Lost and found

My weekly e-mail alert from the New Yorker arrived today. A name flashed at me from the depths of the scroll and I froze. Nabakov.

Have I ever mentioned my fascination with Vladimir Nabakov? And his fascination with young girls? It fascinates me!

Actually Lolita tops my list of favorites because, much like the Story of O, it's about sexual experiences without ever using the most common words to describe sexual experiences. That's some beautiful writing.

The New Yorker is touting a found short story of his, reprinted without anyone's permission I'm sure -- as he is dead -- all over the front of their Web site.

Well, it is the "fiction issue" so it's appropriate. But is my glee appropriate in relation to the twisted mind of Nabokov? Maybe... We perverts do stick together, after all.

As usually happens when the weather is mentioned, the others looked out the window. That made a bluish-gray vein on Khrenov’s neck contract. Then he threw his head back on the pillow again. With a pout, Natasha counted the drops, and her eyelashes kept time. Her sleek dark hair was beaded with rain, and under her eyes there were adorable blue shadows.