Wow, there are so many fascinating stories in the world. Did you know that before he died, Vladimir Nabokov had his final manuscript locked up in a Swiss bank and instructed his son, Dimitri, to have it destroyed? Here is a Slate article on the subject. The writer asks:

Does it matter what V.N. would feel, since he’s long dead? Do we owe no respect to his last wishes because we greedily want some “key” to his work, or just more of it for our own selfish reasons? Does the lust for aesthetic beauty always allow us to rationalize trampling on the artist’s grave? Does the greatness of an artist diminish his right to dispose of his own unfinished work?

At first I thought, too bad for Nabokov, he’s dead so we should read it. Then I put myself in Dimitri’s shoes. If one of my parents had a dying wish, I would absolutely want to fulfill no matter how loudly the literati howled. Not only that, I can understand Nabokov’s position; the work is unfinished, not ready for publication. Would you want a work in progress to be the culmination of your legacy as an artist? No way.

Burn it, Dimitri!