Speak Nabokov

Just finished Speak Memory yesterday. Slow going with sentences like "nor am I alluding to the so-called muscae volitantes--shadows cast upon the retinal rods by motes in the vitreous humor, which are seen as transparent threads drifting across the visual field." to liven things up just when I'm nodding off in bed. (I love how he thinks that's a helpful explanation.)
For a lover of straight narrative: there is none. For the eschewer of the lyrical: stay away. But then there are some lovely bits where he describes how real memory becomes eaten up by our narratives until it is no longer a real memory but a part of a story. "houses have crumbled in my memory as soundlessly as they did in the mute films of yore, and the portrait of my old French governess, whom I once lent to a boy in one of my books, is fading fast, now that it is engulfed in the description of a childhood entirely unrelated to my own."