Why did I love this book?
It was on my reading list in college, many moons ago. The first sentence blew me away – and all the ones that followed did the same. It’s a feast of a book, an incredible read that doesn’t shy away from anything. The narrator is an anti-hero, a monster led by his physical desires, but I couldn’t hate him because I was too busy pitying him and his huge, helpless, twisted love for Lolita, his gum-popping streetwise nymphet of a stepdaughter who evokes memories of his first lost love as a young teenage boy. The road trip they undertake, just the two of them, is marvellous. Every scene is a gem. Nabokov’s writing, in a language that wasn’t his first, is sublime.