Mr. Nabokov

"While she poured him another glass of tea, he put on his spectacles and reëxamined with pleasure the luminous yellow, green, and red little jars. His clumsy, moist lips spelled out their eloquent labels—apricot, grape, beach plum, quince. He had got to crab apple when the telephone rang again."

Beautiful. Sad. But so beautiful. It's after reading small things like these that I wonder how I can even acknowledge myself as a writer - that feeling of "how can I ever write something worthwhile?" etc. But at the same time, it's one of those that made me want to go out and write something so short and powerful. I loved it. To be cliche, there were so many "signs and symbols" within the story that I know have to mean something...but I'm not sure what. I think that's ok for now. We always discover new things every time we read a text again.

The myth that I felt a connection to through the story was of Icarus and Daedalus - the son who tried to fly, and the father who wanted to free him. That imagery itself is beautiful, but it's the ten little jars of jam that I can't figure out.

Time to read it again.