I've read only a little Nabokov. Lolita was borderline repulsive to me and his other short fiction has been good, but not gripping. Other than Pale Fire (the 999 lined unfinished poem/riddle), there is nothing left on my Vladimir to-read list. But Spring in Fialta, my goodness. It is absolutely beautiful. Gorgeous. He is eloquent and remarkably descriptive, in ways you can only dream of reading.
"..but with every new book the tints grew still more dense, the gules and purpure still more ominous; and today one can no longer see anything at all through that blazoned, ghastly rich glass, and it seems that were one to break it, nothing but a perfectly black void would face one's shivering soul."
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