Vladimir Nabokov, the scientist and the author have been treated as discrete manifestations of a prodigious and probing mind, until now. In her recent biography on Nabokov, Temoshotka makes the bold assertion that these two apparently disparate realms of Nabokov's polymorphous genius were not so unrelated after all. While Temoshotka cannot be faulted for the boldness of her thesis – Nabokov's hobby as a lepidopterist (a butterfly collector) and his experience as a novelist informed each other – she fails to make a convincing case. Surely, with enough ingenuity, one can find parallels, as Temoshotka does, between the creative products of Nabokov the naturalist and Nabokov the writer: the intricate butterfly wings that he pored over in his laboratory and the intricate prose that he crafted with sedulous care. But to say the prose of Lolita and Speak, Memory would not have coalesced into their current incarnations had Nabokov's hobby been, say, lawn tennis is simply reaching too far.