Read Online The Real Life of Sebastian Knight by Vladimir Nabokov - Free Book Online
Authors: Vladimir Nabokov
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entered my head. I was certainly quite aware that Knight was born and brought up in Russia. But I somehow missed the point about his name. Yes, now I see... Yes, it ought to be a Russian one.... His mother....'
Mr Goodman drummed the blotting-pad for a minute with his fine white fingers and then faintly sighed.
'Well, what's done is done,' he remarked. 'Too late now to add a... I mean,' he hurriedly continued, 'that I'm sorry not to have gone into the matter before. So you are his half-brother? Well, I am delighted to meet you.'
'First of all,' I said, 'I should like to settle the business question. Mr Knight's papers, at least those that refer to his literary occupations, are not in very great order and I don't quite know exactly how things stand. I haven't yet seen his publishers, but I gather that at least one of them — the firm that brought out The Funny Mountain — no longer exists. Before going further into the matter I thought I'd better have a talk with you.'
'Quite so,' said Mr Goodman. 'As a matter of fact you may not be cognizant of my having interest in two Knight books, The Funny Mountain and Lost Property. Under the circumstances the best thing would be for me to give you some details which I can send you by letter tomorrow morning as well as a copy of my contract with Mr Knight. Or should I call him Mr...' and smiling under his mask Mr Goodman tried to pronounce our simple Russian name.
'Then there is another matter,' I continued. 'I have decided to write a book on his life and work, and I sorely need certain information. Could you perhaps....'
It seemed to me that Mr Goodman stiffened Then he coughed once or twice and even went as far as to select a blackcurrant lozenge from a small box on his distinguished-looking desk.
'My dear Sir,' he said, suddenly veering together with his seat and whirling his eyeglass on his ribbon. 'Let us be perfectly outspoken. I have certainly known poor Knight better than anyone else, but... look here, have your started writing that book?'
'No,' I said
'Then don't. You must excuse my being so very blunt. An old habit — a bad habit, perhaps. You don't mind, do you? Well, what I mean is... how should I put it?... You see, Sebastian Knight was not what you might call a great writer.... Oh, yes, I know — a fine artist and all that — but with no appeal to the general public. I don't wish to say that a book could not be written about him. It could. But then it ought to be written from a special point of view which would make the subject fascinating. Otherwise it is bound to fall flat, because, you see, I really don't think that Sebastian Knight's fame is strong enough to sustain anything like the work you are contemplating.'
I was so taken aback by this outburst that I kept silent. And Mr Goodman went on:
'I trust my bluntness does not offend you. Your half-brother and I were such good pals that you quite understand how I feel about it. Better not, my dear sir, better not. Leave it to some professional fellow, to one who knows the book-market — and he will tell you that anybody trying to complete an exhaustive study of Knight's life and work, as you put it, would be wasting his and the reader's time. Why, even So-and-So's book about the late... [a famous name was mentioned] with all those photographs and facsimiles did not sell.'
I thanked Mr Goodman for his advice and reached for my hat. I felt he had proved a failure and that I had followed a false scent. Somehow or other I did not care to ask him to enlarge upon those days when he and Sebastian had been 'such pals'. I wonder now what his answer would have been had I begged him to tell me the story of his secretaryship. After shaking hands with me most cordially, he returned the black mask which I pocketed, as I supposed it might come in usefully on some other occasion. He saw me to the nearest glass door and there we parted. As I was about to go down the stairs, a vigorous-looking girl whom I had noticed
Mr Goodman drummed the blotting-pad for a minute with his fine white fingers and then faintly sighed.
'Well, what's done is done,' he remarked. 'Too late now to add a... I mean,' he hurriedly continued, 'that I'm sorry not to have gone into the matter before. So you are his half-brother? Well, I am delighted to meet you.'
'First of all,' I said, 'I should like to settle the business question. Mr Knight's papers, at least those that refer to his literary occupations, are not in very great order and I don't quite know exactly how things stand. I haven't yet seen his publishers, but I gather that at least one of them — the firm that brought out The Funny Mountain — no longer exists. Before going further into the matter I thought I'd better have a talk with you.'
'Quite so,' said Mr Goodman. 'As a matter of fact you may not be cognizant of my having interest in two Knight books, The Funny Mountain and Lost Property. Under the circumstances the best thing would be for me to give you some details which I can send you by letter tomorrow morning as well as a copy of my contract with Mr Knight. Or should I call him Mr...' and smiling under his mask Mr Goodman tried to pronounce our simple Russian name.
'Then there is another matter,' I continued. 'I have decided to write a book on his life and work, and I sorely need certain information. Could you perhaps....'
It seemed to me that Mr Goodman stiffened Then he coughed once or twice and even went as far as to select a blackcurrant lozenge from a small box on his distinguished-looking desk.
'My dear Sir,' he said, suddenly veering together with his seat and whirling his eyeglass on his ribbon. 'Let us be perfectly outspoken. I have certainly known poor Knight better than anyone else, but... look here, have your started writing that book?'
'No,' I said
'Then don't. You must excuse my being so very blunt. An old habit — a bad habit, perhaps. You don't mind, do you? Well, what I mean is... how should I put it?... You see, Sebastian Knight was not what you might call a great writer.... Oh, yes, I know — a fine artist and all that — but with no appeal to the general public. I don't wish to say that a book could not be written about him. It could. But then it ought to be written from a special point of view which would make the subject fascinating. Otherwise it is bound to fall flat, because, you see, I really don't think that Sebastian Knight's fame is strong enough to sustain anything like the work you are contemplating.'
I was so taken aback by this outburst that I kept silent. And Mr Goodman went on:
'I trust my bluntness does not offend you. Your half-brother and I were such good pals that you quite understand how I feel about it. Better not, my dear sir, better not. Leave it to some professional fellow, to one who knows the book-market — and he will tell you that anybody trying to complete an exhaustive study of Knight's life and work, as you put it, would be wasting his and the reader's time. Why, even So-and-So's book about the late... [a famous name was mentioned] with all those photographs and facsimiles did not sell.'
I thanked Mr Goodman for his advice and reached for my hat. I felt he had proved a failure and that I had followed a false scent. Somehow or other I did not care to ask him to enlarge upon those days when he and Sebastian had been 'such pals'. I wonder now what his answer would have been had I begged him to tell me the story of his secretaryship. After shaking hands with me most cordially, he returned the black mask which I pocketed, as I supposed it might come in usefully on some other occasion. He saw me to the nearest glass door and there we parted. As I was about to go down the stairs, a vigorous-looking girl whom I had noticed
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