska irakierna bestämma. I Libanon ska libaneserna bestämma. Eller hur?
Så kunde han säga, han som kallade sig Dackeman.

Svenne är en vanlig sjuttonåring från en liten by i södra Sverige. Bara på grund av sitt namn dras han in i ett politiskt spel som varken han eller någon annan riktigt förstår. Ett nytt nationalistiskt parti med en karismatisk partiledare växer sig starkt, och efter ett halvår är Sverige förändrat.
Men allt får sin ände under några dagar av kaos och upplopp. Efter det måste Svenne fly för livet. Han misstänks vara ansvarig för hämndaktioner, mord, misshandel och straffläger. Nu gömmer han sig undan polisen och alla som vill hämnas. Det här är hans berättelse.

This is one of the few books my brother has read. And like the few books he has read, he loved it. (If he would read more I am certain he would adore it, but the rest of my family reads, so I guess that’s why he doesn’t.) In a deal we made, I said I’d read this book, and he’d read a book of my choice. I’ve read this book now, but he hasn’t touched the book I’ve told him to read. (which is a bit lucky - I’m considering changing it to another book.)

Now, this book is basically about the end of the world. Yeah? Yeah. And it could be a real dazzling novel, if the language written was not so damned useless and the story was not told in such a ridiculous way. There are a hundred chapters, and the majority of these chapters begins with “Yeah,” and then a repetition of the last sentence in the previous chapter. Those chapters that did not begin that way, were shoddy poems. The narrator is this Svenne, who accidentally becomes involved in politics (he’s a little daft), and it is narrated to a Muslim girl he meets once. The poems are also dedicated to her, and they are painfully bad. And the language is boring, plain and dull.

There’s nothing really wrong with the story though, except I got a bit bored with all the outrage in the novel, as well as I feel he stretched it too far. It got all a bit over-the-top. (on the plus side, it was subjunctive history!) However, it must be said that it wasn’t a really bad book, but maybe it didn’t really deserve winning Augustpriset. Of course, I know nothing of the other nominees. 2006 was long ago.

Dorothy L. Sayers
The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club
285 p.

Victor Gollancz, 1937.
(First published 1928.)

Back cover blurb:

None

As good as everyone I know are huge Lord Peter Wimsey-fans. My sister, my mother, my godmother, my friends. Of course, everyone I can think of who swoons over Lord Peter is a woman (my dad isn’t a big fan, and my brother doesn’t read). I naturally wondered if it was that he had some manly charm and it was therefore everyone was so impressed. And so! I trekked out to discover, by reading The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club. (I got my mother to pick out two Lord Peter Wimsey-books at the start of the summer. Murder Must Advertise is the other.)

And it was good. I’m not a huge fan of crime novels, but a bit here and there’s just fine. And really, it wasn’t the mystery that made it the most exciting. It was the dialogue. Oh, the dialogue! It’s beautiful and hilarious and just possibly the best dialogue I’ve ever written. It just makes me awe. And, also, the dialogue really does put Lord Peter in a good light. He’s so funny and sarcastic and just lovely. I had so much fun. The unpleasantness, which was an old man dying at an awkward moment, wasn’t maybe the most awesome thing ever, but that doesn’t matter. I’m sure the mystery’s very fine in Murder Must Advertise.

Sense and Sensibility
Jane Austen
409 p.

Penguin Classics, 2003
(first published 1811)

Back cover blurb:

Marianne Dashwood wears her heart on her sleeve, and when she falls in love with the dashing but unsuitable John Willoughby she ignores her sister Elinor’s warning that her impulsive behaviour leaves her open to gossip and innuendo. Meanwhile, Elinor, always sensitive to social convention, is struggling to conceal her own romantic disappointment, even from those closest to her Through their parallel experience of love - and its threatened loss - the sisters learn that sense must mix with sensibility if they are to find personal happiness in a society where status and money govern the rules of love.

This book was so boring. Really. I mean, I liked Pride and Prejudice and all, but there was no interest in this book. Okay, I’ll admit, I thought it was a little exciting when Marianne was dying and we had confession time from Willoughby, but otherwise? No. Additionally, I was very confused a lot of the time, because every other person shared the same name, and sometimes they referred to a person as “Miss ___”, and other times by their first names. Keep to one name, people! (I had the same thing against A Game of Thrones. Is it so hard to have one name for people? I mean, in dialogue you can have as many names as possible, but when it’s dialogue I think it one name should suffice.)

As if it wasn’t enough that the story itself was pretty uninteresting, there was the longest and most boring essay after the book was finished which I forced myself to read. It was more boring than the novel itself. It was an old introduction by some Cambridge scholar. Although it was more drab than any other introduction I have read (and seeing as I almost always read the introduction if there is one, I’ve quite a few), it at least told me that apparently, Sense and Sensibility was one of the least-loved Austen-novels. And that made me feel a bit better. I suppose that one day, when I am less lazy and when I have all and any Austen-novel at my perusal, I might read another few, and I hope I will like them more.