Rating: 
Summary: Poetic prose
Review: This is one of the most beautifully written biographies I've ever read, though I can clearly see why it might not be for everyone. There are many passages throughout the book that read more like poetry than biography. His artistic sensibilities are present everywhere. The details he remembers are astounding but not unbelievable. Those blessed with photographic memories are able to capture so much that the rest of us miss. The beauty of Nabokov is that he doesn't just give us the memory in a few lines of straight history. He DRAWS the memory for you. He makes it come to life. He gives it color and movement. Absolutely gorgeous!
For those who are not fans of poetry and find long passages about colors and smells and sounds to be boring, this is definitely not the book for you. I'd mostly recommend it to artists and poets, or those who truly love Nabokov.
Rating: 
Summary: A literary autobiography by a brilliant man
Review: This is the autobiography of the author of Lolita. Nabokov was a Russian intellectual born to a rich family in czarist Russia in 1899. His father being a member of the Kerensky government, they had to flee the Bolsheviks.Nabokov wrote about his tutors, his girlfriends, and his other interests, including a fascination with butterflies. There are no exciting events in the book. But we get to know Nabokov, a craftsman with language, both in English and Russian. He was a likeable and brilliant man. As for why this book is considered the greatest autobiography ever written, or one of the very finest works of the 20th Century, you got me. It has a style. Is that enough for you?
Rating:
Summary: entering the mind of a genius
Review: This memoire filled me with awe for one of the truly greatest writers of the 20C. You get the most astonishingly vivid portrait of how he thinks (or how he wants you to think he thinks), in an array of beautiful stories and the most vivid of memories. His views of a vanished Russia and then the emigre community before the Nazis took over are rendered in their full sensuality and comic vision; so are his early years in America. His first experience of writing poetry, in a kind of inspired trance, is destined to become a great classic of literature. He even write amazing captions to the photos in the book: I have remembered for 25 years how he described slapping at a mosquito in the night. TO be sure, in spite of being a genius, he views are limited and sometimes stunted. But he can't be everything to everyone: if you take what he can give, it is well worth the ride and then some. I wanted to know what the man was like who wrote Lolita, and this was the best place I could find, even as he manipulates and distorts. His is one way to measure a life.
Rating:
Summary: The lepidopterist shoots... and scores
Review: Turning to a writer's autobiography after adoring many of his works of fiction carries disastrous potential, and so I began Speak, Memory nervously, hoping not to lose my trust in Nabokov. I should not have doubted the man. He approaches the first two decades of his life with such an engaging mixture of nostalgic curiosity and bemused cynicism that the characters--the infinite chain of nannies and headmasters, the relatives, the compatriots--come marching out of the exile of the past and into the present embrace of his words. He does not sidestep issues of memory and accuracy with a glossed-over surface of fact-checking; rather, he admits the role of imagination in recalling and deftly handles the problem of time, avoiding phrases and metaphors even remotely reminiscent of song lyrics. Speak, Memory is as fun and as involved a read as Pale Fire or Laughter in the Dark. Don't be discouraged by its classification as "non-fiction," for Nabokov can handle reality as well as the non-real.
Rating:
Summary: The Reconstruction of Mnemosyne
Review: Vladimir Nabokov's Speak, Memory: An Autobiography Revisited is a "systematically correlated assemblage of personal recollections" (9) consisting of separate vignettes written in irregular order and released in numerous periodicals internationally. Originally published as Conclusive Evidence in 1951, Nabokov later revised and translated the autobiography into Russian, from which it was once again revised and translated back into English in 1966. Born into an aristocratic Russian family in St. Petersburg in 1899, Nabokov was educated in English, Russian and French as a boy. Later studying literature at Cambridge and teaching in prominent universities across America, Nabokov achieved literary prominence for his works as an author and a critic. After the memorable success of Lolita, Nabokov moved to Montreux, Switzerland, where he died in 1977. Speak, Memory is an autobiography sui generis, presenting many of the same inimitable approaches found in Nabokov's other novels. Nabokov retraces the Russian paths of his boyhood in an attempt to understand the roads which led to his development as a writer, his life-long passion for butterflies and his longing for his motherhood in Russia. Ab initio, Nabokov declares his intentions for Speak, Memory: "The following of such thematic designs through one's life should be... the true purpose of an autobiography" (27). Similar to a collection of reminiscences of the author's early life, Nabokov's autobiography presents the small details of his childhood with a certain personal acuity, portray his maturation through thematic processes and narrative flow rather than a linear or chronological representation of larger facts. Speak, Memory is another individualistic attempt by Nabokov to "rebel against th[e] state of affairs" and to "picket nature" (20). Nabokov effectively diminishes the importance of broad and general information and focuses on smaller aspects, commenting that, "There is ... in the dimensional scale of the world a kind of delicate meeting place between imagination and knowledge, a point, arrived at by diminishing large things and enlarging small ones, that is intrinsically artistic" (166-7). Speak, Memory covers the time from the author's "awakening of consciousness" (21) to his departure for America. Nabokov intended to write a sequel, Speak on, Memory, which would cover his American years, though never completed it. The autobiography is a reconstruction of memories from small fragments of evidence (photographs and periodicals evidently referenced by the author), pieced together with an admirable eidetic memory and further embellished to construct an innovative portrayal of Nabokov's life. Nabokov handles the recollection of memories relating to his growth as a writer with intensive examination and reflection. His story begins with a sudden revelation: "I see the awakening of consciousness as a series of spaced flashes, with intervals between them gradually diminishing until bright blocks of perception are formed, affording memory a slippery hold .... [A]ll of this is as it should be according to the theory of recapitulation; the beginning of reflexive consciousness in the brain of our remotest ancestor must surely have coincided with the dawning of the sense of time" (21). Nabokov traces his development through his fascination with literature at an early age, and through his trilingual and multi-faceted education from various governesses and tutors. Reflecting upon the composition of his first poem, Nabokov mentions the idea of "cosmic synchronization (218), remarking that "all poetry is positional: to try to express one's position in regard to the universe embraced by consciousness, is an immemorial urge" (218). The unique stylistic methods used by Nabokov relate to the idea that, "the poet feels everything that happens in one point of time" (218). The autobiography focuses on Nabokov's earlier poetry and translations, and gives insight into his more illustrious novels, including Lolita, a famously controversial novel concerning Nabokov's love affair with the English language hidden under the story of an older man in love with a young nymphet named Dolores Haze. Another phase which receives similar comprehensive coverage is Nabokov's childhood ardour for butterflies, which he describes as "the highest enjoyment of timelessness - in a landscape selected at random - is when I stand among rare butterflies .... This is ecstasy .... It is like a momentary vacuum into which rushes all that I love" (139). Nabokov describes a childhood obsession which later became a life-long hobby. As a child, Nabokov meticulously researched butterflies in hopes of discovering a new species. Nabokov's interest in lepidoptera earned him renown in the community of lepidopterists and eventually allowed Nabokov to fulfil his childhood dream of naming several butterflies. In Speak, Memory, Nabokov also represents the zeitgeist of an old, aristocratic Russia. Nabokov reminisces about his boyhood in Russia with wisps of foreign nostalgia. While discussing émigré life and his development as a writer, Nabokov manages to convey his underlying longing for his motherland, from which he was forced to escape because of the Bolshevik Revolution. With Russian and French terms infused into the text and obscure references to an older world, Nabokov uses a rich and expansive vocabulary of the highest calibre, which shows his aristocratic education. Nabokov presents his reconstructed memories with a wistful, evocative colour and an underlying humorous tone. The texture of his prose is matchless, and the narrative in Speak, Memory is lucid and immense, describing the simplistic moments in his life with astonishing clarity and universal profundity. Nabokov's astoundingly exquisite prose attracts even the most mundane reader, though there is very little chance that someone other than a Nabokov or literature enthusiast would enjoy Speak, Memory. The audience intended to read Nabokov's autobiography would already be familiar with his novels, or one of those few readers in search of an original autobiography. It is unlikely that even an experienced reader with a trilingual dictionary would be able to appreciate every Russian phrase or French remark, which tends to give Nabokov the intimidating aristocratic style which alienates him from the common reader Although attractive for its quality of prose and its eminence as an incredible literary feat, I would only recommend Speak, Memory to an aficionado of Nabokov or an experience reader seeking to broaden his or her horizons.
Rating: 
Summary: "At last, words are meant to mean what they mean"
Review: Vladmir Nabokov's Speak, Memory, is like no other autobiography I have encountered. Among its merits are his command of the language, the intimate perspective on the workings of a singular mind, and (to a lesser extent) the story. This is a book about the most basic interactions between an individual and their environment. Whereas many raconteurs dismiss their early memories as a non-essential part of their story, Nabokov seems in some ways to have devoted his life to being true to that inner child. Much as Humbert became fixated on the nymphet Lolita after losing his first love, perhaps Nabokov became fixated on his youthful memories after being forced out of Russia, since these memories are all he has left. He certainly devotes much of the book to early senses and feelings that do not lend themselves to a simplistic linearization of Nabokov's `story.' For example, he devotes most of a page to describing the colors he used to associate with each letter of the alphabet. In typically fine form, he employs the perfect metaphor in describing the dull brownness of the letter `h' as a "drab shoelace". Far from finding this too impractical, I for one enjoyed being reminded of how original thought can be when one is not encouraged to only think about important things. But Nabokov himself makes this point far more concisely when he entreats parents not to rush their children through the rituals they enjoy ("Never say `Hurry Up' to a child"). As the author `grows up' and interacts with the adult world, we inevitably see somewhat more quotidian descriptions of some of his thoughts and experiences. But he always remains unique. In addition to his broad range of talents, including chess and butterfly expertise Nabokov proved the exception to many stereotypes. This sheltered intellectual was simultaneously the athlete and ladies man. We may find his elitism and arrogance off-putting, but who could deny that he himself was special, or that his prominent family had played a fascinating role in Russian history? If we accept that he was special, it is hard not to honor his honesty; he could have shown false pride and revealed less of himself to the reader, but he fortunately chose not to. This book is somewhat haphazard and episodic. Most frustrating is his decision not to write about what he at the time considered the third and final chapter of his life, his post-exile time of `synthesis.' His unexplained switch to the second person in late chapters, when he begins addressing the material to his wife, is also somewhat distracting. It seems somewhat odd to me that given that this is a `revisited' autobiography, he did not choose to smooth out such rough edges. On the other hand, I don't doubt that he had his reasons; a quick look at his body of work reveals that indolence is surely not the explanation. In addition to the above reasons, I also limit my review to four stars since the recounting is inevitably somewhat slow at times. Not enough so to prevent it from being great literature, but more than enough to prevent it from being a great read. Again though, all was of course precisely as Nabokov intended it. The only other book that really comes to mind when I think of this one is Proust's Remembrance of Things Past, although there are similarities with Tarkington's The Magnificent Ambersons.
Rating:
Summary: "At last, words are meant to mean what they mean"
Review: Vladmir Nabokov's Speak, Memory, is like no other autobiography I have encountered. Among its merits are his command of the language, the intimate perspective on the workings of a singular mind, and (to a lesser extent) the story. This is a book about the most basic interactions between an individual and their environment. Whereas many raconteurs dismiss their early memories as a non-essential part of their story, Nabokov seems in some ways to have devoted his life to being true to that inner child. Much as Humbert became fixated on the nymphet Lolita after losing his first love, perhaps Nabokov became fixated on his youthful memories after being forced out of Russia, since these memories are all he has left. He certainly devotes much of the book to early senses and feelings that do not lend themselves to a simplistic linearization of Nabokov's 'story.' For example, he devotes most of a page to describing the colors he used to associate with each letter of the alphabet. In typically fine form, he employs the perfect metaphor in describing the dull brownness of the letter 'h' as a "drab shoelace". Far from finding this too impractical, I for one enjoyed being reminded of how original thought can be when one is not encouraged to only think about important things. But Nabokov himself makes this point far more concisely when he entreats parents not to rush their children through the rituals they enjoy ("Never say 'Hurry Up' to a child"). As the author 'grows up' and interacts with the adult world, we inevitably see somewhat more quotidian descriptions of some of his thoughts and experiences. But he always remains unique. In addition to his broad range of talents, including chess and butterfly expertise Nabokov proved the exception to many stereotypes. This sheltered intellectual was simultaneously the athlete and ladies man. We may find his elitism and arrogance off-putting, but who could deny that he himself was special, or that his prominent family had played a fascinating role in Russian history? If we accept that he was special, it is hard not to honor his honesty; he could have shown false pride and revealed less of himself to the reader, but he fortunately chose not to. This book is somewhat haphazard and episodic. Most frustrating is his decision not to write about what he at the time considered the third and final chapter of his life, his post-exile time of 'synthesis.' His unexplained switch to the second person in late chapters, when he begins addressing the material to his wife, is also somewhat distracting. It seems somewhat odd to me that given that this is a 'revisited' autobiography, he did not choose to smooth out such rough edges. On the other hand, I don't doubt that he had his reasons; a quick look at his body of work reveals that indolence is surely not the explanation. In addition to the above reasons, I also limit my review to four stars since the recounting is inevitably somewhat slow at times. Not enough so to prevent it from being great literature, but more than enough to prevent it from being a great read. Again though, all was of course precisely as Nabokov intended it. The only other book that really comes to mind when I think of this one is Proust's Remembrance of Things Past, although there are similarities with Tarkington's The Magnificent Ambersons.
Rating:
Summary: wkrc wcpo cpo drehz
Review: what daedalus?
put ballons on drehz and tether out among cattle farmers plavce
at dulce?
daedlaus bs
i know phan..
what about grubs? what that?
i don't know phan.... i'm glad i don't
i wouldn't use negatvie kashrut for information for further
extortion in einstein refrigeration units
they need kiddie dope to receive D7hz better
sort of like POWS fuse box in the wet basement seeing his
face a couple of inches from his face
what through looking glass
phan it is something Captain Doctor would call unspeakable
Rating:
Summary: in defense of V.N.
Review: Yes Nab thoroughly enjoys airing his artistic greivances and attacks the literary battlefield looking to root out the common, mediocre and vulgar. But forget literature and criticism for this book reaches heights far above such opinions and displays the wonderous writing that can occur when a genius writes about his life. He was attempting an impersonal egoism or an objective description of events that are very personal and private. Life in its most minute, closely observed detail is where the energy and substance for Nabokov is. He writes as if he takes nothing (the blue of the sky, the passing of time) for granted and by distancing himself is able to see the wonder and awe that is behind everything; he sees the world as the supreme artistic acheivment and is one of the few writers who acurrately captures the exhilarating nature of existence. The main reason i am writing this is because i think it totally unfair for the reviewer below to judge Nab's relationship to his brother so harshly. I give Nab credit for having the courage to write about something so personal, that hurt him so much. He felt awful about how he treated his brother (he wasn't even a teenager yet; give him a break! or have you never treated anyone unfairly? ) and i found his writing of it to be one of the highlights of the book. To compare him to H.H. is not only wholly insane, but is also completely unfair and unkind. Humbert Humbert sexually takes advantage of a young girl and you sympathize with him more than Nab? Cookoo nuts. Did you read over the heartache he felt when writing about his brother, his dismay and futile anger towards his younger self? It's so easy for biographers and later critics to judge someone elses character (even Boyd and Schiff are guilty) but the point is it is unfair to do so because we ultimately don't know all the circumstances and should not judge. How easy it would have been for Nab to not write about that painful episode, to polish up the picture of himself so everyone gushes (aww, he's not only a great artist but a nice guy); but no, he boldly presents things about himself that are not likeable and realizes that they are not likeable. For this he deserves much credit for observing and contemplating himself fairly and coming to terms with the fact that he has made some painful mistakes with his relationships toward others. Who hasn't?
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