In short I am a nabophile. Vladimir said he wanted this chunk of writing burned and it should have been. He should have manned up and done it himself. It is a completely embarrassing shemozzle without any redeeming benefit . . . Other, I suppose, of the endearing decrepitude that assails us all when we start to get old and our faculties expire. There is not even passion in this mess. It is all dull, disconnected and pointless. I've bought all Vladimir's writings because he is funny and entertaining, serious and pompous. But I would return this one to the bookshop if I could, even if 'the great man' was looking down from heaven. It is complete and utter crap and if anyone tries to argue this point they simply don't know Nabokov and his extremely loyal readership.