"During the beginning of the summer and all through the previous one, Tamara's name had kept cropping up (with the feigned naivete of Fate, when meaning business)..." - Pg. 228
I found this statement interesting, because it brings up the issue of whether we really control our own lives. We may control our own stories, the telling of our stories, but how much do we control the events that form those stories? Nabokov admits in this passage that he is not the only motivating force behind his life experiences. What does this mean for honesty in his narrative? Does this lend us the idea that perhaps he's telling us how things happened as they seemed to him: in a mysterious, perhaps prearranged, way? Does this make us think he's a quack?
Do you believe in Fate? Destiny? Have you ever noticed the way something or someone, in retrospect, seems to have been present in your life long before you noticed it?
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