One hundred years ago this week, a teenage boy named Vladimir Nabokov fled revolutionary Russia with his family for the safety of Western Europe. Seventeen years later, he fled again, with his Jewish wife, from Nazi Germany. Stacy Schiff writes, “[s]windled by history, Nabokov had—thanks to the late-arriving roller skates, over a skin-shedding century, from a land where more people who have lost worlds have ever congregated—amply settled his account.” On Nabokov, the literary refugee.
Image credit: Walter Mori (Mondadori Publishers)
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Source : Nabokov on the Run
