Lolita

One of the disadvantages to reading Nabokov's Lolita is that it's a bit awkward to bring around with you in public. Imagine it, on the train to work; on a bench at the park; on an airplane, sitting next to a stranger: everywhere it goes, it draws--or at least, in the mind of its reader, appears to draw--disapproving looks.

And the thing is, it's a filthy book. Absolutely filthy.

But also: funny, and beautiful, and clever, and sad. I read it for the first time, a couple of months ago, and just loved it. Read this, which is one of my many favorite passages (and listen to Nabokov reading the opening lines).

She had entered my world, umber and black Humberland, with rash curiosity; she surveyed it with a shrug of amused distaste; and it seemed to me now that she was ready to turn away from it with something akin to repulsion. Never did she vibrate under my touch, and a strident "what d'you think you are doing?" was all I got for my pains. To the wonderland I had to offer, my fool preferred the corniest movies, the most cloying fudge: To think that between a Hamburger and a Humburger, she would--invariably, with icy precision--plump for the former. There is nothing more atrociously cruel than an adored child. Did I mention the name of that milk bar I visited a moment ago? It was, of all things, The Frigid Queen. Smiling a little sadly, I dubbed her My Frigid Princess. She did not see the wistful joke.