Should Nabokov

[Mr. P]

I would probably publish it. Since there is such an importance placed on the works of well known authors, then I just feel like the author has a responsibility to his audience and that goes beyond death. And with death, their choice in the matter ends.

Think of this: What if someone had been working on a cure for cancer but chose not to publish the findings while they were alive, wanting to instead solidify their research. This person was a bit quirky and had requested in a will that all their hard work should be destroyed if he should die before publishing it himself.

Is this a different situation because of the import of the material involved, that is art v. medicine? I think that if something would benefit a branch of human endeavor, then the wishes of the one sole author or creator should be taken into consdieration, but only to an extent. Death is certainly an extent at which I would draw a line.

But, when all is said and done...it is ONLY (still not yelling.. ;P) a work of fiction.

Mr. P.

[MadArchitect]

DH asked:
Does the artist have a responsibility to his art that supercedes his own private wishes? The only obligation an artist has towards his work is the obligation he feels. Apparently, Nabokov didn't feel an overwhelming obligation to make public an unfinished work.

Does the artist have a responsibility to his audience and peers that supercedes his private wishes? I'd say an artist has the same set of responsibilities towards an audience that any person has towards a community of which they are a part. Why that responsibility ought to include making public everything the artist writes is pretty much unfathomable.

Is the artist the best judge when determining the value of his art? Maybe not. But he's the ultimate judge by default. In the last analysis, he can always simply refuse to create.

Is the artist's son the best judge when determining the value of his father's art? Probably not, but determining the value of any particular piece of art is not the issue here. The issue is whether or not to respect the artist's wishes with regard to something that he himself created. Beyond that, the value of the work seems moot.

[George Ricker]

What seems to get lost in all this discussion is that Nabakov may have had good reason for not wanting the work in question to be published. It was incomplete, unfinished. Maybe he thought it reflected badly on his other efforts and didn't want the legacy of his achievement to be tainted by an inferior effort. Perhaps, at the end of his life, he realized the novel was not what he wanted it to be and preferred that it be destroyed.

I don't know the circumstances of his last days or why he left it to someone else to destroy the work in question. I do know, and I can speak to this from some personal experience, no writer publishes all or even most of what he or she writes. For every page that makes it into print, there are usually several that wind up going out with the trash.

It's entirely possible Nabakov was exercising what he saw as an obligation to his art not to have his name associated with a work he did not consider worthy of it.

Nabakov's assessment of the value and disposition of his work should be of paramount concern. However, since the manuscript is now the property of the son, he will be the one to make the final decision. I hope he will respect his father's wishes, but it's a decision he alone can make.

George

[evendeathmaydie]

I think it's important for an artist to destroy a few of his or her own works at some time, or at least lose them or hide them.

Our great heroes and role models would not seem quite so magical and wonderful if they didn't have some secrets, some mystery about them.

If we ever crack Einstein's coded work, will we find that he was taking notes on horse races?

If we knew the ending to Charles Dickens' The Mystery of Edwin Drood, wouldn't it have been a little less of a mystery and just another Dickensian nightmare of odd characters and long words inside long sentences?

If Jesus talked more about Heaven, would we be as floored as we will be when we get there? (Probably, as our puny imaginations can't come close to envisioning God in all his glory.)

But you get my picture. Obviously, this Nabakov guy had his reasons for wanting his art destroyed. We can only guess what they were. Isn't that more interesting than if he had revealed every thought he ever had to the world? (That's a rhetorical question to which the answer is: I have never heard of this guy and here I sit, in the wee hours of the morning, talking about him on the internet.)