I take most of it back on this book, it ended up pretty fantastic. I still think Nabokov's supreme confidence is a little less controlled than in later novels, but the blend of slapstick, farce, horror and dread makes for quite a firework display. It does get better as it develops, and as the stinking, odious presence of M Pierre invades the novel. It's also (unless I'm reading it wrong,) very, very dirty. Surely the scene in which Cincinatus reflects on his promiscuous wife eating a pear is a barely concealed description of her giving another man a blowjob? Quite strong stuff for the 1930's.
I actually read a copy with one of those fantastic Penguin covers from the 1980's with a modern art image, but I couldn't find the picture online...
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