«Este fogoso animal es la más alegre de mis novelas», dijo Nabokov de "Rey, Dama, Valet", una sátira en la que un jovencito miope, provinciano, mojigato y desprovisto de sentido del humor irrumpe en el frío paraíso de un matrimonio de nuevos ricos berlineses. La esposa seduce al recién llegado y le convierte en su amante. Poco después le convence para intentar eliminar al marido. Éste es el aparentemente sencillo planteamiento de la más clásica, quizá, de las novelas escritas por Nabokov. Pero, tras esa aparente ortodoxia se oculta una notable complejidad técnica, y, sobre todo, un tratamiento singular presidido por el tono de farsa.

Probably one of my favorite novels by Nabokov. I loved the character Dreyer, his curiosity and delight in the world. ( )

2020

https://www.librarything.com/topic/315313#7080923

Someone remarked to me of The Goldfinch, “I like it, but it doesn’t call to me.” That looks a little precious on the page, but it’s exactly how I felt about King, Queen, Knave: each time I picked it up, I noted things in the margins like “A !” and “perfect.” The first few pages of Chapter 8, in which the Queen begins “teaching” the Knave, is as good as anything I’ve read all year. But I didn’t look as forward to picking it up after the first 100 pages as I have with other books.

As the title suggests, the novel depicts a love triangle, a common enough occurrence (in literature, anyway) that it has its own shorthand term. Like The Postman Always Rings Twice, the young suitor (Franz) supplies the bored wife (Martha) with what she needs and the two conspire to do away with what they think is their one impediment to happiness (Dreyer). But how the plot unravels (usually the reason for turning the pages of these kind of novels) isn’t as important to the reader (or Nabokov) as having fun with the characters’ lack of imaginations. In books like Postman, the characters are often too smart for their own good; here, they don’t know what in the world to do:

“Help me, Franz, oh, help me,” she would murmur sometimes, shaking him by the shoulders.
His eyes were totally submissive behind their well-wiped lenses. However, he could not think of anything. His imagination was at her command; it was ready to work for her, but it was she who had to give his fancy its impulse and food.

Franz is the aspiring artist with a lazy muse. Of course, the plan doesn’t go as he and Martha think it will, but the denouement is a bit flat and I closed the book glad that I had read it but not ready to shout about it from the rooftops. If you like Nabokov, it’s worth a read. (PS--More than once, I was reminded of Thomas Berger’s Sneaky People, a book that resembles this one in structure and tone.)
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Nabokov's second. Not quite a masterpiece, but still quite good. ( )