Just a few bullets re things that pleased or tickled me (this time around) in Nabokov's (ECRIVAIN'S) The Real Life of Sebastian Knight: and by the way how queer it is when you look at an old picture postcard (like the one I have placed on my desk to keep the child of memory amused for a moment) to consider the haphazard way Russian cabs had of turning whenever they liked, anywhere and anyhow, so that instead of the straight, self-conscious stream of modern traffic one sees--on this painted photograph--a dream-wide street with droshkies all awry under incredibly blue skies, which, farther away, melt automatically into a pink flush of mnemonic banality home only meaning to her the comfort of constant change a little black chess-knight drawn in ink eucalyptus, its bark half stripped away, as seems to be always the case with this sort of tree Lausanne water-color view of Chillon castle The Doubtful Asphodel "submental grunt" longed to say something real, someth...