The other night I dreamt that I was talking to Vladimir Nabokov. Actually it was more a matter of him talking to me - which he was doing in Russian-accented French, much of which was proving hard to understand. Sensing this, he inquired - in French - if I didn't habitually converse in French when at home. 'Pas totalement,' I replied, which seemed to amuse him slightly.
I remember no more, and have no idea what it can have meant. I'd sooner have been dreaming - as Nabokov did on a good night - of butterflies.
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You weren't at the Bols over there in Holland were you Nige?
ReplyDeleteI often dream that I'm talking with writers. Martin Amis once snubbed me in a dream, which I imagine was rather like how it would be in real life. Clive James was an absolute delight, however.
ReplyDeleteAvignon ... Demoiselles ... Harlequin ...
ReplyDeleteJust so long as you don't dream you are one of Nabokov's butterflies and then wake up to realize you've done a Kafka and now have eight legs and a proboscis. It sounds as if he is trying to tell you something but it is getting lost in translation or you are impatient and don't want to listen carefully enough.
Take a good dollop of "Pnin" and call in sick tomorrow morning.
ReplyDeleteWell I've already got the proboscis Mark...
ReplyDelete