So for my English class, the novel of the week (yes, you heard me right, novel of the week.. sparknotes has become a good friend of mine along the way!) is Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. the back of the book has the review "The only convincing love story of our century," written by Vanity Fair, so i must say i was looking forward to reading it..
…i really should have looked up the book before starting it …
turns out it is actually about the innerworkings of the mind of a pedophile. yes. a pedophile. like, a man in his 40’s fantasizing about a little girls. slowly, i discover that Lolita is the nickname of his love interest, who turns out to be a 12-year-old girl..
as i began to realize exactly who he was talking about when describing (in such detail) his inner thoughts, my stomach started to churn. i mean, i’m only 60 pages in (its about 400 pages long) so i’ll admit that don’t know how it ends, and what the remaining 350 pages contain, but i’m not exactly sure how i’m going to get through to the end. it physically makes me sick thinking that there are people out there preying on the innocence of youth. the detail in which he describes his desires for ‘Lolita’ are deeply disturbing, and it reminds me that the world really isn’t as nice as you and i both hoped.
i’m quite aware that reading the first 60 pages isn’t enough to make a fair judgment about the novel as a whole, but the strength of the emotions it has evoked as i continue to flip the pages is enough to bring me to voice my opinion about the topic. or at least comment on how deeply disturbed i am.
that a piece of writing can, in fact, induce an individual to be so emotionally moved is, i must say, fairly impressive. i’ll give him that. his writing is so beautifully put together, and has a nice flow to it. but he’s talking about a child. a little girl. a pure, 12-year-old carefree little girl. its disgusting. purely disgusting.
so in the words of Antoine Dodson.. ‘HIDE YO KIDS.’