The book begins,
Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.
It could be, a love story between Humbert Humbert and his Lolita no? Look how poetically MM. H.H. adores his Lolita. One can only hope to be loved so eloquently.
For the first few line, it is an unqualified romance.
But, I cringe at the back of the book, printed three years before my birth.
Vladimir Nabokov’s world-famous erotic masterpiece Lolita. The most tender, shocking, and outrageous love story ever told…”
Non, non, et encore non!
Tender and erotic, only in Humbert’s solipsism; these adjectives are absurd. I firmly believe there is a stupid gene linked to a blurb-writing gene.