3.5/5. Weakest Nabokov I've read so far, which still makes it a damn fine novel, but I would probably have liked it even more if I hadn't read Stoner last year. One of those novels where all the subtext - living a life in translation, not realising how much you don't understand of the language, whether linguistically or semiotically - is more interesting than the superficial plot. Pnin is a pitiable character, and his eventual rebellion against the narrator Vladimir Vladimirovitch is perfectly understandable, but I wind up loving bits and pieces of it more than the whole.