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The Feud: Vladimir Nabokov, Edmund Wilson, and the End of a Beautiful Friendship
The Feud is the deliciously ironic (and sad) tale of how two literary giants destroyed their friendship in a fit of mutual pique and egomania.
In 1940, Edmund Wilson was the undisputed big dog of American letters. Vladimir Nabokov was a near-penniless Russian exile seeking asylum in the States. Wilson became a mentor to Nabokov, introducing him to every editor of note, assigning him book reviews for The New Republic, engineering a Guggenheim Fellowship. Their intimate friendship blossomed over a shared interest in all things Russian, ruffled a bit by political disagreements. But then came the worldwide best-selling novel Lolita, and the tables were turned. Suddenly Nabokov was the big (and very rich) dog. The feud finally erupted in full when Nabokov published his hugely footnoted and virtually unreadable literal translation of Pushkin’s famously untranslatable verse novel, Eugene Onegin. Wilson attacked his friend’s translation with hammer and tongs in The New York Review of Books . Nabokov counterattacked. Back and forth the increasingly aggressive letters flew, until the narcissism of small differences reduced their friendship to ashes.
Alex Beam has fashioned this clash of literary titans into a delightful and irresistible book—a comic contretemps of a very high order and a poignant demonstration of the fragility of even the deepest of friendships.
(With black-and-white illustrations throughout)
In 1940, Edmund Wilson was the undisputed big dog of American letters. Vladimir Nabokov was a near-penniless Russian exile seeking asylum in the States. Wilson became a mentor to Nabokov, introducing him to every editor of note, assigning him book reviews for The New Republic, engineering a Guggenheim Fellowship. Their intimate friendship blossomed over a shared interest in all things Russian, ruffled a bit by political disagreements. But then came the worldwide best-selling novel Lolita, and the tables were turned. Suddenly Nabokov was the big (and very rich) dog. The feud finally erupted in full when Nabokov published his hugely footnoted and virtually unreadable literal translation of Pushkin’s famously untranslatable verse novel, Eugene Onegin. Wilson attacked his friend’s translation with hammer and tongs in The New York Review of Books . Nabokov counterattacked. Back and forth the increasingly aggressive letters flew, until the narcissism of small differences reduced their friendship to ashes.
Alex Beam has fashioned this clash of literary titans into a delightful and irresistible book—a comic contretemps of a very high order and a poignant demonstration of the fragility of even the deepest of friendships.
(With black-and-white illustrations throughout)
224 pages, Hardcover
First published December 6, 2016
21 people are currently reading
438 people want to read
About the author
Alex Beam
12 books83 followersI'm [still] a [part-time] columnist for the Boston Globe. Before that I worked as a business reporter in Los Angeles and Moscow. I've lived in Boston since 1984, and written for the newspaper since 1987. I'm working on my next book, about the Mormon prophet Joseph Smith. I wish I still resembled that handsome photo, taken about a decade ago. UPDATE: Finished the Joseph Smith book (obviously) and have started turning over soil for my next project. UPDATE: Finished that project, a short, sharp book called "The Feud: Vladimir Nabokov, Edmund Wilson, and the End of a Beautiful Friendship." UPDATE The Nabokov-Wilson book got lovely reviews, and now I am days away from handing in the ms for my seventh book, my fifth work of nonfiction, the (true) story of Mies van der Rohe and his girlfriend/client/tormentor, Dr. Edith Farnsworth, for whom he built the Farnsworth House. (Please Google it - famous, beautiful house) ) UPDATE I ghost-wrote a book sometime in here, but alas under conditions of strictest secrecy. It was quite successful and I'd be happpy to do that kind of work again. I follow my Goodreads reviews, and would like to offer a collective Thank You to the men and women, who -- without exception, as far as I can see -- have offered literate, unbiased reactions to my writing. Thanks!
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 51 reviews
March 10, 2022
Click here to hear my thoughts on this book over on my Booktube channel, abookolive!
December 21, 2019
Breezy and fun.
November 18, 2017
How did we travel from "Dear Bunny" and "Dear Volodya" to Please Lose My Address and By the Way I'm Removing Your Blurbs from All My Books? A lighthearted and brisk account of the famous friendship that has fun with the subjects, imparts a lot of information, and playfully mimics the styles of Wilson and Nabokov without ever slipping into caricature or gossip. I thought Beam's portrait made Nabokov seem self-absorbed, petty, and spiteful, while Wilson came across as the better friend and more decent human being, if not the better writer. (But perhaps he was the better writer in some ways, Beam subtly suggests. He was a genius who took literature very seriously and tried to express his sense of justice, while Nabokov boasted "My books are blessed by a total lack of social significance.") I got the sense Beam finds Nabokov over-praised while Wilson deserves more appreciation today. But then I've never been a Nabokov fan. And this didn't make me want to read Eugene Onegin, in any translation.
May 29, 2016
To be Published by Pantheon on 6 December 20016 (Just in time for Holiday giving for all of the aesthetes on your list)
The will be the hardest review I've ever written. For about 25 years Vladimir Nabokov and Edmund Wilson were the best of friends, sharing a love of literature (classic and dirty), socializing, and writing correspondence to each other. Circa 1965, they had a major falling out, spurred on by Wilson's negative review of Nabokov's translation of Pushkin's Eugene Onegin [forgive me for not calling him Yevgeny]. The problem is, Alex Beam is a friend of mine. We see movies together, talk about books, socialize, and write e-mail correspondence. That might all end if this review displeases him.
I no longer read The New York Review of Books and I, like Wilson, have all but given up on the NYT Book Review. I don't know if literary feuds, about prosody and translation of odd Russian verbs, are carried out any more. The 60s were a more intellectually charged time. However, prosody and odd Russian verbs are the stuff of the legend that Beam spins in THE FEUD. I wish that I cared as much about literature to get hepped up about a faulty translation. I've read Pushkin, poems and fiction, but read whatever translations were available to me, mostly from Vintage. My Anna Karenina [See Beam concerning the dispute over that title] is by Constance Garnett, a bugbear to both of the subjects of this breezy, comic look at a literary clash of the titans. Yet, as Beam points out, readable, not literal, translation was the life's blood of these two men. Enough of a cause to sever their friendship.
Both subjects come off a bit better yet far worse in the end. Nabokov's wit and playfulness clashing with Wilson's more refined taste. You will read far more about prosody than you ever wished. All in all, this is a highly enjoyable book on a subject that might seem a touch rarefied. Fans of Beam's column, people who are accustomed to his jaundiced look at the world, will find plenty of his trademark humor and bile on display. A subtext, one that Beam himself may not have intended, is a reader's attempt to fully comprehend a book. I have seen Beam's Russian language version of EO, with his own translation penciled in. This book sort of fits onto the shelf with Mead's MY LIFE IN MIDDLEMARCH or Jhumpa Lahiri's IN OTHER WORDS. Books about people immersing themselves in literature and language. Nabokov and Wilson took the plunge, as has Beam. This book will leave you wanting to read Onegin. However, channeling Bunny Wilson, Nabokov's may not be the way to go
The will be the hardest review I've ever written. For about 25 years Vladimir Nabokov and Edmund Wilson were the best of friends, sharing a love of literature (classic and dirty), socializing, and writing correspondence to each other. Circa 1965, they had a major falling out, spurred on by Wilson's negative review of Nabokov's translation of Pushkin's Eugene Onegin [forgive me for not calling him Yevgeny]. The problem is, Alex Beam is a friend of mine. We see movies together, talk about books, socialize, and write e-mail correspondence. That might all end if this review displeases him.
I no longer read The New York Review of Books and I, like Wilson, have all but given up on the NYT Book Review. I don't know if literary feuds, about prosody and translation of odd Russian verbs, are carried out any more. The 60s were a more intellectually charged time. However, prosody and odd Russian verbs are the stuff of the legend that Beam spins in THE FEUD. I wish that I cared as much about literature to get hepped up about a faulty translation. I've read Pushkin, poems and fiction, but read whatever translations were available to me, mostly from Vintage. My Anna Karenina [See Beam concerning the dispute over that title] is by Constance Garnett, a bugbear to both of the subjects of this breezy, comic look at a literary clash of the titans. Yet, as Beam points out, readable, not literal, translation was the life's blood of these two men. Enough of a cause to sever their friendship.
Both subjects come off a bit better yet far worse in the end. Nabokov's wit and playfulness clashing with Wilson's more refined taste. You will read far more about prosody than you ever wished. All in all, this is a highly enjoyable book on a subject that might seem a touch rarefied. Fans of Beam's column, people who are accustomed to his jaundiced look at the world, will find plenty of his trademark humor and bile on display. A subtext, one that Beam himself may not have intended, is a reader's attempt to fully comprehend a book. I have seen Beam's Russian language version of EO, with his own translation penciled in. This book sort of fits onto the shelf with Mead's MY LIFE IN MIDDLEMARCH or Jhumpa Lahiri's IN OTHER WORDS. Books about people immersing themselves in literature and language. Nabokov and Wilson took the plunge, as has Beam. This book will leave you wanting to read Onegin. However, channeling Bunny Wilson, Nabokov's may not be the way to go
December 31, 2019
The somewhat sad, mostly ridiculous tale of how two great authors formed a friendship based on the sheer love of erudition, and then fell into epistolary sniping over Nabokov's sprawling translation of, and commentary on, Pushkin's verse novel Eugene Onegin. Beam shows how Nabokov, upon coming to America, was an author in need of introductions, and Edmund Wilson, then more well-known than he is today, was generous in promoting this talented Russian émigré. He introduced Nabokov to editors and get him book reviewing jobs, among other favors. Wilson was a leftist who thought Lenin was a boon to Russia, while Nabokov, an exiled White Russian, hated everything Soviet. Once the brilliant Lolita made Nabokov a literary and cinematic star, Nabokov retreated to Switzerland, where he made himself out to be an infallible, unknowable genius, beholden to no one. Wilson was already beginning to find Nabokov's prosody, punning, hoaxes, and experimentation with the novel form tiresome, and when Nabokov came out with a 900-page commentary on Onegin, Wilson gave it a poor review. Thus two decades of sniping, claims, counter-claims, insults, and aspersions in the pages of various literary journals began.
Beam delights in exposing both authors' peccadilloes and snits. Making clear how petty the feuding is, he nevertheless provides the research needed to see which claims have merit and which are mere vanity. He also quotes a few literary giants of the time who felt the need to weigh in, from other translators to authors who probably didn't have any reason to have an opinion. It's all completely enthralling. Beam's prose is eminently readable, and he provides all the context needed for any reader to enjoy a view to the literary boxing. I had only perhaps heard Wilson's name before reading this, yet this was no hindrance to enjoying the story. What I came away from the book with, besides a feeling of enjoyment at the petty sniping and Beam's exegesis of it, was what a titanic, overweening egotist Nabokov was. In these pages the great author evinces an almost Trumpian insecurity, full of disdain for everyone who is not himself, quick with derision and insults for even the most lauded literary talents. He's long been an author I admired, but great talent alone doesn't palliate such puffed-up pedantry and pertinacious put-downs.
Beam delights in exposing both authors' peccadilloes and snits. Making clear how petty the feuding is, he nevertheless provides the research needed to see which claims have merit and which are mere vanity. He also quotes a few literary giants of the time who felt the need to weigh in, from other translators to authors who probably didn't have any reason to have an opinion. It's all completely enthralling. Beam's prose is eminently readable, and he provides all the context needed for any reader to enjoy a view to the literary boxing. I had only perhaps heard Wilson's name before reading this, yet this was no hindrance to enjoying the story. What I came away from the book with, besides a feeling of enjoyment at the petty sniping and Beam's exegesis of it, was what a titanic, overweening egotist Nabokov was. In these pages the great author evinces an almost Trumpian insecurity, full of disdain for everyone who is not himself, quick with derision and insults for even the most lauded literary talents. He's long been an author I admired, but great talent alone doesn't palliate such puffed-up pedantry and pertinacious put-downs.
January 11, 2017
What is an esoteric and dry subject matter was made entertaining and fun by Beam's writing. I appreciate his use of the phrase "ghastly boners" and the one time he simply uttered "Ugh."
December 25, 2016
A fun and exciting look at the Onegin/Off-Again friendship betwixt literary master Nabokov and margarita-swilling Wilson. Really puts Pale Fire and Transparent Things into a new light. Shoves, really. Really cattle-prods them into a new light, pal. Cold Siberian light. Also reveals, perhaps, that Nabokov's famously terrible translation (with commentary) of Eugene Onegin was less an exiled academic's labor of Mother Russia oedipal love and more litland's version of Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music: a droning vanity project done only because he had the zeitgeist's beer-stained carnival-prize cards in his Montreux room-service manicured hand and in his favor.
July 11, 2019
As amusing as a book about two legendary, passionate and pedantic men should be anyway, Beam pulled all of the ridiculousness and quirkiness of this friendship together in a delightful way. Learn how much of a dick Nabokov was while looking up a fascinating and esoteric word every few pages (thanks for that!), and let the startling hubris of both men amaze you. Ah, what a story. Everything about this was a pleasure to read. The real hero? Gerschenkron.
October 29, 2016
4.5 review tk
December 22, 2016
This book was a delight, and I enjoyed every page of it. Beam is scrupulously fair to both Nabokov and Wilson—which is remarkable when you consider what a pure and simple son-of-a-bitch the Russian was most of the time, and how unlikeable the Lenin-loving American very often appeared. He also manages to infuse nearly every word of the book with wit and good humor and the knowing wink of a half-century's retrospection, while maintaining a sense of pace and forward motion in a narrative that plays out largely through the exchange of letters and tetchy submissions to literary magazines. This is no mean feat. Beam's voice and intellect are never effaced, but the tone of the book is one of amused, ironic detachment: the regular guy who just can't believe people could fight about something like this, even as his account shows a keen understanding of just exactly why they did. The final analysis of the hows and whys of the split is fair, compelling, and ultimately convincing.
I may be the perfect target audience of one for a book about Russian literature, savage book-criticism, translation theory, and arcane literary feuding, but I'm not the only person who's going to enjoy the hell out of this book. I can't think of a book I've had more fun reading in the last three or four years, which is a testament to the author's great accomplishment.
I may be the perfect target audience of one for a book about Russian literature, savage book-criticism, translation theory, and arcane literary feuding, but I'm not the only person who's going to enjoy the hell out of this book. I can't think of a book I've had more fun reading in the last three or four years, which is a testament to the author's great accomplishment.
October 17, 2022
An entertaining, well-written read about not very much. Why friendships do have an endshiip - when Pushkin comes to shovekin, the nature of translation (be faithful? Or be beautiful?), the wisdom of engaging people on their own turf.
A nice distraction. Maybe 3.5 stars
A nice distraction. Maybe 3.5 stars
December 14, 2016
HILARIOUS. A little sad. You'll want to slap both of them.
July 9, 2017
I have the feeling that Vladimir Nabokov, unlike Pablo Picasso, was indeed called an asshole on many occasions. Also brace yourself for the most hilarious footnote ever on page 136.
November 29, 2020
If you have an interest in literary history, Russian literature, and/or Nabokov, then I think you'll have a great interest in this. If you're just interested in hearing about drama, then this is not the book for you.
For me, this was okay. I knew this wouldn't be my cup of tea, but I needed a short audiobook while doing chores, so I only have myself to blame for picking it up.
If you have a genuine interest in the topics this book touches on (American literature, Russian literature, Nabokov, American literary history, etc.), then please don't let my rating dissuade you.
For me, this was okay. I knew this wouldn't be my cup of tea, but I needed a short audiobook while doing chores, so I only have myself to blame for picking it up.
If you have a genuine interest in the topics this book touches on (American literature, Russian literature, Nabokov, American literary history, etc.), then please don't let my rating dissuade you.
April 13, 2017
Interesting short history of a famous feud between Edmund Wilson, a famous critic in the mid-20th century, and the author Vladimir Nabokov over his infamous translation of Eugene Onegin. I knew a little bit about the feud and the protagonists beforehand; I don't know how interesting this would be to someone who knows nothing about Nabokov or Edmund Wilson.
September 18, 2025
Well written study in friendship demise between these two celebrities of the publishing world, while thoughtful, proved tedious by such elucidation of breakdown: the more I knew about these men — the more disappointed I felt about them. (Not the biographer’s fault that the subjects’ excesses proved depressive.)
December 25, 2016
Alex Beam reports that when he first heard of the feud between Vladmir Nabokov and Edmund Wilson, he laughed out loud I did the same reading this book. I was a grad student in English at a time when Edmund Wilson was very much a personage. I read The Wound and the Bow, The Shores of Light and his diaries from the 1960s. Those later diaries did put a bit of a damper on my enthusiasm for Wilson because I learned more than I wanted to know about the sexual problems of elderly men.
And I also enjoyed Nabokov. My college mentor was a huge fan of Pale Fire and I learned to love it as well. Wilson provided Nabokov an entree to many opportunities to review and helped more than one member of the Nabokov family.
The two were reported to be the best of friends.
Then Nabokov did a translation of Eugene Onegin It came out in 4 volumes and totalled 1,895 pages most of which was commentary on the poem. It also includes such interesting English words as "mollitude" and "shandrydans." The most amusing conflict is when Nabokov's colleagues on this translation project suggest he use the word friend while he stubbornly refuses to consider any other word than "pal."
When the Onegin translation was published, Wilson reviewed it for the The New York Review of Books. Says Beam: " It remains a classic of its genre, the genre being an overlong, spiteful, stochastically accurate, generally useless but unfailingly amusing hatchet job, the yawning massive load of boiling pitch that inevitably ends up scalding the grinning fiend pouring hot oil over the battlement as much as it harms the intended victim."
While this caused hard feelings and sparked debate, I'm not sure it changed much for Wilson or Nabokov. Nabokov's career continued to soar and Wilson's reputation continued to fade. When Wilson was given a literary award late in life, the wife of one of the plutocrats attending the reception asked Wilson if he had written Finlandia.. (He wrote a book called To The Finland Station) Nowadays people confuse him with Edward O. Wilson. As person says to Beam when asked if he knows who Edmund Wilson is, "It's weird how he makes everything about ants."
There are other reasons the friendship may have come to grief. The literary superstar Nabokov may have not have liked remembering how much he relied on Wilson when he first came to America. Wilson who published erotic fiction, Memoirs of Hecate County, may have resented the greater success of Lolita.
I would be remiss if I didn't mention the foot fetishes Gore Vidal reviewing The Thirties for The New York Review of Books, counted 24 references to women's feet. Vidal cited Wilson's 'podophilia,' and observes, 'He could have made a fortune in women's footwear.' Onegin is known for its 'pedal digression.'
Mostly this is a lot of fun if you enjoy literary eminences behaving badly. It's a hoot.
And I also enjoyed Nabokov. My college mentor was a huge fan of Pale Fire and I learned to love it as well. Wilson provided Nabokov an entree to many opportunities to review and helped more than one member of the Nabokov family.
The two were reported to be the best of friends.
Then Nabokov did a translation of Eugene Onegin It came out in 4 volumes and totalled 1,895 pages most of which was commentary on the poem. It also includes such interesting English words as "mollitude" and "shandrydans." The most amusing conflict is when Nabokov's colleagues on this translation project suggest he use the word friend while he stubbornly refuses to consider any other word than "pal."
When the Onegin translation was published, Wilson reviewed it for the The New York Review of Books. Says Beam: " It remains a classic of its genre, the genre being an overlong, spiteful, stochastically accurate, generally useless but unfailingly amusing hatchet job, the yawning massive load of boiling pitch that inevitably ends up scalding the grinning fiend pouring hot oil over the battlement as much as it harms the intended victim."
While this caused hard feelings and sparked debate, I'm not sure it changed much for Wilson or Nabokov. Nabokov's career continued to soar and Wilson's reputation continued to fade. When Wilson was given a literary award late in life, the wife of one of the plutocrats attending the reception asked Wilson if he had written Finlandia.. (He wrote a book called To The Finland Station) Nowadays people confuse him with Edward O. Wilson. As person says to Beam when asked if he knows who Edmund Wilson is, "It's weird how he makes everything about ants."
There are other reasons the friendship may have come to grief. The literary superstar Nabokov may have not have liked remembering how much he relied on Wilson when he first came to America. Wilson who published erotic fiction, Memoirs of Hecate County, may have resented the greater success of Lolita.
I would be remiss if I didn't mention the foot fetishes Gore Vidal reviewing The Thirties for The New York Review of Books, counted 24 references to women's feet. Vidal cited Wilson's 'podophilia,' and observes, 'He could have made a fortune in women's footwear.' Onegin is known for its 'pedal digression.'
Mostly this is a lot of fun if you enjoy literary eminences behaving badly. It's a hoot.
January 18, 2017
I wanted to like this book. The author has a great sense of humor and doesn't try to mythologize his subjects, but ultimately the details of their squabbles felt too arcane for me to really get into.
February 1, 2017
Absolutely delightful. Awesomely detailed.
Read
June 29, 2022d'you think Vladimir Nabokov and Edmund Wilson ever explored each other's bodies
September 19, 2017
You know those moments at work or school when you accidentally eavesdrop on a conversation and then can't bring yourself to stop eavesdropping? Especially when it's two people gossiping about other coworkers or classmates who you also know? You sit there and pretend not to listen, and pretend not to care, but really you know everything, from fitting all the pieces together over time and understanding all of the involved parties' motivations, histories and experiences.
Reading The Feud felt a lot like that. The metaphor doesn't extend really beyond that, but my point is that it was a book full of hilarious and petty gossip about two renowned writers of their days, Vladimir Nabokov and Edmund Wilson. And I could look away from none of it. By the time the friendship between the men had ended, decades after it began, both of them had stooped so low into petty revenge and schoolgirl gossip that it was laughable. And author Alex Beam sets up both sides so well—with both plenty of facts and information, and plenty of hilarity and silliness—that it felt like I really was privy to all the brotherly love and literary hostility that ended up taking place between them.
Both men were literary geniuses in one way or another, and the massive hubris each of them possessed got the best of their friendship over the years, to the point that their only communication came from both of them writing passive-aggressive (or often downright aggressive) columns to each other that, for some reason, American newspapers decided to publish. I couldn't quite wrap my head around why the newspapers would continue to entertain such a silly squabble about nothing.
That's just it: it really was about nothing. And by "nothing" I mean "Eugene Onegin," but still, most people would not think that a translation of a Pushkin poem would be the thing that tears friendships apart. Or one man's hatred for the other man's use of puns. Or a slightly differently translated word from Russian to English. But to both Nabokov and Wilson, apparently, all of those things were their world, and every little thing that they disagreed on within that world could set them off. Beam illustrates this well, bringing points from both sides, as well as follies on both sides, discussing how the feud was received by the public and by their wives.
Of course, I have to side with dear Volodya in all this, although not because I'm already devoted to him and not at all familiar with "Bunny" Wilson. For all of his ridiculousness and pretentiousness, he was the true Russian speaker, the literary expert, the wordplay master—which isn't to say Wilson wasn't, but less so than his more famous friend, especially after Lolita was published, both in the United States and abroad. Both men refused to let go of the situation, but in Wilson's case, his disagreement with Nabokov largely came from jealousy and wanting to continue to feel relevant in literary circles. Wilson's novels never did as well as Nabokov's, and by the end of his life he was no longer in his prime. He stooped to some pretty low personal attacks on Nabokov and his family and lied about some of the things he had previously said. Nabokov wasn't always above this type of behavior either, but Nabokov had more of a right to be a snob. Their true colors certainly came out in this debate, in any case, and it was a fascinating read to learn more about their relationship, beginning to end.
Reading The Feud felt a lot like that. The metaphor doesn't extend really beyond that, but my point is that it was a book full of hilarious and petty gossip about two renowned writers of their days, Vladimir Nabokov and Edmund Wilson. And I could look away from none of it. By the time the friendship between the men had ended, decades after it began, both of them had stooped so low into petty revenge and schoolgirl gossip that it was laughable. And author Alex Beam sets up both sides so well—with both plenty of facts and information, and plenty of hilarity and silliness—that it felt like I really was privy to all the brotherly love and literary hostility that ended up taking place between them.
Both men were literary geniuses in one way or another, and the massive hubris each of them possessed got the best of their friendship over the years, to the point that their only communication came from both of them writing passive-aggressive (or often downright aggressive) columns to each other that, for some reason, American newspapers decided to publish. I couldn't quite wrap my head around why the newspapers would continue to entertain such a silly squabble about nothing.
That's just it: it really was about nothing. And by "nothing" I mean "Eugene Onegin," but still, most people would not think that a translation of a Pushkin poem would be the thing that tears friendships apart. Or one man's hatred for the other man's use of puns. Or a slightly differently translated word from Russian to English. But to both Nabokov and Wilson, apparently, all of those things were their world, and every little thing that they disagreed on within that world could set them off. Beam illustrates this well, bringing points from both sides, as well as follies on both sides, discussing how the feud was received by the public and by their wives.
Of course, I have to side with dear Volodya in all this, although not because I'm already devoted to him and not at all familiar with "Bunny" Wilson. For all of his ridiculousness and pretentiousness, he was the true Russian speaker, the literary expert, the wordplay master—which isn't to say Wilson wasn't, but less so than his more famous friend, especially after Lolita was published, both in the United States and abroad. Both men refused to let go of the situation, but in Wilson's case, his disagreement with Nabokov largely came from jealousy and wanting to continue to feel relevant in literary circles. Wilson's novels never did as well as Nabokov's, and by the end of his life he was no longer in his prime. He stooped to some pretty low personal attacks on Nabokov and his family and lied about some of the things he had previously said. Nabokov wasn't always above this type of behavior either, but Nabokov had more of a right to be a snob. Their true colors certainly came out in this debate, in any case, and it was a fascinating read to learn more about their relationship, beginning to end.
April 10, 2025
I really liked The Feud. I am a Nabokov fan though, so I'm pre-interested in the subject matter. This is a short book, and I blew through it in a couple days. It's written in a very ironic, engaging style that owes much to Nabokov (as the author acknowledges).
A small quibble is that the author kind of abruptly ends the narrative after the deaths of the two principals (save for a humorous appearance by Dmitri Nabokov which doesn't really add to the story). I would like to understand how the spat over Eugene Onegin added to or informed the reception of these two men after their death. Eg, has history basically vindicated Wilson or is the commentary in fact a valuable resource for all academics studying Pushkin today (as I suspect is the case?).
On the content of the book:
I love Vladimir Nabokov. So it's weird to kind of hate him after reading some parts of The Feud. I'm grateful to get a fuller picture of his life and opinions nevertheless. Crucially, VN appears to finally meet his match in the great Alexander Gershenkron, a towering genius of pre-1917 Russian extraction, very much on VN's level intellectually and temperamentally. That it takes this level of a person to finally get VN to shut up reveals a lot about how hubristic VN was. It also emphasizes the extent of the brain drain that the US benefitted from as a result of the Russian Revolution and throughout the 20th century - so many Russian geniuses, in every kind of field, all of whom knew each other. VN may have considered himself the sharpest tool in the shed 99% of the time, but that other 1% is so devastating.
A small quibble is that the author kind of abruptly ends the narrative after the deaths of the two principals (save for a humorous appearance by Dmitri Nabokov which doesn't really add to the story). I would like to understand how the spat over Eugene Onegin added to or informed the reception of these two men after their death. Eg, has history basically vindicated Wilson or is the commentary in fact a valuable resource for all academics studying Pushkin today (as I suspect is the case?).
On the content of the book:
I love Vladimir Nabokov. So it's weird to kind of hate him after reading some parts of The Feud. I'm grateful to get a fuller picture of his life and opinions nevertheless. Crucially, VN appears to finally meet his match in the great Alexander Gershenkron, a towering genius of pre-1917 Russian extraction, very much on VN's level intellectually and temperamentally. That it takes this level of a person to finally get VN to shut up reveals a lot about how hubristic VN was. It also emphasizes the extent of the brain drain that the US benefitted from as a result of the Russian Revolution and throughout the 20th century - so many Russian geniuses, in every kind of field, all of whom knew each other. VN may have considered himself the sharpest tool in the shed 99% of the time, but that other 1% is so devastating.
May 8, 2018
Beam enjoys the setup: Old World patrician v. New World patrician. And yet, outside of academia, does anyone recall the status Edmund Wilson had in 20th C. letters? And how many care about his disagreements with Vladimir Nabokov? "The Nabokov-Wilson Letters, 1940 - 1971" was published in 1979, so many of the details of the "feud" are old news. What remains to the author is to establish a story of a friendship which started out with great promise but which crashed on the shoals of a fundamental disagreement over translation. Nabokov felt that turning Russian poetry into English poetry was impossible, and set out to provide an absolute crib of Pushkin's "Eugene Onegin", preserving the sense of the poem without the poetry. Wilson found this to be a terrible idea, and so the split began. Compelling stuff?
However you feel about Nabokov or poetry in translation or mid-century literary disputes, Beam gives some insight into the titans of the time, and this clash in particular.
However you feel about Nabokov or poetry in translation or mid-century literary disputes, Beam gives some insight into the titans of the time, and this clash in particular.
August 6, 2019
Such a great deep dive into what has to be the pettiest, loftiest grudge match in 20th century literature: Wilson v Nabokov on translating Eugene Onegin. It’s brisk and breezy and dishy, like a TMZxNYRB collab.
Ultimately I found the fervid, kabbalistic close reading / conspiracy theorizing of Andrea Pitzer’s The Secret History of Vladimir Nabokov more engrossing (the difference in how the two books treat the refrigerator poem in the NYer is instructive) but this is highly entertaining, and Alex Beam gets into punny fun of writing about Nabokov with plenty of scenery-chewing turns of phrase, and lots of deep cuts for the real heads (amazingly obscanturist Wilson disses hidden many layers into things like Ada, or Ardor: A Family Chronicleand Speak, Memory).
Good christ Nabokov was a catty bitch.
Ultimately I found the fervid, kabbalistic close reading / conspiracy theorizing of Andrea Pitzer’s The Secret History of Vladimir Nabokov more engrossing (the difference in how the two books treat the refrigerator poem in the NYer is instructive) but this is highly entertaining, and Alex Beam gets into punny fun of writing about Nabokov with plenty of scenery-chewing turns of phrase, and lots of deep cuts for the real heads (amazingly obscanturist Wilson disses hidden many layers into things like Ada, or Ardor: A Family Chronicleand Speak, Memory).
Good christ Nabokov was a catty bitch.
August 21, 2021
OMG this was a fun read. I agree with each of the other five star reviews. Beams is a great and intelligent writer who keeps the story balanced, informative and entertaining from start to finish.
Essentially it's the story of what happens when two egomaniacs - FILLED to brim with hubris - eventually clash. Some might even say it was almost inevitable that they did. I personally have never cared much for Nanakov's snarky writing. As for Wilson, despite his output over the years, the only thing that stands out are HIS bitchy comments about writers he didn't care for, and his soaring praise for those he liked - whether they deserved it or not.
These two reminded me of Hedda Hopper and Luella Parsons. Full of self-importance but with little in the way of real talent themselves. Neither man is to be admired but the book IS.
Essentially it's the story of what happens when two egomaniacs - FILLED to brim with hubris - eventually clash. Some might even say it was almost inevitable that they did. I personally have never cared much for Nanakov's snarky writing. As for Wilson, despite his output over the years, the only thing that stands out are HIS bitchy comments about writers he didn't care for, and his soaring praise for those he liked - whether they deserved it or not.
These two reminded me of Hedda Hopper and Luella Parsons. Full of self-importance but with little in the way of real talent themselves. Neither man is to be admired but the book IS.
November 20, 2022
A lively account of the friendship and very public fall-out of Edmund Wilson and Vladimir Nabokov. What's surprising, given what nasty egomaniacs these 2 mercifully dead white men were, is that they didn't jump to each other's throat sooner. Although Beam is commendably generous and even-handed towards his subjects, what I took away from his book is that Wilson was a hypocrite of the first order, who invented principled reasons to refuse to pay his taxes when in fact he preferred to spend the money on luxury items and preached puritanism to his son while being notoriously promiscuous. Both men were vindictive snobs who craved the limelight and hewed to a code of conduct one hopes will never be tolerated again.
November 21, 2017
I walked away from THE FEUD: Vladimir Nabokov, Edmund Wilson,
and the End of a Beautiful Friendship feeling surprised with myself for being 100% #TeamWilson. I've always been a great worshipper at the altar of Nabokov, from the short stories, memoir SPEAK, MEMORY, and yes, even LOLITA, but in this dual biography by Alex Beam, he truly came off sounding like such a *shit* that I was resolutely on Wilson's side. Highly recommend.
and the End of a Beautiful Friendship feeling surprised with myself for being 100% #TeamWilson. I've always been a great worshipper at the altar of Nabokov, from the short stories, memoir SPEAK, MEMORY, and yes, even LOLITA, but in this dual biography by Alex Beam, he truly came off sounding like such a *shit* that I was resolutely on Wilson's side. Highly recommend.
May 3, 2018
A good, short look at the collision of two momentous egos. Beam comes down hard on Nabokov in a way to which I'm unaccustomed: everyone (myself included) fawns over him (damn straight)--but Beam isn't in the same camp. I didn't realize how much of a big wheel Edmund Wilson was until I read this. Ultimately, it's a story about a friendship broken because of disagreements not over politics or adultery or money--but quarrels about Russian prosody. If you like Nabokov, this is worth a read.
May 10, 2017
Extremely engaging account of a literary feud I had previously heard nothing about. Turns out these two could and did get just as catty as Mary McCarthy and Lillian Hellman. The best line in the book is "the old adage"--everything has been said, but not everyone has said it. What an astonishing number of critics weighed in on this catfight! The book made me laugh out loud.
August 8, 2017
Beam has done his homework thoroughly, and his breezy style ensures that what could have been dry and boring never is. But neither of his subjects comes off very well, and it's hard to root for or even to like either one of them. This friendship may have been many things, but "beautiful" wasn't one of them.
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