Nabokov's Blues: The Scientific Odyssey of a Literary Genius. Kurt Johnson, Steve Coates. Cambridge, MA: Zoland Books, 1999. Pp 372 $27.00
In his Field Guide to the Butterflies of North America Alexander Klots wrote of the genus Lycaeides that "the recent work of Nabokov has entirely rearranged the classification of this genus." The response of Vladimir Nabokov, the acclaimed author of Lolita, Pale Fire and Ada or Ardor: A Family Chronicle, was "That's real fame. That means more than anything a literary critic might say."
Nabokov was born in April 1899 and his reputation as a leading literary figure of the century he was almost born in seems secure; the Random House Modern Library proclaimed Lolita the fourth greatest novel of the century and the memoir Speak, Memory, the eighth greatest work of non-fiction, thus Nabokov was the only author to feature in the top ten of both lists. It is well known that Nabokov had a strong interest in lepidoptery. Often however it is dismissed as mere dilettantism, or seen by academics and critics as a source of Freudian symbolism. Nabokov himself detested such phenomena as the crass observation that "insect" and "incest" are anagrams, and attacked "the vulgar, shabby, fundamentally medieval world of Freud, with its crankish quest for sexual symbols." Full-time lepidopterists were either ignorant of Nabokov's work or regarded it as amateur dabblings; perhaps they also felt resentment at this part-timer who was nevertheless dubbed "the most famous lepidopterist in the world."
Kurt Johnson is a lepidopterist associated with the Florida State Collection of Arthropods, while Steve Coates is an editor at The New York Times. This, their first book, fights on many fronts; it tries to restore Nabokov's scientific reputation and give some account of lepidoptery's place in his life and literary work; pleads for the oft-ignored discipline of taxonomy, more important now than ever in the light of the crisis in biodiversity; and is an exciting scientific adventure story ranging from the "incorrigible continent" of South America to the squabbles of the world of academia.
Nabokov's scientific work belongs in every sense in a different era; he represents one of the last of the gentleman naturalists. Lepidoptery was an interest inherited from his father, a prominent Russian liberal assassinated in Berlin in 1922. It remained constant throughout the upheaval of the Russian Revolution and exile in Cambridge, Germany and France. On coming to the United States in May 1940 he soon visited the American Museum of Natural History in New York City with certain puzzling specimens from Europe. In Autumn 1941 he visited Harvard's Museum of Comparative Zoology and found the collections in disarray, and first as a volunteer and then as a part-time research fellow in entomology he endeavoured to straighten it out. This was typical of the war years; considerable lacunae existed in academia and were filled with available workers with little regard for their professional training.
Nabokov's paper Notes on Neotropical Plebejinae is the key in the reassessment of his position in science. It was a pioneering classification of the Latin American Polyommatini, a diverse group of Blue butterflies with members from the tip of Chile to the Caribbean. This paper established a broad framework of genera for later researchers to insert new species. In 1948 he left the Museum of Comparative Zoology to become Professor of Russian and European Literature at Cornell University. This marked the end of Nabokov's formal association with the world of lepidoptery, and with the publication of Lolita Nabokov's fame became a two-edged sword as far as his scientific reputation was concerned.
In the 1980s a series of expeditions to Las Abejas, a jungle enclave near Dominican Republic's Haitian border, began to turn up new specimens of what were known as Blues. Over the next decade and a half, Johnson and other lepidopterists travelled all over South America, becoming increasingly aware of the crucial relevance of Nabokov's classification system to the multiplicity of new species they discovered. In these chapters the authors make us aware of the biodiversity crisis which means species are becoming extinct faster than science can ascertain their existence. The humble place of the taxonomist, seen by some as a drone of biology, is scarcely deserved, considering the importance of this work. The authors are also at pains not to judge Nabokov by the standards of today; some of his beliefs on mimicry and evolution appear scientifically unorthodox, but reflect that when he was working these issues were still being resolved.
This book will provide both enjoyment and enlightenment to any reader interested not only in Nabokov but in the relationship of the arts and sciences, the current state of natural science and the biodiversity crisis. The crucial question for Johnson and Coates is "Was Nabokov a true scholar of Lepidoptera, or merely a dilettante whose contributions were remarkable?" The casual observer might wonder how "mere" a dilettante would make "remarkable" contributions, but the question is deeper; seeing Nabokov as a scientist gives the understanding of his life and works a whole new dimension.
The authors seem to suggest that a healthy relation between CP Snow's "two cultures" requires not a facile "unity" but a deep appreciation of both the humanities and the sciences. Nabokov's quote "Does there not exist a high ridge where the mountainside of 'scientific' knowledge joins the opposite slope of 'artistic' imagination" is often quoted in this context. Far from an airy abstraction, this refers to a specific example; Nabokov's 1952 review of a book centred around the drawings of John James Audubon; Nabokov found Audobon's butterfly drawings inept, and wondered "can anyone draw something he knows nothing about?" Nabokov considered a knowledge of natural science indispensable for a truly cultured sensibility; he was shocked when his literature students at Cornell University were ignorant of the names of local trees and birds.
We see Chekhov and William Carlos Williams as doctors and as writers; we see Primo Levi as a chemist and as a writer. Johnson and Coates convincingly try to persuade us that Nabokov should be seen as a writer and as a lepidopterist. Nabokov himself said "whenever I allude to butterflies in my novels � it remains pale and false and does not really express what I want it to express, what, indeed, it can only express in the special scientific language of my entomological papers."
