Finden Sie Ihren nächsten hörbuch Favoriten

Werden Sie noch heute Mitglied und hören Sie 30 Tage lang kostenlos
The Eye

The Eye

Geschrieben von Vladimir Nabokov

Erzählt von Fred Stella


The Eye

Geschrieben von Vladimir Nabokov

Erzählt von Fred Stella

Bewertungen:
4/5 (23 Bewertungen)
Länge:
2 Stunden
Herausgeber:
Freigegeben:
Jan 20, 2011
ISBN:
9781441873019
Format:
Hörbuch

Beschreibung

Nabokov's fourth novel, The Eye is as much a farcical detective story as it is a profoundly refractive tale about the vicissitudes of identities and appearances. Smurov, a lovelorn, excruciatingly self-conscious Russian émigré living in pre-war Berlin, commits suicide after being humiliated by a jealous husband, only to suffer even greater indignities in the afterlife as he searches for proof of his existence among fellow émigrés who are too distracted to pay him any heed.

"Nabokov writes prose the only way it should be written, that is, ecstatically." -John Updike

Herausgeber:
Freigegeben:
Jan 20, 2011
ISBN:
9781441873019
Format:
Hörbuch


Über den Autor

Vladimir Nabokov (1899-1977) es uno de los más extraordinarios escritores del siglo XX. En Anagrama se le ha dedicado una «Biblioteca Nabokov» que recoge una amplísima muestra de su talento narrativo. En «Compactos» se han publicado los siguientes títulos: Mashenka, Rey, Dama, Valet, La defensa, El ojo, Risa en la oscuridad, Desesperación, El hechicero, La verdadera vida de Sebastian Knight, Lolita, Pnin, Pálido fuego, Habla, memoria y Ada o el ardor; La dádiva, Cosas transparentes, Una belleza rusa, El original de Laura y Gloria pueden encontrarse en «Panorama de narrativas», mientras que sus Cuentos completos están incluidos en la colección «Compendium». Opiniones contundentes, por su parte, ha aparecido en «Argumentos».

Ähnlich wie The Eye

Ähnliche Hörbücher
Ähnliche Artikel

Rezensionen

Was die anderen über The Eye denken

3.8
23 Bewertungen / 13 Rezensionen
Wie hat es Ihnen gefallen?
Bewertung: 0 von 5 Sternen

Leser-Rezensionen

  • (5/5)
    I've had trouble reading most of Nabokov's novels because they are so ridiculously long. I know it's unprofessional, but I have a short attention span and bad eyesight. But The Eye was one book I could get into. The writing style was dry and detailed. It was a good book about reality, what is and what isn't.
  • (2/5)
    I've so often found Nabokov cold, and unengaging. He has done it again, the narrative trick not overcoming my lack of interest in this detective story. This is Nabokov's fourth novel, and was written in 1930. Dimitri Nabokov was Nabokov's son.
  • (2/5)
    After finishing this book I realized I didn't really care that I had read it. As always Nabokov really nailed some of the sentences.

    One particular bit that pleased me:

    "It is amazing to catch another's room by surprise. The furniture froze in amazement when I switched on the light. Somebody had left a letter on the table; the empty envelope lay there like an old useless mother, and the little sheet of note paper seemed to be sitting up like a robust babe."

    I will likely forget this books plot entirely in the next 24 hours...
  • (5/5)

    1 Person fand dies hilfreich

    It takes you down so many possible roads! The ending was what I thought, but you just never knew for sure until you finally arrived!

    1 Person fand dies hilfreich

  • (4/5)

    1 Person fand dies hilfreich

    This was quite an original and captivating work by Nabokov. The plot is not complex, but the characters are revealed through their actions and interactions with one another as the narrator takes a backseat. I especially liked the flow of the language and found it to be one of the lasting aspects of the work. There were many passages that were splendid and simply wonderful to read for their complexity and poetic nature.A great work. One that should be read for anyone that likes Nabokov.4 stars!

    1 Person fand dies hilfreich

  • (5/5)
    In the Berlin of 1925 a Russian emigré, one Smurov, accosted and humiliated by a jealous husband, goes home and shoots himself. What follows is the story of his bifurcated, pseudo-afterlife. As if he weren't mixed up enough, in his dissociative state he has the ill luck to fall in love. Breathtaking narrative patterning here, beautiful in a way simple crystalline forms are beautiful. A marvel that can be read in a single sitting. My second reading, I've upgraded it to 5 stars.
  • (5/5)
    Reading The Eye has fuelled my desire to read everything by Nabokov that I can lay my hands on. Beautifully woven, with a cluster of characters living in their own, claustrophobic social world set the scene for the second act of this book. The Eye is a story about selfhood; about who we are, to ourselves and far more importantly, who we are in the eyes of others. Are we really just one person? Is not the personality of someone largely a mirror of what we contain in ourselves, as opposed to their own thought processes?As usual, Nabokov places the reader in a frame of mind which causes them to explore their own assumptions; not of the outside world, but of that which lay inside.
  • (4/5)
    Really enjoyed this book. As always, the language is brilliant, and I think that the character dying and in his rebirth becoming nothing but an amplified reflection of how others see him is fascinating. It's not really very difficult to guess the 'mystery' of the book though, but then it's not really a mystery story I suppose so that's ok. I wish I had the energy to write more but sadly I don't.
  • (4/5)
     I read Nabokov's fourth novel this past weekend (and quite quickly—it's a novella) and the connective tissue bonding his Russian works is starting to become manifest. In Mary we were introduced to the Russian emigré crowd; in King, Queen, Knave: grotesque love and the faulty sense of self-worth; in The Luzhin Defense the obsessive swapping of reality with dream-state. The Eye pulls in pieces of all these themes and toys around with a few more, not the least of which is the nature of our existence and a personality as refractive of the perceptions of those around it.That is, can we ever know ourselves—can we ever exist?—as, really, all we are all, as Luzhin contemplates in The Defense: "...as in two mirrors reflecting a candle...only a vista of converging lights..." Luzhin here, too, realizes to some degree that we may all just be the incomplete sum of all of our own reflections off of others' beliefs of us.Oh, there is also a story here, nominally a metaphysical detective plot. Heady stuff for a mere 100 pages. I'm starting to doubt I exist.In The Eye we continue our acquaintance with the generally jovial, mostly borgeois and slightly boorish collection of Russian emigrés. We feel how Nabokov was once part of this motley culture, at once an echo of the Motherland and an aspiring intelligentsia with (sometimes silly) cosmopolitan goals. We first get introduced to this community in Mary. Its importance was less central in King, Queen, Knave (a more German feel) and The Luzhin Defense (slightly more Russian). But it's back perforce in The Eye and will continue on into his next novel chronologically: Glory (at least, based on what I've read of the back flap).Our narrator is a peevish young man in Berlin, a recent Russian immigrant who is serving as the tutor to some snotnosed young boys. He hates it. Despite the lack of anything morally substantial in his life, he seems a preening, over-confident dandy. He takes up with a slightly sloppy mistress, whose husband wises to the liaison and gives the protagonist a summary beating—in front of his pupils. Mortified, he shoots himself.Now ostensibly dead, he spends the following three-quarters of the story living a dream-like extension of the same life. He becomes obsessed with the identity of a young man named Smurov. We're told that Smurov is a fair, wonderful, temperature man who is impeccably well-spoken and generally sensitive. Almost immediately, Smurov's actions belie this and we're left with the duty of deciding what is really happening, or what it means for something to really happen, or, anyway, to peel through the conceit of the narrator's own life and identity.In the narrator's opinion, Smurov only exists as others see him to exist, through their own keyhole perspective into his existence. Each person has their own Smurov-image: pompous fool, liar, latent homosexual, weird, would-be suitor.The narrator explains: We think of ourselves as a knowable collection of things, but, really, we're unbounded, there is no snapshot of knowing that anyone can bundle up. We're all fragmentary refractions of others' glimpses of us (or even unglimpsed shards we will never know about?), unknowable, reduced to the anecdotes and opinions of our observers, which disperse like steam after our corporeal existence ends.As the narrator unfolds Smurov from different angles, he wrangles with other human conditions, stumbling through the agony and ecstasy of unrequited love along the way. We don't care, alas, because his character is so repellant as to make him laughable, not pitiable. Or is it just that we think we understand the narrator's smug shallowness because we've seen 100 pages of its description? Maybe the reader, just like any of the individual watchers of Smurov (or the watcher of the watchers of Smurov) think we know the entirety of him, but merely know one fragment in time, from one specific perch.
  • (3/5)
    'The Eye' is something of a puzzle piece, not a who-dunnit but more a who-is-it. It's cleverly worked, and contains some masterful writing by Nabokov, who really knows his way around a pad of paper, but I couldn't help feeling this was too short and too insignificant a piece to credit being published; was it not better suited to a short story collection, or the Playboy issues it first appeared in?
  • (4/5)
    A short novel by the famous russian-american writer in which we witness the events taking place after the suicide of the protagonist who lived among a tight group of russian émigrés in 1920's Berlin. He postumously tries to figure out, from the contradictory opinions of those around him, who was a misterious character called Smurov. A beautiful work about the problem of appearences, identity and its social significance.
  • (4/5)
    After reading a crazy Japanese book of short stories I jumped into this Nabokov and sputtered and paused and reread sections just to get my mind on the right track. Nabokov is a genius when it comes to stringing words together and I didn't want to skim over them. His words deserved my utmost attention. I loved some of his sentences.The story was interesting. As I type this I'm wondering who I am, who I really am. The Brian that people see. I know what I see but I'm biased. I liked the idea that one continues to live through the memories of others and when that last person who remembers you dies, well, so do you... unless of course you wrote a bunch of books that bear your name in big letters on the front cover or you wrote and performed 'Purple Haze' or you just never die.My favorite part of the story was in the end when the narrator visited the florist and looked into the mirror. I thought that what Nabokov did in those few pages was brilliant. If I say anymore I'll spoil it...Guess I'm putting off Lolita so should get to that soon.
  • (3/5)
    Early on in this brief novel, the first-person narrator commits suicide (!) and then, too late, is startled to discover that he has entered into an afterlife that is remarkably similar to the real world he has just left -- even to the point of his needing a job in order to pay for food to eat! Baffled, and quite surprised that such an afterlife existed, he bows to the inevitable and starts putting together a new so-called 'life' by seeking out a new circle of friends, while both he and the reader each try to figure out what is going on in this very realistic spectral existence.In this still-early fourth novel by Nabokov, he introduces the skill that he will subsequently perfect, for artfully deceiving the reader and producing multi-layered and cleverly intertwined story arcs that gain fuller appreciation on second thought. To read a Nabokov novel for the first time, therefore, is not only to enjoy the story but frequently also to accept the author's game-like challenge to discern the complexity of the real story being told. In this slender book, Nabokovians will see yet another step forward in their author's development toward the famous writer he will eventually become.