The Original of Laura: An almost-novel we weren’t supposed to read.
By Elissa Karasik | December 1, 2009 at 12:56 amIn his article, Last Wishes, Leland de la Durantaye considers the controversial publication of Vladimir Nabokov’s final unfinished novel, The Original of Laura. While the article offers literary critique of the fragmented notes, Durantaye’s most provocative point concerns the ethics of their publication. While tracing the echo of Lolita and Ada in the repackaged scraps of Nabokov’s imagination, we are also forced to recognize that the painstaking writer and editor never wanted us to read the novel. The questionable circumstance of the book’s birth prompts a moral and philosophical reflection upon the nature of intellectual property; how much of The Original of Laura really belongs to the deceased Nabokov, or does it at all?
In a radio interview with Brian Boyd, Nabokov’s biographer, de la Durantaye admits that left to him, The Original of Laura would have burnt per Nabokov’s request, but at no point in his article does he impose some sweeping, moral verdict in regards to its publication. In fact, he almost undermines the contention of Dmitri Nabokov’s decision to publish his father’s work, claiming that the edited compilation of notes will neither tarnish the writer’s name nor bring new meaning to what he has written before. Tom Roberge comes to the same sort of unsatisfying conclusion in his article on The Original of Laura for Boldtype Magazine, writing, “dead men make no complaints.” While I do not share Dmitri’s “supernatural connection” with the shade of his father, nor do I envision some tormented, ghostly Nabokov wringing his hands beyond the grave, I still wish de la Durantaye had taken a subjective moment to say, “This is wrong.” So why am I offended? As the daughter of an intellectual property rights attorney, I accept the legality of Dmitri’s inherited possession and his decision to publish. And yet, I can’t help but feel that despite Nabokov’s inability to teach at Cornell or eat a ham sandwich, his creative undertakings are still his. Having said this, artistic creation is always at the mercy of whomever it comes into contact with – words inevitably lend themselves to gray areas and interpretative freedom. In writing something, you somehow relinquish control over both its meaning and its fate, and regardless of the “should” or “should nots,” nothing ever belongs to its artist alone. While I find the publication disquieting, I am also disturbed by the thought of such rich, if not polished, material sitting in a Swiss deposit box somewhere or burning into tiny particles of nothing. Perhaps The Original of Laura was no one but Nabokov’s to give, but it is now ours for the taking. Here it is, an author’s involuntary gift and our public domain, and the least we can do is read into a writer’s need to destroy drafts and his contemplation of intellectual effacement with the delicacy such a tantalizing parallel deserves.
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I wrote that piece for Boldtype, and though I can see your point in calling my conclusion “unsatisfying,” I was leery of issuing yet another high-minded denouncement. For the record, I would have burned them. But the decisions have all been made and it’s in the stores. What I was most interested in was the cards that purported to be a novel-in-progress, the work itself, the thing behind the haze of controversy. Of course they aren’t entirely independent of each other, but that doesn’t mean each and every review of the book has to be weighed down in discussion or right and wrong.
Elissa -
While I share your disquiet, I think that de la Durantaye’s statement that he does, too, should be enough. As Tom points out, a drawn-out moral condemnation of the piece would not contribute much to the dialogue about the work itself.
After all, as Durantaye notes, this example is hardly unique in literature. If authors always had their posthumous will carried out, we would not know Kafka, Emily Dickinson, or the drafts and annotations of Elizabeth Bishop (published three years ago as Edgar Allen Poe and the Jukebox, which proffer the WASPy poet’s private self: a sexy, perfectionist, melancholic alcoholic).
If we had delayed publication for explicit permission, we would never have had The Diary of Anne Frank or Sylvia Plath’s darkly lyrical Unabridged Journals.
Literature is not purely concerned with the work of art but with the author’s intention, her vision, her process, her hidden autobiography. This is not invasion of the life behind the art but a form of art itself: as Geoff Dyer quotes John Berger saying in a forthcoming BR article by James Wallenstein, the “best readings of art are art.”
Hi Tom and Marina,
Thanks so much for your comments. Reading my post again, I realize that my observation of a lack of moral condemnation in both articles comes across as criticism, when this was not my intention at all. I used both Last Wishes and your piece, Tom, as fodder for some personal reflection on the “the haze of the controversy,” as you termed it, which I found myself both confused and compelled by. I certainly did not mean to imply that either author was wrong to move on from an endless and largely inconclusive ethical debate, but simply recognize an inevitably unsatisfying situation with you. And I agree, Marina, both Last Wishes and Tom’s review are better articles because they do not take time to wag a tiresome finger at how The Original of Laura came to be, and instead evaluate the book for what it is. Nor was it my goal to condemn the publication really, but rather consider why I was so bothered. Dwelling on my disquiet proved a frustrating and nebulous thought process, but it did lead me to a more valuable, substantial set of ideas that I begin to address in the last sentence of my post. Literature is indeed never separate from the personal history and nuance of its author’s artistic exercise, and Nabokov’s adamant demands for draft destruction throughout his career and before he died seem to me a part of The Original of Laura’s hidden autobiography. The disputable publication or lingering wrongness one might feel should remind us of who Nabokov was, and inform our reading of The Original of Laura. I couldn’t agree more- the ethics of Laura’s release are transcended by the manifestation of Nabokov’s psychological compulsions in a novel about intellectually willing oneself out of existence. Sorry for the delayed response, and thanks again,
Elissa.