Bugging You About Nabokov

Whenever you step on a bug, do you think of Kafka? Sometimes, I do. Mostly, I think of the Judy Davis line in David Cronenberg's NAKED LUNCH when she describes the bug poison as having given her a "kafka high."

Besides the use by Kafka for the title of his most famous short story, the word metamorphosis has always been one of my favorites. I use it often, even when I'm not talking about insects or literature. I usually use the word to describe the long process of change, any change, any evolution.

The word seems to be a source of revulsion for your typical close-minded concrete thinkers. The thought of change, any change, strikes fear into these folks. Hearing the word can cause them to upchuck their breakfasts, deafen themselves to any new information, and stand firmly upon whatever rock offers them a gospel to follow blindly. Remember, they continue to sing joyfully that the "rock of ages" was good enough for their ancestors, so it should be good enough for them. They've long since given up on critical thinking and proudly celebrate their ignorance, calling on the lord's assassinating angels to ruin the lives of any abstract thinking pagans. Well, no wonder they can't stand the concept of "evolution," they can't even handle the word "metamorphosis."

Many years ago, "in my youthful dalliance" with religion, while spending a summer in San Francisco feeding hungry inner city kids lunch, I wrote a letter home to my church (cult) describing the changes I felt I was going through. (I was reading Bukowski's "Love is Dog From Hell" and Kerouac's "The Subterraneans" that summer.) I used the word "metamorphosis" in my letter, naively hoping to sound poetic and somewhat transcendent in the fashion of the Apostle Paul or Peter. When I returned home that fall, the first thing these "loving" christians did was make fun of me for using this word in my letter. They didn't do it as a group. They did it one by one. Each of them gave me a backhanded phony compliment for my use of the word, which combined with their laughing at me at the same time, made for a straightforward insult. No one who did this made any other comment on the content of my letter. Instead, they had focused on this one word and probably thought this graduate student was condescending to them. Well, if I wasn't before, I certainly had cause to then.

Over the next two years, they continued to prove their delight in their own ignorance, treating me like an albatross (or a bug) whenever I uttered a concept that didn't fit into their strict meta-narratives, whether the subject was religious or simply bourgeois. (My mortal sins included not making my bed, forgetting to do the dishes, and not washing my old car often enough.) I began to realize the reality of my situation in their midst after they repeatedly ordered me (formally, via the elders) to shut up.

The last evening I spent with these folks, they proved what closed minds they had to offer. I had been asked to explain what I meant by saying that the "community" had become "political." After being asked to defend myself, I paused to consider where to begin my explanation to a group of people who mostly hadn't been educated in small group dynamics or even the rudiments of psychology. Before I could begin my response, the cult leader stood up and declared that there was nothing "political" going on in this church besides a group of people who were devoted to loving one another. He defended his statement by reminding us that he had a B.A. in Political Science and he was the sole authority on this subject. I was once again told to shut up, the meeting was closed, and I walked out of the church forever.

Neither Mr. B.A. in Political Science, nor anyone else in that group, realized that what he did, not only illustrated, but proved my point. Thankfully, I finally realized this was not the place for me and, eventually, that this god and his people were all bullshit. For people who so worship the "word" of god ("logos" can also be translated as "thought" or "logic" of god), they seem to be incapable up respecting the words or thoughts of fellow humans who don't believe exactly what they believe. Forget about them even considering logic.

Thankfully, we, who adore words and eagerly consider the abstract concepts of others, have Kafka and Nabokov. Kafka showed us how obscenely peculiar the world around us could be. Nabokov showed us how life could often be a tragic comedy. He also had a lot to say about Kafka.

Peter ("The Ruling Class") Medak's short (30 mins.) television film, NABOKOV ON KAFKA, dramatizes Nabokov's lectures on Kafka's "The Metamorphosis" with actor Christopher Plummer playing Nabokov himself. I've seen this and I find it fascinating. It's an excellent blend of literature, scholarship, theatre, and documentary film. I only wish that bugs and concrete thinkers could understand it.

Vladimir Nabokov's Lecture on "The Metamorphosis"

Franz Kafka's "The Metamorphosis"