Tuesday, December 27, 2005
An inspired what wind?
Only Vladimir Nabokov can get away with sentences like these:
Swept out of the valley night by an inspired oneiric wind, I stood at the edge of a road, under a clear pure-gold sky, in an extraordinary mountainous land. Without looking, I sensed the lustre, the angles, and the facets of immense mosaic cliffs, dazzling precipices, and the mirrorlike glint of multitudinous lakes lying somewhere below, behind me.And only he deserves to. Do read his latest story in the New Yorker, or read his collected fiction here. A good way to spend the new year -- unless you like to party and all that.