Describing his second road trip with Lolita across the USA, Humbert Humbert (the narrator and main character in VN's novel Lolita, 1955) mentions a kind of prehistorically loud thunder incessantly rolling above them:
We spent a grim night in a very foul cabin, under a sonorous amplitude of rain, and with a kind of prehistorically loud thunder incessantly rolling above us.
“I am not a lady and do not like lightning,” said Lo, whose dread of electric storms gave me some pathetic solace.
We had breakfast in the township of Soda, pop. 1001.
“Judging by the terminal figure,” I remarked, “Fatface is already here.”
“Your humor,” said Lo, “is sidesplitting, deah fahther.” (2.18)
Prehistorically loud thunder brings to mind Ray Bradbury's famous story A Sound of Thunder (1952). In the year 2055, time travel is a practical reality, and the company Time Safari Inc. offers wealthy adventurers the chance to travel back in time to hunt extinct species such as dinosaurs. A hunter named Eckels pays the company to travel to the Mesozoic to hunt a Tyrannosaurus rex. He expresses relief that the candidate Keith won the presidential election the day before, noting that he might want to use a time machine to escape if the would-be dictator Deutscher had become President of the United States instead. The company emphasizes strict rules to avoid altering the future, such as staying on a levitating path and only shooting marked animals destined to die naturally. Eckels, joined by other hunters and guided by Travis and Lesperance, is warned about the catastrophic consequences of even minor disruptions to the past, like killing a single mouse, which could cascade through time and alter history.
During the hunt, Eckels panics upon seeing the massive Tyrannosaurus and returns to the time machine. The group kills the dinosaur, but Travis is enraged to discover that Eckels stepped off the path into the dirt. He orders Eckels to retrieve the bullets from the corpse to prevent further disruption, then threatens him as they return to 2055. Upon arrival subtle changes in the air, colors, and a sign's spelling indicate that the timeline has shifted. Eckels finds a dead butterfly on his boot and realizes that his misstep altered history. Most shockingly, he learns that the "iron man" dictator Deutscher has won the presidential election instead of Keith. As he pleads on his knees that there must be a solution, Travis raises his rifle and fires with "a sound of thunder".
The "iron man" dictator Deutscher makes one think of Adolf Hitler (the dictator of Germany during the Nazi era). Hitlers „Mein Kampf". Dichtung und Wahrheit (Paris, 1936) is a book by Manuel Humbert (pseudonym of Kurt Michael Caro, a German publicist, 1905-79). Aus meinem Leben. Dichtung und Wahrheit ("Out of my Life. Poetry and Truth," 1808-1831) is the title of J. W. von Goethe's memoirs. Goethe is the author of Der Erlkönig (1782). Describing Lolita's illness and hospitalization in Elphinstone, Humbert mentions a heterosexual Erlkönig in pursuit:
Mrs. Hays, the brisk, briskly rouged, blue-eyed widow who ran the motor court, asked me if I were Swiss perchance, because her sister had married a Swiss ski instructor. I was, whereas my daughter happened to be half Irish. I registered, Hays gave me the key and a tinkling smile, and, still twinkling, showed me where to park the car; Lo crawled out and shivered a little: the luminous evening air was decidedly crisp. Upon entering the cabin, she sat down on a chair at a card table, buried her face in the crook of her arm and said she felt awful. Shamming, I thought, shamming, no doubt, to evade my caresses; I was passionately parched; but she began to whimper in an unusually dreary way when I attempted to fondle her. Lolita ill. Lolita dying. Her skin was scalding hot! I took her temperature, orally, then looked up a scribbled formula I fortunately had in a jotter and after laboriously reducing the, meaningless to me, degrees Fahrenheit to the intimate centigrade of my childhood, found she had 40.4, which at least made sense. Hysterical little nymphs might, I knew, run up all kinds of temperatureeven exceeding a fatal count. And I would have given her a sip of hot spiced wine, and two aspirins, and kissed the fever away, if, upon an examination of her lovely uvula, one of the gems of her body, I had not seen that it was a burning red. I undressed her. Her breath was bittersweet. Her brown rose tasted of blood. She was shaking from head to toe. She complained of a painful stiffness in the upper vertebraeand I thought of poliomyelitis as any American parent would. Giving up all hope of intercourse, I wrapped her in a laprobe and carried her into the car. Kind Mrs. Hays in the meantime had alerted the local doctor. “You are lucky it happened here,” she said; for not only was Blue the best man in the district, but the Elphinstone hospital was as modern as modern could be, despite its limited capacity. With a heterosexual Erlkönig in pursuit, thither I drove, half-blinded by a royal sunset on the lowland side and guided by a little old woman, a portable witch, perhaps his daughter, whom Mrs. Hays had lent me, and whom I was never to see again. Dr. Blue, whose learning, no doubt, was infinitely inferior to his reputation, assured me it was a virus infection, and when I alluded to her comparatively recent flu, curtly said this was another bug, he had forty such cases on his hands; all of which sounded like the “ague” of the ancients. I wondered if I should mention, with a casual chuckle, that my fifteen-year-old daughter had had a minor accident while climbing an awkward fence with her boy friend, but knowing I was drunk, I decided to withhold the information till later if necessary. To an unsmiling blond bitch of a secretary I gave my daughter’s age as “practically sixteen.” While I was not looking, my child was taken away from me! In vain I insisted I be allowed to spend the night on a “welcome” mat in a corner of their damned hospital. I ran up constructivistic flights of stairs, I tried to trace my darling so as to tell her she had better not babble, especially if she felt as lightheaded as we all did. At one point, I was rather dreadfully rude to a very young and very cheeky nurse with overdeveloped gluteal parts and blazing black eyesof Basque descent, as I learned. Her father was an imported shepherd, a trainer of sheep dogs. Finally, I returned to the car and remained in it for I do not know how many hours, hunched up in the dark, stunned by my new solitude, looking out open-mouthed now at the dimly illumined, very square and low hospital building squatting in the middle of its lawny block, now up at the wash of stars and the jagged silvery ramparts of the haute montagne where at the moment Mary’s father, lonely Joseph Lore was dreaming of Oloron, Lagore, Rolas - que sais-je! - or seducing a ewe. Such-like fragrant vagabond thoughts have been always a solace to me in times of unusual stress, and only when, despite liberal libations, I felt fairly numbed by the endless night, did I think of driving back to the motel. The old woman had disappeared, and I was not quite sure of my way. Wide gravel roads criss-crossed drowsy rectangual shadows. I made out what looked like the silhouette of gallows on what was probably a school playground; and in another wastelike black there rose in domed silence the pale temple of some local sect. I found the highway at last, and then the motel, where millions of so-called “millers,” a kind of insect, were swarming around the neon contours of “No Vacancy”; and, when, at 3 a. m., after one of those untimely hot showers which like some mordant only help to fix a man’s despair and weariness, I lay on her bed that smelled of chestnuts and roses, and peppermint, and the very delicate, very special French perfume I latterly allowed her to use, I found myself unable to assimilate the simple fact that for the first time in two years I was separated from my Lolita. All at once it occurred to me that her illness was somehow the development of a themethat it had the same taste and tone as the series of linked impressions which had puzzled and tormented me during our journey; I imagined that secret agent, or secret lover, or prankster, or hallucination, or whatever he was, prowling around the hospital - and Aurora had hardly “warmed her hands,” as the pickers of lavender say in the country of my birth, when I found myself trying to get into that dungeon again, knocking upon its green doors, breakfastless, stool-less, in despair. (2.22)
Fahrenheit 451 (1953) is a novel by Ray Bradbury. Goethe's ballad Der Erlkönig ends in the lines: "Erreicht den Hof mit Mühe und Not; In seinen Armen das Kind war tot. (Home through the thick and thin he sped: Locked in his arm, the child was dead.)" It seems that Lolita dies in the Elphinstone hospital and the rest (Lolita's escape, her marriage to Dick Schiller and pregnancy, the murder of Quilty) was invented by Humbert (whose "real" name is John Ray, Jr.).