A quarter of this collection shows Nabokov at his wittiest, most profound or most original. The rest is more ephemeral. A few pieces are barely worth including: the interviews with Nabokov from his periods in the USA and Switzerland too often reveal just merciless contempt for critics insufficiently well read or respectful. His observations can be wildly off the mark: in March 1941, he said in an interview with the Wellesley College newspaper, ‘Because the Russian-German friendship had its roots as far back as the Russian Revolution, there is little chance of its being dissolved in the near future.’ In other responses to student interviewers, he is merely condescending or slapdash.
The book we have is not like any other I’ve read. Not quite diaristic, at times resembling an untrimmed book of aphorisms, hammering on pet themes (the quackery of Freud, the bogusness of political novels, the illusory nature of “reality”), Think, Write, Speak is a twisting and bumpy road for the reader who attempts to read it front to back. Sinuosity, the quality Nabokov prized in his own sentences, isn’t the word for this journey.
Think, Write, Speak is something of a mopping-up exercise, containing uncollected and unpublished essays and reviews, as well as a large number of interviews with the press. These last could have been approached in a more rational way. The editors have followed the eccentric practice in Strong Opinions of only printing Nabokov’s reported speech from each press interview, omitting any scene-setting or commentary the journalist might have included. There are a handful of truly insightful pieces: Penelope Gilliatt catches Nabokov in full flight, and there is a magnificent account of a butterfly-hunting expedition by Robert H. Boyle for Sports Illustrated.