Rating: 
Summary: Nice book
Review: This is Nabokov's finest Russian novel. It contains his most detailed description of what he refers to in Speak, Memory as "cosmic synchronization". Also note the contrast between the epigraph of this book and that of Invitation to a Beheading.
Rating: 
Summary: The Greatest of Nabokov's Russian Work (nearly perfect)
Review: This is not only one of the best Kunstelesromans (portraits of an artist) in modern literature, but also one of the finest investigations of the relationship between the Writer, the tradition which precedes and permeates his existence, and his inevitable heady relationship with the reader. Even though, I admit to be an ardent Nabokov enthusiast, I must also strongly aver, being foremost an individually opionioned reader, that some of this book's earlier criticism has been unjust. Yes, this book is a weighty one; I wouldn't recommend this to somebody who wants the story to unfold itself in front of their uninvolved imagination. But this book is about art and it is about love, two very wieghty subjects that deserve ample representation, and it's not for those looking for quick stimulation. This is not bloody Finnegan's Wake though, and it's certainly not some impentrable beast. Like a lot of Nabokov's work this novel encapsulates the intertwining and co-existence of many undulating experiences, some of which flicker and are gone, others which reside as undercurrents until they finally emerge; the colourful nuances which imbed each and every scene are brilliant and plentiful, portrayed to the best of Nabokov's ability at the time. These spiralling experiences are what make up the surface of the novel (far better than Mrs. Woolf); there are absolutely no plot devices to sink the teeth of an impatient psyche into. Fyodor, can at times, come off as a bit of a self-centred fop, but his eventual transcendence (into an artist), and the substantial world that relentlessly invades his growth are what should be concentrated upon. Many have kicked up a fuss over the Chernechevski bio that takes up the large second-to-last chapter of the novel, but this is a fundamental bridge which is indelible to an understanding of the growth of Fyodor. Nabokov doesn't just parade around the writer celebrating him as great, he shows us HOW and WHY. In the 'Chernechevski' chapter we discover Fyoder's utilisation of the constraints of a preconceived story and his subsequent command to bend those malleable devices into something new and part of himself. This chapter is the product of Fyodor's emergence as an artist and The Gift would have been worthy of note if this aspect was the only facet of its ultimate success. But at the centre of this novel there lies a romantic heart, that of the relationship between Fyodor and Zina (not to be mistaken for that of Vladimir and Vera, a much different affair), and this is the perfect linear wave to ride from Fyodor's initial confusion and uncertain melancholy all the way through to his subsequent trancendence (it may be useful to bare that last word in mind). In my opinion, this novel is far more successful than Joyce's 'Portrait' (and no more unfriendly) and why The Gift is not as championed as the former is illusory. This book takes patience and an interest in the art-form to wholly appreciate (for an example of such an involved reader, see Zina); this would be my only preface for such a truly REAL novel.
Rating:
Summary: A complex and beautiful gift indeed...
Review: VN loves doubles, and puzzles, and structure. In this book, he finally managed to convince me that he never writes a bad sentence, or utters a silly thought.But what is this book? Or what is it about? It's sort of autobiographical. It sort of describes VN himself, as a newbie Russian exile in Berlin. Certainly, like all imaginative writing, it draws on the writer's own experiences and emotions. But that's only a beginning. At the beginning, the young writer-protagonist (a Russian in Berlin) has just published his first volume of poetry. An older exile, named Chernyshevski, comes to tell him that his book has attracted a very favorable review. So Fyodor (our hero) sinks into a prolong reverie, reviewing his beloved poems with the (anticipated) wise words of praise. Later, he goes to Chernyshevski's house for the evening, and discovers that he has just been the victim of an April-Fool's joke: today is April 1, and there was no review. Fyodor's attention is grabbed by a young male visitor who says nothing. He says nothing because he is a ghost. He is the son of the Chernyshevski couple, who commited suicide, a few years ago, as the result of a love triangle. And so enters the theme of the father grieving endlessly for his son. The father Chernyshevski is mad, much of the time -- because of his loss. In the next chapter, we get a stunning shift of scene, as Fyodor welcomes a visit from his mother and begins drafting a life of his father. This father, a character much larger than life, spent his life chasing butterflies across Asia, making more trips than Marco Polo, and finally was reported dead during WWI. And so enters the theme of the son grieving for his father -- a father of many voyages. Very moving, and obvious parallels to "The Odyssey." In the next chapter, Fyodor moves, and falls in love, and begins drafting his second book, a life of Chernyshevki (the FAMOUS Chernyshevski). And the chapter after that (Chapter IV) is the book that Fyodor wrote. Chapter V presents various idiotic reviews of Fyodor's book, and slowly VN knits all the themes together: the father mourning for his dead son, the son mourning for his dead father, people writing books which other people fail to understand (the ongoing "book review" theme), and the simple, absolute beauty of life here on earth, and love of another human being. I'm sure I will be re-reading this wonderful work of art many times. I think you should regard it as a gift -- to you! Highest possible recommendation!!
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