A Nursery Tale

by Vladimir Nabokov

Genres: Russian Literature, Short Stories

14 pages, Unknown Binding

About the author

Vladimir Nabokov (Russian: Владимир Набоков) was a writer defined by a life of forced movement and extraordinary linguistic transformation. Born into a wealthy, liberal aristocratic family in St. Petersburg, Russia, he grew up trilingual, speaking Russian, English, and French in a household that nurtured his intellectual curiosities, including a lifelong passion for butterflies. This seemingly idyllic, privileged existence was abruptly shattered by the Bolshevik Revolution, which forced the family into permanent exile in 1919. This early, profound experience of displacement and the loss of a homeland became a central, enduring theme in his subsequent work, fueling his exploration of memory, nostalgia, and the irretrievable past.
The first phase of his literary life began in Europe, primarily in Berlin, where he established himself as a leading voice among the Russian émigré community under the pseudonym "Vladimir Sirin". During this prolific period, he penned nine novels in his native tongue, showcasing a precocious talent for intricate plotting and character study. Works like The Defense explored obsession through the extended metaphor of chess, while Invitation to a Beheading served as a potent, surreal critique of totalitarian absurdity. In 1925, he married Véra Slonim, an intellectual force in her own right, who would become his indispensable partner, editor, translator, and lifelong anchor.
The escalating shadow of Nazism necessitated another, urgent relocation in 1940, this time to the United States. It was here that Nabokov undertook an extraordinary linguistic metamorphosis, making the challenging yet resolute shift from Russian to English as his primary language of expression. He became a U.S. citizen in 1945, solidifying his new life in North America. To support his family, he took on academic positions, first founding the Russian department at Wellesley College, and later serving as a highly regarded professor of Russian and European literature at Cornell University from 1948 to 1959.
During this academic tenure, he also dedicated significant time to his other great passion: lepidoptery. He worked as an unpaid curator of butterflies at Harvard University's Museum of Comparative Zoology. His scientific work was far from amateurish; he developed novel taxonomic methods and a groundbreaking, highly debated theory on the migration patterns and phylogeny of the Polyommatus blue butterflies, a hypothesis that modern DNA analysis confirmed decades later.
Nabokov achieved widespread international fame and financial independence with the publication of Lolita in 1955, a novel that was initially met with controversy and censorship battles due to its provocative subject matter concerning a middle-aged literature professor and his obsession with a twelve-year-old girl. The novel's critical and commercial success finally allowed him to leave teaching and academia behind. In 1959, he and Véra moved permanently to the quiet luxury of the Montreux Palace Hotel in Switzerland, where he focused solely on writing, translating his earlier Russian works into meticulous English, and studying local butterflies.
His later English novels, such as Pale Fire (1962), a complex, postmodern narrative structured around a 999-line poem and its delusional commentator, cemented his reputation as a master stylist and a technical genius. His literary style is characterized by intricate wordplay, a profound use of allusion, structural complexity, and an insistence on the artist's total, almost tyrannical, control over their created world. Nabokov often expressed disdain for what he termed "topical trash" and the simplistic interpretations of Freudian psychoanalysis, preferring instead to focus on the power of individual consciousness, the mechanics of memory, and the intricate, often deceptive, interplay between art and perceived "reality". His unique body of work, straddling multiple cultures and languages, continues to

Reviews

[Brian · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Fantasy, the flutter, the rapture of fantasy!" So starts the tale of Erwin, a quiet, shy man I felt sorry for on the first page. He had been rejected by a woman and so never attempted to talk to women again. On the second page the creepiness slithered up and down my back. He lusts for women, and those he wants most, he keeps on his harem fantasy. Many men seek a harem of women through one-night stands or diverse sexual encounters. I'm conflicted in determining which has stronger negative moral implications, the man who goes through the gateway of a woman's will, or the man who rules over them in his heart, binding them to his self-willing desires. Womanizing seems like altruism in light of good old Erwie, to me at least. If you want it that bad, keep trying. Sex is easy to find. Love-- well, a different matter altogether.

An old woman named Frau Monde, the devil reincarnate, now working a job as a woman leading men to suicide, offers him a chance to fulfill his desires. From the moment of the encounter to midnight, all the women he wants for his harem, he shall have, so long as his choices end on an odd number by midnight.

A fun, yet creepy tale; it made me wonder if the story had influenced some of Stephen King's earliest short works.

[Karen · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a delightful little Faustian tale, although I was less surprised to find the devil was a woman than I was to read that a woman of fifty is elderly and jowly.

[Bo Valentine]

don’t ask why i read this but it was gross and i am not gonna rate it because i don’t exactly know what i’m feeling currently

[Z Wang · Rating 5 out of 5]

In his essay “Good Writers and Good Readers”, Vladimir Nabokov asserts that ‘major’ writers embody three personas: storyteller, teacher, and enchanter. No hypocrite to his own preaching, and certainly not modest, Nabokov should fill all three roles in “A Nursery Tale”—yet while the storyteller is apparent in the erotic and exciting nature of Erwin’s hunt, and the enchanter in the magical style of Nabokov’s language and imagery, it is not incipiently clear what moral education the story holds.
To answer this question, I will argue that Nabokov the teacher manifests himself in presenting “A Nursery Tale” as a figure for desire. To describe desire, he invites—even forces—readers to relive Erwin’s experience, and to view Erwin’s desires through his own eyes. Yet when it comes to identifying what exactly is desired, the narrator is forced into various modes of indirection; at times, the language of the text breaks down altogether. In spite of such challenges, Nabokov implies in the end that the true object of desire is not an unattainable goal forever ahead of our reach, but is rather—what Plato described as an impossible origin—behind us. In doing so, he not only performs his duty as educator, but also further enchants the ‘shimmering go-between’ that is the art of his work.
Desire is nothing if not personal—so intensely personal, in fact, that people often lock it away in the darkest recesses of their minds—and only through becoming a person can one truly understand that person’s desire. While an arguably impossible feat in real life, Nabokov uses his power as writer to construct a character that readers can embody and comprehend; he seduces readers into filling Erwin’s conscience, thus giving readers a pure and raw view of Erwin’s true desires.
To draw the reader in, the narrator uses personal remarks such as describing a pain “right here over his eyebrows,” fostering intimacy between reader, writer, and character. His use of “here” brings readers into the frame of the story—as if the narrator were pointing to his own head during a conversation. Nabokov continues to coerce readers into identifying with the hero by adding casual intimations about Erwin’s character. When the devil claims she likes Erwin because of “that shyness, that bold imagination,” the narrator is painting readers a sympathetic, even fond image of Erwin. Comments like this that point out his imperfection and give insight into his thought process allow readers to understand Erwin’s personality, and to empathize with him.
Having lured the reader into the mindset of Erwin, Nabokov can then describe the world as Erwin sees it. Erwin becomes the lens through which readers glimpse the fairy tale’s setting and its inhabitants, and most importantly, perceive desire. Indeed, sight is his most valuable tool: “he saw her so clearly, with such piercing and perfect force of perception.” Unable to be physically intimate with women, Erwin is forced into using his eyes to breach the physical distance separating him from his desires. The alliteration of ‘p’ here provides an underlying connection between ‘piercing’, ‘perfect force’, and ‘perception’: strong words that reaffirm Erwin’s gaze as that of the stereotypical male—aggressive, overtly sexual, and objectifying in the way that he collects girls like one would toys. Just as Erwin’s look is forceful, however, so too is the will of Nabokov, who forces all readers—passive and aggressive, female and male alike—to convert to Erwin’s point of view. He does this by giving a narration that is focalized through Erwin’s desire. For example, the narrator describes tingling details of the women that only Erwin would notice—highly sensual details like “palish lips [twitching] as if repeating every small soft movement of the puppy.” Rather than describe Erwin seeing these quivery movements, the narrator presents them as description—as if readers are noticing them, thus driving readers deeper into Erwin’s mind, while at the same time providing further insight into his true desires.
Yet while Nabokov successfully inserts readers into Erwin’s reality, he begins to trip and stumble whenever he approaches a pure description of desire. This should not come as a surprise—the satisfaction of desire is a paradox in itself, and while language may come close to defining desire, it is ultimately doomed to fail. Nabokov is no exception—while Erwin’s desire is focused through his sight, when he comes too close to the women he wants, he is blinded, “as if an iron helmet were restricting his temples and preventing him from raising his eyes.” If his vision is a metaphor for desire, then the lack thereof signifies both Erwin’s and the author’s inability to look at and describe desire when it is sitting right in front of them. In fact, Erwin had approached and conversed with a woman “only once in his life,” an event mirroring the original state or sin believed by many philosophies as the underlying cause of desire—a state to which desire seeks to return but can not, which for Erwin is real communication with women. And later, when Erwin explains to the devil the details of his soon-to-be fantasy, she replies that “everything will be just as you wish whether you tell me or not.” Since she can conveniently infer everything Erwin desires, there is no need to explain further—another instance of Nabokov dodging the task of putting Erwin’s desire into text.
While these are instances where Nabokov avoids attacking the enigma of desire straight on, there are also times where his language fails altogether. When describing what Erwin finds so appealing in his slaves, Nabokov mentions “that dipping line no words, of course, could describe.” The narrator’s comment “of course” suggests that language here not only fails at desire, but that its inability to describe desire is obvious. In fact, it is only during Erwin’s final chase that the author explicitly addresses what desire is: “What enticed him? Not her gait, not her shape, but something else, bewitching and overwhelming…Erwin knew nothing”—but while he does pose the right question, what follows fails to satisfy. Nabokov uses the negations of “not her gait, not her shape”—another avenue of indirection, describing what desire is not—, then “bewitching” and “overwhelming”. He had earlier used “bewildered, disembodied” in the same context; all these adjectives signify the self’s inability to comprehend desire, and imply that only through leaving or losing the self can one gain an objective view of one’s desire.
Despite his struggles in describing desire, Nabokov is not one to whet the reader’s appetite without providing some form of satisfaction, and slyly hidden in his details is an indication of what he thinks desire is. “A Nursery Tale” progresses with continued forward motion—Erwin’s fervent pursuit takes him from one girl to the next, walking down streets, passing buildings and people. However, when confronted with Erwin’s desire, Nabokov again and again turns to the phrase “mere fantasy, maybe, the flutter, the rapture of fantasy”—an almost exact repetition of the phrase that starts the story. In doing so, the author draws readers back to the beginning, the origin, introducing the idea that desire perhaps operates backwards, or in a cyclic motion, despite our perception of it propelling us forward.
Indeed, this concept of a cycle runs throughout the narrative. The first chapter is itself enveloped by the same phrase mentioned above. Erwin’s life is also a cycle, as he builds his harem on the train every day in the same monotonous fashion. It seems that the devil’s offer of finally realizing Erwin’s fantasy is a potential break in this cycle, giving him the chance to truly possess the girls he collects. Yet while Erwin’s journey of finding girls that day appears to progress linearly, the last girl Erwin catches turns out to be the first—tragically revealing that he is once again where he started. If not already apparent enough, Nabokov even has this final girl repeat the same words told to Erwin by the first and only other girl with whom he conversed, signifying an unmistakable return to Erwin’s origin. His desire unsatisfied, Erwin resigns to his fate, returning to his usual unfulfilling process the next day. But while he remains ignorant of being trapped in this cycle, readers can perceive the devious force of desire that plagues his life, one that drives him in endless circles in search of a gratification that will not come.
Having been given the knowledge that desire may direct backwards, what is the reader supposed to make of it? After all, regardless of the direction in which desire operates, true desire remains forever unsatisfiable: what then, is the use of this wisdom? Well, in today’s society of exponential technological growth, we have come to enjoy, admire, and expect even greater advances to come. ‘More’, ‘upgrade’, and ‘expand’ are the trendy words of the century, filling the speeches of successful businessmen. This ravenous thirst for progress, and the constant achievements that further fuel it form a wild cycle, at the center of which lies an unstoppable need to move forward.
But while innovations have brought more awareness and equality, is it possible that we have all become Erwins, greedily collecting each new gadget and anticipating the next? We await the announcement of each new iPhone every year with the same blind devotion, never doubting its ability to deliver the happiness we seek; but can better and better technology ever fully satisfy us, or are we being led on a fruitless endeavor? Is it even possible to escape from this cycle—and more significantly—do we really want to?

[Neil · Rating 5 out of 5]

i've never been so happy to see a man lose everything

[Destiny · Rating 1 out of 5]

This is not okay! I understand that authors and this their works are products of their times but this is horrid. Nabokov is know for pushing the boundaries of what was acceptable and unacceptable for his time period. This takes thing to an entirely different level of disturbing. He is canceled