In Japan, one singular butterfly symbolizes femininity, while a pair of butterflies symbolizes marital bliss. In Greek, the word for butterfly is also the word for soul, as well as the name of a character in a well known myth2. These allusions lend a certain credibility to the otherwise sordid nature of a certain paperback edition cover illustration belonging to Nabakov's Ada, as exhibited above in all of its ragged glory. Nabakov has been celebrated as one of the 20th century's finest prose stylists, although many have called him to task as relying on formal conceits and witty prose as masks for novels devoid of little inherent worth3 (although the fact remains that it is hard to decry the charms of anyone capable of lines such as "Let the credulous and the vulgar continue to believe that all mental woes can be cured by a daily application of old Greek myths to their private parts” and "There is nothing in the world that I loathe more than group activity, that communal bath where the hairy and slippery mix in a multiplication of mediocrity"). Today's installment of literary lust has the misfortune to be merely an excerpt from his masterwork "Ada." There is little to be found in this novel in the way of prolonged passages depicting rigid anatomical descriptions of amorous acts, yet the entirety of the text nearly throbs with anticipatory excitement; the deeply suggestive and sensual language allows the reader to complete for his or herself any actions hinted at by the narrative. The prose is practically engorged, in other words. For example:
"'I wannask,' she repeated as he greedily reached his hot pale goal.
'I want to ask you,'she said quite distinctly, but also quite beside herself because his ramping palm had now worked it's way through at the armpit, and his thumb on a nipplet made her palate tingle; ringing for the maid in Georgian novels-inconceivable without the presence of elettricita-
(I protest. You cannot. It is banned even in Lithuanian and Latin. Ada's note.)
'-to ask you...'
'Ask,' cried Van, 'but don't spoil everything' (such as feeding upon you, writhing against you).
'Well, why,' she asked (demanded, challenged, one flame crepitated, one cushion was on the floor), 'why do you get so fat and hard there when you-'
'Get where? When I what?'
In order to explain, tactfully, tactually, she belly-danced against him, still more or less kneeling, her long hair getting in the way, one eye staring into his ear (their reciprocal positions had become rather muddled by then).
'Repeat!' he cried as if he were far way, a reflection in a dark window.
'You will show me at once,' said Ada firmly.
He discarded his makeshift kilt, and her tone of voice changed immediately.
'Oh dear,' she said as one child to another. "It's all skinned and raw. Does it hurt? Does it hurt horribly?'
'Touch it quick,' he implored.
'Van, sweet Van,' she went on in the narrow voice the sweet girl used when speaking to cats, caterpillars, pupating puppies, 'yes, I'm sure, it smarts, would it help if I'd touch, are you sure?'"
and so on, in that style.
1see "I Have Never Wondered" and "In the Interest of Generating "Paddywhacks" for some context, if it should prove necessary.
2Psyche was the youngest of three princesses, and as is often the case in tales such as this, was undescribably desirable. It seemed that all who met this fair maiden grew inflamed with yearning. Such was the degree of distraction as a result of the fervor that this nubile instilled among all that people began to omit worshiping Aphrodite, saying to themselves "We have among us a mortal who truly embodies all that Aphrodite represents, why should we waste our time burning delicious animal fats to some distant goddess lounging about sipping ambrosia on some far off mountaintop?" Aphrodite, being a lust goddess, amongst other things, was naturally a capricious and vicious sort, and sent her son Eros, the god of childish infatuation, down to fuck with Psyche. He was given orders to prick her with one of his arrows in order to cause her to desire some ugly fellow (of course the worst punishment that Aphrodite could conceive would be that of a beautiful woman falling in love with an ugly man. But no one has ever accused the Olympians as being anything but amplified representations of humanities coarsest features, so). Psyche's beauty was such that even Eros could not withstand her guiles, even as she slept, so not only did he not prick her with his arrow, he went and pricked himself (hmmm) as he watched her sleep (creepy yes, see above aside on the nature of Greek divinity) and distracted by his desire for the fair maiden, forgot all about his duties of shooting his love-arrows willy-nilly about the world. This all goes on for quite a while, with all sorts of more fairy-tale elements seeping into the story, what with the bit where Psyche finds herself married to some strange fellow who keeps her well tended in a secluded valley but is instructed to never look upon his face else some dire fate will befall them, or the part where Aphrodite forces Psyche to undertake a series of three (of course) labors of a pathologically obsessive-compulsive variety and is assisted by various ants, river-daughters, etc in their completion. The bit where her sisters throw themselves off a mountain with vain hopes in heart is the stuff of pure Greek myth though. But the relevant point being, psyche, the butterfly, was symbolically close to infatuation and lust in Greek mythology.
3his rejoinder to such: "Style and Structure are the essence of a book; great ideas are hogwash."
