Fulmerford

Marisha Pessl's first novel, Special Topics in Calamity Physics, features a pretty clear case of Nabokovilia:

"You're a sick, sick liar! You're evil!"

I threw Lolita (Nabokov, 1955).

"I hope you die a slow death riddled with unbearable pain!"

Although deflecting the books with his arms, and sometimes legs, Dad didn't stand up or try to restrain me in any way. He remained in his reading chair.

"Get a hold of yourself," he said. "Stop being so melodramatic. This isn't a miniseries on AB --"

I hurled The Heart of the Matter (Greene, 1948) at his stomach, Common Sense (Paine, 1776) at his face. (461)

I'm nearly done reading Pessl's sophomore (and excellent) Night Film, which doesn't have anything quite so clear, though there's a strong possibility of some Nabokovian nods:

She was Beckman's latest housekeeper. Ever since his beloved wife, Véra, had died years ago from cancer, Beckman, totally unable to take care of himself, hired a multitude of petite Russian women to do it for him. (48)

And another possible Nabokov nod:

"Need some help?"

"Yes," said Nora, setting a book she'd been leafing through -- Signs, Symbols, & Omens -- back down on the stand. "We were hoping someone could help us identify some herbs and roots that we found in strange patterns in our friend's room." (229)