Набоков учил, что в повествовании от первого лица герой не имеет права умереть. У Грабала в "Поездах под особым наблюдением" герой-повествователь умирает за несколько страниц до конца. Грабал лучше, чем Набоков.
PATIO - (DAWN) The body of Gillis being fished from the pool, put on a stretcher, covered with an army blanket. Two men from the Coroner’s office carry it towards the Coroner’s hearse, CAMERA PANNING with them. GILLIS’ VOICE: Well, this is where you came. Here’s that pool again, the one I always wanted. They must have photographed me a hundred times. Then they got a couple of pruning hooks from the garden and fished me out ever so gently. Funny how gentle people get with you once you’re dead. They beached me, like a harpooned baby whale, and started to check the damage, just for the record… By this time the whole joint was jumping - cops, reporters, neighbors, passersby - as much hoopdedoo as we get in Los Angeles when they open a Super Market. Even the newsreel guys came roaring in. Here was an item everybody could have some fun with, the heartless so-and-so’s. What would they do to her? Even if she got away with it in court - crime of passion - temporary insanity - those headlines would kill her: Forgotten Star a Slayer - Aging Actress - Yesterday’s Glamour Queen… - Charles Brackett, Billy Wilder, D.M. Marshman Jr., Sunset Blvd. (1950)
I grinned, because she didn’t really mean a thing by it, you know. I barked, I guess it sounded like a bark maybe; my body jerked, rolled a little. And then I stopped. I just kind of stopped all over. - Jim Thompson, After Dark, My Sweet (1955)
A distinct possibility. I am not playing a Nabokov advocate here anyway. Still, I consider his thesis valid as long as we are talking about some vaporous post-mortem existence of the character. Hrabal's protagonist dies entirely, as we all do or will do.
Hamlet is an amusing character but hardly an authority in the matter of death. Even Shakespeare isn't. God would be, but he is heavily handicapped by his non-existence.
The body of Gillis being fished from the pool, put on a stretcher, covered with an army blanket. Two men from the Coroner’s office carry it towards the Coroner’s hearse, CAMERA PANNING with them.
GILLIS’ VOICE:
Well, this is where you came. Here’s that pool again, the one I always wanted. They must have photographed me a hundred times. Then they got a couple of pruning hooks from the garden and fished me out ever so gently. Funny how gentle people get with you once you’re dead. They beached me, like a harpooned baby whale, and started to check the damage, just for the record… By this time the whole joint was jumping - cops, reporters, neighbors, passersby - as much hoopdedoo as we get in Los Angeles when they open a Super Market. Even the newsreel guys came roaring in. Here was an item everybody could have some fun with, the heartless so-and-so’s. What would they do to her? Even if she got away with it in court - crime of passion - temporary insanity - those headlines would kill her: Forgotten Star a Slayer - Aging Actress - Yesterday’s Glamour Queen…
- Charles Brackett, Billy Wilder, D.M. Marshman Jr., Sunset Blvd. (1950)
I grinned, because she didn’t really mean a thing by it, you know.
I barked, I guess it sounded like a bark maybe; my body jerked, rolled a little. And then I stopped.
I just kind of stopped all over.
- Jim Thompson, After Dark, My Sweet (1955)
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