Could have done with fewer essays on time and more incestuous sex, but on the whole a brilliant book.

My favourite passage:

"No doubt he was morally right in using the first pretext at hand to keep her away from his bed; but he also knew, as a gentleman and an artist, that the lump of words he brought up was trite and cruel, and it was only because she could not accept him as being either, that she believed him:

'can I come now?' asked Lucette.
'I'm not alone,' answered Van.

A small pause followed; then she hung up."

All the characters are entirely unsympathetic, but Lucette is just so pitiful, and Nabokov was able to surmise the tragedy of her love so eloquently in only 4 sentences, it truly moved me.

Loved the constant Anna Karenina references.

Nabokov is far and away my favourite writer now.