A friend of mine said the only way that Nabokov could have written this is if he was a pederast. I rejected that utterly without reading the novel, and after reading the novel, I just think that's a funny assertion.
I'm having trouble thinking of what I want to say about this -- it's the difference between enjoying the writing and approving of the subject matter. Our narrator (who gives himself the ludicrous moniker of 'Humbert Humbert') is not quite unrepentant, never tries to obfuscate what he has done (although he does avoid explicit description), and occasionally tries to justify himself. Nevertheless, he's certainly not reliable. (In fact, for many people, the textbook definition of "unreliable narrator" is "Humbert Humbert." I would argue that this probably isn't the best example, since he's not obviously contradicting himself two chapters later, but later parts of the book do have a more difficult-to-believe sheen.) If you're reading a novel looking for redemption, this is certainly not it. Humbert does realize that he's robbed Lolita of her childhood, but given how monstrous his actions are, that doesn't come close to making up for them.
As with other Nabokov, there's a lot of worldplay, some double entendres, plenty of other languages inserted (in the case of Humbert, this makes sense, as he's ostensibly European. In the case of Nabokov, moreso).
Yes, this is worth reading. Yes, this is more than a little unsettling. Yes, there are layers (as Nabokov himself notes in the afterward, he certainly wasn't trying to glorify Humbert Humbert.)
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