"Lolita: Pure Perversion or Sheer Brilliance?" With The Incisive Journal

If you have run through my blog before, you would know that I've already published a book review on Lolita. Well, here is another take on Lolita - an article I re worked for The Incisive Journal. Though the base review remains the same, it is a much deeper dive into the book and the characters. Enjoy it below. 

“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.” 

Disgustingly brilliant. Pure perversion. One of the best books in modern literature. These are a few among the thousand descriptions you’d find for the book by Russian – American novelist Vladimir Nabokov, among reading circles. As a reader who relies heavily on reviews before picking up a book, the social cataloging website I frequently use for the same, bombarded me with mixed reviews, including one that said, “I never understood when an old friend used to say ‘Ulysses’ was a good book to read but not a good book to “read”. Lolita changed that.” 

And Lolita was all that and much more than it promised to be. It has been one of the most strenuous reads

of my life. A book that never let me lay back in peace, but rather had me cringing at the edge of my seat, worried if I was sinning against the “nymphet” Lolita or Dolores, 12 years, by lending ears to Humbert Humbert, an English professor is driven by desire, wanting his Lolita so badly that it never occurs to him to cum pedophile cum stepfather to the title character. “Humbert is every man who consider her as a human being, or as anything but a dream figment made flesh.” Elizabeth Janeway, The New York Times. 

Yes. Lolita is not human. Lolita is not Dolores. Lolita is Humbert’s desire, his obsession, his vulnerability, his inhumane passion, his excuses. Lolita is an explanation that the protagonist offers not to the reader but himself, desperately trying to a person. Proffered with such passion, it is terrifyingly poignant and untangle himself from the heinous crime of destroying a childhood and thereby, unnerving making you want to constantly remind yourself that it’s all a farce.

Humbert, the unreliable narrator here, overtly uses quite a few tools in the process, including a long dead childhood love he could never possess, intentional misinterpretation of Lolita’s helplessness as participation, his vehement attempts in conveying to the reader his good looks and desirability, the reason he believes Lo fell in in love with him just as he did for her. Yes. Above all, he tries to believe he was in love.

Lo isn’t portrayed as a child, but a rather glossy remnant of the paedophile’s memory. But once in a while, the narrator cannot but help l0ok at Dolores as a child he wronged, looking at her suffer and winch in his arms but he quickly tries to shake it off as her mood swing, a tease, Lolita used, to torture him with. His little monster. This is where Nabokov succeeds in making the smartest choice of employing solipsism or less technically put, simply the irrelevance of anything other than oneself. In the narrative, Dolores the 12 year old child is absent. What is offered is only the Lolita he carved out of her, his seducer.

Initially branded an erotic novel, Nabokov observes himself in his afterword that the few initial pages does mislead some readers (I believe, intentionally) into assuming this was going to be a lewd book expecting the rising succession of erotic moments but they are soon consumed by disappointment as the narrative changes form and starts barely mentioning the sexual encounters while focusing rather on the emotional consequences of his actions on Lolita but mostly on himself.

Published originally in English by a writer for whom the language isn’t even his first language, there is undeniable beauty and a concrete imprint left on the reader. As Humbert walks out bloody after murdering Quilty, Lolita’s wrongdoer and drives into the arms of the police, consumed by the guilt of what he had himself done to the child that she had been, one of the rare moments when Lolita is humanized, Nabokov has already drilled a hole in your heart but the head is exploding with compliments for the roller-coaster ride the writer created for you between the pages of this book.

Falling in the category of cult classics and path changers like Lady Chatterley’s Lover, born much ahead of its time, Lolita is that treasure of a book waiting to be savoured by you, if you can handle strain and are not easily rattled.

Ardhra Prakash

(26th October 2017)

#MeToo: Why It Is Hard But Important To Speak Up with TheIncisiveJournal.Com

Happy news, folks! 

Recently, I got invited by The Incisive Journal to be one of their guest writers. They describe themselves as a bunch of misfits with a common love for reading and writing. So, I guess I do fit in with them at the end of the day. 

They strongly disagree with censorship as they believe that "if there is something which bothers someone, maybe that person should walk away from it rather than asking that “something” to be banned or censored, it might be a Movie, a Book, a Painting or a Picture, unless that “something” is not forced down on you."

As if that wasn't reason enough to collaborate, they are "also doing their part to the environment by hosting the site in a server which is powered by wind energy. Renewable sources of energy is the redemption which everybody needs today at this time and age. Climate change is no joke and it is definitely not a hoax perpetuated by the Chinese."

Below is an article written for them. 

When I first saw the #MeToo posted by somebody on my newsfeed, I thought that was another online movement that was going to die away as soon as it came. But in the next 24 hours, it is not inaccurate to say that every second post on my feed was a #metoo or about #metoo.

This hashtag did not start yesterday. It started when activist Tarana Burke used it 10 years ago trying to comfort a little girl who opened up to her about the abuse she suffered from her mom’s boyfriend. But it caught up as a movement just a couple of days back when actress Alyssa Milano tweeted it in support of the brave women coming forward against the latest Hollywood debacle, Harvey Weinstein encouraging all the women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted to acknowledge the problem with a #metoo, so that people could be provided an insight into the magnitude of the problem. And as far as I can tell, it’s gone beyond that to inspire very relevant discussions.

Over 30% of the users who re tweeted the hashtag were men. Some in support for the women who came out with harassment stories but a sizable amount of men came out with their own stories of harassment they faced from men as well as women. This contradicts the sexist patriarchal thought that falsely identifies women as always being the victims while men are always the perpetrators – sometimes so internalized that if a male accepts being harassed, he’s seen as a weaker being, thus left to suffer as silent victims.

Another alarming similarity in almost half of these tweets were that a lot of people who shared the story said the abuse took place when they were kids or teenagers and the abusers were people they’ve known and have been taught to trust. A fact studies have been showing for many years, but the gravity of the situation sinks in very slowly as you move from post to post.

I was molested several times growing up but it took me a long time to realise what I was going through was abuse and that it was not my fault. I have never talked about my abuse stories before. I am not ashamed of it anymore but the first thing that came to my mind deciding whether to share my experiences with people was if there was any need to open a can of worms at this point.  But certain shocking responses by people who couldn’t empathise with these women but instead chose to ridicule them through social media, makes me think the other way. While a number of great many men and women came out pouring support and expressing concern, as always there were people out there calling the survivors “wannabes”, ranting about how social media isn’t the platform and this one guy genuinely seemed to believe that rather than wasting time on Facebook participating in online protests that are going to be forgotten in a jiffy, the victims should be approaching the “concerned authority” for once and all.

I think I must’ve been around 10 when I first experienced sexual abuse. My sister, around 14 then and I were in the midst of the 15 minute walk back after our weekly dance class, when a noble looking man on a motor bike who looked like he was in his early thirties stopped beside us and started asking questions about our private parts.

At age 13, my violin instructor at school would touch my thighs and shoulder unnecessarily. A lot of girls complained of the same but nobody wanted to make a “big deal” of it. Around the same time, I was flashed by a man, on my way back home from school. I remember being very happy that day until that point. I felt confused, nauseated, violated. I blamed myself for looking his way when he tried to get my attention.

I will spare you the stories of when I was leered, jeered and cat called while on the street minding my own business, cyber bullied with obscene comments and pornographic images on social media, being rubbed against and pinched while traversing crowded streets and public transport be it dusk or broad daylight. The other day when I was talking to my roommate of the abuses we’ve had to suffer, the above mentioned activities came out of us as “normal” things. Two proud feminists, discussing sexual abuse, addressing day to day abuses as normal. That’s how deep rooted and insanely prominent the problem is. So much so that it is pretty much a part and parcel of our lives.

What I’m trying to convey is that it is not easy standing up to abuse. I agree, it is necessary. But it is unimaginably hard. Especially when the whole world tells you to ignore it or to not make a big deal out of it. And especially when the perpetrators are people who you’ve been taught as trustworthy and respectable. It is confusing and very, very scary. It takes a lot of courage to come out and talk about what you’ve suffered while being a part of a society that blames the victims or trivialises issues such as these. In my case, it took me a long time to even understand and accept the fact that what I was going through was sexual offense.

It was a month before I could tell my mother about the abuse at the hand of my instruments teacher. I didn’t want to worry her. I couldn’t envision how she would comprehend it. But she understood. She told me that such morons were more common than I thought and that it wasn’t my fault. She said she could come down to my school and take care of the matter. But she’d rather have me face that monster myself because I could. She said she didn’t raise a coward. The next time, I glared at him as if I would pull out his tongue if he came anywhere near me. He never touched me again.

So, I guess the suggestion of the Facebook user, who tried to shame these men and women into reporting their stories to “concerned authorities”, from whose post all you can deduce is that he’s never got a wrong stare or an unwanted arm on his thigh, and is trying to objectively proffer a solution to a problem he isn’t even able to fully contemplate, is technically the ultimate solution. Problem. Report. Happy ending. He makes sense when not taking into account the finer nuances or rather shortcomings of the human mind. That, under the many layers that make us human, we are more than mere binary codes deciding pre – programmed actions and reactions. We and our everyday actions are the product of choices, experiences, thoughts, perceptions, strengths, weaknesses, reflections, reverberations, and vulnerabilities on an unimaginable scale.

On the brighter side, the hashtag has been receiving heartening responses from varied quarters. Be it men, women or authorities. They have come out in solidarity to the victims and have vowed to do their part however small it may be, but nevertheless important. #HowIWillChange and #SoDoneChilling are examples of parallel movements that have been born where men have vowed to stand up for victims, end cat calling, locker room jokes, rape jokes, teach their children to stand up against abuse, teach them to respect the other gender while being kind to their own gender and “do all this without expecting to be congratulated or praised”. The authorities in certain countries have also taken worthy stands. Notably, Kolkata police has sent out a tweet that said that they are perturbed by the startling numbers of women facing sexual harassment and that they would like to reiterate their pledge and commitment by saying that they hear every one of these women. They urged survivors to be strong and very very angry and report any kind of verbal and physical abuse to the police every time. Most importantly, Kolkata police announced that they have already started with Dear Boys initiative as they believe education about the severity of the issues to young boys can be a game changer. So may be, the hashtag wasn’t indeed a soon to be passé phenomenon.

Ardhra Prakash

(21st October 2017)

Book review: The Room by Emma Donoghue

Room by Emma Donoghue
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

'Goodbye, Room." I wave up at Skylight. "Say goodbye," I tell Ma. "Goodbye, Room."
Ma says it but on mute.
I look back one more time. It's like a crater, a hole where something happened. Then we go out the door.' Room is the much acclaimed Man Booker nomination worthy novel from Emma Donoghue about Jack and his Ma.
Jack is 5 and Ma is 26. Jack and Ma lives in the Room with Bed, Rug, Wardrobe, Meltedy spoon, Toilet, Bath and many many things that they fit in their 11*11 square foot prison and this is the story of how they survive it and execute a Grand Escape from Old Nick, who stole 7 precious years of their life. But the most important part of the book, I must say is, after the escape. The story is narrated by the 5 year old boy who has always thought anything other than he and his mother and a few inanimate objects, were not real, but only TV. The book is about how Jack comes into terms with all these new experiences, information and rules he suddenly has to remember and obey to be part of the society.
As I turned from page to page, the innocent observations Jack makes about the various constituents of his new world, like adults, manners, time et cetera cracked me up or made me nod in agreement. A beautiful book through the eyes of a child, his doubts about the world, his love for his mother, his admiration for Dora and above all, how he traverses life though he is not really "scaredy brave" but just scared.
Also, this is special for, brace yourselves, I have successfully completed my #goodreadschallenge third year in a row. 17/17, not bad, eh?


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