What I'm reading right now is Kevin Brockeimer's Things That Fall from the Sky, a collection of short stories, from where there's this bit of Nabokovilia on page four of "These Hands":

A few questions deserve answer, perhaps, before I continue. So then: The walls behind which I'm writing are the walls of my home -- the only thing padded is the furniture, the only thing barred the wallpaper. Caroline is both alive and (I imagine -- I haven't seen her now in many days) well. And I haven't read Nabokov -- not ever, not once.

Another Nabokovilian bit follows in page 33.

After the Plague was great, as was the last book for my class, Toni Morrison's Paradise, which was knotty but ultimately rewarding.