Luís's Reviews > Fogo Pálido

Here is a singular novel, the matrix of an autobiographical poem, augmented by an intellectual development made by a neighbor of the creator of the opus, including an introduction, comments, and an index.
It's a bit like the fable of the jay who wants to adorn himself with the peacock's feathers. Charles Kimbote is an inverted scholar, misogynist, and solitary neighbor of the author's work, Pale Fire, John Shade. Self-proclaimed friend of the artist, whom he brazenly spies on, the professor preaches frankly and shamelessly pulls the cover on him under the guise of scholarly works. But, unfortunately, the overwhelming mass of the critical apparatus tends to eclipse the work of art that it nevertheless intends to serve: instead of embellishing the text with enlightening comments, the pontifying exegete parasitizes the latter with personal considerations of harsh judgments on his contemporaries, in-depth studies relating to his native country of Zembla, and the destiny of the last of his sovereigns, without obvious connection with the voluminous poem, except that the neighboring indelicate did not have of ceasing to annoy the author so that it is questioning in this last. In short, the so-called Charles Kimbote flaunts a laughable pedantry and absconds at first glance.
Pale Fire is an exercise in style, a furiously triumphant tour de force. It is a funny satire of erudition stirring the air in its total sterility, draping itself with a certain dignity, mimicking the true nobility that belongs only to the creator and the artist.