January 18, 2008

• Tough, tough position to be in. I know he was fairly ill at the end, but part of me tends to think that if Vladimir had really wanted the cards destroyed, he would have done it, or seen it done, before his death. Unless maybe he thought he was going to get better or something.
• I was pretty surprised to hear he's torn about this at all. Dmitri has generally been fiercely protective of Nabokov, his privacy and wishes, and from various interactions of his I've seen has had no problem fighting to see them respected. If you can get your hands on a copy of Pia Pera's Lo's Diary, his contribution is amazing. Though he lost a fight to keep the book from being published, he managed to win the right to include a preface, which he largely spends talking about how much he tried to prevent the thing happening and what a cheap piece of shit he thinks it is. Oh, and a cut of the proceeds, which are redirected to a philanthropic organization. As much as I would love to see Laura published, I've always fully expected him to go through with destroying it, and think I'd be vaguely disappointed if he didn't. I'd still read it, though.
• I'd tell him to burn it. It would take nothing away from the magnificent works we already have. Saving it would, frankly, add little. At best, it would be something like Stephen Hero, illuminating much more important works for the die-hards, but even then, not contributing all that much to the greater picture. And the temptation would be for someone else to try and 'finish' the novel, which is always disappointing and insulting. Let the artist be in control of his art. Plus, there's a great romanticism behind it that's hard to resist...
• I want to see it.
• I know that it's really not in the same scope, but I remember actually crying when, having just begun to experience the depth of beauty that is the music of Henri Duparc, I learned that what survives is only a fragment of what he burned in a fit of depression. This situation with Nabokov doesn't seem to be one of them, but I certainly believe there are times when the work is more improtant that the creator.
• Keep it, keep it, a thousand times keep it. It is, perhaps, apocryphal, but it is said that Franz Kafka demanded of a friend that all his manuscripts be burned after his death. Had his friend kept faith, had such a desecration taken place, the world would have lost a set of artistic works of incalculable value. The artist is not the master of his voice. If this were true, then every work would be brilliant. The artist is not the master of her audience. If this were true, then every audience would be rapturous. The artist is the servant of the muse, of god and, above all, of the human race. As an artist you should expect, within reason, to be supported for your work. You should expect to be rewarded for your efforts. But you no more own the outcome of your art than a mother owns her children.
• The artist is not the master of his voice. Quoted for truth. Socrates famously said at his trial that, during his search for wisdom, he questioned the great poets only to discover that if anything, they understood their works less than others did.
• Nein! Thirty pages of a novel -- what is that going to do except infuriate us? We owe a tremendous debt to Nabokov. If that was his only request of us, I'd be happy to do it.
• Time capsule. Let humans 100 years from now decide.
• Furthermore, I would remind my fellow monkeys that it is far from determined that the ontological status of an object as 'art' is reliant upon recognition or perception. It is questionable at best that art's existence as such depends upon its recognition by an external viewer. It is only the case that external recognition aids in the process of identifying something as 'art'. It does nothing to determine the ontological status in question. This object will exist as art independently of us. We are not a factor in whether this is great art or not. Our calls for preservation, then, are merely selfish desires or unvanquished curiosity, neither of which have any real bearing upon the issue at hand. BURN, BABY, BURN!!!
• You know what? In my line of work we read non-'art' stuff all the time, and sometimes it's more valuable than the actual art. To scholars, drafts and notebooks and even appointment books might give far more valuable insights into the world of an artist than some of his or her actual finished work. So keep. And for the record, the documents I work with are some of the most boring and turgid pieces of bureacratese ever written, but I still think they're important beyond measure. Do I have some kind of a documentary Cinderella complex?
• Nabokov is dead, so he won't care what happens. Sounds callous, but it's fact. Wherever he is, it don't matter no mo' to him. The art, even if fragmentary, is far more valuable to humankind and more to the point other artists, who can learn from the piece technically, than to Nabokov, who cannot feel, think, see or exist in this timeslice. It benefits humankind for the piece to remain intact within the human wisdom stream. It doesn't matter that it is unfinished, there are lots of unfinished works out there that are still a source of powerful emotion and inspiration. The Mona Lisa is unfinished. Etc. The artist is just a conduit, not a god.
• Encrypt it. Give separate parts of the key to warring factions around the world.
• Am I the only one who wants to torch a priceless fragment? It must be my Heraclitean inclinations showing through. The Arché is Fire, the man said. Eternal fire is all there is, was, or ever shall be. All is flux. EVERLASTING FIRE IN THE HOLE!
• Wherever he is, it don't matter no mo' to him. We don't know that at all.
• you no more own the outcome of your art than a mother owns her children False, both legally and morally, surely. Deciding what to delete is part of the creative process, an essential right for artists of any kind. Drafts and deletions may be valuable to scholars, but the needs of scholars are secondary to the needs of the artist. *grabs a torch*
• And from a strictly legal point of view, the son likely doesn't have a choice. Under such a set of circumstances, the manuscript is trust property, meaning that it's not the son's property to destroy or not, but rather the Estate's, as Trust property. As succeeding Executor, he is bound to follow the terms and directives established by the deceased, particularly when it comes to Trust property. However, given that he's the sole Beneficiary of the Estate, the son in his Beneficiary's hat would be the only one who could have an actionable cause against the son in his Executor's hat for violating the terms of the Trust, so the whole question becomes moot. Or, we could take the view that the manuscript was never Trust property as such, but rather an inter vivos transfer, in which case the son could do whatever he wanted as it's his own stuff, or we could take another view that the promise to torch was not an establishment of Trust conditions, but rather a gratuitous promise, and again, the son could do whatever he wanted. I would expect that the Trust argument is the stronger, though, even though it wouldn't be actionable. In theory, you could have a group launch an action against the son for non-torching, based on their being 'beneficiaries' of Nabokov's, in some more ephemeral sense of guardians of his legacy somehow, but that'd be a stretch.
• There could also be an inter vivos Trust, of course, but that would have the same effect as a Trust established by Will. *opens pack of hot dogs*
• Sounds kind of like a curse. I wonder if Dimitri has any heirs he could fob it off on.
• I echo what Hank said. Life is for the living. Nabokov is gone, and so is his say in the matter, legal issues notwithstanding.
• Jeez. A man's word doesn't count for much among you lot, does it?
• I say if you want something done, do it before you die. It's unfair to ask your heirs. Keep it.
• The Egyptian Pharaohs didn't want their bodies and possessions paraded around in museums, and yet there they are.
• The needs of the one are outweighed by the needs of the many.
• It's you and me for the rule of law against the feckless literary desires of the mob, Cap'n.
• I guess we can conclude that filial responsibilities can be shirked if: a) it becomes difficult, b) we feel it's unfair, c) we stand to gain. Sorry, but I view it differently. I'm a firm believer that we should be judged not so much by how we act in times of ease, but how we act when it is difficult. Whether you believe in the Commandments or not, there's something to be said for being true to your parents -- particularly when it's to your own detriment. That's what love is all about, right? To slap your hands together and say "he's dead, I don't owe him anything anymore" -- I don't think that's true at all. Enh.
• I think this boils down to what Dmitri wants. As far as I'm concerned, he's the full owner of the manuscript (or index cards). If he feels some compulsion to honour his father's request, then burn away. If not, that's his call. It was an unfair request in the first place on the part of Vladimir.
• Did he really mean to call it "The Original of Laura"?? The damn thing's probably rife with typos. I'd be panicking too, lying on my deathbed and suddenly realizing I forgot to throw it out. Burn the fucker.
• "he's dead, I don't owe him anything anymore" No one is saying that. What I am saying (& I don't speak for anyone else) is that it is irrational to act as if a person's wishes while alive still have meaning once they are dead. Let's leave aside the issue of whether a person survives physical death in some manner. It's unanswerable, & largely irrelevant due to unprovability. I could be facetious & suggest the dead make their wishes known, but even if there is survival of the personality after physical death, there may be a barrier preventing that from happening. For all intents & purposes in the observable, measurable universe, a dead person no longer exists in our time slice, this moment. Under most circumstances it is normal and honourable to pay respect to a person's wishes once they are dead, in terms of their will & dispersal of their worldly possessions, but there are circumstances where this is clearly not a good idea. If we lived like this 100% in our society we would still be in the dark ages. Say if a guy comes up with a formula for a cure to a serious disease, but it's incomplete & he's not happy with it, he dies & his last wishes are to have the formula destroyed, would you agree that should be done? Maybe not a good analogy, but I consider art to be terribly important to human culture, analogous to medicine to human biology, or theory to science. If you found a lost work by Plato or some ancient historian such as Josephus, & that author had intended it to be destroyed, would you still destroy it, based on those wishes? Is the fact that Nabokov is a revered artist in our time period the deciding issue? The artist is an important figure in human civilisation. Whilst alive, he is the owner & master of his creation, no question, but once he dies, it belongs to mankind, imho. Rule of law? OK, but law is not always right or fair. Or rational.
• I side with the Captain purely for the sake of honouring a dying father's request.
• (Um, not that my dying father requested that I agree with the Cap'n, obviously.)
• OK, I just thought of a better example: Shakespeare. During his life, acting & playwriting was not considered an honourable profession. It was low class. Shakespeare probably didn't intend to be remembered as a playwright, as his memorial & tomb makes no explicit mention of it, instead he's identified as a merchant, the original effigy apparently having his hands on a woolsack, there were no writing accoutrements, they were added to the restored effigy over a century later. His plays only survive because a couple of ex-actors got together & collated the first folio, largely from memory. Most were not published in accurate form in his lifetime, the ones that were are considered 'bad quartos' & it's generally agreed that Shakespeare wasn't interested in publishing them. While this doesn't mean Shakespeare wanted his work destroyed, he clearly didn't care too much to be remembered as a playwright, & if his attitudes had been followed by those left behind after his death, we'd not have his plays, probably in any form.
• Not sure where you get the idea that Dmitri will necessarily benefit if the manuscript is released, Captain. Sounds like he's pretty fearful that it'll be held up to the same criticisms as Lolita recently has been (plagiarism, for one), and it may be more of a headache for him to keep than to destroy. I still maintain that it's cowardly to ask your children to do something for you that you couldn't do yourself. Surely Vladamir could have said "Bring me my manuscript and let me destroy it" or "destroy it right now in front of me", if he'd truly wanted it done. My claustrophobic mother has made the request of me that should she ever be unconscious and in a situation where an MRI or any confined apparatus could diagnose her and save her life, I should let her die rather than put her in a confined space, even though she'd be unaware of where she was. Does my duty as a child really include fulfilling her wish to her own detriment? (Fortunately, I've argued with her so much, she's put it in writing at the local hospital. Whatever. Still.)
• Hmm, I don't think they'll follow those instructions, Lara, if that scenario occurs. I think the Hippocratic Oath would outweigh it. But I am not a medical doctor, I only pretend to be one on the interwebs.
• ..."it is irrational to act as if a person's wishes while alive still have meaning once they are dead." Of course they still have meaning – if it has meaning to the deceased is irrelevant (according to the terms you’ve set). Such promises most definitely still have meaning to the living. The existential crux is that we have to choose our own morality. There is nothing outside which binds us; we act solely in accordance with the principles we choose for ourselves. When those principles align with others’, there no problem. When they don’t, there’s no recourse to an external, determining force – again, it’s only ourselves alone to choose in that all-encompassing freedom. So yes, the promises the son made to the father most definitely still has meaning – to the son. Of course it’s his choice – that’s all there ever was. He is the one who has to balance out the choice of being true to himself and his father, or choosing the needs/wants of a larger public. We all have to manufacture our own moral code. A hedonistic moral code is certainly possible (in that it gives him or other people pleasure to have this work of art). However, to make that choice would come at the expense of honouring his own word. So where does one place the emphasis? On being true to oneself (and coincidentally the father, who has been shunted aside for the moment), or giving in to the needs/wants of some other group? To whom should he extend his allegiance? Should he align his moral code with the law, or not? Similarly, he could choose to decide along Utilitarian lines, what would be of the greatest benefit to the greatest number of people. But who decides what is the benefit? It all comes back to the individual. These are not easy questions, but so what? The choice will remain, whether he likes it or not. And what if the choice isn’t between honouring his own promise and some group of people, but between the existence of his pre-established moral code (and as such his own existence, as the sum of his life choices) and the existence of a work of art? Again, there is a zero-sum game – one will survive, and the other won’t. Should he choose the art, it is in a very real sense a self-betrayal (not to mention the father who’s been tucked away for the time being). Of course there are no simple answers. Of course it depends on the situation. But let’s turn it around for a second – who are we to ask him to preserve this thing? Who are we to ask him to abandon his own moral code and identity for our benefit? Should this object or our needs/wants triumph over a man’s existence? We have to manufacture our own moral codes, because of our existential crux. Any moral code, if we are to participate in this thing called ‘civilization’ or ‘society’, has to have as one of its principles a base level or respect for others. A base level. But when it’s existence that determines all, when the important philosophical question is of ‘how’ we live rather than the ‘why’, is it not important that we choose to live in accordance with what we say, if we’re to afford others that base level of respect? Is it not important to afford the vehicles of one’s existence more than the base level afforded strangers? I’d say important, but not all-trumping. [cont'd]
• This is a question over what to do with an object. An object with a different onotological status than others, perhaps, but an object. Should an object triumph over life? Should we have attachments to physical things, when all we ever really have is our own freedom, anyway? But the key is this – when all one has is one’s own self, ever treading in the eternal freedom of choice, should he not be true to himself? Should he not be true to the moral constructs he has put in place out of existential necessity? In ever existentialist fashion, he has no-one to answer to but himself. He is his own accused, prosecutor, defender and judge. It’s a shitty position to be in, as we all know. If that base level of respect for others is to have any meaning, it’s that we not add to the already-considerable burden of freedom we all share. In the end, all we can do is say what we would do as individuals. Me, I’d honour the father’s wish. Not only was it a promise to the father, but it was a promise to oneself. Also, going along Platonic lines of the Immortality of the Soul, or the Buddha’s teachings, the father’s still out there somewhere, and isn’t a non-factor in this question. Whom would I be true to? I’d be true to myself – my own identity as I’ve defined it through my own life-choices, and I’d be true to my parent, whom I afford a level of respect greater than I afford others. That choice would come at the physical manifestation of a work of art, sure, but just as I ascribe to Plato’s theory of Forms – that piece of art is out there somewhere anyway, whether we acknowledge it or not. Similarly, the Buddha taught us that we do not need to possess a thing to appreciate its beauty, and that life must triumph over the attachment to physical things if this human condition is to ever improve. The work of art exists independently of us, and always will. We do not need to witness it for such to be the case. It is selfish for us to ask that our needs/wants triumph over such a promise as was given, to even insert ourselves into the question. The promise most definitely has meaning to the two people it concerns. The promise contains the only meaning that matters – that of how we choose to exist. IMHO. YMMV.
• Hmmm. Yousa points is well seen.
• One small wrinkle: I don't think the son made a promise to the father. The father's wishes regarding the work were left to the mother to execute, and she chose not to. It can be inferred then that the mother's wishes, as owner of the manuscript, were that it not be destroyed. The son is left with a choice of which of his parents' wishes to honour. Hmmm...philosophy, law, and literature. This thread is right in the Captain's wheelhouse.
• I would say that he did make the promise, by virtue of his accepting the problem.
• ..."it is irrational to act as if a person's wishes while alive still have meaning once they are dead." I think I might amend that to say, "still have THE SAME meaning," or "still have AS MUCH meaning."
• What a thread. (((
• Keep it.
• rocket88: The father's wishes regarding the work were left to the mother to execute I don't recall this. Source? I'm honestly curious and can't hunt it down at the moment.
• They're also discussing this over on the mother ship. Many of them seem to take a qualitative approach, that if it's good it should be kept, and if it's bad, then burned -- which is about as unprincipled an approach as you could imagine. Hardly any recognize that 'burn it' is the default answer on this question, one which would have to be overcome if they want to override the dead man's wishes and preserve the scrap.
• I would say that he did make the promise, by virtue of his accepting the problem. posted by Capt. Renault at 09:07PM UTC on January 18, 2008 How did he accept the problem? It was dumped on him. Re: his moral code. How can we possibly know what his personal moral code is? And if we can't, how can we know that by asking him to preserve the work, we're asking him to break it? Maybe his moral code absolutely backs him in keeping it, but he doesn't want to deal with the hassle (as the article states he was upset at recent criticism of Lolita). It's all conjecture.
• P.S. From the slate article: " But in any case, before he died in 1977, Nabokov made clear that he wanted those cards destroyed. At the time, the task fell to V.N.'s adored and devoted wife, Véra, but for one reason or another, by the time she died in 1991, she had not gotten around to putting a match to Laura. The grim task then fell to Dmitri, who has long been an assiduous and acerbic defender of his father's literary legacy from those he regards as egregious misinterpreters—and it now appears that such "misinterpretations" may prove to be a factor in swaying his sentiments on the fate of Laura."
• Yes, the problem was 'dumped' on him, by reason of his mother's death. However, he's still vacillating about it now. He could have burned it or published it at the first instance, but instead, he delayed that choice and in so doing accepted the problem as it was originally defined.
• Indeed, he could have rejected the problem any number of ways -- by refusing the Executorship, by handing it over to another scholar, by leaving the thing on the back of a city bus...
• There have been cogent and persuasive arguments for both destruction and publication of the manuscript put forth but still Dmitri seems to me to be in a nearly impossible dilemma. An apparently genuine wish to further understanding his father's artistic legacy on the one hand and respect for his father's final wishes on the other. You can't fault Dmitri for agonizing over the decision and, so far, doing nothing. And, sometimes, doing nothing is perhaps the best response, at least until a reason for action presents itself. Apparently the index cards remain out of public sight but are still in existence in a Swiss vault somewhere and thus remain something of a mystery. Nabokov's legacy is neither enhanced nor diminished and the "Lolitologists" will have something to talk about. Were I Dmitri, I might just go to the grave with the mystery intact. As did his father.
• If he wanted it destroyed, he should have done so. Otherwise, it should be out of his hands.
• I think there's actually two issues here: a) what is the nature of a promise? b) is there some special category into which 'property' can fall that where it becomes not the property of the person, but the property of mankind? Now I'd preface this by saying, with all due apologies to the Captain, and to Plegers, that my reasoning would entirely disregard such things as one might read in a book of law. This is not to say that law should be discounted in most day to day situations, but I think here the law is clearly silent. For a start, this is clearly a multi-jurisdictional issue. A Russian-American author, his legacy in a Swiss bank vault. The son lives in Florida? I have no idea where the will was made. But more than that, the laws of inheritance and property are made for ordinary things. They're made for houses and fields, for cattle and candles. But what if we think there is a separate category of special things that need special protection? If there is no written law on this, we have to go back to the principles at stake. a) The nature of a promise: So if Nabokov, or any of us, made his heirs promise to destroy the manuscript, how binding is that promise? It has been contended, in this thread, that the dead man has no rights because, being dead, it doesn't matter to him one way or another. That's fine, I guess, if you assume that just because he's dead he can't go on thinking or experiencing things. Now according to Hank, the this question is "unanswerable, & largely irrelevant due to unprovability". I would argue precisely the opposite. We can't prove that the elder Nabokov is still with us, in some sense, but nor can we prove that he isn't. In that case, we better at least respect, if not carry out, his wishes just to be on the safe side. It doesn't cost you to be nice. Furthermore, the way we treat our ancestors rather prefigures the way our decedents might treat us. I'm sure you want your wishes to be respected after your death. In that case, you better do right by grandpa. And seriously, if the wishes of the dead are totally irrelevant, why do we take such care to dispose of their bodies in a way that they would be ok with? I think that most people would agree that cremating a Zoroastrian would be a horrible thing to do. So that's another precedent for us. So all these points fall to the people who would burn the manuscripts. Why, then, do I think we should deny the author his destructive wishes? At its core, a promise requires consent, understanding and earnestness from both parties. Now the younger Nabokov may or may not have actually consented to the promise (which otherwise would have been made by the elder Nabokov's wife). If he didn't consent, then no promise. But there's an additional wrinkle as well. In order to consent, you have to be, in a deep sense, capable of consenting. But lets say an otherwise healthy person with everything to live for has a fit of depression and tries to 'consent' to suicide. Many people, myself included, with say this was an intrinsic sign of mental illness, and therefore the person cannot actually consent. Does this mean that there are some things to which one logically can never consent? I would say, personal opinion here, yes there are. Is this a catch 22? Absolutely. Does that mean it cannot be true? No, I don't think it does. Now it could be that destroying a priceless work or art is one of those things that's so crazy that in order to want it you yourself would have to be crazy, and therefore you couldn't consent to it. I think that's quite possibly true. And in that case, the promise is not a promise, because neither side can actually properly consent.
• b) The Specialness of works of art So those are two points which might give us a reason to discount the 'a promise is a promise' argument. But what about question b, the question about whether the property of the individual can actually belong to all humanity? First off, I think there are strong precedents in this view. In many places, governments recognise that there are private property things that are important to the greater society and therefore cannot be destroyed. For example, lots of places stop you from knocking down or altering buildings of special landmark, historical or architectural value. Certain places of ecological value or great natural beauty are protected, as are some historical artefacts or even, in some cases, techniques and professions (such as the Japanese method of fishing with birds). I think it is pretty trivial to extend this protection of our architectural, natural and cultural heritage to our artistic heritage as well. Why can't governments put 'protection orders' on artistic works? Does this include protecting artistic works from their own authors? Sure! Plegmund has argued that “the needs of scholars are secondary to the needs of the artist”, but artists are, famously, nuts. If an artist needs a room of ones own in which to work, or a country walk to get inspiration, then fair enough. But if the artist 'needs' to control their viewing public or their image for generations to come, if an artist 'needs' to sanitise their history of every misstep or personal flaw, if an artist 'needs' to attack or destroy a work of art (their own or others'), then that artist is overstepping the bounds of their artistic rights, and the needs of the scholar, those patient guardians of our collective conciousness, become pre-eminent.
• Perhaps old Vladimir's final request was deliberately ambiguous. If he had sincerely wanted to destroy his last manuscript, he could, presumably, have easily done so himself. Maybe he wanted to but couldn't bring himself to actually do the deed. Maybe he thought he'd get better in time to finish it but fell off his perch unexpectedly. Who really knows? And what did he really say to his wife or other successors? The article merely says that "before he died in 1977, Nabokov made clear that he wanted those cards destroyed". Is there any written record of that? Maybe the ambiguity surrounding the intended fate of "The Original of Laura" was Nabokov's final work of art, a gift to posterity and something to engage and confound those patient guardians of our collective consciousness. He did, after all, have a pretty fair sense of humor.
• Someone upthread suggested that Nabokov would care that this was published after his death. I don't have any particular insight to Nabokov (I know only one of his books well), but it seems very silly to suppose that he left anything behind that he didn't mean to. It's not as if anything the son publishes will damage his reputation. And the son shouldn't have this awesome decision in his hands. Flagpole way upthread has a good idea: let the work sit in a university library, available to scholars but not published for a period of years. Maybe twenty years, or if the son requires it, fifty or a hundred.
• I have no idea what I would decide in such a case... what a dilemma. As for leaving the manuscript in a university library, that would amount to it being published if it were made available to scholars. Any scholar who read the manuscript would want to use it in their own published works, if it turned out to provide enough insight. Even if it turned out to be negligible, scholars would want to say that. (...aaaand, an academic fight would ensue.)
• I may have this wrong, but my impression is that Nabokov hoped to complete this work, but said that if death intervened, he wanted the unfinished work destroyed. So it's no good saying 'if he wanted it burnt , he would have done it himself'. My view is that the right to decide what gets published and what gets deleted is an essential creative right, which ought to be respected. I'm surprised that the majority view here seems to be that if enough people want something, they have the right to take it.
• To follow up my learned friend's comment, the argument that 'if he wanted it burnt, he would have done it himself' is nullified by the converse view -- that if he wanted it published, he could have easily done so, such was his standing at the time. I'm inclined to go with Pleg's view, that his intention was to go back and compleete the work, but if he couldn't, then another pale fire, as it were. Furthermore, for every example of works which were 'saved' by overcoming the artist's wishes, there's a counterexample of works which were destroyed or tainted by the successor's actions. Nietzsche's legacy was completely butchered by his sister, and to some extent, still has not recovered from associations which were never intentioned. Degas sculpted during his lifetime, but chose never to produce or sell those works. His heirs chose to have those private pieces cast and marketed, resulting in works produced that the artist himself never wanted done, yet still have his name all over them -- pieces in an artist's canon that he never made. Kierkegaard, too -- self-published during his lifetime, produced works exactly in line with his intent. Yet even now, the Princeton series adds Kierkegaard's notes within the text, resulting in works that are nowhere near what the writer wanted. Ulysses, too, is notorious for re-edits with unintentioned material designed only to preserve the copyrights of the estate's beneficiaries. I, too, am surprised by the response, both here and in the blue. The man asked people he knew, trusted and loved to do something for him. No, there is no obligation for them to go along. However, I'm taken aback that so many people would even think of not doing such, and even more so on the basis "I want it." For all the people who fans of Nabokov's, read his works and love them, they sure don't have a lot of respect for the man.
• The answer is simple you fools. Let me read it, and then destroy it. Also, if I die (and I do mean IF), will someone please destroy my awesome collection of pron?
• At the risk of going around in circles, Capt., all those examples, Degas, Kierkegaard, Joyce and Nietzsche, are of the artist's work being changed and removed from its intended context. That's not the issue here. Nobody is going to be under the impression that this is anything but the partial, draft manuscript of an unfinished novel. Now I agree that it would be sort of bad if the manuscript was not just published, but completely cut apart and turned into something different and worse. Nobody's arguing for "The Original of Laura Hotel and Casino" or "The Dancing Original of Laura Follies!". But the argument "a should not be done because a+b would be bad" is fallacious, because b could be anything you want. I think it would be more useful to restrict the debate to the premise of whether the manuscript should be made available to the public, not to what uses it might hypothetically be put.
• But isn't making available to the public the "partial, draft manuscript of an unfinished novel" removing it from its "intended context" ? The context, properly speaking, was as something of a mnemonic tool for the author's own use. Any publication or external study would be, then, to remove the work from its "intended context". Perhaps I could have been more explicit in my point -- that just as the interpretation of an artist's canon can be contributed to through an addition of materials, so can it suffer from a surfeit. The argument that 'we need this to understand him better' can be nullified by counterexamples, as can the extrapolatory arguments based on the preservation of the Aeneid or whathaveyou. My participation in the artistic endeavour is restricted to some third-rate poetry, but I would contend that in producing a work of art, it is just as important what to include as to what to not include. Here, the artist produced something, and then chose to have it deleted (upon the condition of his not being able to complete the work). It is, essentially, a choice of non-inclusion. That the vehicle of deletion should not be his own hand, but that of his wife or son is irrelevant. The artist has made his choice, and if we are to respect the artist, we must respect that choice. To override that choice is to say that we know better than that artist when it comes to the production of that artist's own work. And as critics, we may indeed know better, but the work of the critic does not extend to actual participation in the creative process (preserving the work being interference in that process). Here, as long as the directive remains unfulfilled, the creative process of that work remains ongoing. The work is unfinished, although in a sense different than is probably commonly understood. All of which goes to brother Plegmund's point, which he said far more succinctly than I.
• Well, well, well - it looks like the usual suspects are at it again, eh? Gruppenführer Plegmund and Hauptmann Renault, looking to fuel the fires of ignorance with another volume or two! Gather round, Aryan kinderen, and let's burn some books while listening to Prussian Blue records! Why tracicle even lets these notorious fascists belch their vile supremacist propaganda onto this site is beyond me. I suppose, though, that our commitment to "free speech" means we have to put up with the occasional eruptions of lies – but only before we thrust them down again into the deepest volcano we can find. Anyway, let's ignore their confounding cacophony of crapulence for a moment and concentrate on truth, pure and sweet. Herewith the facts: 1. Nabokov (DEAD); 2. Wrote some fiction (i.e. LIES); and 3. Says "please burn" embryonic work (trans: KILL CHILDREN). So, in summary, the question we are faced with is: should we freedom-loving folk accede to the demands of a lying zombie abortionist? Well, the aforementioned Nazis shout "Jawohl - ve are just following ze orders!" – and expect us to agree with them! Honestly, has Monkeyfilter ever been soured with such a suppurating leprosy as these two pus-dribbling abominations? Ban, tracicle, ban - that's the least duty that your solemn office demands when faced with such a pair of devilish inflictions as these! Guarantee the health of the corpus of MoFi with a quick amputation of these two gangrenous tumors! Or, best yet, throw THEM onto the fire they wish to feed our books to - as they crackle and blacken in the flames, screaming in Teutonic agony, we'll kick back with a new novel by dear Vladimir and toast a few marshmallows of liberty over their roasting corpses. Anyway - that's just my 2 cents.
• I was wondering when you'd get here.
• My opinion on the matter has nothing to do with my desire to read the manuscript, which, in fact, I don't. It's simply a matter of how much legal or moral standing is given to the wishes of the deceased. Yes, the Captain is correct that an inferior unfinished work has the potential to damage Nabokov's reputation and name. But what would be the real damage? Who would be injured from this? Certainly not Nabokov himself, because he's long dead. His son? If so, it would be by his own hand. His fans? Who cares if they are? The work exists. Whether it is published or not doesn't affect V. Nabokov the man in the slightest way. His son seems to be struggling with this, and for good reason. He is weighing the artistic benefit to the world of publishing the work with the pain of dishonouring his father's wish on his conscience. So there's your one and only injured party: Dmitri Nabokov, who would live his remaining years bearing the burden of his actions. Only he can decide if the benefit to the literary world would be worth his own sacrifice.
• Nabokov's faux shyness is a shameless sham - he was well acquainted with the precedent of Brod vs. Kafka, and is obviously trying to stoke the flames of publicity, rather than those that claimed Alexandria's treasures. Furthermore, copyright persists only for the life of the author plus some token decades before a work plops into the communal pond - yet Nabokov wishes to give eternal powers to the oblivious conflagration! Let's simply divert Lethe's inexorable flood by tattooing the half-finished work on Steven Spielberg, who will reconstruct the tale in the medium of FILM. Then, when the book of the film emerges, the literature will be washed of its ethical dilemnas. This "art laundering" is, much like its cousin money laundering, simultaneously entertaining and profitable, and I commend it to you all - ba da bing, ba da boom.
• Pascal's Pensées - an incomplete, fragmentary work published post-humously. In fact, some of it was in tiny bits sewn into his clothing. And it reads like the meanderings of a dying man, which it was. But no one seems to think this is wrong to publish, and "the fragments published posthumously in 1670 as Pensées remain a vital part of religious and philosophical literature." I have to say that a lot of our knowledge of history depends on our reading what someone never wanted us to read: private letters, memoirs, intelligence documents, state papers, drafts. Just because someone has the right to destroy something doesn't mean that it is right that they do so. That said, I take a harder line on this than Dreadnought. If you want to destroy your papers, or perhaps lock them up in a private archive and prevent access (I'm looking at you, Dukes of Bedford), then you don't get in my history. I'm going to write you out, or maybe write bad things about you, and you won't get the chance to say your part. And if you try to edit your history, I will write about how you were chicken, and editted your legacy to make yourself look better. I don't know how far (possibly completely empty) threats will get me, but they are personally satisfying.
• Actually, same goes for people with illegible handwring. I'm not angry, but I'm sorry, if your handwriting is illegible, I'm going to use someone else's papers. Life is too short, and I'm too lazy.
• Look at jb - ravenously gobbling up primary sources and threatening those who dare to hold back their most precious secrets! More ghastly than the terrible roc, or the vast sea-monster that threatened Cassiopeia's race! I'll shake out every diary, each memoir, to mollify her lust for hidden facts - oh, but if only a strong, blue-eyed and blonde-haired saviour would appear on the glittering horizon, willing to pierce the dragon's throat with his spear of destiny! - Herr Plegmund, Herr Renault, can you forgive me for mocking you? Save me quickly from this serpent of exhibitionism, or at least keep her at bay with a wall of book-fed fire!
• What jb said. As an academic, I'm trained to be nosy. I want to dig into a person's life through their papers, and when those papers are burned or locked up it's a loss to me and to other scholars (and to the people who like to read history or biography). And I do tend to agree with jb that the people who burn their papers are, in one sense, cheating. Everyone "owns" their own life story, or legacy, but I tend to believe that those who dramatically edit their life stories have something to hide, and I tend to give these people less benefit of the doubt.
• What the heck -- now jb, too? Did Dreadnought send in for reinforcements? C'mon -- it's just me and Pleg fighting for the law and morality and artistic integrity against you all... I would hardly have thought that your numbers need bolstering... ;)
• What jb said. You jackals - hyenas - vultures! Who elected YOU to the omniscient throne? Like a Lucifer, your boundless pride seeks its career in usurpation of the sovereignty of the self - and, just like that enemy of humankind, you should yourselves be cast out of the celestial realm of true civilization! A curse upon your lizardy hides! I think we should all agree not to tell meredithea or jb anything about ourselves ever again, lest they publish our details in their fancy journals. Only by starving these two gossip-gluttons of titbits of scandal can we be free to privately think our private thoughts in private - mainly about Lindsay Lohan being rubbed down with eel-jelly and strapped to my chin - as God himself intended.
• What jb said. As a journalist, I'm trained to be nosy as well-- certainly some of the best stories come from sources never meant to be seen. And I'm not sure if anyone's made this argument upthread (some of it got confusing for my poor muzzy liberal-media head) but I tend to think in this case that the principles informing US privacy law can be applied here as well-- that is, Nabokov was a public figure, a famous and important writer, and by our standards, then, he would be less entitled to privacy than Josephine Schmo writing in her diary. If your mom wants her papers burned after her death so no one finds out about Raoul the cabin boy and their magical weekend of lust in 1953, by all means, torch away. But I think public figures have a little less control over their legacy. Sorry, Captain. Es tut mir leid.
• Don't tell anyone, but it's not really that important. The only people who will read the academic histories are academics, and that's where it will stop. Vladimir, RIP.
• it's not really that important. The only people who will read the academic histories are academics You saying we're not important? *sulks* :-)
• But isn't making available to the public the "partial, draft manuscript of an unfinished novel" removing it from its "intended context" ? Actually I don't think so. The 'intended context' of the work is 'unfinished manuscript'. By publishing it as such you would be presenting it on precisely its own terms. Doubly so if you added an introduction that made it clear that Nabokov wanted it burned.
• I'm basically with the Cap'n and Pleg but am too lazy to construct an argument. With allies like me, they're sure to prevail in this vital debate!
• "...than Josephine Schmo writing in her diary." I read that 'Schmo' too fast as 'Schaivo', and thought "wow -- she just blew this wide open." But you didn't. Interestink parallel, though... Also intersting is that some of you weren't nearly so preservationist when Andrew Lloyd Webber's dog or cat or whatever destroyed his sequel to Phantom of the Opera, and you all wanted to give the animal a sainthood and the keys to the city. I keed, I keed. To make a point.
• I'm basically with the Cap'n and Pleg but am too lazy to construct an argument I demand that Abiezer's unfinished comment be burned, in accordance with what I can only assume are Nabokov's wishes (as he burned his opinions on the matter).
• There is no literature that is intrinsically vital. Our relationship to it is more important and by defying Nabokov, we negate any hope we may have of benefiting from his work. The textual critics are wrong; literature counts most as a communication with the author and an attempt to arrive at their intent. Any other incidental effects or pleasures derived beyond this could as well be evoked from any number of other stimulii. I told you I was too lazy to construct an argument, so there's some half-baked burblings. On preview, I also agree with quid as regards my comments.
• I demand my Will be burned, and my Jill be drowned, in "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter!"
• Literature does not belong to academics, and if it ever did, it would suffer the same fate as an animal which became the property of a museum: stuffed and mounted.
• Academics are people too.
• Actually, I think that Josephine Schmo's diary is altogether much more interesting than anything from someone with lots of sources like Nabakov, and her diary (pool boy and all) altogether more valuable than his notes/manuscript. When you are throwing out family papers - just think, wouldn't you like to be like the Pastens and immortalised forever? Who needs to be famous when you can be historical?
• Also, the future does need to know about how everyday people thought and lived their lives.
• *offers Dread and jb copies of his Lett's schoolboy diary 1965 by way of consolation* Monkeyfilter: altogether more interesting than anything from someone with lots of sources like Nabokov.
• Academics are people too. You're fighting a losing battle in your own corner, my friend. Who needs to be famous when you can be historical? I have a debt to posterity? No thanks. I can't handle the pressure.
• Of course, I did burn all of my high school journals and attempts at fiction... not so much to preserve my own legacy as to save hypothetical readers from swift deaths-by-laughter.
• Why didn't you leave them in a box, and plan to ask your heirs to destroy them without peeking?
• I've still got my high school journals--poetry, fiction, and diaristic pourings-out of the soul--but lack the courage to go back and look at them. Still, I don't think I would ever burn them. We are our histories.
• At the time, I didn't think I would have any heirs to taunt that way. I should've known ;)
• He could encode the notes, destroy the originals, and let generations of future cryptologists sort it out.
• Then it would be just like a Nabokov novel!
• Long live Zembla!
• TUM, you're brilliant!
• Monkey Filter: soured with such a suppurating leprosy as these two pus-dribbling abominations Take THAT, Pleg!
• This just in: Dmitri trashes his father's final wishes. Vladimir rolling in his grave. Film at eleven.
• Here we go again. Kafka, Round Two. You don't care for Franz I don't-a care about that Got his stash -- uh! I like it like that! I have only one burning desire -- Let me set Kafka on fire!
• Captain, you really must stop teasing me with these parodies. *fans self*
• Vladimir Nabokov - The Metamorphosis