After reading a crazy Japanese book of short stories I jumped into this Nabokov and sputtered and paused and reread sections just to get my mind on the right track. Nabokov is a genius when it comes to stringing words together and I didn't want to skim over them. His words deserved my utmost attention. I loved some of his sentences.

The story was interesting. As I type this I'm wondering who I am, who I really am. The Brian that people see. I know what I see but I'm biased. I liked the idea that one continues to live through the memories of others and when that last person who remembers you dies, well, so do you... unless of course you wrote a bunch of books that bear your name in big letters on the front cover or you wrote and performed 'Purple Haze' or you just never die.

My favorite part of the story was in the end when the narrator visited the florist and looked into the mirror. I thought that what Nabokov did in those few pages was brilliant. If I say anymore I'll spoil it...

Guess I'm putting off Lolita so should get to that soon. ( )

Nothing in Nabokov is ever exactly what it seems. Few of his books so obviously express this like The Eye, in which our title character kills himself within the first few pages, then must deal with an intense psychological mystery through the remainder of the proceedings. Though not as strong as much of Nabokov's other fiction, this is a bizarre journey through a disturbed mind that pairs nicely with other works like Despair.

The novella opens with our unnamed narrator, a self-proclaimed womanizer, attempting to seduce a married woman. When the cuckolded husband exacts violent revenge for his transgression, our narrator decides that he must kill himself. But no sooner does he pull the trigger on his gun than he finds himself in a fantastical world populated by people that, we sense, are entities from his earlier life. It is his task, as well as ours, to piece the puzzle together, figure out who everyone is, and decipher how he managed to find himself in this purgatory in the first place.

Nabokov's introduction to the Vintage edition essentially reveals the central secret of the novel, which I will not unveil here (despite the blurb on the back committing the same egregious fault), but the author simultaneously confesses that the mystery is in fact besides the point. The novella seems far more interested in capturing the essence of the moment of death as life flashing before one's eyes. The central question, it seems, is to try and make sense of one's life when one can only observe it: the narrator is powerless to effect any change on the proceedings, which makes it feel less like a mystery than an inexorability.

While this type of immersion in the novella is the best approach to the text, the fact remains that the true explanation is well within the reach of even the most cursory reader. Nabokov's plotting here, normally very subtle and surprising, falls short of being truly enthralling. The clues placed along the way are occasionally so obvious that it becomes distracting: the "a-ha!" moment, despite not being at Nabokov's forefront, seems lurking around every corner. It takes away from the impact of the ethereal tone once the secret is discovered, and it renders the final few pages unexpectedly unsatisfying.

There is little mind-blowing content in this work, but it is an interesting marker in Nabokov's early career. It is a treatment of the idea of a doppelgänger that pairs interestingly with Despair, and forces us to consider the function of such double-figures, particularly in his Russian fiction. As a critical lens, The Eye is a fascinating view, but as a pleasure read, it is enjoyable though slight.

There is an episode in the first season of Torchwood in which Toshiko can hear what all of her friends secretly think of her. Of course, this turns out to be more of a curse than a gift, as Tosh quickly realizes.

The Eye reminded me of this, insofar as the main character Smurov exists only as that which others perceive him to be. As far as he's concerned, in fact, he no longer exists at all, but has killed himself. All of those around him exist only as mirrors of himself - he can look at them, through them, as windows into his own existence. The implication, though, is that there is no "he" that is remarked upon by others. They aren't seeing him at all. He's invisible - and as he sees himself through their eyes, they aren't seeing him at all, but only what they wish to see.

This is a quick book, one to be read in an afternoon, but one that stays with you and forces you to spend some time thinking. Not my favorite of Nabokov's, but that's liable to change the more I think on it. Needless to say, very worthy of a read. ( )

Early on in this brief novel, the first-person narrator commits suicide (!) and then, too late, is startled to discover that he has entered into an afterlife that is remarkably similar to the real world he has just left -- even to the point of his needing a job in order to pay for food to eat! Baffled, and quite surprised that such an afterlife existed, he bows to the inevitable and starts putting together a new so-called 'life' by seeking out a new circle of friends, while both he and the reader each try to figure out what is going on in this very realistic spectral existence.
In this still-early fourth novel by Nabokov, he introduces the skill that he will subsequently perfect, for artfully deceiving the reader and producing multi-layered and cleverly intertwined story arcs that gain fuller appreciation on second thought. To read a Nabokov novel for the first time, therefore, is not only to enjoy the story but frequently also to accept the author's game-like challenge to discern the complexity of the real story being told. In this slender book, Nabokovians will see yet another step forward in their author's development toward the famous writer he will eventually become. ( )

This book definately makes you think about how you are perceived by others in this life. A glimpse, a moment, a misunderstanding, all facets of you that are not a complete reflection of your character but rather just fragments which may be true or untrue aspects of yourself. Extremely interesting story that demands re-reading. Definately made me think about how others perceive me in light of the fragments they see.