Vladimir Nabokov. Vasiliy Shishkov
Vladimir Nabokov. VASILIY SHISHKOV
"Well, what's the verdict?" he asked when I had finished: "Not too awful?"
I considered him. His somewhat glossy face with enlarged pores expressed no ominous premonition whatever. I replied that his poetry was hopelessly bad. Shishkov clicked his tongue, thrust the notebook back into the pocket of his trench coat, and said: "Those credentials are not mine. I mean, I did write that stuff myself, and yet it is all forged. The entire lot of thirty poems was composed this morning, and to tell the truth, I found rather nasty the task of pa