Mary Book

So, this is where it all began. Having already read his final novel, and a whole load more in between that and his first, which I just assumed I'd already read after binging on most of his earlier work, I realised I hadn't, in fact, read Mary. How did I miss that one out? No better time like the present I suppose, to read about a love from the past. This has much in common with some of his other work, in terms of the Russian emigre, Berlin, and nostalgia. But the one thing I noticed, regarding Nabokov's list of unreliable narrators, is that the central character here isn't one. And I'd also say the tone of his first novel is less humorous and more touching than some others too. It's funny, that while reading this, two other novels came to mind - Patrick Hamilton's The Slaves of Solitude & Muriel Spark's A Far Cry from Kensington, because they, Like Mary, feature various residents living in a boarding house. Here we have a failing poet, two ballet-dancer homosexuals, another who is soon to be joined by his wife, and Ganin, who, after recognizing a photo of his first romance, starts to seep back through the memories of the happiest days of his life, when he was smitten with Mary. Basically, Ganin wants to reclaim his youth and spirit away with Mary. In the real world now though, he is drifting through life with about as much passion and zest as a pebble being brushed on the shore by a murky sea. This was a simple but intriguing little novel, that might not feature his glorious prose from future work, but as debuts go, I found it to be a fine piece of writing.