Pálido fuego

Hace unos días terminé de leer Pálido fuego de Vladimir Nabokov. Dijo en una entrevista en 1962: "está lleno de melocotones que sigo esperando que alguien encuentre. Por ejemplo, el repugnante comentarista no es un ex-Rey de Zembla ni el profesor Kinbote. Es el profesor Botkin, o Botkine, un Ruso y un loco." También agrega:

I think it is a perfectly straightforward novel. The clearest revelation of personality is to be found in the creative work in which a given individual indulges. Here the poet is revealed by his poetry; the commentator by his commentary. ['Pale Fire'] is jollier than the other [novels], and it is full of plums that I keep hoping somebody will find. For instance, the nasty commentator is not an ex-King of Zembla nor is he professor Kinbote. He is professor Botkin, or Botkine, a Russian and a madman. His commentary has a number of notes dealing with entomology, ornithology, and botany. The reviewers have said that I worked my favorite subjects into this novel. What they have not discovered is that Botkin knows nothing about them, and all his notes are frightfully erroneous.... No one has noted that my commentator committed suicide before completing the index to the book.... The last entry has no numbered reference.... And even Mary McCarthy, who has discovered more of the books than most of its critics, had some difficulty in locating the source of its title, and made the mistake of searching for it in Shakespeare's 'The Tempest.' It is from 'Timon of Athens.' "The Moones an arrant Theefe, And her pale fire, she snatches from the Sunne." I hope that pointing out these things will perhaps help the reader to enjoy my novel better.

(The New York Herald Tribune, American edition, 17 June 1962, p.5, interviewer Maurice Dolbier.)

Realmente una novela llena de crucifijos y mapas del tesoro. Se puede interpretar a diferentes niveles, y es en sí, una marea de espejismos y dualidades donde los protagonistas bien pueden ser personas con desordenes mentales que inventan países, reyes y predicen su muerte. Incluso al final el narrador cambia de omnisciente y busca llenar la lógica por una entrevista con Gradus.

Las cosas simples son también las más gratificantes, como este poema del supuesto Shade:

Te amo cuando, de pie sobre el césped,
miras algo en un árbol. ¨Se ha ido.
Era tan pequeño. Tal vez vuelva¨.

Creo que el amor se puede describir así. En esas minucias que no nos pueden hacer vulnerables, cuando uno observa y ama en forma anónima.