Lolita remains a myth, a secret. The reader is forced to look at her from almost a pornographic point of view, through Humberts greedy eyes. This window to Lolita leaves out her own thoughts and feelings, her personal sufferings as a child taken too early into the sexual power games that even adults cannot handle. Only in the very end of the novel does Humber confess that he never understood Lolita as a person, never really cared for her. For Humbert, Lolita is not a child, but a half-woman -and thereby a playmate, a tool, a doll. Never a person. But that is exactly what makes a Lolita: she is dreamed, not listened. She is a projection, not a real person with needs. She carries whatever is imposed on her. What makes this particular case a bothering one is Lolitas age. Humbert accuses her of being seductive; it is repeatedly implied that Lolita knows exactly what she is doing and that she has had sexual experiences already before Humbert ever stepped into her life as her “stepfather”. It might be that Lolita is playing the game, but she absolutely does not know the rules. How could she? In the beginning of the crime story she is only twelve years old.

The themes of “Lolita” are still adequate, as the childhood gets shorter and girls enter the adult-like world of sexuality quite early. Is their mental age equivalent of their physical age and their behaviour? Still, sexuality is always in the eyes of the beholder. Lolita is a child; she is only made a “nymphette” by the behaviour of Humbert Humbert.

In the end we find out that Humbert is writing his story in a mental asylum, apparently waiting for a trial. Ironically, he has guessed the attitudes of what I believe the most readers will have: throughout the book he writes sarcastically and even in a proud, patronizing tone to his “jury”. As always, it is easy to judge. The real trick is that “Lolita” actually helps the reader to somehow understand. And understanding Humbert and his psychotic personality, his twisted emotional life (or the lack of it) and his obsessions doesn`t mean that one would approve them. This is one sign of a truly great novel: you are almost lured to understand a person you dislike, and you understand, at least on some level, even though you do not approve.

Nabokov`s language paints the portrait of Humbert rich and colourful. We are asked to join the obsessions of a deeply lonely scholar, a man of books, French language, European background. A man of high education and low thoughts about other people and their cababilities. Other people are constantly seen as stupid, uncultivated, ignorant. Ironically, these very characteristics that make other people so disgusting for Humbert are not a problem in Lolita. They make her weak, easy to manipulate. Her youth fascinates Humbert because it is his primary weapon: a young girl with few experiences is easier to control than a woman with more personal power. And Humbert needs to feel stronger, because (and this is doing exactly that kind of analysis that Humbert laughes at, using popular psychology to crack him down) he is extremely weak. Actually, he is scared to death of other people, especially of adult women with substance, history, opinions.

What do you think was the stance the writer himself would have taken or took in questions arised in “Lolita”? Is this important? Is there a “wrong” way to interpret the novel?

Jaa minä vai?

Aloitin kesän lukemalla hytittömän Turku-Tukholma -reittimatkani kunniaksi kansipaikalla Knut Hamsunin “Nälkää” ruotsiksi (“Svält”). Jatkoin kesääni istumalla vuoteessa peiton alla Fedor Dostojevskin “Rikoksen ja rangaistuksen” kera. Heinäkuussa kyyhötin yövuorossa Viktor E. Franklin “Ihmisyyden rajalla” -keskitysleiri- ja logoterapiateoksen kanssa. Nyt menossa on Vladimir Nabokovin “Lolita”, eikä sitäkään voi juuri hilpeäksi kiittää. Vai olisiko se edes kiittämistä?

“Nälän” pitkitettyjen köyhyys- ja kituutusjaksojen jälkeen pää oli tukalaa betonia vielä pitkään. Nuoren, pennittömän kirjailijanalun vaellukset Kööpenhaminan kortteleissa veivät hänet vastoinkäymisiin, joita sateli yksi toisensa jälkeen, kohtuuttomasti: kyse ei ollut enää juonenkäänteistä, vaan kärsimyksestä elämäntapana. Alistuneisuudesta, jota koiranelämä tuottaa. Raha ei ole tie vain onneen vaan elämään ylipäätään; rahan myötä nuorukaiselta puuttui miltei kaikki, sillä luovuudestakaan ei voi loputtomiin ammentaa, ellei osaa käyttää sitä kolikoiden keruuseen. Allekirjoittanut huomasi nopeasti turtuvansa. Myötätuntoa ei tahdo riittää, kun epäonninen sankari lyö itse vettä vaikean elämänsä myllyyn. Psyyken horjumisen kuvaus oli silti kiehtovaa. Kuinka ihminen selviytyy tilanteesta, joka näyttää olevan äärimmäinen, mutta kiristyykin vielä äärimmäisemmäksi, äärimmäisemmäksi -ja kiristyy yhä edelleen.

“Rikos ja rangaistus” oli, kuinkas muutenkaan, syvissä vesissä uiskentelua, iänikuisia kysymyksiä ja niihin piiiiiiiitkäpiiiimäisiiiiiiiiiääääääääää ja pessimistisiä vastauksia. Psyykensisäinen uiskentelu on aina mielenkiintoista -paitsi joskus. Dialogit tempasivat mukaansa, ja mielenliikkeet kirjautuivat syväluotaaviin juoksutuksiin, joista päähän jäi pyörimään joukko määritelmiä siitä, mistä Dostojevskissa on kyse. Elämä on. Ota siitä nyt selvä. Olo oli jälkeenpäin hämmentynyt, raskaskin. Näinkö toivoton on ihminen, näinkö häilyvä, näinkö kipeästi kaukaista Jumalaansa kaipaava, näinkö arvaamaton ja hauras.

Näin.

“Ihmisyyden rajalla” sijoittuu keskitysleiriparakkeihin ja epätoivon kallionjyrkänteille. Moderni länsimainen mielikuvitus etsiytyy ultimaattisia kidutuksia kuvitellessaan likipitäen automaattiohjauksella keskitysleireihin. Paljon pahempaa kidutusta ei ihminen voi toiselle keksiä. Orwellin klassikossa “Vuonna 1984″ päähenkilö joutuu kaikkea kontrolloivan Puolueen kynsissä kohtaamaan oman yksityisen, pahimman painajaisensa kustomoidussa kidutussessiossa. Lähihistoriamme keskitysleirihistoria on painanut oman jälkensä kollektiiviseen käsitykseemme pahimmista kammokuvista; valitettavasti vain keskitysleirityyppinen toiminta ei ole ollut pelkästään saksalaisten syntitaakka. Franklin teoksen vaikutus on osin se vanha tuttu: syvä kiitollisuus, jonkinlainen banaali helpottuneisuus siitä, että saa elää ja elää kohtuullisen turvassa, kohtuullisen mukavasti, kohtuullisen vapaana. Franklin kirjan jälkeen tuntuu hetken aikaa turhalta narista rasittavista työtovereista tai vapaapäivälle sattuvasta sateesta.

Ehkä raskaat romaanit opettavat meille ainakin suhteellisuudentajua. Sitä paitsi niistä löytää hyväätekevän maailman itselleen ihminen, joka inhoaa mainosvalojenkelmeää kevytlinjaelämää, pokkareita kympillä kolme, helppolukuisten hyllyllä vietettäviä rentouttavia tyhjentäviä aivot näivettäviä pakohetkiä.

What stood out of the book for me was the role of sexuality in the relationships of the main character Anna and in her many replications represented by the several diaries she keeps. This is also one theme that makes this book partly, though not completely, feminist. I was bothered by the total lack of sensuality in the descriptions, the matter-of-factness of the language and also by the repeated times she goes and does it, without considerations, without even wanting to, automatically, as if not knowing why. I am not pointing out to any new mysterious phenomena when I say that in the portrait of the modern woman the freedom to have sex whenever with anyone she feels like seems to have become the crucial factor. This is taking the right that men have taken for hundreds of years, “enjoying” life to the fullest the way our grandmothers only dreamt of (or did they?). I take the risk of being considered an old-fashioned sentimentalist when I question the happiness of this liberty, when it starts to dictate the way women see themselves. Using your sexuality in the most liberated way may, in some cases, end up in a situation where the woman is once again seen only through her sexuality. The way we use our liberties can also make us prisoners, because that defines us in our own and in other people`s eyes, too.

Somehow I am almost scared of writing this, but I felt disturbed by the coldness and mechanical language used in the descriptions of the sexual relationships. Is emotionless sexuality the only way to express your freedom as a woman? Or is it a question of expressing your loneliness as a person? When other people are used to satisfy your personal needs and to fill the gaps in your way of perceiving the world, the result is a psychotic loneliness. You are separated from yourself and from every other person, too.

I was fascinated by the political level in the story. How the dream of socialism slowly becomes a playfield for childish, greedy relationships of a restless young generation. How politics lives its own life in the personal development and in the “love” relationships of the young socialists. How politics cannot be separated from every day questions about work, money, free time, the gender roles, freedom of choice, responsibility. For me, “the Golden Notebook” is a political novel in a deep, fresh and impressively intellectual way.

Lessings language flows in multiple levels, shifts from internal monologues to sharp, political dialogues, but remains extremely dry. Emotions are described, not lived. Love is problematized, not expressed. The description of the inner life of Anna and its slow progress towards psychotic disorganization and again to some sort of inner harmony through the use of the Golden Notebook, the last one after years of writing simultaneously in several different notebooks, is fascinating, intellectual and sharp. But distant. But depersonlized in some strange way. Do I react like this because the writer is a female? Perhaps. I admire the language of Lessing, its brilliant academic tone, but I still feel distanced, untouched. Does it matter? Perhaps not.

Anyhow, this was a golden book that made a permanent impression on me. For anyone who keeps a diary -or several ones- this is an enchanting tour into the identity development fueled by writing. Read it.

never leaving any mark but the seagulls near the market place

after it I am not me anymore, just someone

wondering who dreamed it

and that is old-school, things that amateurs think

maybe we all watched it in the welcoming darkness

and later over toast and coffee kept silent, joyful of this

innocent punishment: we do not tell

we do not mention it with one word

because whatever you give to others makes them owners

and we would rather inhabit this ill-red planet

never having any orbits

like a black and white film that begins and ends and leaves us in peace

gathers dust, yes, but belongs only to itself and to history

that`s what makes us scribble up and down the horizons

white, black, black even more

we press the pen as in death agony: somewhere

there lies a mighty dream, so must it be

and if we ever see it, no one knows

black, white – if it`s wisdom or fate,

it still narrows down to the colors of testimony

the last grand words of solitude and war

The story about how the world would look like in the year 1984 presents us Mr Smith, working for the totalitarian Party governing everything , controlling every breath the people take. Inside he is rebelling, but the real actions against the mysterious system begin first as he enters a relationship with a young woman, Julia. This is love under special circumstances; it is not an all-embracing love story leaving the reader in the belief that our deepest emotions cannot be disturbed and twisted, but a sad last glimpse of light in the world soon to darken completely.

This book is a pessimistic and psychologically ingenious dystopy that left me feeling more uneasy than perhaps any book ever. It shows the beast side of man and truly as an aspect of Man: I was left with the thought that any of us could be in either side. We could stand in the rows of the nihilistic Party searching for ever more power and destroying all the possibilities for free will, human feelings and individual thinking. We could also be standing in the side of mr Smith, the man in his own personal war against the Party, writing his diary and trying to save the last memories of the world that once was.

When the world around is in purposeless war, Smith and Julia live out their short, personal attack against the totalitarian system. Passion, idleness and having time for yourself -being human boils down to some very simple things. In the end they are caught. The representative of the Party presents them with maybe the most difficult question to be imagined: would you go through the worst torture there is, face your ultimate fears, or skip it by having your loved one suffer it instead?

The main characters choose as the people probably would in an utterly hopeless world, but the question still remains unanswered in the air. Maybe there exists torture so horrible, that to save him/herself from the cruelest grande finale a human being really would deceive his/her love.  Maybe devotions, promises and solidarity break down under pressure, maybe there are sufferings that any human constructions just cannot take. A human has his/her limits -that is not a crime in itself. Inside his/her limits a person is cabable of great braveness, but continuous psychological suffering cracks down noble hearts, too. In “Noneteen Eighty-Four” I see a sad description of a relationship that was born under impossible circumstances. It was more lust than love, more revolt than personal choices. Humans are always able to torture one another more than they can survive. We should be careful, very careful. Because the moment we start to see people from the other side of any fence and perceive them as lower creatures in any terms, we have become lower creatures ourselves.

Smith and Julia join a secret movement working silently against the Party. Ironically they promise to obey the orders they receive never asking the reasons. They promise to torture other people and even kill themselves if the leaders of this organisation just demand it. Ironically the movement that they see as the last hope against the ever-growing power of the Party, is based on the very principles as the Party itself. Obey the rules without asking why. Do not hesitate to use violence. Be ready to give away your own life if you are asked to. A human being is surprisedly ready to submit. Inside us there is a little slave ready to step out and defer to the most rediculous demands if only he/she thinks it might safe his/her life in the end. Or even for a lesser reason.

Only a private battle really matters. The choices you make, the way you live your every day life. Inside systems and organisations there is always the thirst for more power, the lurking need for control, the truths that change their form on their way downwards in the hierarchy. In “Nineteen Eighty-Four” the private attacks in the form of emotions, love, bodily life, writing, reading, discussion and solidarity crack down the System better than any movement could, because in the end there is only one Party, and its rules govern everywhere. Power. War. Down with your individuality. Do as you are told to. In the shouting mass you are safe. Alone you are nothing. Does it sound familiar?

Orwell did no err much in his dark future vision about the world in 1984. Ironically, the concept of the Big Brother was borrowed as the title of maybe the most repulsive tv format ever seen. Politically Orwells dystopy did not come ture, psychologically it did. People in the world around us live their monotonous, depersonalized lives, mentally enslaved not by the Party but by Entertainment. I believe that being constantly entertained has the same effects than being controlled and watched every second of your life. Thinking assets get narrower, language gets poorer, individuality dies in the theater where everyone plays True Individual in the exactly same manner. The product of the new millennium is a person who is entertained dead. He/she votes with the remote control but the freedom for choice is only seeming. Someone has made the choices already: someone, whose benefit it is the more stupid and ignorant the entertained/brain dead “customer” is. Popular mass media with its endless entertainment formats lives on the same principles as the Party: we live in a world where not asking, not critizing, not rebelling is the safest and most obvious choice for the so called masses. Mass formats produce mass people, who strangely enough talk endlessly about their individuality. But nobody is so like everyone else than a person who desperately wants to stand out from the mass.

Orwells book is terrific and terrible. It made me painfully aware of the seeds of totalitarianism that live in probably every one of us. It made me afraid not of the past nor of the future but of  the present moment, not of the historical totalitarian characters but of you and of me. Stupidity, cowardness and the need for conformity have long roots in the political and cultural history of the mankind. People are terribly afraid of the idea of their own death, and to avoid the unavoidable they will do anything. Anything. Maybe it would be better to accept the fact that neither you nor your actions will live forever and live with dignity than to devote your time to the desperate urge to leave an eternal mark on the world, to the greedy project to convey the remainders of your power to the future generations that will anyway have their own sad world to cope with.

 The relationship between Smith and Julia bothered me a lot. In the end I see it as a panicking grip, a person clinging to another one in the suffocating sterile, endlessly lonely world governed by the sick mass mind. It is the last tired flash of light before all the world grows dark. Maybe love in some circumstances breaks down. Maybe Orwell still did not mean to be pessimistic: maybe he wanted to say that it is our job to see that such circumstances would not ever be possible.

I started this blog mainly to communicate my thoughts about literature and writing, though other subjects such as relationships and psychology are more than likely to appear on these pages. I read a lot and devote much of my time to writing poetry: I hope to convey some of my passion, ideas and questions to you, my readers, and I am more than happy to get your comments on my posts. I am a psychology major finishing my studies and starting my career as a psychologist some time next year, so you are very likely to see me blog about questions related to psychology, both as an academic subject and as a more popular version in the form of my private ponderings.

I welcome you all to this journey and I wish you comment my posts in abundance.

And oh yes, as I am a native Finn, I will most likely write often in Finnish, too. Being also a fan of the Swedish language, I will probably write sometimes på svenska också. Regardless of the language I use, I hope my readers to enjoy the ride!