"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita."

The most invigorating, intoxicating language I’ve ever read. I’d be content with one iota of the mastery of the English language that Nabokov holds (and I wish I knew Russian if only to hear how lovely "Lolita" would sound in Nabokov’s native tongue).

I finished reading the book yesterday, before I had to head off to work, and I was entrenched in a haze (pun acknowledged, though not intended) during my shift while the bittersweet words of Humbert Humbert’s narrative reverberated through my head, especially my personal favorite line: "...I still dwelled deep in my elected paradise--a paradise whose skies were the color of hell-flames--but still a paradise." I could not wait to get home so I could read the book again. The book is so complex (almost every name and word has significance, from the town of "Ramsdale," to the letter Mona wrote to Lolita, to the amalgamation of the names of Humbert’s neighbors). And one great thing that I love this book is that many of the "clues" and literary tactics are just red herrings. Just like how not every superficially noteworthy thing in real life means something truly significant. Plus, Nabokov himself practically states that the book is pointless and not meant to hold some deeper meaning (thank God, straight from the author’s mouth; I hate overanalyzing literature to the point where it just becomes parental moralizing masked as a flowery metaphor).

Another thing that I found extraordinarily compelling about "Lolita" was the way that I knew (or felt I should know) that Humbert was pathetic, yet his suaveness and elegance with words made him sympathetic, and dare I say, "likeable?" I’m not sure if in reality he could be considered a "protagonist," but seeing things through his eyes made me suspend reality for awhile.

Anyway, buy this book, rent it from the library, whatever, but don’t substitute it with the movie (I saw the 1997 version), because there was so much omitted, added, and juxtaposed that even though the movie was enjoyable on its own value, it did no justice for the book. The best thing about "Lolita" is the language, and save for the occasional voice-over, it’s lost in the movie. (Of course, if you’re too lazy to read the book, then Jeremy Irons is a decent enough reason to see the movie, I suppose. He played an excellent Humbert while not being a strain on the eyes.)

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