The Real Life of Sebastian Knight

i am quite in love with nabokov, and he is one of the few authors of whom i like to say "i like everything he has written". partially, because he is always surprising, for the language and the way his intelligence springs up from the page at every turn, but also for the unexpected stories he decides to weave in front of the readers eyes. in this volume, he conjures up someone we will never meet (the deceased imaginary author sebastian knight) but grow to like and feel frustrated about while his half brother looks for him in the hope of writing his biography. some pages are supremely moving, and yet he never seems to strive artificially to create touching situations. what a master.

This is a strange novel, full of typical Nabokov style language and thought patterns which enhance the story, but which failed to produce any sort of basic response from me. It is a dream, a fantasy, a wandering down long passages which end in a destination not thought of before. What was Nabokov trying to achieve, I wonder? I failed to understand his objective, aim, or purpose.