Jerome H. Katsell
Pnin: The Perils of Repetition
“But don’t you think-haw-that what
he is trying to do-haw-practically
in all his novels-haw-is-haw-to
express the fantastic recurrence
of certain situations?”
Pnin the novel is bursting with
repetitions and recurrences. One may note almost at random, among many others, Timofey’s “constant war with
insensate objects,” his accented paratactic English, his passion for timetables
(blissful notations promising security and order, unless they happen to be a few years out
of date), squirrels (eidetic, real, photographed and stuffed), who pop up frequently
throughout the novel, referenced in five languages (English, Russian, French, Latin and
Greek), his suffering of periodic heart spells attended by the pounding, painful repetitions
of tachycardia, his planned petite histoire of
Russia, an attempt to recreate and repeat characteristic moments of an entire culture in miniature, illustrated within the
narrative texture of the novel in brief segments depicting Russian émigré life in America during the
gathering at Al Cook’s Castle. Patterns, repetitions,
recurrences, their use and deviations from them, their implications for Nabokov’s philosophy of literary creation
and scientific philosophy in Pnin are central to this inquiry.
attempts have been made to provide a theoretical underpinning for details and themes that recur and call
attention to themselves in Nabokov’s work in general and particularly in Pnin. For example, in his groundbreaking
study of Pnin, Phantom of Fact, Gennadi Barabtarlo
opines that “[T]he ‘fantastic recurrence of certain situations,’ or the reappearance of disguised
and conjoined themes, is the principle feature of Pnin’s composition and of Nabokov’s
novelistic art in general.”  Even more
generally, the idea or technique of imitating or
attempting to recreate the surface of reality to get at the inner life of fictional characters is
embodied in the venerable term mimesis, made famous, of course, by the magisterial study
of the literatures of the West by
Erich Auerbach. Odysseus’s return to Ithaca in the Odyssey, recognized by the old nurse
Euryclea from the scar on his thigh, the
digression to memory of boyhood when wounded by a boar while on a hunt and his then
first, harrowing return to the family hearth in Ithaca—the idea of memory, return and
recurrence that inform consciousness in the present will be seen to play a key role in Pnin as well.
Søren Kierkegaard’s short book, Repetition:
An Essay In Experimental Psychology, a companion piece to his much better known Fear and Trembling (1843), repetition is equated with freedom; repetition is “the interest of metaphysics…,”and “true repetition is eternity.”  Kierkegaard sharply divided “repetition” from “recollection,” finding that “what was recollected has
been, is repeated backwards, whereas repetition properly so called is
recollected forwards.”  It
was recollection forward, willed knowledge into the future
of freedom and eternity, that for Nabokov remained a problematical-yet-compelling metaphysical
gravitational pull. Consciousness and its concomitant
sense of control is threatened in the liminal space abutting a possible metaphysical realm, as we see and hear, for
example, in the immediately post-execution finale of Invitation
to a Beheading: “… and amidst the
dust, and the falling things, and the flapping scenery, Cincinnatus made his way
in that direction where, to judge by the voices, stood beings akin to him.” 
the so-called “otherworldly” school of Nabokov criticism closely
associated with the name of Vladimir Alexandrov, other
critics hesitate to see such metaphysical, perhaps religious transcendence in the
work. Maurice Couturier, for example, in Nabokov ou
la cruauté du desire: lecture psychanalytique, subjects Nabokov’s oeuvre, focusing
thankfully on the characters rather than their creator, to a Lacanian analysis whereby
consciousness of self, the very essence of what constitutes human nature, obtains paradoxically because of a sensed
missing aspect of our being, a “manque d’être.” Consciousness is defined as the desire to overcome a cruelly felt ontological inner lack; this process, or desire makes
up being.  Repetitive or ever- present cruelty of this kind, what Couturier labels “of the
real,” [du réel], may be conjectured in Pnin as the eponymous hero’s attempt to integrate an often disorienting present with the inexorable centripetal pull of visions
linked to Russian memories. Such a moment is highlighted by
the narrator, VV, in one of his frequent interventions, (themselves a variety of trope for repetition), during Pnin’s first heart seizure in
the park in Whitchurch:
a film of flesh envelops us, we die. Man exists
insofar as he is separated from his surroundings.
cranium is a space-traveler’s helmet. Stay inside or
perish. Death is divestment, death is communion. It
be wonderful to mix with the landscape, but to do so
the end of the tender ego. … And suddenly Pnin (was he dying?)
found himself sliding back into his own childhood.” 
contradistinction to the recent views of Couturier that implicate a dependence
on a felt inner lack of being as central to Nabokov’s
philosophical-aesthetic outlook, Brian Boyd finds that
“independence and pattern are the two poles of the axis around which Nabokov’s metaphysics and epistemology revolve.”  In answer to the seemingly implacable narrator of Pnin, who posits the “divestment” of death as the ending of consciousness, Boyd cites to Transparent Things for the proposition that it may be possible from Nabokov’s viewpoint to experience “not the
crude anguish of physical death but the incomparable pangs of the mysterious mental
maneuver needed to pass from one state of being to another.”  Boyd describes Nabokov’s aesthetic struggle to preserve the “tender ego” as follows: “A peep past the
brain’s iron ring might come in the momentary insight of ecstasy, and a final breaking free in
death .… And if a state beyond death cannot be examined by the reason, it can be
explored by the imagination.”
Boyd’s approach, as expressed in his study, Nabokov’s Ada: The Place of Consciousness (2001), he posits, on the basis mainly of Nabokov’s
own assertions in Speak, Memory: An
Autobiography Revisited (1967), and Strong
Opinions (1973), a potential metaphysics structured by a recurrent helical
design: “its initial coil is the world of space, the second, the world of time, the third the
world of human, time-bound consciousness, and the next, if there is another stage, a
consciousness beyond time.” In the initial exploration of
Nabokov’s literary and scientific philosophy, Boyd asserts that human consciousness is manifest only in a transient
present, but “has access to the past through memory operating within the present of
consciousness.”  The past is accessible through memory traces, in Nabokov’s case vivid,
detailed, reconstructive memory trances, memory as a form of consciousness by which
he, according to Boyd “can endlessly reinvestigate it to discover new harmonies
and designs. Such a form of consciousness would satisfy Nabokov’s passion for pattern
even as it satisfied his love for
unhindered freedom.” 
to Boyd the future in Nabokov does not exist, or is at least is not accessible to human consciousness. There is a striking
moment near the end of Chapter Six of Pnin wherein our hero has learned that his plans for the near
future, remaining at Waindell perhaps with tenure and a
salary increase, ownership of a small but cozy house with its own professorial study, kabinet, his life on the upbeat (Clements describes Pnin happily as one who “employs a nomenclature all his own. His
verbal vagaries add a new thrill to life. His mispronunciations are mythopoeic. His
slips of the tongue are oracular. He calls my wife John.”)  ,
then it all comes crashing down with the news from Hagen that Pnin’s academic career at Waindell will soon come to an
end unless he is willing to work under the supervision of “one of your most brilliant
compatriots….” In his despair Pnin thinks he has broken the
beautiful and charming aquamarine bowl given to him by Victor. Pnin’s potential future
appears at that moment to be dark and bleak, yet is
intensely present: “Pnin hurled the towel into a corner and,
turning away, stood for a moment staring at the blackness beyond the threshold of the
open back door.” 
Fyodor in The Gift, or John Shade in Pale Fire, Pnin does not experience conscious intimations of a metaphysical realm, but his
inter-textual connection to the latter work via his duel dream shared with Victor in Chapter
Four of an escaping isolated king, a solus rex, “fleeing
through great pools of ink under a cloud-barred moon from a
chimerical palace…,” waiting “for some mysterious
deliverance to arrive in a throbbing boat from
beyond the hopeless sea,”  and his new and last address of 999 Todd Road tie the unraveling of his character to the idea of pattern
and recurrence, to what Boyd has called: “the elusive presence of design” that just might
“indicate the possible participation of higher forms of consciousness in the ordinary world of
our experience.”  All this takes place beyond the ken of Pnin, and beyond the ken of
the narrator VV, but somewhere in the mind of the creator of the Pninian world.
philosophical traditions have been offered to account for Nabokov’s
together space, time, consciousness, memory, the search for freedom and intimations of
the metaphysical into a ludic yet far from insouciant fictional universe. Underlying all of Nabokov’s work
is the belief or desire to believe in a monistic and eternal transcendent reality. Nabokov stated famously in a
1966 interview with Alfred Appel Jr. that: “Philosophically,
I am an indivisible monist.”  His work appears to take part in a gnostical-like belief in a transcendent
reality which can occasionally be glimpsed through narrow breaks in the material world, a
transcendent reality fully attained, if at all, in death. Nabokov’s universe is
teleological in the sense that natural phenomena are not unilaterally determined; mechanical causes
exist for them but are wrapped in nature’s overall design or purpose.
are given to Pnin, by way of memory’s intrusion into a searing present, of a
universe outside the world of natural phenomena. Let us
return for a moment to Pnin’s heart spell in Chapter One, Section 2 of the novel when “the
repulsive automaton he lodged had developed a consciousness of its own and not only
was grossly alive but was causing him pain and panic.”  The attentive reader will notice that
information given immediately above the just quoted partial sentence indicates
that this is the fifth recurrence of the heart ailment, and that the words “pain”
and “panic” that characterize our hero’s physical and emotional reaction to it, are easily
anagrammatic for “Pnin.” Moreover, the dream itself as
related by the narrator not only repeats the phrase “pain and panic” but
is festooned with the voiceless consonant “p” and its voiced pair “b,”
There appears here to be an obvious patterning of B’s and P’s. The young Timosha in the detail-packed,
pattern-obsessed, dream-memoir passage is being treated for a fever by none
other than the pediatrician Dr. Belochkin, father of Mira Belochkin, whom we are to learn was Pnin’s
first love, tragically lost to him initially to the Revolution in Russia and
ultimately to Nazi barbarism. The name Belochkin is derived from “belka,” or “squirrel”
in Russian. Squirrels play a shadowy role in the novel, appearing periodically
and portending something mysterious in the time-space field surrounding Pnin.
The quoted seizure-passage itself contains, as noted above, the first
appearance of a squirrel in the novel where the pyrographic designs on the
screen of polished wood reveal: “an old man hunched up on a bench, and a
squirrel holding a reddish object in its front paws.” When he recovers from his
seizure, Pnin, who is described in the second word of the novel as “elderly,”
and who is hunched on a stone bench in Whitchurch Park is greeted by “[A] gray
squirrel sitting on comfortable haunches on the ground before him …sampling a
peach stone.”  Now Pnin in the present seems to
recreate or repeat the image in his memory-dream: old man, bench, squirrel holding
a “reddish object,” possibly a peach stone. This appears to be a pattern somehow related to Pnin’s destiny, one that implicates his
loss, the longing for the Russian past that formed him, yet
a pattern that includes his present, somewhat precarious and muddled existence. The B’s and P’s are like
the repeated percussive drum or heartbeat of his life, like an “inexorably moving
railway coach”: Belochkin, Pnin, Belochkin, Pnin, Belochkin,
Pnin. Brian Boyd asserts that we find here as well as throughout Nabokov’s work what may be termed: “patterns of
fate” which “can be clumsy, subtle, or inexplicable: the heavy hand of calamity;
a delicate flexibility that may be chance or design; the baffling presence of coincidence or
cocooned pupa, Timosha (Tim) lay under a mass of
additional blankets; they were no avail against
the branching chill
that crept up his ribs from both sides of his frozen spine. He
could not close his eyes because his
eyelids stung so. Vision was but oval pain with oblique stabs of light; familiar shapes became the breeding places of evil
delusions. Near his bed was a four-section screen of polished
wood, with pyrographic designs representing a bridle path felted with
fallen leaves, a lily-pond, and old man hunched up on a bench, and a squirrel holding
a reddish object in its front paws. Timosha, a methodical child,
had often wondered what the object
could be (a nut? a pine cone?),
and now that he had nothing else to do, he set himself to solve
this dreary riddle, but the fever
hummed in his head and drowned
every effort in pain and panic. Still more oppressive was
his tussle with the wallpaper. He had always been able to see that
in the vertical plane a combination made up of three different clusters
of purple flowers and seven different oak leaves was repeated a number of times with soothing exactitude; but now he was bothered by the undismissable
fact that he could not find
what system of inclusion or circumscription
horizontal recurrence of the pattern;
that such a recurrence was proved by his being able to pick out here and there, all along the
wall from bed to wardrobe and from stove to door, the reappearance of this or that element
of the series…” 
dream-memory also includes Dr. Belochkin’s examination of the ill eleven-year-old Timosha, apparently congruent with the
standards of 1909 Russian
medicine: “…Timofey’s torso was bared, and to it Belochkin
pressed the icy nudity of his ear and the sandpapery side of his head. Like the flat sole
of some monopode, the ear ambulated all over Timofey’s back and chest, gluing itself
to this or that patch of skin and stomping on to the next.”  What Nabokov considered pseudo-science, particularly Freudian psychiatry as lampooned
in the characters of Liza and Eric Wind, as well as linguistics, is taken to task throughout Pnin. Recently the seeming incongruity
between Nabokov the metaphysician and Nabokov
the rational scientist has attracted increased scholarly notice. Dana Dragunoiu has called attention to
Nabokov’s rejection in no small part of Darwin’s theory of natural selection based on what
she terms his “strong metaphysical investment.”  In her analysis she finds that Nabokov throughout his creative life as a lepidopterist, poet, critic, playwright,
translator, teacher, short story writer, lecturer, public intellectual and novelist displays
a “dual allegiance to science and metaphysics.”  She traces such a dual allegiance to
positions staked out beginning in 1902 in a symposium called Problems of Idealism, which was closely associated with leading
members of the liberal Constitutional Democratic Party (Kadet), including Nabokov’s father Dmitri
Vladimirovich. For the leading Kadets an anti-Darwinist, liberal idealism based on metaphysical principles (many were
religious conservatives like Nabokov’s father), was deployed to
combat the rampant naturalism, materialism and positivism of early 20th century Russian
intellectual and political life. The
Kadet idealists favored a separation of empirical scientific thought from the ethical or metaphysical variety. They labeled the
importation of one form of thought into the other as “contraband,” and believed that such a
situation leads to muddled thinking. The Kadet idealists rejected the
ability of science to resolve ultimate questions of evolution because, in the words of their fellow idealist and
philosopher Sergey Bulgakov, “science studies only fragments of a reality that widens
constantly beyond the eyes of the scientist.”  As the inheritor of a worldview similar
to his father’s but without its religious component, Nabokov employs what has been termed a
“scientific liberalism.”  This approach, in the words of
Dragunoiu, applies to “the kind of science practiced by Nabokov: his novels, the prefaces to his novels, and his
interviews testify to the fact that he never lost sight of the limitations of science and
the imperative for tolerance of other views in the pursuit of scientific truth.” 
Blackwell’s current book-in-progress also focuses on the interrelationship
of Nabokov the writer-artist and Nabokov the scientist.  Blackwell points to what he calls in Nabokov’s work “anomalies in the evolution
gives the example of non-utilitarian mimicry– - that may indicate …“the
existence of an invisible, unknowable wider context for phenomenal being with which it
is intimately connected.” Science as we know it is practiced
by “revisability and reversibility.”  This is the methodology by which science finds its limitations and moves
forward toward the as-yet-unexplained. Pattern, repetition, recurrence, reversals and
revision are also characteristic of Pnin the novel.
Unanticipated recurrent reversals and new beginnings follow Pnin throughout: for example, his apparent regaining of Lisa’s
affections and sudden realization of their loss to Eric Wind on the transatlantic
crossing; Pnin’s sudden dismissal from Waindell at a moment he relished as a
personal and hopefully professional triumph. His break for freedom, after rejecting
the blandishments of the narrator to stay on at the
college as his jack-of-all-trades for things Russian, comes in the final
passages of the
novel, embedded in a piling up of repeated recurrences that hold out hope for
“…a great truck carrying beer rumbled up
the street, immediately followed
by a small pale blue sedan with the white head of a dog looking
out, after which came another great truck, exactly similar to the first. … and everything
surged forward—truck one, Pnin, truck two. … Then the little sedan
boldly swung past the front truck and, free at last, spurted up the shining
road, which one could make out narrowing to a thread of gold in the soft mist where hill after hill made
beauty of distance, and where there was simply
no saying what miracle might happen.”  (emphases mine, JK)
Pnin, who is metonymically
represented by his pale blue sedan, seems stuck
between two gross, great-truck
chunks of implacable, poshlust-saturated
reality, yet he rejects mechanical
repetition, the very idea that things can be “exactly similar,”and with vibrant energy that
contains more than a sexual tinge, “spurts” up the shining road looking for a miracle. The
vehicle in question was purchased by Pnin from a student: “[A]n irresistible
senior enrolled in his Russian Language course, Marilyn Hohn, sold him
for a hundred dollars her humble old car: she was getting married to the owner of a far grander
machine.”  “Hohn” in German means “scorn,” “disdain,” “mockery,” even “insult.” Does
the use of this word by the creator of the novel simply act as a foreshadowing that for
Pnin no miracles can happen, (his resurrection in Pale Fire as a successful academic elsewhere
seems to belie this interpretation), or does this Epiphany-like passage as
Pnin leaves Waindell for good betoken, as Blackwell
asserts, that: “…’miracles’ of nature, or of life, do seem to indicate a designing presence, but that they
seem to do so is, as Kant demonstrated, a necessary part of the way human beings
perceive the world”?  What is
perhaps “irresistible” for Nabokov was not a 1950s Marilyn,
nor Pnin’s victimization by petty, idiotic, social- Darwinian
academic politics, but his effort, in Blackwell’s words: “to suggest that nature was not
purely mechanistic and driven by causality. There must be, he felt, alongside or even above
selection and competition, another force behind nature: one that drives the
development of life and its intricacies in the first place.” 
In a letter
to Edmund Wilson dated February 18, 1957 Nabokov wrote: “One exquisite point about Pnin is the little conversation between
Pnin and Chateau about
me and the blue butterflies at
their feet. I actually described and named that particular Lycaenid (Lycaeides samuelis Nabokov, type
locality Karner, near Albany, N.Y.).” 
score of small butterflies, all of one kind, were
settled on a damp patch of sand, their wings
erect and closed, showing their pale undersides
with dark dots and tiny orange-rimmed
peacock spots along the hind-wing margins;
one of Pnin’s shed rubbers disturbed some
of them and, revealing the celestial hue of
their upper surface, they fluttered around like
blue snowflakes before settling again.” 
The description of the
butterflies, a lovely example of Nabokovian exactitude and
beauty, is also replete with repetitions. The butterflies
are “all of one kind,” their wings in a similar position, their markings collectively the same,
their movements to the same purpose. Yet there is a hint in the word “snowflakes” that
nothing like absolute cloning captures the similarity of the butterflies. Snowflakes are
notoriously varied in their crystalline water molecule structure, each flake a unique
design, the chance of an exact replica, physics and mathematics tell us, is
indistinguishable from zero in the lifetime of the universe. “Snowflakes” in the given context point to
the kind of complex repetition developed by Gilles Deleuze, wherein a repetition
has enfolded within itself a difference that unmasks the possibility of an
epistemology of the metaphysical.
startled butterflies fly up, flutter around and then spiral back to
where they had previously settled on the damp patch of sand.
Such action provides a visual image of flight through repeated wing motion, glide
and return, metaphorically depicting Pnin’s inexorable movement through space and time.
Marina Grishakova, following ideas regarding repetition developed by Henri
Bergson and expanded by Deleuze, finds in Nabokov’s work a
“recurrent plot scheme of return”. Pnin the novel figures an extensive, “productive” repetition that “involves
an object or event [one recalls the seizure-dream sequence at Whitchurch Park, JK], whose
return becomes a source of change and further differentiation: through it the past is
created anew from the present.”  Nabokov
did not believe in a Nietzschean principle of eternal return that requires a posthumous, exact and endless repetition of what
has been, or in a myth of eternal return as espoused by Mircea Eliade that is centered
of the primal cosmogonic act of world creation. He believed that full human
consciousness is centered in the mind and its thirst for unfettered expansion through time and
space. As Brian Boyd has so articulately stated:
rage for freedom makes him feel that we are cruelly
confined, by the very nature of our consciousness, to
the present moment. Yet at the same time within the present
our reflexive consciousness is wonderfully free to
share in all that sense, emotion and thought can offer. Through
memory, moreover, we are further liberated, able to
range beyond the present moment at least in imagination, and
when memory is working at its highest so as to be able to pattern the past Nabokov feels that we can taste
the flavor of
a consciousness no longer bound by time. 
Pnin’s firmness in his decision to
leave Waindell even earlier than he strictly would be
required is a testament to his instinctive drive to create
his own destiny, his own petite histoire that will
lead him with the aid of recurrent memory through time and space to where a pale fire burns in the metaphysical afterlife of
“the blackness beyond the threshold of the open back door.” 
Barabtartlo, Phantom of Fact: A Guide to Nabokov’s Pnin (Ann Arbor, Ardis Publishers, 1989), p. 247.
Auerbach, Mimesis: The Representation of
Reality in Western Literatures, tr. Willard R. Trask, (Princeton, Princeton
University Press, 1953 ), pp. 3-5.
Kierkegaard, Repetition: An Essay in
Experimental Psychology (Princeton, Princeton U. Pr., 1946), pp. xxvii.
Nabokov, Invitation to a Beheading, tr. Dmitri Nabokov in collaboration with the author, (New York: Vintage International, 1989), 233.
 Maurice Couturier, Nabokov ou la cruauté du desire: lecture psychoanalytique, (Seyssel:
Champ Vallon, 2004).
Nabokov, Pnin, (New York: Vintage
International, 1989), pp. 20-21.
 Brian Boyd, Nabokov’s Ada: The Place of Consciousness, 2nd Edition, (Christchurch: Cybereditions, 2001), p.
Nabokov, Transparent Things (Vintage
International, 1989), p. 104.
 Boyd, op.
cit., p. 83.
 Pnin, Ibid., p. 165.
 Pnin, op. cit., 172. Although Nabokov
could not be aware them, modern astrophysics postulates in some of its theories
of cosmology so-called dark or black matter, a previously undetected form of
matter that accounts for a significant portion of the mass of the universe.
 Pnin, op. cit., 110. Pnin’s house is on
the corner of Todd and Cliff (“A leetle breek house and a beeg blahk cleef”,
151), and he is about to fall over an emotional cliff after his “little
house-heating soiree,” 151. The “beeg blahk cleef” is perhaps a foreshadowing
of Pnin’s temporary catatonia in the last section of Chapter 6 (Section 13),
when he “stood for a moment staring at the blackness beyond the threshold of
the open back door”, 172.
Opinions (Vintage International, 1990), p. 85.
 Pnin, op. cit., pp. 22-23. The author
took five other 30-line passages at random from the novel and found that Bs and
Ps are on average twice as frequent in the quoted lines, in round numbers 60 to
 Pnin, op. cit., pp. 24-25.
 Boyd, op.
cit., p. 75.
 Pnin, op. cit., p. 22.
Dragunoiu, “Vladimir Nabokov’s Anti-Darwinism and the Russian Neo-Idealist Tradition,” AAASS, Philadelphia, 2008,
p. 1. The author thanks professor Dragunoiu for sharing her insights.
Ibid., p. 2.
op. cit., p. 6.
 Kendall E.
Bailes, Science and Russian Culture in
the Age of Revolutions: V.I. Vernadsky and his Scientific School, 1863-1945, (Bloomington: Indiana University
Press, 1990), p. 81.
op. cit., p. 14.
Blackwell. Quotations that follow will cite to Chapter Two (“Nabokov as
Scientist”) and Chapter Seven (“Minding the Gap: Discontinuities in Nature,
Art, and Science”) of Blackwell’s forthcoming book on Nabokov as artist and
scientist. The author wishes to thank Professor Blackwell for his generosity in
sharing these materials with him.
ibid., p. 232
 Pnin, op. cit., p. 191.
 Pnin, op.cit., p. 113. It remains
unexplained why this particular student is “irresistible,” presumably to Pnin,
but possibly to the narrator.
op. cit., p. 41.
op. cit., 41.
Karlinsky, ed., The Nabokov-Wilson Letters, 1940-1971, Revised and Expanded
Edition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), p. 341.
 Pnin, op. cit., p. 128.
Grishakova, The Models of Space, Time and
Vision in V. Nabokov’s Fiction, (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 2006), p.
 Boyd, op.
cit., p. 79.
 Pnin, op. cit. , p. 110.
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3. Baudrillard, Jean 1981. Simulacres et simulation (Paris: Editions Galilee).
4. Boyd, Brian 2001. Nabokov’s Ada: The Place of Consciousness, 2nd Ed. (Christchurch: Cybereditions).
5. Connolly, Julian, ed. 1999. Nabokov and His Fiction: New
Perspectives (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press)
1. 6. Couturier, Maurice 1993. Nabokov ou la tyrannie de l’auteur (Paris:
Éditions Du Seuil).
7. Долинин, Александр 2004. Истинная
8. Eliade, Mircea
1954. The Myth of the Eternal Return, tr. Willard R. Trask (New York: Bollengen Foundation).
9. Grishakova, Marina 2006. The Models of Space, Time and Vision in V.
Nabokov’s Fiction: Narrative Strategies and Cultural Frames (Tartu: Tartu University Press).
Søren 1946. Repetition: An Essay in
Experimental Psychology, tr. Walter Lowrie (Princeton:
Princeton University Press).
Vladimir 1989. Pnin (New York:
© Jerome H. Katsell