Encounter on Prague Hill

Hermann Karlovich, a Russian émigré and chocolate businessman in Berlin, finds himself in Prague on a business trip. Restless and introspective, he wanders through the city and stumbles upon a tramp sleeping under a bush. To his shock, the man—Felix—bears an uncanny resemblance to himself. This encounter is not merely a curiosity for Hermann; it is a revelation, a moment that seems to fulfill a deep, unarticulated longing for a reflection, a double, a living mirror. The meeting is charged with Nabokov's signature playfulness and self-consciousness, as Hermann's narration blurs the line between reality and invention. The double, Felix, is oblivious to the significance of their resemblance, but Hermann is immediately obsessed, sensing the potential for something extraordinary, even as he is repulsed by Felix's poverty and coarseness. This pivotal moment sets the stage for Hermann's descent into a labyrinth of self-deception, artistic ambition, and criminal intent.

The Art of Lying

Hermann introduces himself as a master of invention, both in life and on the page. He confesses to a lifelong habit of lying, embellishing, and manipulating reality, not out of malice but as an aesthetic exercise. His marriage to Lydia, a simple and forgetful woman, is painted with both affection and condescension. Hermann's self-image is that of a misunderstood artist, a man whose creative faculties are wasted on the mundane world of chocolate sales. The narrative is laced with digressions, jokes, and self-referential asides, establishing Hermann as an unreliable narrator whose version of events is always suspect. The theme of mirrors and reflections recurs, as Hermann's fascination with his own image—and now with Felix—becomes a metaphor for his fractured identity and growing alienation from reality.

The Double's Discovery

Back in Berlin, Hermann cannot shake the memory of Felix. He muses on the nature of doubles, the uncanny thrill of encountering one's own likeness in the flesh. The resemblance is not just physical but existential; Felix becomes a vessel for Hermann's fantasies of escape, reinvention, and artistic creation. Hermann's marriage and business falter, and he becomes increasingly preoccupied with the idea of using Felix for some grand, undefined purpose. The double is both a threat and a promise—a chance to transcend the limitations of his own life, or perhaps to obliterate himself entirely. The chapter explores the psychological underpinnings of doppelgänger myths, filtered through Hermann's egotism and Nabokov's irony.

Chocolate, Mirrors, and Marriage

Hermann's home life is depicted in detail, with Lydia's quirks and the couple's routines providing a backdrop to his growing estrangement. He describes episodes of dissociation, where he imagines himself split in two, observing his own actions from a distance. The motif of mirrors returns, symbolizing both self-knowledge and self-delusion. Hermann's business troubles mount, and his sense of reality becomes increasingly unstable. The chapter is rich in Nabokovian wordplay and psychological insight, as Hermann's inner world becomes more vivid—and more dangerous—than the external one.

The Plot Hatches

Hermann's obsession with Felix crystallizes into a plan: he will use his double to stage his own death and collect the insurance money. The idea is presented as both a work of art and a perfect crime, a way to outwit the world and assert his creative genius. Hermann contacts Felix under the pretense of offering him work as a film understudy, exploiting the tramp's desperation and simplicity. The narrative is suffused with dark humor and self-congratulation, as Hermann revels in the cleverness of his scheme, convinced of his own superiority to both Felix and the society he intends to deceive.

Felix: The Living Reflection

Felix, for his part, is slow-witted, practical, and suspicious of Hermann's motives. Their interactions are marked by misunderstandings, class differences, and a fundamental asymmetry of power. Hermann manipulates Felix with promises of money and adventure, but Felix remains uneasy, sensing that something is amiss. The chapter explores the ethical and psychological dimensions of their relationship, with Felix serving as both victim and unwitting accomplice. Hermann's narrative becomes increasingly unreliable, as he projects his own desires and fears onto Felix, blurring the line between self and other.

The Understudy's Bargain

After much persuasion, Hermann convinces Felix to participate in a mysterious "job" that involves impersonating him. The terms are vague, but the promise of easy money is enough to secure Felix's reluctant cooperation. Hermann's manipulation is both psychological and material, as he provides Felix with clothes, money, and a script to follow. The chapter is a study in power dynamics, with Hermann's self-delusion and Felix's vulnerability on full display. The stage is set for the execution of the "perfect crime," even as cracks begin to appear in Hermann's plan.

The Perfect Crime Designed

Hermann meticulously prepares every detail of the scheme, from the timing and location to the alibis and props. He rehearses the narrative he will present to the authorities, his wife, and himself. The crime is conceived as a work of art, an assertion of individuality against the mediocrity of the world. Hermann's self-justification is relentless; he sees himself as a misunderstood genius, a victim of society's failure to recognize his brilliance. The chapter is a tour de force of Nabokovian irony, as the reader is invited to admire the ingenuity of the plan while also seeing its fundamental absurdity and moral bankruptcy.

Lydia's Lesson in Grief

Hermann instructs Lydia in how to behave after his "death," drilling her on the details she must remember and the emotions she must display. Lydia is bewildered and frightened, unable to grasp the full implications of the plot. Her innocence and devotion are contrasted with Hermann's cold calculation. The chapter is both comic and tragic, as Lydia's confusion becomes a mirror for the reader's own uncertainty about what is real and what is performance. Hermann's control over his wife is as complete as his control over Felix, but it is also fragile, dependent on her trust and his own ability to maintain the illusion.

The Murder in the Woods

On a wintry day, Hermann lures Felix into a remote forest under the pretense of preparing him for the role. He shaves Felix, dresses him in his own clothes, and gives him final instructions. In a moment of cold efficiency, Hermann shoots Felix in the back, arranging the scene to suggest that the body is his own. The act is described with a mixture of detachment and aesthetic appreciation, as if it were the culmination of an artistic project rather than a brutal murder. Hermann flees the scene, confident that his plan is foolproof and that he will soon be free to start a new life.

The Aftermath and Escape

Hermann escapes across the border, adopting Felix's identity and waiting for news of the crime's success. He imagines the world's admiration for his ingenuity, the insurance payout, and a new life with Lydia. However, cracks begin to appear in his confidence. The newspapers report the crime in a tone of ridicule and suspicion, dismissing the idea that the body could be mistaken for Hermann's. The authorities are not fooled, and the world refuses to play its assigned role in Hermann's drama. The chapter is a study in anticlimax, as the "perfect crime" unravels in the face of reality's indifference.

The Artist's Disappointment

Hermann is devastated by the world's failure to appreciate his masterpiece. The police and press see through his scheme, focusing on trivial discrepancies and dismissing the central miracle of the double. Hermann's sense of artistic pride is wounded; he feels misunderstood, persecuted, and alone. The chapter is a meditation on the nature of art, crime, and recognition, as Hermann's self-image as a genius collapses under the weight of public scorn and his own mounting doubts.

The World Refuses the Masterpiece

As the investigation closes in, Hermann's narrative becomes increasingly desperate and fragmented. He is haunted by the memory of Felix's submission, the physical details of the crime, and the world's refusal to acknowledge his achievement. Letters from Lydia and Ardalion, his wife's cousin, reveal the human cost of his actions and the utter failure of his plan. Hermann's isolation is complete; he is a fugitive, a pariah, and a failed artist. The chapter is suffused with irony and pathos, as the gap between Hermann's self-conception and reality becomes unbridgeable.

The Letter and the Stick

In a moment of horrifying clarity, Hermann realizes that he has made a crucial mistake: Felix's stick, branded with his real name, was left in the car and discovered by the police. This oversight destroys the entire edifice of the "perfect crime," exposing Hermann's fallibility and sealing his fate. The revelation is both comic and tragic, a final twist of Nabokovian irony that reduces Hermann's grand design to a farce. The stick becomes a symbol of the limits of art, the inevitability of error, and the futility of seeking absolute control over reality.

Collapse in Exile

Hermann flees to a remote village in France, pursued by the authorities and tormented by his own thoughts. His narrative degenerates into a diary, marked by paranoia, self-pity, and a sense of impending doom. The villagers watch him with suspicion, and the local gendarme becomes a comic echo of Felix. Hermann's sense of identity dissolves; he is no longer sure who he is, or whether any of it was real. The chapter is a portrait of psychological collapse, as the boundaries between self and other, art and life, crime and confession, blur into nothingness.

The Crowd Gathers

As the police close in, Hermann imagines himself as the star of a film, directing the crowd in his own arrest. The narrative becomes self-referential and theatrical, with Hermann addressing the reader directly and rehearsing his final speech. The crowd outside his window is both real and imaginary, a symbol of the world's judgment and the artist's longing for an audience. The chapter is a meditation on performance, recognition, and the ultimate futility of seeking meaning in a world that refuses to play along.

Despair's Final Curtain

In the end, Hermann is left alone, cold, and defeated, awaiting arrest or execution. His masterpiece has failed, his identity is in ruins, and the world remains indifferent to his suffering and his art. The novel closes on a note of bitter irony and existential despair, as Hermann contemplates the absurdity of his actions and the impossibility of ever being truly understood. The final curtain falls not on a triumphant escape or a perfect crime, but on the recognition that all art, all identity, and all meaning are ultimately provisional, fragile, and subject to the indifferent gaze of the world.

Characters

Hermann Karlovich

Hermann is the novel's narrator and antihero, a Russian émigré in Berlin who fancies himself a misunderstood genius. His psychological makeup is defined by narcissism, alienation, and a compulsive need to manipulate reality through lies, art, and ultimately crime. Hermann's relationship to others is marked by condescension and exploitation—he sees his wife Lydia as a simpleton, Felix as raw material for his masterpiece, and the world as an audience that fails to appreciate his brilliance. His descent into criminality is driven less by greed than by a desire for artistic recognition and existential escape. Hermann's narrative is unreliable, self-justifying, and laced with irony, revealing a mind at war with itself and with the world. His development is a spiral from self-assured schemer to desperate fugitive, culminating in despair and self-annihilation.

Felix

Felix is Hermann's physical double, a down-and-out tramp whose resemblance to the protagonist becomes the catalyst for the novel's central crime. Psychologically, Felix is simple, practical, and somewhat obtuse, lacking the self-awareness and ambition that drive Hermann. He is both a mirror and a foil, embodying the possibility of another life and the reality of suffering and vulnerability. Felix's passivity and trust make him easy prey for Hermann's manipulations, but his very ordinariness also undermines Hermann's grandiose plans. In death, Felix becomes the ultimate victim of Hermann's artistic and existential project, a blank canvas onto which the protagonist projects his fantasies and failures.

Lydia

Lydia is Hermann's wife, a woman characterized by her simplicity, forgetfulness, and unquestioning devotion. She is both a source of comfort and a target of Hermann's contempt, her innocence serving as a foil to his cunning. Lydia's psychological depth is limited by the narrative's focus on Hermann's perspective, but her reactions to the unfolding plot—her confusion, fear, and eventual grief—provide a human counterpoint to Hermann's cold calculation. Her role in the scheme is passive, yet her suffering and bewilderment highlight the collateral damage of Hermann's self-absorption.

Ardalion

Ardalion, Lydia's cousin, is a struggling painter whose presence in the narrative serves as both comic relief and a subtle commentary on art and authenticity. He is cheerful, opportunistic, and somewhat parasitic, relying on the generosity of others while pursuing his own artistic ambitions. Ardalion's relationship with Hermann is marked by mutual disdain and rivalry, with Ardalion's mediocrity serving as a contrast to Hermann's delusions of grandeur. His later letter condemning Hermann provides an external judgment on the protagonist's actions, underscoring the novel's themes of recognition and failure.

Orlovius

Orlovius is a lawyer and family acquaintance, representing the voice of conventional morality and bourgeois respectability. He is earnest, well-meaning, and easily manipulated by Hermann, serving as a witness to the protagonist's supposed marital woes and as a potential executor of the insurance scheme. Orlovius's psychological simplicity and susceptibility to suggestion make him both a tool and a symbol of the society that Hermann seeks to outwit—and that ultimately refuses to recognize his "masterpiece."

The Maid (Elsie)

Elsie, the household maid, is a minor character whose innocence and obliviousness provide occasional comic moments and serve as a contrast to the machinations of her employers. Her role in the plot is limited, but her reactions to the appearance of Felix and the unfolding events highlight the strangeness and artificiality of Hermann's scheme.

The Doctor (in exile)

The doctor at the French hotel where Hermann hides out is a figure of bourgeois normalcy and social ritual. His attempts to befriend Hermann, his gossip, and his obliviousness to the protagonist's true identity provide a backdrop of everyday life against which Hermann's isolation and paranoia are heightened. The doctor's presence underscores the theme of the world's indifference to the artist's suffering.

The Gendarme

The local gendarme in the final chapters is a comic figure, representing the law and the inevitability of justice. His interactions with Hermann are marked by politeness, ignorance, and a kind of bumbling efficiency. The gendarme's presence signals the end of Hermann's illusions of control and the approach of the final reckoning.

The Crowd

The crowd that gathers outside Hermann's window in the final chapter is both real and symbolic, representing the world's collective gaze, judgment, and refusal to participate in the protagonist's drama. The crowd is faceless, indifferent, and implacable, a reminder of the limits of individual agency and the futility of seeking recognition from an uncomprehending world.

The Press and Police

The journalists and police who investigate the crime serve as the voice of external reality, puncturing Hermann's fantasies and exposing the flaws in his plan. Their skepticism, ridicule, and focus on trivial details highlight the gap between Hermann's self-conception and the world's perception, driving home the novel's central themes of misrecognition, failure, and despair.

Plot Devices

Doppelgänger Motif

The central plot device is the doppelgänger, a figure that embodies both the promise of escape and the threat of annihilation. Felix's resemblance to Hermann is the catalyst for the entire plot, serving as a literal and metaphorical mirror in which the protagonist confronts his own identity, desires, and limitations. The double is both a tool for Hermann's scheme and a symbol of the impossibility of true self-knowledge or self-transcendence.

Unreliable Narration

Hermann's first-person narration is marked by digressions, contradictions, and self-justification, creating a sense of unreliability that permeates the novel. The reader is constantly invited to question the truth of Hermann's account, to see through his lies and rationalizations, and to recognize the gap between his self-image and reality. This device heightens the psychological complexity of the novel and underscores its themes of illusion, performance, and despair.

Metafictional Self-Reference

Nabokov employs metafictional techniques throughout the novel, with Hermann frequently commenting on the act of writing, the conventions of literature, and the relationship between art and life. The crime itself is conceived as a work of art, and the narrative becomes a kind of confession, justification, and plea for recognition. This self-referentiality blurs the boundaries between fiction and reality, implicating the reader in Hermann's delusions and failures.

Irony and Parody

Despair is suffused with irony, parodying the conventions of crime fiction, psychological novels, and existentialist literature. Hermann's "perfect crime" is anything but perfect, and his self-conception as a genius is relentlessly undermined by the narrative. Nabokov's playful language, allusions, and structural tricks serve to distance the reader from the protagonist and to highlight the absurdity of his ambitions.

Foreshadowing and Symbolism

The novel is rich in foreshadowing and symbolic detail, from the recurring motif of mirrors and reflections to the fatal oversight of Felix's stick. These devices serve both to structure the narrative and to underscore its themes of identity, error, and the limits of control. The stick, in particular, becomes a symbol of the inevitability of failure and the impossibility of achieving perfect mastery over reality.

Analysis

Despair is a darkly comic meditation on identity, art, and the limits of self-invention. Through the unreliable, self-obsessed narration of Hermann, Nabokov explores the psychological and philosophical implications of the doppelgänger motif, exposing the dangers of narcissism, solipsism, and the desire for absolute control. The novel is both a parody of the crime genre and a profound inquiry into the nature of artistic creation, recognition, and failure. Hermann's "perfect crime" is revealed as a delusion, his masterpiece as a farce, and his quest for meaning as a descent into despair. In a modern context, Despair anticipates postmodern concerns with authorship, narrative, and the construction of self, while also offering a cautionary tale about the perils of self-deception and the impossibility of escaping the gaze of the world. Nabokov's wit, irony, and linguistic virtuosity make the novel both a dazzling literary performance and a chilling portrait of the artist as a criminal and a fool.

Last updated: May 26, 2025