Invitation to a Beheading

I have read a lot of books. I like to read, so that probably has something to do with it. I can't say that I actively read a great variety of book, but I do occasionally switch it up. Whether I'm forced to add variety or not doesn't matter because I normally enjoy what I read.

For my comparative literature class, we're finishing up Invitation to a Beheading. This book has been a pain and a half to get through. The style in which the author, Nabokov, writes is, to say the least, choppy. He purposely uses words that one normally doesn't see together. I've found that trying to speed read this book like I normally would do is comparable to running head-first into a concrete wall with the expectation of busting through it and the determination to continue doing so. The book requires you to read slowly and carefully. Not to help matters any, the plot of the story is completely convoluted. Walls ripple and dimple, and characters dissipate into thin air.

The main idea of the plot is centered around the main character, Cincinnatus C., and his interactions with the prison staff where he is being held awaiting execution. His crime: "gnostical turpitude," which no one, not even the professor, seems able to define. The trouble comes in when you try to think about which of the characters are real and which are something else. Many times in the story, Cincinnatus describes himself as opaque and the others as transparent. A striking example of the absurdity of this book is this paragraph: "'What a misunderstanding,' said Cincinnatus and suddenly burst out laughing. He stood up and took off the dressing gown, the skullcap, the slippers. He took off the linen trousers and shirt. He took off his head like a toupee, took off his collarbones like shoulder straps, took off his rib cage like a hauberk. He took off his hips and his legs, he took off his arms like gauntlets and threw them in a corner. What was left of him gradually dissolved, hardly coloring the air. At first Cincinnatus simply reveled in the coolness; then, fully immersed in his secret medium, he began freely and happily to..."


Despite all this, I still find that I am enjoying the book. Even though it is a slow read and incredibly confusing, I like it. It reminds me of George Orwell saying that sometimes words are simply written for the pleasure of "purple mountains," and "peaceful pastures." It takes some getting used to, but I would still recommend this book. You'll either love it or hate, but whatever you do, do it with a passion fitting to the story.

Food for thought.