Collectively operated since 1973

Staff Pick by comrade: Lindsey

"Nobody could tell what went on in that little head. Waves of desire rippled there, a recent lover fell back in a swoon, hygienic doubts were raised and dismissed, a contempt for everyone but herself advertised witha flush of warmth its constant presence, here it is, cried what's her name squatting quickly." (pg 17) Nabokov's last book holds all of his classic poetic strangeness strewn into a nebulous narrative. This shouldn't be the first book of his that you read--exposure to his style is helpful in imagining how it might have come together--but any enthusiast looking to dissect his raw process will gorge on the exposed twists in his script, scratched out notes, and misspelled words.