Eye, The

This is a short novella more than a novel. I think the idea is great. I have often wondered what people would say about my life after i die. While i feel that i am a success as an artist there is very little financial compensation for my lifestyle. What Nabokov does here is to let the reader ponder how other people view an individuals legacy. This is darkly comic in that the lead character is dead or lingering in between life and death and is floating outside of his body in a way observing other people discuss his life. This is a great study of absurdity and ego identification. I can identify with this literary approach because i have spent most of my life working on my various artistic projects. To anyone looking at my life from a subjective or critical point of view could either consider me a success due to the massive body of work i have accumulated or a failure due to my financial standing. One of the main jokes here is asking yourself the question does it really matter in the end anyway?? I highly recommend this book. This was at the time the 6th Nabokov book i had read.

Let's face it, Vladimir Nabokov didn't really care about realism in his stories. That's probably why he's been so much misunderstood in the past. Readers tend to assume that he's like most novelists, and he's not. Most novelists write stories intended to be taken at face value - we read their tales and say to ourselves, "Even if this story couldn't possibly happen in real life, it could in the narrator's world, and the narrator believes it." Well, I'd like to see anyone make that assumption about "The Eye". In it, a man tells the story of his humiliation and subsequent suicide; at the end, we can't be entirely sure whether the man is dead or alive. With all due respect, if you consider that realism, you should take two aspirin, drink plenty of liquids, and call me in the morning. At the very least, the narrator believes that he is dead. He insists that all the events he experiences after he shoots himself are mere figments of his disembodied imagination. Nevertheless, he continues to go about his daily routine. As an émigré from the Russian Revolution living in Berlin (a group that Nabokov returned to many times), he naturally rents a room from a couple of other émigrés and takes to hanging out with them and the other boarders. He becomes fascinated with one of them, a man named Smurov, and tries to learn all he can about this person. Thus, as is the case with a lot of Nabokov's work, "The Eye" comes to resemble a sort of detective story, except that Smurov hasn't committed any crime other than lying about his past from time to time, so there's really nothing to detect. The narrator eventually concludes that, in many ways, Smurov and everyone else exist only in the opinions of others. They themselves have no reality outside of their reflections in other people's consciousnesses. Now, what do you suppose that means about the narrator himself? The boarding house serves a few other people, of course. Two sisters run it, one married and one single. The single sister, nicknamed Vanya, attracts a lot of attention from the male boarders, and our narrator seems remarkably concerned as to whether or not she loves Smurov. It's partly his anxiousness over her feelings that leads the narrator to find out what the other boarders think of him, and this investigation that leads him to conclude that neither Smurov nor anyone else has any independent existence. He draws a number of additional conclusions. One of the boarders keeps a daily diary and mails each day's entry to a friend in another town, for the friend's amusement and to keep himself from changing anything. His impressions will remain as fresh as the day he wrote them down. Our narrator finds this fascinating, and reflects on the possibility that one's existence may have a more permanent nature years after one's death than during one's lifetime. It makes a certain kind of sense, after all. During life, others may change their minds about you; after death, those opinions will remain the same, especially if they're written down. If you exist only in other's view of you, then your existence is more settled after that view stops changing, right? He observes a local bookseller whose hobbies include consulting the spirits on a sort of Ouija board, and asserting that hidden spies for the new Soviet regime have infiltrated every aspect of his life. Both of these avocations go back on this man. His primary contact through the Ouija board is the spirit of a practical joker who loves to pretend to be some great historical figure and then causing the board to spell out some variant of "Gotcha!", and he misses the one genuine Soviet spy in the neighborhood. Pretty intense, especially when compressed into Nabokov's shortest novel; it's barely 100 pages long. That's plenty of space for the narrator to gather views of Smurov from pretty nearly everyone in the building. This being Nabokov, however, you will not be surprised to learn that the information does not provide the narrator with a very clear idea of who Smurov is, and it's of dubious help to Smurov's love life. Without giving too much away, though, all this observation convinces the narrator that true happiness consists of refraining from action, restricting yourself to observation. One should, in other words, turn oneself into an eye. For a scientist like Nabokov, this notion isn't as surprising as it might be, but we must bear in mind that Nabokov the writer loved tricks and puzzles. The narrator of "The Eye" has a few secrets that the reader eventually uncovers, which may explain why the narration gets a little hysterical at the end - so hysterical, in fact, that you'll have to decide for yourself how seriously to take the closing idea. One way or the other, though, with the observation and detective work, the puzzles and solutions, "The Eye" is a lot of fun. And you thought great writers were a bunch of terribly serious chaps. Ha. Benshlomo says, Great literature is a great game.

The Eye is a short, odd little book where a man maybe dies, maybe doesn’t, and then spends the rest of the story creeping around trying to find out what people really think of him. It’s basically one long, dramatic identity crisis dressed up as literature. Nabokov’s writing is polished and clever; every sentence sparkles, even when you’re not entirely sure what’s going on. But the plot? Minimal. The characters? Emotionally unavailable. The narrator? Fully spiraling with a side of paranoia. It reads like a philosophy major got a little too high, had some big thoughts about self-perception, and decided to turn them into fiction. It's weird, kind of brilliant, occasionally funny, and definitely not for readers who like clear answers or emotional warmth. You’ll finish it feeling impressed and confused. Would I recommend it? Sure, if you enjoy gorgeous writing and don’t mind yelling “WHAT IS HAPPENING” every few pages. It’s short, it’s weird, it’s kind of iconic — just not in a cuddly or emotionally satisfying way.

Have t read it, took ages to know how to access it.

very intersting story and a quick read, unfortunatly the cover looks different than the picture profided