It's official: the nation is in the grip of Naboko-fever. You can't open a newspaper, switch on the radio, or click open a Guardian blog without stumbling across a reference to the late great Vladimir Nabokov (see what I mean?). Like the Red Aztec Convertible forever lurking in Humbert Humbert's rear-view mirror, Nabokov seems to be everywhere right now. Which has got to be a Very Good Thing indeed. And to celebrate/contribute/capitalise on this frenzy for all things Nabokovian, Penguin are reissuing all of Nabokov's books – an act only the very churlish could possibly find something to complain about.
