Is Lolita a groan or a torture of human nature?

Lolita is the most famous and controversial novel by the Russian-American writer Nabokov. This is a world-recognized book. He narrated the love story of a middle-aged man and an underage girl in the confession of Humbert, a death row prisoner. Because the content involves pedophilia plots and erotic depictions. At the beginning, it was rejected by publishers and banned by many countries. But if we look at it as an erotic novel, we may be disappointed. Hidden beneath the shell of eroticism is the will and ambition of a serious writer to explore the question of human desire. Or rather, this seemingly immoral story was originally just a fictional game, and the author wanted to show the whole inner world of a person from beginning to end.

So let's look at Humbert's inner world: If I hadn't fallen in love with the little girl, there probably wouldn't have been Lolita at all. Lolita is the light of my life, the fire of desire, but also my sin, my soul.

I was born in Paris in 1910, my mother died when I was three years old, my father owned a luxury hotel, and I grew up with him. As for the little girl I fell in love with, Annabelle, he was of mixed race like me. Came to Liviella with his parents for summer vacation. At first we talked about things that didn't matter. But suddenly, we were crazy and clumsy with each other, and we fell in love with each other in agony regardless of decency. On the soft sand, we all lay there with our hands and feet spread, stiffening under the erection of desire, using any god-given opportunity in space and time to touch each other. One of his hands was half-buried in the sand and quietly reached out to me, slender brown fingers, sleepwalking closer and closer. Then, the milky white knees began to carefully make a long journey. This incomplete contact. Our healthy but inexperienced young bodies are irritable to the extreme.

However, on the last day of that summer, annabelle's family left Levila. Four months later, the news of his death came. I went through these painful memories again and again, and as I kept asking myself, was the harbinger of madness in my life already begun on that distant, sunny summer. Or was my excessive desire for Annabelle just the earliest sign of an innate quirk. But either way, I'm convinced that Lolita started with Annabelle.

In the summer of 1939, my American uncle died, leaving me with a few thousand dollars a year. Before I left for New York, I was married and divorced again. When I got to New York, I went to a nursing home and went out of a nursing home. Subsequently, my uncle's former employee suggested that I go to his distant relative's house for a few months. He said they had two young daughters, one was still a baby, the other was 12 years old, and I took the trouble to imagine the mysterious 12-year-old sexy daughter.

However, when I came to the local area I was told. His house had just burned down. I completely lost my reason for coming here. But his wife had a friend, Mrs. Kuroko, who lived at 342 Lawn Street, who could receive me, and I could stay at his house. Mrs. Kuroko was about thirty-five or six years old, and her appearance was rather ordinary, and the hostess seemed to like me very much, and charged me only a ridiculously low price for my accommodation. But I just want to get out of here.

But the old-school Sven and polite habits forced me to continue to take the test. Let me show you the garden, and I reluctantly followed her downstairs. As I walked through the dining room, I still followed Mrs. Kuroko. Suddenly, a greenery appeared in front of his eyes. Then, without a hint of forewarning, a sea of blue rose up under my heart. Half-naked on a grass mat covered with sunlight, he turned to me and it was from the black glasses that was staring at me, my Lolita, my lover. That moment. Although I walked past her in the guise of an adult, my empty soul managed to absorb all of his vivid and gorgeous posture. Compare every nuance with the face of my little bride who died 24 years ago.

Mrs. Kuroko and I walked down the steps and into the breathless garden. Then my mrs. Kuroko said. These are my lilies. Oh, I said. Oh, it looks beautiful, it's beautiful, it's beautiful. I couldn't live without this child, and I'd fall in love with her forever.

There, I spent unforgettable years with my naughty baby Lolita, as evidenced by my many diaries. As you can see from these diaries, I am completely aware of what I want to do and how to do it without hurting a child's innocence. But all my poor plans were thwarted. And the obstructionist is usually always the woman from Kuroko's house. Kiss a mature widow, which is good for his children to do whatever they want.

The moment I met you, I fell in love with you, I was a lonely woman with warm feelings, and you were the lover of my life. After reading Mrs. Kuroko's letter, my first thought was disgust and retreat. My second thought, like a friend's calm hand on my shoulder, told me not to be in a hurry, and I did so. I imagined that her husband, as Lolita's mother, could caress Lolita as much as he could, every day, every day... I could hug her three times. All my troubles will be gone.

After a low-key wedding, my landlord became my wife and our lives were always at peace.

Until, one day, I pushed open the door of the living room, and Kuroko's milky white neck was facing me, sitting at the desk writing letters, and then slowly turned around in the chair, his face changed from emotion. She said, I'll leave tonight, it's all yours, as long as you never see that faceless little ghost again. I knew he had looted my little desk, opened my locked drawer, and learned my secret.

Still, I adjusted my breathing and said calmly, you're ruining our lives. The notes you find are nothing more than fragments of a novel, and your names were put in by accident, just because they were readily available. Think about it, I'll go get you a glass of wine. With his back to me, he neither answered nor turned around, but continued to sit at his desk and scribble something quickly and scribblishly.

I went to the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door to get the ice cubes. While thinking about ways to cope. Just as I was pouring the whiskey into my glass, the phone next to me rang. The person on the phone said to me, sir, your wife has hit the car, you better hurry up. I replied somewhat impatiently that my wife was safe, and at the same time I held the earpiece in one hand, pushed open the door, and told him about the prank, but she was not in the living room. As I rushed out the door, I saw a blanket of tartan flowers on the sidewalk hiding the fleshy remains of Kuroko. He was hurrying across the street to deliver the letter. Knocked down by a car, a good-looking child picked up the letters and handed them to me, I tore them to shreds in my pants pocket, and the funeral was actually as bland as a wedding.

I became a free father and walked into that house again. I had only one thought, and that was that I knew that in a few hours my Lolita would be in my arms. But I also immediately realized that there were so many nosy people around me, trying to take him away from me. And to be honest, the elusive Lowe himself might have some kind of stupid suspicion about me. That way, this fascinating prey will be lost in the moment of victory. So I told Lolita that her mother was going to undergo a major operation in one of my fictional hospitals. Then I checked in with my sleepy sexy teenage girl from one guest house to another. Finally I told her that her mother's condition was not getting better, or she was dead. My unspeakable life with my Lolita went well at first. He believed my lies.

But I want to tell you something very strange. She seduced me. I really did not dare to kiss him, so I touched his hot open lips with great devotion, just for a slight moment, without the slightest intention of lasciviousness, and I did not want to describe Lolita's arrogance in detail. Modern coeducational education, the fashion of teenagers, the feast by the fireworks, etc., have made a girl like him hopelessly completely degenerate.

Later she told me how she had lost herself. She said she also met a boy named Charlie Holmes at summer camp who had tasted the forbidden fruit for the first time. But I believe Lolita just thought it was funny, and he didn't fall in love with the little villain named Charlie. Listening to these words, my temples buzzed, and my Lolita still didn't care to travel with me after saying these words. She still has a strange temperament, a bad temper, leaves my sight several times, doesn't know where she went, and even screams when she is angry that I raped her, or is she just joking? His stupid words were tinged with an ominous hysteria. So I had to tell her the fact that his mother had died, and I said to her, Now I am only your father, and in any difficult situation, I will be your guardian.

What happens if one of your underage children reports to the police that I abducted you and raped you? Let's assume they believe you and I'm going to jail. And what do you do? yes? You become a person who is not supervised by public welfare. You will have the opportunity to learn to weave and sing hymns from places with different names and mostly the same substance, such as correctional schools, correctional homes, juvenile detention centers, weaving and singing hymns, and eating a few tiger-smelling flapjacks on Sundays. My Lolita, if you don't obey, you have to go there, that's the way it is. There is only one option, you think, in this case, are you still better off guarding your father? I repeated this and managed to scare Lo.

During our last leg of our trip, fate played a big joke on me. My Lolita is missing. That day, Lolita contracted a virus and needed to be hospitalized for observation. I insisted on spending the night in one corner of their damn hospital, but in vain. In the end I had to drive back to the property alone.

By the next morning, I was shaking violently in my hotel bed, causing people to die. When I limped over to the phone like a toad, a cheerful voice told me that everything was fine, that my daughter had been discharged from the hospital, and that her uncle Gustav had taken her and told them to tell me. Now it seems that my obsessive fool who promised Lolita to study acting was to allow him to cultivate deception. Those performances were all preparations for his betrayal of me. The world is just one lie after another. I never gave up tracking down the guy named Gustav, who stole my dear Lolita. I swore I would kill him. I wandered from hotel to hotel looking for traces of them.

September 18, 1952. I finally got a letter from Lolita. He said in the letter, dear Dad, is everything all right? I'm married and I'm going to have kids. Forgive me for not giving you the address of my home, you may still be mad at me. Please send me a check, Dad, there are three or four hundred dollars, and we can deal with the past.

After many inquiries, I finally found her home. In a log cabin with user wall panels. I met my Lolita. At this moment, the death I had been imagining for three years, had become so simple, like a piece of dry wood. She was apparently pregnant, with a large belly, a shriveled face, bare calves and arms losing their original tan. She wore a brown sleeveless cotton dress with a pair of very scruffy cotton slippers on her feet. It's only been two seconds, but how much life can withstand such a stiff and stiff duration.

I knew everything I wanted to know from Lolita. Querty was a playwright, and everyone knew he liked little girls, and he used to photograph them in his mansion in Parkington. Five years ago, at the summer camp lolita attended, Quilty took her to a holiday ranch. There is everything you need and even an indoor waterfall which they must have had a pleasure to play there. He took her from the hospital and took her back to the ranch. He plans to take Lo to Hollywood in September to arrange an audition for him. Unfortunately, I didn't get to that point before my Lolita exploded. Because Lolita refused to do that with the other boys on the ranch. For almost two years, Lowe just wandered around, doing some chores at small restaurants, and later met her husband, Dick. Lo now didn't know where the man named Quilty was. She guessed that he was in New York, and of course Quilty was such a famous man that if anyone wanted to find it, he would find it. With that, she closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and leaned back against the cushion.

I didn't want to torture my baby, my Lolita was 17 years old and already haggard, and I handed him an envelope with $400 in cash and a check for $3,600. He carefully took it apart, and she said bitterly, you give us 4,000 yuan? I covered my face with my hands, and my nose was blocked, but I couldn't stop the tears, and then she touched my wrist, don't touch me, or I won't be able to live. I said, surely you won't come with me? Don't you have any hope of going with me? No. She said it was simply not possible and I'm sorry to have cheated on you so many times. But that's how life is. I wiped my face and fingers, and she smiled at the gift, and he was so happy that he wanted to call Dick. I said, I'm going to have to leave in a moment, I don't want to see him again, I really think I should go, yes, I should go, go find the guy and get rid of him.

I couldn't stand Lo's kiss either. So when he licked his big belly and walked towards me step by step, I couldn't stop taking a twisted step to leave, I turned back, he sent me away, very indifferent.

After leaving his house, I found Quilty. How can I say it well? I killed him, damn Quilty. The rest was a bit dull, and I left Quilty's house and slowly drove the car down the hill. In front of me, I saw two cars posing to block my way completely. I drove the car off the road with a graceful movement, tossed it two or three times, and then rushed up a grassy slope and drove into a few cows. I just shook gently and stopped there. After a while I pulled out the car. I look forward to getting many hands to grab me, not making any extra effort myself, and letting them move me up. I was like a patient, very relaxed, comfortable, lazily at their mercy. And get a mysterious pleasure from it.

Well, here the story of The Death Row Prisoner Humbert is finished, and finally Humbert says that he has obtained a mysterious pleasure, which should be the feeling of liberation that let go of everything, and the author uses the mouth of a death row prisoner to touch the softest nerve in human nature, and under the extreme suppression of human desires, its release must also be an extreme. So when you have negative emotions, find a correct channel to vent out, or you will accumulate fatigue.