With his earlier novels, such as King, Queen, Knave, and The Defense, Nabokov was unable to come up with stories that contained both the literary ripple of pleasure and the kind of plotting, page-turning stuff that makes people actually want to finish a book. Here the balance is more neatly struck; Hermann Hermann, a deluded precursor of Lolita's Humbert Humbert, is funny and engaging without being entirely sympathetic. He wants to fake his own death to escape from humdrum life, enlists the aid of his 'double', goes on to kill the double and dress him in his own (Hermann's) clothes. Problem is, the 'double' was Hermann's own creation, for the man he has killed does not resemble him in the least. Therein lies the crux of our tale: afterwards come police, pursuit, complications, etc. Now there is no one lovable here, but the fine net of perceptions, crystalized weaves of sense and sensation, are a pleasant counterpoint to the arch looniness of Hermann et al. The tone, above all, is one that will not be taken up again until Pnin, and and then followed hard upon by Lolita, Pale Fire, and Ada: arch and diabolically funny, the devil here being as usual in the details