Clues to Quilty

One of the things i love the most about Lolita, is the way it seems made up of many little clues and puzzle pieces that the reader is meant to put together. It seems everything in Nabokov's writing, every word and every name is there on purpose, everything has meaning. I Loved how Nabokov gave little clues about Clare Quilty, more than just "Waterproof."

In his mention of Quilty in the "Who's Who in the Limelight" that he finds in the prison library he follows Quilty with "Quine, Dolores. Born in 182, in Dayton , Ohio. Studied for stage at American Academy. First played in Ottawa in 1900. Made New York Debut in 1904 in Never Talk to Strangers. Has disappeared since in [ a list of some thirty plays follows]." I love how after Quilty a Dolores is mentioned first as making a debut in a piece called "Never Talk to Strangers," a fitting title for the situation that Dolores Haze found herself in and that she disappeared. The mentioning of a Dolores disappearing in the same breath as Clare Quilty appears to be a first clue.
Quilty is also the man at the Enchanted Huntress who has the odd conversation with Humbert the first night he is with Lolita. He asks Humbert on page 127, " Where the devil did you get her?" and after Humbert says that she is his daughter Quilty replied " You lie- she's not" both of these comments though sound at first like misunderstandings on the part of Humbert. The real hint comes when Quilty says "Sorry. I'm pretty drunk. Good night. That child of yours needs a lot of sleep. Sleep is a rose, as the Persians say. Smoke?" This is later compared with the passage on page 262, when Humbert is again at the Enchanted Huntress, "Wine, wine, wine, quipped the author of Dark Age who refused to be photographed, may suit a Persian bubble bird, but i say give me rain, rain, rain on the shingle roof for roses and inspiration every time."

The similarities in the two, the Persians and the roses, are a clue to the reader that it was in fact Clare Quilty who was at the Enchanted Huntress that first night.

After reading Jennie Lynn's discovery regarding Joyce and Finnegans Wake I was intrigued by the similarities in the two works regarding names and found that the characters of Humbert Humbert and Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker are both given a list of similar nicknames.

Humbert is called: Hum, The Humble Hunchback, Humburger, Humbert the Small, Humbert the Terrible, Hummer, Hummerson, Humbert the Hoarse, Humbert the Wounded Spider, Jean-Jacques Humbert, Hamburg, Homburg, Humbird, Humbug, Humbert the Hound, Humbert the Humble, Humbert le Bel, Humbert the Hummer, Humbert the Cubus, Herr Humbert, Humbert the Popular Butcher, Humbertoldi, San Humbertino Humbert, and Hummerson, to name a few.

Humphrey is called: Humber, Humhum, Humble Humphry, The Hunchback Humphrey, Humpty Dumpty, and St. Hubert.

One of the most fascinating things about photographs is the way that regardless of how old they are or how removed from your current situation they are, a photo can instantly transport its viewer back to that exact time and setting. This is a photo of my older sister and i when she, myself and my younger sister took a trip to Budapest, Hungary to celebrate the birthday of my older sister, Caitlin. This was a few years ago, but the picture can still bring me back to this exact place. I'm standing on the Danube river enjoying the warm sun on a rather cold march day, i can still hear the music that was playing in the streets and i can still taste the coffee i had just had. The smell of cigarettes, that were smoked by seemingly everyone in the country, begins to linger in my nose as i look at this. The good things remain in photographs, whether or not i was fighting with Caitlin that morning, which I am sure i was, or if i was jet lagged or in a bad mood don't translate in the photo. I see the two of us smiling and having fun together, i taste coffee and cigarettes and feel the sun. This is the beauty of photos, although i am busy at school in Montana and my sister is busy with work in DC it is important to look back at a time where we were able to be carefree and have fun together.

First memories are a difficult subject matter due to the fact that they are usually pretty manufactured, influenced by stories and photographs. I have tricked myself before into recalling false memories of family members funerals, i can give vivid accounts of my cousin crying or my aunt holding my hand, i can even describe the food that was served. When i do this though my mother reminds me that at these times i was only three or four and the possibility of me actually remembering these events is slim, instead i have seen enough photos of the events and heard stories of my cousin crying, my aunt holding my hand, and the below par catering service that was hired enough to feel like these memories are my own. They are in fact though only stolen, gathered in bits and pieces from family members in order to create a full memory. The understanding of my memory kleptomania has made it nearly impossible to decipher my own memories from those i have compiled with the stolen memories of others. So the one early memory that i am quite certain is originally mine is vague and obscure, an event that certainly wouldn't be photographed or reminisced in stories, it is simply the very blurry image of a vacuum salesman standing in my parents living room. there are no great details, i couldn't tell you what he looked like, how our living room was arranged or whether we bought a vacuum or not. I accept this memory despite its bland nature as one of the best i have because it is entirely mine, unchanged or tainted by the memories of others.