I see that Dmitry Nabokov has published The Original of Laura, which amounts to a pile of note cards roughly edited to appear as the fragment of a novel. I've written before of my altogether irrelevant opinion that
Yes, yes, I know, I haven't been around here in some time. Mail piled up behind the door, dust gathered in clumps on all the furniture, and the cable's been disconnected. I suspect a squirrell got loose in