There is a stage of human development just before junior high when adolescents supposedly come to terms with the “real world.”
In that time, I noticed that my arms would twitch whenever someone mentioned drugs, blood, or sex. It was the same tingle I felt whenever my body was over fifty feet above ground—like my blood had gone haywire. It made my cheeks turn pink and my arms ache.
‘Twas not fun. One of my most prominent memories from that time happened at a beer festival. I went with my family under the promise of bouncy houses, and we were halfway to the nearest one, a rudimentary castle cloaked in the colors of Bud Lite, when my dad stopped to make a five dollar deposit into the frill-framed cleavage of a nearby waitress. I don’t think I …show more content…
Sadness isn’t sadness; it’s a river. Greed isn’t greed; it’s a light. A rose isn’t a rose isn’t a rose, and a dead underage girl isn’t a dead underage girl at all. In fact, in “Annabel Lee,” Edgar Allen Poe’s least dreary work, she is Annabel Lee. In Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov’s most controversial work, she is Annabel Leigh. Lee is Poe’s ambiguous, though obviously much younger ingenue. Leigh, on the other hand, was debuted in 1955 as the tweenage love interest of Humbert Humbert, Lolita’s infamous pedophile. In Poe’s version, Annabel dies. In Nabokov’s retelling, Annabel still dies, but Humbert manages to convince himself that she has been reincarnated in the body of his stepdaughter, …show more content…
“Lolita,” he opens his autobiography, “light of my life, fire of my loins.” Those words hit the American bookshelves in mid-twentieth century, and so began a flurry of accusations against Nabokov, a cacophony of Protestant outrage, and a few suggestions that the United States resurrect the practice of book-burning. However, much to Jesus’ chagrin, Lolita sold out, and its titular character’s distinct brand of prepubescent seduction has thrived well into the twenty-first century.
“Light of my life, fire of my loins,” is the most well-loved, worn-out sentence in Lolita. However, when it comes to sexualizing children, this line isn’t the most egregious in the book. The real travesty of this particular metaphor is that it unwittingly confines Lolita to two specific roles. Lolita is not the light of Humbert’s life. Lolita is not the fire of Humbert’s loins. She is more. She is bubbly, foul-mouthed, and possibly very sinister.
People are not objects. They are
In that time, I noticed that my arms would twitch whenever someone mentioned drugs, blood, or sex. It was the same tingle I felt whenever my body was over fifty feet above ground—like my blood had gone haywire. It made my cheeks turn pink and my arms ache.
‘Twas not fun. One of my most prominent memories from that time happened at a beer festival. I went with my family under the promise of bouncy houses, and we were halfway to the nearest one, a rudimentary castle cloaked in the colors of Bud Lite, when my dad stopped to make a five dollar deposit into the frill-framed cleavage of a nearby waitress. I don’t think I …show more content…
Sadness isn’t sadness; it’s a river. Greed isn’t greed; it’s a light. A rose isn’t a rose isn’t a rose, and a dead underage girl isn’t a dead underage girl at all. In fact, in “Annabel Lee,” Edgar Allen Poe’s least dreary work, she is Annabel Lee. In Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov’s most controversial work, she is Annabel Leigh. Lee is Poe’s ambiguous, though obviously much younger ingenue. Leigh, on the other hand, was debuted in 1955 as the tweenage love interest of Humbert Humbert, Lolita’s infamous pedophile. In Poe’s version, Annabel dies. In Nabokov’s retelling, Annabel still dies, but Humbert manages to convince himself that she has been reincarnated in the body of his stepdaughter, …show more content…
“Lolita,” he opens his autobiography, “light of my life, fire of my loins.” Those words hit the American bookshelves in mid-twentieth century, and so began a flurry of accusations against Nabokov, a cacophony of Protestant outrage, and a few suggestions that the United States resurrect the practice of book-burning. However, much to Jesus’ chagrin, Lolita sold out, and its titular character’s distinct brand of prepubescent seduction has thrived well into the twenty-first century.
“Light of my life, fire of my loins,” is the most well-loved, worn-out sentence in Lolita. However, when it comes to sexualizing children, this line isn’t the most egregious in the book. The real travesty of this particular metaphor is that it unwittingly confines Lolita to two specific roles. Lolita is not the light of Humbert’s life. Lolita is not the fire of Humbert’s loins. She is more. She is bubbly, foul-mouthed, and possibly very sinister.
People are not objects. They are