Glory

Edelweiss? Noble White, the shy alpine flower that so quickly vanishes after spring. Are we readers to look for meaning in Nabokov's choice of the name Martin Edelweiss for his focal character? A good deal is said about the name early in the book, and we're reminded of it at crucial moments throughout. Just a few pages of Nabokov's so-carefully-crafted prose inclines this reader to suppose that nothing in "Glory" is merely incidental, that every detail is laden with pertinence. Whatever else one says about this novel, the first fact is that it's gloriously written. Every sentence snaps the reader's mind into focus. Every description is a poem in itself. Every characterization is a full dramatic portrait of individual flesh and blood. Martin Edelweiss is a frivolous young man embedded among Russian emigres utterly trivialized by the Bolshevik Revolution, about which we hear only frivolous rumors and reports in ephemeral newsprint. The only position Martin's querulous society seems to take toward the momentous events in their homeland is to wish they hadn't happened, but make no mistake, this a novel about the Revolution, seen through a lens of irrelevance. This is also a novel about the meaning of being Russian, though Nabokov conveys his meaning through the subtlest indirection. There's no ambiguity whatsoever about the ending of the novel. The meaning is as clear as plasma and as ominous as a drum-roll to a prisoner awaiting execution, but I do not choose to pre-empt anyone's reading excitement by declaring the obvious. At the same time, "Glory" is a coming-of-age novel, similar to other such novels about young men going off to college. Scott Fitzgerald's "This Side of Paradise" and E.M. Forster's "The Longest Journey" might offer interesting comparisons. In all three, a sensitive young man confronts the tawdriness of the intellectual life, slips into depression over his own mediocrity, falls hopelessly in love with a disdainful beauty while at the same time exploring lust with more accessible lasses, and wrestles with the identity of a seemingly more well-prepared friend. Martin, however, isn't a titan waiting to be awakened to his own worth at the end of the novel. Nabokov takes pain to show us that Martin is NOT a poet, not a budding genius of any sort, just a modestly intelligent everyman of no particular bent. In fact, Martin's only talent seems to be at tennis. Like a young George Orwell, Martin stumbles into a brief romance with the simple life of honest toil, dwelling incognito for a 'chapter' in a wine-growing village in southern France. But, like most of Martin's experiences, this pastoral interlude sinks quickly into the chasm of memory. Above all, this is a novel about memory. It begins with Martin's memories of childhood. Martin's perceptions are all foreshadowed, and his actions are all predetermined, by his memories. Even the passing moment is no more than a memory. Martin doesn't tell his story in the first person. Nabokov cli

Glory is the comic/tragic tale of a young man whose fantasies of heroism come to replace reality and eventually lead to his downfall. The theme is simple, but because the novel is set between WWI and WWII, Glory might be best described as a somewhat cynical allegory about the plight of the "Lost Generation"--those ex-patriots who retreated to Paris during the 20s and 30s. Martin, our protagonist, while not an American in Paris, most certainly is lost. Having been forced into exile during the Russian Revolution, Martin, who is a highly Europeanized hybrid, finds himself adrift in Europe, wandering from Switzerland, to England, to Germany in an aimless pursuit of what to do with himself. Eventually he falls in love with the sulky, dark-eyed temptress, Sonia. But that, of course, solves nothing. Martin does not know who he is, where he has come from, or where he is going. Falling in love merely heightens his anomie. If this sounds somewhat uninspiring as a plot, you are right! There is very little action of note, and even less character development (which, in any event, Nabokov disdained). The appeal of this book is the sheer force of Nabokov's gorgeous writing. His exquisite attention to detail, his amazing insights into states of mind set him above all other writers. Perhaps you think I am overstating, but who else can take you to a river in Cambridge, make you smell the air, see the sky, feel as Martin feels, so deftly, so economically and with such great sensitivity? Nabokov, a synthaesthete, has a chef's awareness of how to spice his novels. A dash of this, a hint of that - he knows which sensations to describe in order to create a harmonious whole. There are passages in this book which I read and re-read, astounded by the clarity, the precision, the sheer beauty of Nabokov's prose. Glory is a literary delicacy, best savored slowly. Take your time consuming it, and you will be well-satisfied.

This novel was first published in Russian in 1932 and was much later translated into English by the author and his son Dimitri. In his interesting introduction to the book, Nabokov states that his original working title was "Romanticheskiy Vek", or "Romantic Times"; this was later changed to "Podvig", which can be translated as "gallant feat" or "exploit". The hero of the book is Martin Edelweiss, a young Russian of Swiss ancestry. Like Nabokov's own family, Martin and his mother are forced to leave Russia following the Communist revolution of 1917, and take refuge in Switzerland, where Martin's mother marries his Uncle Henry, a cousin of his late father. Martin is sent to be educated in Cambridge; after graduating, he refuses to find a profession for himself, but travels around Europe, taking casual employment in Berlin and the south of France. The book ends with Martin performing the "exploit" of the Russian title, a clandestine crossing of the Soviet border from Latvia, but the ultimate outcome of this deed is left obscure. Nabokov's two Russian titles for the work are both significant. Martin is a man of artistic temperament but without artistic gifts. He is bored and restless, something he has in common with the "superfluous men" of earlier Russian literature, such as Eugene Onegin or Pechorin from Lermontov's "Hero of our Times" (a novel Nabokov translated). (There is also, possibly, an echo of their obsession with duelling and honour in the rather ridiculous boxing match between Martin and his Cambridge friend Darwin). There are, however, important differences between Martin and these earlier anti-heroes. Their restlessness and boredom lead them into cynical, callous nihilism; Martin's lead him into a search for sense of purpose, something he remains optimistic about finding. As another reviewer has put it, he sees life as a "series of romantic possibilities." Whereas their sense of purposelessness is internal, arising from something in their characters, Martin's is external, deriving from his situation as an involuntary exile, cut off from his country by political events. It is notable that when he goes to Cambridge he chooses to study Russian literature and culture, rejecting Henry's advice that he should follow a vocational course. Memories of his childhood take on great importance for him; he chooses, for example, to live and work for a time in a particular French town because of the (mistaken) belief that it was the town whose lights he once briefly glimpsed during a night-time train ride as a boy. Although the story is told in the third person, it is similar to a first-person narrative in that the whole of the action (except the last few pages after he has disappeared) is told as it appears to the central character. One of the most striking features of the work is the vividness of its descriptions of the physical world. Whether the scene is set in the Crimea, Greece, Switzerland, Cambridge, Berlin or Provence, there are plentiful r

This is essential Nabokov. If this weren't one of his earlier works, I'd say that the master has done it again. Still, all the brazen overtness in prose has been polished away since Mary and The Defense. All the little prose games that make Nabokov a joy to read (relegating plot, sometimes even character to the background) is already well in place, though perhaps because it is in translation, the prose does not sparkle as it does in his English works.A word about the plot, it is very interesting when read against Kerouac's Vanity of Duluoz, both stories about drifterdom after college. Of course, the ending is inconclusive, but how? That's left as a surprise.

I wanted to read fairly short, impressive book during my winter break/holidays. So, Nabokov came to my mind. I picked up "Glory" and I was taken from the moment I started reading. Book about young Martin Edelweiss, of Swiss and Russian heritage, follows his quiet life from his early childhood to his life of the grown up, young man. His parents divorce during his childhood, and Martin's father dies soon afterwards. Martin's mother re-marries to his uncle who sends young Martin to the Cambridge University. Here, Martin acquires new friends and even falls in love with Sonia, ruthless daughter of the Russian emigre editor. Sonia seems to enjoy seducing young man but is ever so easy in discarding them in order to avoid long term commitment. Martin is no exception. And after college days are over, Martin decides to travel around Europe: England, Switzerland, Germany. His uncle/stepfather is concerned about Martin's lack of desire to find suitable position in order to ensure steady flow of income. And while Martin's friends are building their careers in journalism, writing and other "honorable" professions, he seems to rather enjoy doing manual labor in order to find his true self. Until one day - he goes away. Forever. Very powerful novel. It made me Nabokov's fan in a matter of moment.