| If a writer says in explicit terms that he wants his work destroyed after his death, should you honour his wishes? What if that work turns out to be Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis? Or the last known novel written by Vladimir Nabokov? |
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| When these questions come up, I think of a story a friend often told about a visit to the artist Ramkumar. My friend was received hospitably in the artist’s relatively small, humble home. At some point, the artist noticed that the roof of his hut was leaking. He grabbed a finished canvas that was leaning against the wall and used it to plug the leak. When my friend remonstrated, Ramkumar seemed bewildered, and said he had been using his canvases all monsoon to solve the leaky thatch problem. |
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| That’s a classic example of an artist who is so involved with the creation of his work that he really doesn’t care what happens to the final product — once Ramkumar had finished a particular canvas, that painting was over and done with. For Franz Kafka, the issue was different. Kafka made his will with great care, appointing his friend Max Brod as the executor. He charged Brod with burning his unpublished manuscripts, and with ensuring that those already published would not be reprinted. “Should they disappear all together, that would please me best.” Brod failed to honour Kafka’s wishes, which is why we still read about Gregor Samsa. Brod’s defence was that Kafka secretly didn’t want his works destroyed, or he would appoint another, more ruthless executor: in effect, he trusted Brod not to burn his writings. |
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| It is often assumed that a writer who makes these contradictory gestures is merely grandstanding, but that denies the often tortured relationship writers have with their own work. The big debate over this week has concerned Dmitri Nabokov and whether he will indeed honour his father’s wishes over Laura, Vladimir Nabokov’s last, incomplete novel. |
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| In favour of those who believe that a writer’s wishes, however frustrating, about his work should be honoured is the fragmentary nature of Laura. Nabokov went through several stages of revision: he was not a “first draft” man. What has been passed down of Laura is the skeleton of a novel, drafted on index cards. Sharing its plot is about as useful as sharing the plot of Lolita — “see, it’s about this guy who falls in love with a — no, he seduces — no, he’s seduced by — this nymphet, and it’s all deeply psychological ...” Laura is about a wonderfully large man called Philip Wild, married to a very promiscuous woman, and whose meditations concern the nature of death. |
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| The novel was complete in Nabokov’s mind, though he died before he could translate his vision onto paper. It is hard to imagine the lay reader gaining much from a perusal of those index cards, but it’s just as hard to imagine scholars, Nabokov enthusiasts and literature lovers being disappointed by even these fragments. |
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| Those in favour of heeding Nabokov’s wishes are not wilfully destructive. Many understand that even a great writer might work through many drafts before producing good writing, and would argue the need to respect the writer’s opinion of his own work. Many are wary of the 21st century trend towards over-preservation, where writing that would have been better consigned to the dustbin has been “preserved” by the over-zealous, to no end. |
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| But against that, there’s the argument that writers seldom can judge their own work. Take Virgil, who worked on the Aeneid for 11 years. It was unfinished when he died, and believing that he had failed in his duty, he asked that his drafts be destroyed. Virgil believed, quite correctly, that his work was flawed and unfinished. What he couldn’t see was that flawed and unfinished as it was, it was still a masterpiece; and it is fortunate for humanity that his dying wishes were not heeded. |
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| I would hate to be in Dmitri Nabokov’s place, to have to weigh the wishes of a father against the clamour of readers. But in his place, I would take refuge in precedent. At one time, Nabokov wanted Lolita destroyed, and we would all argue that his judgement was questionable. To destroy Laura would be irrevocable. I hope he will let his father’s last novel survive.
nilanjanasroy@gmail.com
(The author is chief editor, Westland/ Tranquebar. The views expressed here are personal.) |
